tonight,’ he stated firmly as she looked around for something else to do.
‘It’s my job.’
‘Your job is to dance with me,’ Luc argued to her astonishment. ‘Unless you decide to blatantly ignore a client request, in which case I’ll have no alternative other than to report you for being uncooperative.’
‘You are joking?’
‘Am I? Are you willing to take that risk?’
If this had been ten years ago, she would have challenged him all the way down the line, but she was sure she could see a glint of amusement in his eyes. And why was she fighting anyway? ‘You’re going to report me because I won’t dance with you?’ she suggested in a very different tone.
One sweeping ebony brow lifted. ‘Sounds fair to me.’
‘Everything you say sounds fair to you,’ she pointed out, but she was smiling. Luc did that to her. He warmed her when she was in her grumpiest mood, and tonight, looking at him, grumpy was the furthest thing from her mind. ‘You are definitely the most annoying man in the world,’ she told him.
As well as the most exciting.
‘And, thanks for the offer, but I have a lovely placid life and I intend to keep it that way.’
‘Boring, do you mean?’ Luc suggested, thumbing a chin shaded with stubble as if it were morning and he’d just got out of bed.
‘I do not mean boring,’ she countered, thoroughly thrown by the way her mind was working. ‘I like things just the way they are.’
Luc sucked in his cheeks and the expression in his eyes turned from lightly mocking to openly disbelieving. ‘You don’t stay still long enough to know what placid means.’ And then he shrugged and half turned, as if he meant to go.
She felt like a hunted doe granted an unexpected reprieve. Badly wanting to prolong the encounter, she was forced to admit that Luc scared her. They’d always had a love-hate relationship: love when they were with the animals they both cared so deeply for, and hate when she saw the easy way Luc wound everyone around his little finger, especially women, forcing teenage Stacey to grit her teeth and burn. How could she not appear gauche compared to the type of sophisticated woman he dated? If she took her clothes off, would she measure up, or would Luc mock her as he used to when she tried to outride him? She couldn’t bear it. And…if they had sex—heaven help her for even thinking that thought—she would surely make a fool of herself. Having made it her business to be clued up where most things were concerned, short of doing it, it wasn’t possible to be clued up about sex, especially with a six-foot-six rugby-playing brother standing in the wings to make sure no half-decent man got near her. When she’d left home for college she hadn’t found anyone to match up to Lucas, and the few dates she’d been on had put her off sex for life. Who knew that not everyone showered frequently, or had feet as sexy as she had discovered Luc’s were when the three of them used to go swimming in the river? And he wouldn’t have patience with a novice. Why should he, when the women she’d seen him with were so confident and knowing? Was it likely he’d give lessons? Hardly, she reflected as she followed his gaze around the room.
‘Staff shouldn’t be working this late,’ he said, turning to her. ‘That goes for you too. I’m going to send everyone home.’
‘Even me?’ she challenged lightly.
‘No. You’re going to stay and dance. Don’t move,’ he warned as he went to give the order.
Stacey had done her research and knew Lucas owned this hotel together with several more. He gave the word and came back to her. Everyone apart from a lone guitarist left the ballroom. When Luc returned, he explained that the musician had asked if he could stay on, as he had a flight to catch, and there was no point in going to bed.
‘He told me that he’d rather unwind by playing the melodies he loved than spending a few hours in his room, and I get that.’ Lucas shrugged. ‘I told him to stay as long as he likes. He’s not disturbing anyone. Certainly not us,’ he added with a long, penetrating look.
Us?
Okay. Get over that. Had she forgotten Luc’s love of music? He used to stream music for her to work to at the farmhouse. Maybe she’d added a special significance to the lyrics of the tunes he chose, but the music had helped her escape into another world where there were no grimy floors and dirty dishes. ‘I’d welcome anything that drowns out the sound of men’s voices,’ she would say.
And now?
‘Do you always get your way?’ she asked, biting her lip to curb a smile.
‘Invariably,’ Luc admitted, straight-faced. And then he laughed. They both laughed, and what they shared in those few unguarded moments was everything she could wish for: warmth, a past that needed no explanation, and acceptance that they’d both changed, and that life was better now.
‘So, why aren’t you in bed?’ she asked cheekily as the guitarist ended one tune and segued into another.
‘I should be,’ Luc agreed, but in a way that made her cheeks warm, and suddenly all she could think about was that thwarted kiss all those years ago. Would he push her away if she kissed him now?
‘Come on—tell me why you’re here.’
‘To see you,’ he admitted with a wicked look.
‘Me?’ She laughed, a little nervously now. It always amazed her how the old, uncertain Stacey could return to haunt her at emotionally charged moments like this.
‘Why are you so surprised?’ Luc asked, bursting her bubble. ‘I’m the host of a party you planned. Don’t you usually have a debriefing session?’
‘Not over a dance,’ she said.
He shrugged. ‘Why not?’
‘We’ve never danced together before.’
‘Let’s start a new tradition.’
His eyes were dark and smouldering, while she was most certainly not looking her best after the busiest of evenings. Was he mocking her? It wouldn’t be the first time. They’d mocked each other constantly when she was younger. ‘Me dance with you?’ she queried suspiciously.
Luc’s black stare swept the ballroom. ‘Do you see anyone else asking?’
‘This had better not be a pity dance,’ she warned.
‘A pity dance?’ he queried.
‘Yes, you know, when Niahl used to dance with me whenever I attended those balls you two used to rip up together?’
‘The cattle markets?’ Lucas frowned as he thumbed his stubble.
‘That’s what you called them back then,’ Stacey agreed.
‘What would you call groups of hopefuls with one end in sight?’
‘Sheep to the slaughter’
He laughed. ‘Of course you would.’
‘I
