‘Love like that I can do without,’ he responded, unmoved.
‘Sometimes,’ she whispered, ‘you can be very unfeeling, Luc.’
His superb bone-structure clenched, something more than irritation leaping through him now. ‘Which translates to a ruthless, insensitive bastard, does it not?’ he sizzled back at her.
Nobody criticised Luc. Rafaella might argue with him, but she would not have dreamt of criticising him. From being an infant prodigy in a very ordinary, poorly educated family in awe of his intellectual gifts, Luc had stalked into early adulthood, unfettered by any need or demand to consider anyone but himself. But he was in the wrong and she was helplessly tempted to tell him that plainly, had to bite back the words. He could not treat Rafaella as an old friend one moment and a humble employee the next. It had not been a kindness to keep Rafaella so close when he was aware of her feelings for him. It had only encouraged her to hope.
‘I didn’t say that,’ she said tightly. ‘Don’t shout me down.’
‘I am not shouting you down. You fascinate me. You belong up on a cloud with a harp!’ he derided with acid bite. ‘You haven’t the slightest conception of what makes other human beings tick.’
Catherine lifted her chin. ‘I only said that Rafaella deserves a little compassion—’
‘Compassion? If you were bleeding to death by the side of the road, she’d sell tickets!’ he grated. ‘She’s out because I don’t trust her any more. I understand her too well. The first opportunity she gets, she’ll stick a knife in your back, even if it costs her everything she has.’
Her flesh chilled involuntarily at the deadly certainty with which he voiced that belief.
‘The subject is now closed. Are you coming to dinner?’ he concluded drily.
‘Will you give her a reference?’
There was a sharp little silence. Luc spun back, clashed with the hauntingly beautiful blue eyes pinned expectantly to him. ‘Per amor di Dio…all right, if that’s what you want!’ he gritted, out of all patience.
He wasn’t built to recognise compromise. Compromise was a retrograde step towards losing, and losing didn’t come gracefully to Luc. Catherine tucked into her dinner with unblemished appetite. Luc poked at his appetiser, complained about the temperature of the wine, sat tapping his fingers in tyrannical tattoo between courses and cooled down only slowly.
‘What did you think of Dr Scipione?’ he enquired over the coffee.
‘He was very kind. Is he the local doctor?’
An ebony brow quirked. ‘He lives in Rome. He’s also one of the world’s leading authorities on amnesia.’
‘Oh.’ Catherine almost choked on her dismay. ‘I treated him as if he was just anybody!’
‘Catherine, one of your greatest virtues is the ability to treat everyone from the lowliest cleaning-lady up in exactly the same way,’ he murmured, unexpectedly linking his fingers with hers, a smile curving the formerly hard line of his lips. ‘Let us at least agree that your manners are a great deal better than mine. By the way, I have some papers for you to sign before we can get married. We should take care of them now.’
She accompanied him into the library where he had been with Rafaella earlier. It was packed with books from floor to ceiling, and a massive desk sat before the tall windows. Fierce discomfiture gripped her when she saw the sheaf of documents he lifted. Forms to fill in…bureaucracy. With Luc present, her worst nightmare had full substance.
‘This is the…’ Luc handed her a pen but she didn’t absorb his explanation. There was a thunderbeat of tension in her ears. ‘You sign here.’ A brown forefinger indicated the exact spot and stayed there.
The paper was a grey and white blur. Covertly she bent her head. ‘I just s-sign?’ she stammered, terrified that there was something else to do that he wasn’t mentioning because he would naturally assume that she could easily see it and read it for herself.
‘You just sign.’
She inscribed her signature slowly and carefully. Luc whipped the document away and presented her with a second. ‘And here.’
More hurriedly, less carefully, she complied. ‘Is that it?’ Struggling to conceal her relief at his nod of confirmation, she lifted the document. ‘You once told me never
to sign anything I couldn’t read,’ she joked unsteadily.
‘I was more obtuse than I am now.’ He studied her. The strain etched in her delicate profile was beginning to ease but her hand was shaking perceptibly. ‘It’s in Italian, cara,’ he told her very gently.
‘I wasn’t really looking at it.’ Clumsily she put it down again.
Before she could turn away, lean hands came down to rest on her tense shoulders, keeping her in front of him where he lounged on the edge of the polished desk. ‘I believe it’s more than that,’ he countered quietly. ‘Don’t you think it’s time that we stopped playing this game? Whether you realise it or not, it’s caused a lot of misunderstanding between us.’
Her face had gone chalk-white. ‘G-game?’
He sighed. ‘Why do you think I choose your meals for you when we dine out?’