A smart dark-suited young man appeared, carrying an ice-bucket with the plump gold-topped bottle nestling inside, and a tray bearing fine crystal glasses, which he placed on the table by the old lady. The young man picked up the bottle and with swift expertise opened it. The cork flew across the room and bounced off Parisa's thigh.
'That is good luck, Parisa,' Signora Di Maggi cried delightedly, but Parisa wasn't so sure, as she almost jumped out of her skin in surprise. But when Luc held out a brimming glass she took it, her fingers brushed his, and she flinched at the contact. She told herself it was with loathing.
'To Parisa, my betrothed. May we have a long and happy union,' Luc said, raising his glass, but the dark knowing look in his brilliant eyes told her he had noticed her reaction and was amused by it.
Bravely she raised her own glass and sipped the sparkling liquid. She accepted his mother's effusive congratulations in a mixture of Italian and English with as much grace as she could muster, blushing furiously when the old lady exclaimed over the beauty of the engagement ring, and conscious all the time of Luc's dark eyes watching her, waiting to pounce on her least mistake.
She heaved an inward sigh of relief when his mother suggested, 'You must be tired. So long you travel. Luc will show you your room. We will talk later tonight, before the mob arrive, yes?'
Out in the huge circular hall Parisa turned baleful eyes on Luc. 'Your poor, weak little mother,' she sneered. 'What a liar you are—the woman is built like an amazon and looks as fit as a fiddle.' She used anger to hide her fear: the old lady had quite openly mentioned the mob. Was that not another name for the Mafia?
'Shut up and follow me,' and, striding to a wide marble staircase, he ascended the stairs.
He was doing it again. Follow me! Parisa fumed, but had no real alternative but to do what he said. How in God's name she had got herself in this mess? She couldn't believe it. Perhaps she did have some of the wild Hardcourt genes after all, and the thought terrified her. She had spent years convincing herself she was safe from that particular hereditary fault, but now she was not so sure.
'This is your room. I trust you will be comfortable here. If you need anything, there is a bell-rope beside the bed. I am in the room next door.'
Her head shot back and she looked up at him, not at all happy at the thought of only a single wall separating her from Luc.
'I'm sure it will be fine, thank you,' she replied formally, successfully masking her apprehension. She glanced around the room. It was beautifully decorated in soft white and pale rose, entirely feminine, but exquisite. A queen-sized bed, the coverlet delicately embroidered white lace with a pink undercover. A small satin settee was at one side of a real fireplace, the surround of which was in a white and pink veined marble with a brass grate and antique fender. The dressing-table was built into one of the straight walls, along with mirrored wardrobes and a door.
A large hand curved around her shoulder and she tensed defensively; she had not realised Luc was so close. 'The bathroom is that door.' Luc gestured with his free hand.
'Thank you,' she said, wishing he would leave.
'So polite, when not five minutes ago you were calling me a liar. There is a penalty for that kind of talk, Parisa,' he informed her silkily.
She should have known he would not let her comment about his mother go unanswered.
'I warned you before, but obviously you need a few more lessons in how to behave as my fiancée.'
His strong arms locked around her. She tried to push him away. 'Really, Luc, aren't you being rather childish?' she admonished. But the hard intent in his black eyes barely wavered at her ineffectual attempt to break free. 'Let go...' was as far as she got.
His dark head lowered. She turned her head to the side, determined to avoid him. But when his teeth bit lightly on her exposed neck, she shuddered. If anything it was worse than a kiss. His lips trailed up and over her jaw, while all the time his arms kept her pressed tightly against his hard body. She could feel the steady pounding of his heart, the deep, appreciative growl, as his mouth finally found hers, and within seconds she was lost in the expertise of his kiss.
It didn't matter what or who he was, she thought wildly. He just had to touch her and a million nerve- ends caught fire. What was happening to her? David never had this startling effect on her, and she liked him. Whereas Luc, a man she despised, with one kiss could turn her bones to jelly. A soft moan escaped her as Luc's lips left hers. Was it regret?
'Interesting, Parisa, wouldn't you say?' he asked throatily. 'An unexpected bonus, my little cat burglar.' She stared, her blue eyes wide and wary. He tipped back her head so he could look down into her flushed face. 'You want me.'
'No...' she husked, fighting for control. She could feel the heavy pressure of his muscular thighs against her long legs, and, more, the hard pulse of his arousal. He might have declared she was not his type, but his body obviously wasn't aware of the fact, she thought, swallowing hard and trying to wriggle away, but to her horror it appeared to arouse him more.
'Hmm. Nice, Parisa, very nice.' He moved his thighs against her.
'No, no, you're mad!' she cried, and with an almighty shove at his chest she tried again to break free.
'Stop fighting, cara. You know you want it as much as I do,' he growled, his arm around her waist, lifting her so her feet left the ground and she was helpless in his hold.
His lips nuzzled at her neck and she felt the blood rush through her veins. Her slender hands wrapped around his neck and when she felt his large hand cover her breast through the fine wool of her sweater, her nipple tightened in a sudden aching want. Dear heaven! What was happening to her? She had never felt this way before, but, some imp inside reminded her, she had once—as a young girl, and with the same man.
'We are two consenting adults, Parisa. Don't fight it.' He whispered the words against her mouth before once again his mouth covered hers, his tongue pressed and gained entry, and hot warmth flooded from her mouth to her breast to her loins in a single arrow of delight.
It was only when she felt the softness of the bed at her back that she finally realised what she was inviting and with whom. She panicked, and, striking out wildly, she shot across the bed and off the other side, to stand trembling a couple of feet away.
'You—you animal! Don't touch me!' she cried. Luc sprawled on his back on the bed, his dark eyes searching her flushed face intently. He looked so out of place: huge and dark in his black trousers and cream and black sweater on the white, feminine bed, but the look in his eyes was definitely come to bed, Parisa thought, her heart pounding. 'You said I wasn't your type—you promised,' she bit out, stunned by her own response.
'So I've changed my m
ind, and why not? You enjoy it; as I remember you always did. Before you were too young, but now,' he drawled throatily, 'there is nothing to stop us, hmm?'