himself, then with a sigh of frustration dragged a hand through his hair. ‘I think it would be a good idea if we got back to the house.’
‘Of course.’
As they neared the house she could hear the sound of laughter and voices; someone was playing the piano, and not very well. There was woodsmoke in the air so she assumed that the fire in the enormous grate had been lit. The drawing room with its panelled walls and views out over the lake was her favourite room but the thought of going into it now made her cringe inside. There was simply no way she could act as if nothing had happened between her and Luc.
Megan shook her head and started to back away. ‘I can’t go in there.’
Luc overruled her. ‘Of course you can,’ he said, grabbing her hand. As he was pulling her towards him the automatic sensors on the exterior light kicked in.
She began to smooth down her clothes nervously. ‘I look a mess,’ she fretted. ‘This skirt…’
‘You look gorgeous.’ Megan knew she had never looked gorgeous in her life. She opened her mouth to tell him that she didn’t need to hear pretty lies when her eyes collided with his.
‘And don’t worry about the skirt—I’ll be taking it off for you as soon as we can decently make our excuses,’ he promised throatily.
A shiver ran through her from the top of her head to her curling toes. Megan doubted decency had ever been used to describe a more indecent plan. ‘You think you’re going to spend the night with me?’ At least her embarrassing introduction of love had not put him off totally.
‘Don’t you?’
She felt his hand on her cheek and her head lifted. Their eyes met, and Megan was overwhelmed, not just by the stab of sexual desire that nailed her to the spot, but by the totally unexpected tenderness in his eyes.
She felt tears prickle at the back of her eyes and blinked rapidly; her throat literally ached with emotion. This is crazy—I don’t even know the man! Actually the only thing she knew for sure about him was he was a good liar…and an even better lover.
‘I wasn’t sure you’d want to…?’
‘I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you.’ He wound a damp honey coloured curl around one long brown finger. ‘I wanted to pull you down onto the sofa and make love to you right then.’
Megan began to shake. She was still blinking in a bemused fashion when a loud, familiar voice suddenly rang out.
‘There they are…’
Luc lifted his hand and waved to the figure standing at the window. ‘No escape now,’ he said without looking at Megan.
Her mother had obviously been waiting for them. ‘Where did you two get to?’ she demanded as they stepped into the hallway. She focused on her daughter and gave a wince. ‘Your hair, Megan…’ she rebuked with a despairing shake of her head.
‘I like it that way.’
The comment brought both women’s attention to Luc’s face.
‘You do?’ Laura said in a startled voice.
Megan assumed that Luc did something to confirm his strange taste to her mother, but she didn’t trust herself to check it out for herself. How could anyone look at her and not know? She felt as though her shame were written all over her face except that, bizarrely, she didn’t feel any shame at all.
‘What happened to you?’
Good question. Megan took a deep breath.
‘And where are your shoes?’
‘Slight mishap—we got caught in the rain,’ she said, lifting a self-conscious hand to her tousled head. ‘I’ll go and fix this.’ If only other things could be fixed with a brush and hairdryer. What had happened to caution, and why…how did she feel so elated?
‘Never mind about that now, it’s fine, come along in,’ Laura urged, shepherding them across the hall. ‘You’ll never guess who is here…’
‘Who?’ Megan didn’t much feel like playing guessing games or being polite to guests, but she managed to feign interest.’
Her heart just about stopped when Luc suggested silkily, ‘The real Lucas…?’ His hand shot out to steady Megan as she stumbled. ‘Oops! Watch your step there, Megan.’
‘He has such a delightfully dry sense of humour,’ Laura observed.
‘He is so, so dead,’ Megan added with a fixed smile. Her reproachful eyes lifted to his face. The innocent expression she encountered was about as believable as a sincere politician. ‘You won’t be laughing then,’ she predicted grimly as she brushed the restraining fingers from her arm.
‘What did you say, darling?’
Megan lifted her voice and said in a flat monotone, ‘I said he’s a laugh a minute.’ She ignored the rumble of soft laughter at her elbow and deliberately didn’t look at him.
A second later as Laura pushed open the drawing-room door she learnt who the mystery guest was. Horror immediately froze her to the spot. Megan was no coward, but suddenly she wanted to take to her heels and run!
Her scam was about to be exposed in the most horrifying way. Would she be facing public humiliation and litigation or was the author going to see the funny side of this? Did he possess a sense of humour? It wasn’t as if they had harmed his reputation—maybe he might even be flattered, as someone who looked fairly ordinary might be if they found themselves being played by Brad Pitt in the film of their life story.
It was, admittedly quite a maybe.
Megan wasn’t sure if she was going to throw up or faint. She angled a quick glance at the tall man beside her. He was looking at her uncle Mal, effortlessly projecting his usual unbelievable level of cool and charisma. If she had been the author with a taste for privacy she might have considered paying Luc to be her public face, but the real Lucas Patrick might not see it quite the same way.
‘Uncle Mal, this is quite a surprise.’ Megan wondered why the presence of her uncle should explain her mother’s suddenly bright eyes, and air of barely suppressed excitement.
The figure who had risen from his seat at the piano as they’d entered came towards her. Handsome despite his thickening middle and thinning hairline, Malcolm…looked very like his younger sister.
‘Oh, yes, your uncle turned up,’ her mother said, dismissing her brother with a slightly irritated shrug. ‘But it was Jean Paul that I was talking about.’ She drew forward with a flourish the old family friend Megan had known since she was a child.
The distinguished, silver-haired Frenchman smiled at Megan. ‘You look very lovely tonight, Megan,’ he said with smooth Gallic charm.
Her uncle was less smooth but also complimentary. ‘Megan, my dear girl, you do look well,’ he told his stricken-faced niece before his glance moved past her to the tall figure who stood with one hand lightly touching her shoulder. His smile was replaced by a look of puzzlement.
‘I
