She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ve got to get changed for dinner.’ She extended one denim-covered leg to prove the point. ‘I’ll come back for you in half an hour. Don’t,’ she added, wagging a warning finger at him, ‘move until I get here.’
Of course he did.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE French doors had been open all through dinner and the guests had drifted out onto the terrace to sip their drinks and chat. Despite the unpromising start the day had produced a perfect summer evening, warm and balmy, spoilt only by an unexpected shower, which was brief but heavy.
Luc and Megan were caught out in the open when the heavens opened. By the time they reached the shelter offered by the leafy canopy of the ancient oak tree it had stopped raining.
Luc, grinning, shook his head, sending droplets of water everywhere. ‘There’s something exhilarating about a summer shower.’
Easy for him to say, she thought.
Casting a resentful glance from under her lashes at Luc’s classically perfect profile, she pondered the unfairness that made him look incredible with his hair plastered damply to his skull. The moisture that clung to his naturally dark skin only served to emphasise the healthy glow.
She had gone for a vintage look tonight. With a sigh she looked down with distaste at her silk calf-length skirt; it clung damply to her legs. The chiffon overskirt with its beading detail might well be ruined—pity, it had been her favourite. She could feel the excess moisture from her wet hair running in a cold trickle down her neck, she didn’t even want to think about what it looked like.
Luc, his back set against the gnarled tree trunk, watched as she ran her hands down her bare arms to remove the excess moisture that clung to her pale smooth skin. She had great arms; like the rest of her body they were toned and firm.
At least the cotton halter-top wouldn’t be ruined by the rain, Megan thought, concentrating on the positive. Which was more than could be said for her hair…negative thoughts refused to be totally banished.
‘Have you ever danced?’
A line forming between her feathery brows, Megan lifted her head to look at the tall figure standing in the shadows. ‘Dance? What on earth are you talking about?’ She glared up at him, bristling with suspicion.
Luc registered the antagonistic glitter in her eyes, but didn’t comment on it. ‘You’re very graceful.’
Megan felt her cheeks grow hot. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I was simply making an observation. You carry yourself like a dancer. I was wondering if you trained at some point…?’
‘Me, a dancer!’ She looked at him as though he had gone mad. ‘I’m a research scientist.’
‘Does being a boffin preclude you having a sense of rhythm?’
She dealt him a look of exasperation. ‘I don’t dance. I…well, I did have a few lessons when I was a kid,’ she conceded. ‘Singing lessons too. They were meant to help my asthma.’
‘Did they?’
‘Well, it got a lot better.’
‘You’re shivering,’ he observed as a fresh shudder ran visibly through her slender frame. ‘I’d offer you a jacket except…’ his grin made him appear almost impossibly attractive ‘…I’m not wearing one.’
Megan watched him place his hand flat against his chest. A shaft of agonising awareness shot through her—she was conscious of every crease and fold of the white cotton that clung like a second skin to the broad expanse of his chest. She was even more painfully conscious of the shadow of body hair sprinkled over his broad chest and the suggestion of muscular definition.
Drawing a deep breath as she struggled to regain her composure, Megan developed a deep interest in his shoes.
‘You can have my shirt if you like.’
Her stomach flipped over at the thought of wearing something that was still warm from his skin, something that still bore the scent of his body.
An awful thought occurred to her. Did he know that she had just been mentally removing it? Had she been that obvious?
‘I don’t like.’ It wasn’t just cold that made her teeth chatter violently, it was images of Luc standing there stripped to the waist, his golden skin gleaming his…Stop this, Megan! This was not the time or place to explore her darker emotions!
‘Do you want to go back to the house?’ she asked him abruptly.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Luc enquired, scanning her rigid face.
After his performance tonight Megan couldn’t believe he had the cheek to ask. Of course she had known when she had gone back to his room and found it empty that she had made a terrible mistake. When she had come downstairs and found him surrounded by a laughing, admiring crowd who were hanging on his every word all her worst fears had been realised.
‘Nothing’s wrong with me.’ She sniffed.
‘I thought tonight went very well.’
Megan released a laugh of bitter incredulity at this self-congratulatory comment. ‘I noticed you were enjoying yourself.’
It would have been hard to miss it!
And to think she had been concerned that he might find himself a little out of his depth during dinner. The gathering had been typical of her mother’s weekends. A diplomat, a poet and his lawyer wife, an actress…least said about the voluptuous Hilary, the better! A retired headmaster, and someone who had written a number one rock ballad, then entered politics.
Far from being out of his depth, her fake lover had been totally at ease. His ability to converse on a wide range of subjects with authority and ease had astounded her and impressed the hell out of everyone else.
Of course she had already known that he was intelligent. Two seconds in his company revealed that. Now she knew that, though he might have no formal education to speak of, he was widely read and amazingly erudite with a sharp wit and deadly charm. Her lips pursed; the recollection of his deadly charm reminded her of how angry she was.
‘Come on, let’s walk in the sun. It might warm you up.’
‘I’m not cold,’ she denied, wrapping her arms around her trembling body.
‘Well, I am.’
After a short pause she followed him back out into the evening sun.
‘Are you going to tell me what I’ve done to make you mad?’
‘You need to ask?’
‘I just did.’
‘It might have slipped your memory that the reason—the only reason you are here is to establish that you find me irresistible. It might be a start if you had deigned to notice I was alive,’ she ground out grimly.
Until
