Chapter 9

'I foresee a long day ahead of us,' Luc commented.

Catherine bent her head. 'I don't have to answer your questions,' she said tightly, struggling to keep a dismaying tremor out of her voice. Fight fire with fire. That was the only stance to take with Luc.

'Think of it as a small and somewhat belated piece of civility,' Luc advised. 'Four and a half years ago, you vanished into thin air. Without a word, a letter or a hint of explanation. I would like that explanation now.'

Stains of pink had burnished her cheeks. 'In a nutshell, getting involved with you was the stupidest thing I ever did,' she condemned.

'And telling me that may well prove to be your second.' Dark hooded eyes rested on her. 'You slept with me the night before you disappeared. You lay in my arms and you made love with me, knowing that you planned to leave…'

'H-habit,' she stammered.

Hard fingers bit into her wrist, trailing her closer without her volition. 'Habit?' he ground out roughly, incredulously.

Her tongue was glued to the dry roof of her mouth. Mutely she nodded, and recoiled from the raw fury and revulsion she read in his unusually expressive eyes. 'You're hurting me,' she mumbled.

He dropped her wrist contemptuously. 'My compliments, then, on an award-winning performance. Habit inspired you with extraordinary enthusiasm.'

She reddened to the roots of her hair, attacked by the sort of memories she never let out of her subconscious even on temporary parole. To remember was to hate herself. And that night she had known in her heart of hearts that she would never be with Luc again. With uncharacteristic daring, she had woken him up around dawn, charged with a passionate despair that could only find a vent in physical expression. Loving someone who did not love you was the cruellest kind of suffering.

'I don't remember,' she lied weakly, loathing him so much that she hurt with the force of her suppressed emotions. He made her a stranger to herself. He had done that in the past and he was doing it now. She was not the Catherine who understood and forgave other people's foibles at this moment. She had paid too high a price for loving Luc.

'Habit.' He said it again, but so softly; yet she was chilled.

Quite by accident, she registered, she had stung his ego, stirring the primitive depths of a masculinity that was rarely, if ever, challenged by her sex. She wasn't the only woman to make a fool of herself over Luc. Women went to the most embarrassing lengths to attract his attention. They went to even greater lengths to hold him. The reflection was of cold comfort to her.

Women were leisure-time toys for Luc Santini. Easily lifted, just as easily cast aside and dismissed. On the rise to the top, Luc had never allowed himself to waste an ounce of his single-minded energy on a woman. Women had their place in his life…of course they did. He was a very highly sexed male animal. But a woman never held the foreground in his mind, never came between him and his cold, analytical intelligence.

'I have to be going,' she said again and yet, when she collided with that gleaming gaze, she was strangely reluctant to move.

'As you wish.' With disorientating cool, he watched her gather up her bag and climb out of the car on rubbery legs, teetering dangerously for an instant on the very high heels she always wore.

Dragging wayward eyes from his dark, virile features, she closed the door and crossed the street. She felt dizzy, shell-shocked. All those lies, she thought guiltily; all those lies to protect Daniel. Not that Luc could be a threat to Daniel now, but she felt safer with Luc in ignorance. Luc didn't like complications or potential embarrassments. An illegitimate son would qualify as both.

A little dazedly, she shook her head. Apart from that one moment of danger, Luc had been so…so cool. She couldn't say what she had expected, only somehow it hadn't been that. In the Savoy, she could have sworn that Luc was blazingly angry. Obviously that had been her imagination. After all, why should he be angry? Four years was a long time, she reminded herself. And he hadn't cared about her. You didn't constantly remind someone you cared about that they were living on borrowed time. At least, not in Catherine's opinion you didn't.

Her mind drifted helplessly back to their first meeting. She had rewarded his mere presence at the gallery with a guided tour par excellence. She had never been that close to a male that gorgeous, that sophisticated and that exciting. Luc, bored with his own company and in no mood to entertain a woman, had consented to be entertained.

He had smiled at her and her wits had gone a-begging, making her forget what she was saying. It hadn't meant anything

to him. He had left without even advancing his name but, before he had gone, he said, 'You shouldn't be up here on your own. You shouldn't be so friendly with strangers either. A lot of men would take that as a come-on and you really wouldn't know how to handle that.'

As he'd started down the stairs, glittering golden eyes had glided over her one last time. What had he seen? A pretty, rounded teenager as awkward and as easily read as a child in her hurt disappointment.

In those days, though, she had been a sunny optimist. If he had happened in once, he might happen in again. However, it had been two months before Luc reappeared. He had walked in late on and alone, just as he had before. Scarcely speaking, he had strolled round the new pictures with patent uninterest while she'd chattered with all the impulsive friendliness he had censured on his earlier visit. Three-quarters of the way back to the exit, he had swung round abruptly and looked back at her.

'I'll wait for you to close up. I feel like some company,' he had drawled.

The longed-for invitation had been careless and last-minute, and the assumption of her acceptance one of unapologetic arrogance. Had she cared? Had she heck!

'I've been shut in all day. I'd enjoy a walk,' he had murmured when she'd pelted breathlessly back to his side.

'I don't mind,' she had said. He could have suggested a winter dip in the Thames and she would have shown willing. Taking her coat from her, he had deftly assisted her into it, and she had been impressed to death by his instinctive good manners.

As first dates went, it had been…different. He had walked her off her feet and treated her to a coffee in an all-night caf;aae in Piccadilly. She hadn't had a clue who he was and he had enjoyed that. He had told her about growing up in New York, about his family, the father, mother and sister who had died in a plane crash the previous year. In return she had opened her heart about her own background, contriving to joke as she invariably did about her unknown ancestry.

'Maybe I'll call you.' He had tucked her, alone and unkissed, into a cab to go home.

He hadn't called. Six, nearly seven agonising weeks had crawled past. Her misery had been overpowering. Only when she had abandoned all hope had Luc shown up again. Without advance warning. She had wept all over him with relief and he had kissed her to stop her crying.