'I have my answer, I think,' he said hoa.r.s.ely, the skin stretched taut across his high cheekbones as he battled with the desire racking his huge frame. 'Now you look as a fiancee should, cara.'

Parisa knew the same desire was reflected in her own flushed face. Her eyes, luminous with pa.s.sion, sought his, and for a second blue and black mingled with an exquisite need. She closed her eyes, unable to sustain the contact. A fierce shudder arced through her. He had won again.

He swung her off his lap and on to the sofa, deliberately moving away from her. 'I think we will take our coffee in here,' he rasped, his breathing irregular. 'My mother does not need that much convincing.'

Luc had wanted her-every instinct told her that- but he had quickly regained his control, while she still burnt with unsated desire. The desire turned to a burning shame in her breast. How could she have behaved so stupidly? And a tiny voice inside her answered that it wasn't hard with such a devastatingly appealing male.

Not looking at him, she ran trembling hands down her skirt. Smoothing it over her knees, she made herself sit up straight, her back rigid. She should have remembered that Luc was a very powerful man, with a cold, arrogant insensitivity. Hadn't she seen for herself the way he turned down his mistress? Parisa had got off lightly.

'The reason I brought you in here was, I want...'

"That is better,' a voice interrupted Luc. It was Signora Di Maggi. 'You two are now friends, no?'

Parisa looked up in surprise, and blushed. 'It is OK. I know the-how do you say?-frustration of young people. My Luc will make you happy; he is much man.'

'Mamma, prego,' he said quickly.

Parisa shot a startled glance at Luc, and couldn't stop the smile that curved her full lips. Luc looked decidedly uncomfortable. A first for him, no doubt!

She opened her eyes to bright sunshine and the realisation that someone was knocking on her bedroom door.

'Come in,' she called out. It would be the maid with morning coffee.

'You sound cheerful. You must be a morning person.' Luc's deep voice, tinged with laughter, made her spine tingle.

She grabbed the coverlet up to her chin, her blue eyes wide on his handsome face. 'You! I thought it was the maid.'

'My pleasure, Parisa.' And he walked across to the bed, a laden tray in his large hands. With an economy of movement the tray was placed on the bedside table and the coffee poured, his tanned hand holding out the cup and saucer, before she had gathered her scattered wits.

'Thank you,' she murmured, and took the proffered cup, her colour high at the intimacy of the occasion.

'You look adorable when you blush,' Luc said softly, and she turned bright scarlet. He laughed and winked down at her. 'Don't worry-drink your coffee, and meet me downstairs in half an hour. I'm taking you out for the day to avoid the bedlam in the house!'

'Bedlam?' she queried. From what she had seen, his home was run like clockwork.

'The caterers have arrived, the guest rooms are being cleaned-the only place to be is out.' And with that he swung on his heel and left.

Long after he had gone, she held the memory of his tall, virile figure, casually dressed in blue jeans and a dark red Pringle sweater, his dark eyes gleaming with some hidden knowledge she could not quite grasp. Shaking her hair from her face, she drank the coffee and ate a croissant before swinging her long legs out of bed, reminding herself that she had to be on her guard around Luc at all times. She only had to get through one more day, and then go home, a return to her own life. It was that simple.

Standing in front of the long, mirrored door, washed, and dressed in navy gabardine trousers and a matching navy and white wool sweater, she brushed her long pale hair from her face and tied it back with a plain navy scarf.

Luc could really be quite a charming host, Parisa recognised, remembering last night. After his mother had joined them in the study, somehow the fierce tension had evaporated from the room. All three had enjoyed coffee and tiny chocolate choux cakes. The halting English of Signora Di Maggi and her obvious enthusiasm at their engagement had lightened the atmosphere considerably, so much so that when the old lady left, after kissing them both good night, they had spent a surprisingly comfortable hour talking, discussing the relative merits of Pavarotti and Domingo. Luc was an opera fan, like most Italians. They had shared a nightcap. Luc had walked upstairs with her and pressed a soft, almost brotherly kiss on her forehead, and said, 'A truce, Parisa, for a day, hmm?' and she had meekly agreed as he said goodnight with another kiss, outside her door.

Parisa frowned. Luc in a gentle mood was at his most dangerous. Still, she would enjoy her day out, without worrying about the reason for her being here, and, picking up her top coat with one last glance at her reflection, she left the room.

It was like a day out of time, a rare cameo. The sun shone with the first warm rays of the year, etching the landscape in bright, clean colours. Luc drove the Ferrari with an easy expertise along winding country roads. They stood at the top of a gigantic cliff and gloried in the perfect view. The waves crashing against the sh.o.r.e, the screaming of the gulls made a concerto all of their own. At noon they drove down the hill to Portofino.

'This is the best time of the year, I think,' Luc said lazily, helping her out of the car.

'Not the summer?'

'No, in the summer it is full of tourists, the marina is full and the place is very cosmopolitan, but now only the locals are around.' And, as he spoke, a young boy, not more than ten or so, shouted, 'Padrone, padrone,' and ran towards them. Luc swept the child up in his arms and swung him around, laughing out loud, then gently set the boy down again.

Parisa watched in amazement and then shock. The boy had only one arm. How sad, and yet the small dark face was wreathed in smiles. She did not understand the rapid-fire Italian that pa.s.sed between the two males, or why Luc gave him money until, as the young boy shot off in the direction of the dock, Luc took her hand in his and explained.

'Paolo is my friend-I pay him to clean my boat for me. I would take you to see it, but I'm hungry.'

Parisa grinned up into his handsome face. 'And nothing must come between you and food,' she joked.

'You could, if you wanted to,' Luc said softly. 'Any time.'

She flushed at the implicit invitation in his dark eyes. 'Let's eat.'

'Still a coward!' And, lifting her hand to his mouth, he kissed it, and stopped, his fingers tightening. 'Where is your ring?' he demanded curtly.

'I left it in the bedroom.' She couldn't see that it mattered. 'I wanted to enjoy today as myself,' she explained, sure Luc would understand. 'After all, it's only costume for the act tonight.'

'If you say so,' Luc responded enigmatically. She glanced up at him, but he looked past her. For an instant she wondered if she had offended him in some way, but dismissed the thought as he grinned.

'My favourite restaurant,' he announced, and ushered her into a small, dark, typically Italian waterside cafe, where the proprietor greeted him as an old friend.

Parisa could not remember ever having enjoyed a meal so much. She had no idea what she was eating, until Luc said it was some kind of liver.

'But I hate liver,' she exclaimed, and then laughed as Luc pointedly glanced at her almost empty plate.

'So I see, cara,' he mocked, and refilled her wine gla.s.s.

By the time they had finally finished the meal, Parisa had drunk four gla.s.ses of wine to Luc's two.

'Were you trying to get me drunk in there?' she asked gaily as he led her once more to the car.

'Would I do such a thing? Me, the model of decorum?' He pointed a finger at his broad chest with a woefully injured look on his attractive face.

'Yes, but I forgive you,' she chuckled, loving this much happier easy-going Luc.

Seated in the car, Luc turned to her, his expression oddly serious.

'You know what I like most about you?'

She looked across at him, surprised and secretly touched.

'What?' she asked, and her blue eyes were trapped by the dark gleam in Luc's.

'You don't allow anything to get in the way of your enjoyment. I blackmailed you into coming here. You could have made today terrible; instead I've enjoyed every minute. I cannot think of a single one of my acquaintances who would have been so obliging.'

The serious tone and the deepening gleam in his eyes was not something she wanted to recognize, she didn't dare.

'You obviously don't meet the right kind of people,' she said lightly to break the sudden tension, and, turning, she fiddled with her seatbelt.

Luc took it from her and deftly fastened it around her. 'You're probably right, ca a. But you can judge for yourself tonight.' He started the car and drove off. 'Almost every member of my family and a load of friends are coming to the party.'

Parisa made no reply. His reminder of just why she was in Italy and in his home pretending to be his fiancee was a dampening one. She had almost forgotten his less than savoury character in the delight of the day they had spent together. But now the thought of the evening ahead was a sobering one.

CHAPTER FIVE.

Parisa was adding the finishing touch to her make-up. d.a.m.n! Her hand holding the lipstick wavered on her top lip, at the knock on the bedroom door.

Quickly blotting her mouth with tissue, she deftly applied the lipstick once again, and, satisfied with the result, she went to answer the door.

The sight of Luc, one arm propped against the door frame, his huge body leaning casually towards her, momentarily robbed her of breath. The jacket of his dinner suit hung open, revealing the white silk shirt pulled taut from his waist diagonally across his ma.s.sive chest. A quick flush of colour flooded her face, intensifying as his appreciative gaze lazily surveyed her from head to toe, lingering slightly on the soft curve of her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s outlined by the strapless black velvet bodice of her gown.

'You look exquisite, Parisa. The dress is definitely you-a touch wild,' he said softly, and gently he lifted her chin. The eyes that looked down into hers were amused and something more she didn't recognise, but it made her pulse race.

She knew the dress was a mistake. 'Wild', he had said-not at all the image she wanted to present. Under her breath she cursed the impulse that had made her buy the evening gown in the closing-down sale of a small boutique in Brighton last year. At the time it had seemed too good a chance to miss. But now, with the wild strawberry taffeta skirt falling in flounces from the neat waist to end above her knees at the front and dipping to mid calf at the back, she realised her mistake.

But reason vanished as he stooped to press his lips against her brow. The kiss was so open and friendly, and yet she felt her body weakening, the musky male scent of him, mingling with some subtle cologne, acted like a powerful aphrodisiac on her senses, one that was to last the whole night through.

His dark velvet voice breathed softly against her ear. 'Ready to join the fray, my sweet fiancee?'

She could not stop the shiver that trembled through her but, gathering her scattered wits, she responded by holding out her hand, the brilliant blue-white stoned ring glittering like fire on her third finger.

'Yes, oh, master, and I have even remembered the prop,' she teased.

Half an hour later, with Luc's arm casually flung around her bare shoulder, his mother at his other side, he said, 'That is about it, ladies. We have greeted everyone, so now I think we can enjoy ourselves. Don't drink too much champagne, Mamma,' he teased, before taking Parisa in his arms and whirling her the few steps to the polished dance-floor with all the youthful exuberance of an overgrown schoolboy.

Laughing up at him, Parisa thought she had never seen a more devastatingly handsome man, and tonight he was hers... Just this once she would throw caution to the wind and enjoy herself, she vowed. A dreamy smile lingered on her soft lips as, with his hand at the base of her spine, and his other hand holding her much smaller one close to his heart, he slanted her an amused, self- satisfied grin before glancing around the elegant, crowded room.

'So far everything has worked perfectly, cara. My mother is thoroughly enjoying her birthday; she has never looked happier. At last she can talk endlessly with her cronies at what she thinks is a very real prospect of some grandchildren before long. As for my friends, they are all madly jealous because I have captured such a beautiful lady.' His dark eyes gleamed merrily down at her.

But I bet you feel a tiny bit guilty, Luc, tricking your mother?' Parisa asked with a twinge of shame, wondering for the first time how he would explain the quick ending of the engagement.

For an answer his arm moved and tightened around her slim waist, causing her to come into more intimate contact with his hard body.

'You know exactly how to p.r.i.c.k my conscience, Parisa, and yet until a few days ago I would have sworn I didn't have a conscience.'

Tilting her head, she grinned up at him.

'So I am good for something,' she jeered lightly, to hide the chaos he was creating inside her. His long legs rubbed erotically against hers as their bodies moved in perfect unison to the romantic music.

The glittering chandeliers, the band on the raised platform at one end of the elegant room, the people around them all faded into nothing, as his dark, almost black eyes burned down into hers. Parisa blinked, trying to break the spell, and saw a muscle twitch in his cheek.

'You, Parisa, are good for me. Perfect, in fact, and very soon I would like to show you just how perfect we can be together.'

His deep, smoky voice was like a caress against her skin. She knew she should object to the intimacy he was proposing, but her mouth was suddenly dry, her heart beating double speed, and she could feel beneath her fingers the heavy beat of his heart. He pulled her closer, if that were possible, his hand stroking up to her bare back and resting there.

'Relax, Parisa.' Perhaps he had seen something in her eyes. 'We have all the time in the world. It was not my intention to frighten you, cara.'

Rea.s.sured by his words, and by the unexpected sense of safety she found in his arms, Parisa did relax. Her slender body moved lazily against his in willing compliance as Luc's hand stroked lightly back and forth across her back, toying with her long hair.

His head bent. 'I knew this silk-spun hair would feel as good as it looks,' he breathed huskily against her ear. 'You should always wear it loose, floating around your shoulders like a silver cloud.'

Parisa lifted her head, smiling into his dark, slumberous eyes. 'Not very practical,' she murmured. But she was glad that for once she had given in to the impulse to leave her long hair loose, lifted from her face with two ornate jet combs, a legacy from her great-aunt.

'If you ever cut it, I think I would kill you,' Luc whispered with a strange fierceness that made her glance quickly up at him, catching a wave of dark emotion clouding his eyes. But before she could speak, a voice broke into their private world.

'My turn, Luc; you can't hog the lovely lady all night.'

'Oh, but I can,' Luc responded almost curtly.

The man who had cut in had been introduced to Parisa earlier as Luc's right-hand man, Aldo Gennetti. He was about the height of Parisa, and very good-looking, with black, curly hair and laughing light brown eyes. Beside him stood his wife, one of the loveliest women Parisa had ever seen: very Latin with ma.s.ses of blue-black hair tumbling down her back, a perfect oval face, huge brown eyes and a wide, full mouth. Anna Gennetti was stunning in a slip of a black dress that plunged to her waist both front and back. A brilliant diamond bracelet that must have cost a bomb circled her slender wrist. In fact Parisa thought the only thing that marred her beauty was the ice in her eyes and the twist of discontent to her mouth.

Anna said something to Luc in rapid Italian and maneuvered herself between Parisa and Luc. One small red- nailed hand rested on Luc's arm like a talon, and her body pressed against his. Parisa glanced at Luc, and shivered. She hoped Luc never looked at her like that. His eyes were narrowed coldly on the other woman as he replied cynically and in English, 'How can I refuse?'

'Come on, Parisa, it is you and I,' Aldo declared, and Parisa felt herself spun around. 'We will show this lot how to dance.' The band broke into a quick disco number, and Parisa thought, Why not? She loved dancing, and threw herself whole-heartedly into the pounding beat, gyrating her supple body with a verve and subtlety few could match; but Aldo was good.

A s.p.a.ce cleared around them and in minutes they were the only couple dancing, the rest content to watch. Parisa, laughing out loud at Aldo's outrageous compliments as he swung her around on the last note, her long hair swirling around her shoulders, suddenly caught a glimpse of Luc's face. He looked furious.

'Thank you, Parisa, you're fantastic,' Aldo said, fighting to regain his breath.

'Yes, cara. I had no idea you were such an exhibitionist,' Luc declared hardly, appearing at her side, his arm going around her waist and, holding her possessively against him, he bent his dark head, his breath warm against her cheek. 'In future I would prefer it if you keep your undoubted talent under control. I do not like my guests being given a free view of my fiancee's lovely legs,' he hissed.

She had seen him wrapped around the seductive Anna. How dared he criticise her? And she wasn't his fiancee, in any case, she reminded herself, the resentment in her giving a mutinous set to her small jaw. 'Aren't you forgetting something?' she demanded.

'Shut up, Parisa; do you want the world to hear?' He spun her against his hard body and whispered the words against her mouth before he kissed her.

She vaguely heard the cheers but, swaying in Luc's arms as he ended the kiss, her full lips softly parted, her dazed eyes staring up into his, she didn't care. One touch, and she was putty in his hands.

'For tonight at least you are my Lady and I will not tolerate any other man muscling in, understood?' he demanded huskily, pressing a kiss on her brow.

His possessiveness was very flattering, Parisa told herself, wondering if he could possibly be jealous, and enormously pleased at the idea. She hugged the thought to herself for the rest of the evening.

They danced again and drank champagne, and Parisa felt like Cinderella at the ball. Luc stayed by her side, a hand at her waist, an arm around her shoulder, acting the loving fiancee to the hilt, until Parisa did not know where pretence ended and reality began, and she didn't care.

Signora Di Maggi left the party around midnight, and after that the guests left in a steady stream, except for four couples who were staying the night. By two in the morning Luc and herself were the only people remaining downstairs.

'Do you want another drink, a night-cap?' he asked huskily, his arm around her waist.

She leaned into his hard strength. 'No.' She yawned. 'It has been a wonderful evening.' She turned shining eyes up to his. 'It seems a shame it has to end, but '

'No buts, Parisa. It does not have to end, not yet.' She watched his tanned hand pull the bow-tie from his throat, his fingers deftly unfastening the top two b.u.t.tons of his silk shirt. A frisson of excitement shot through with fear tingled down her spine. Just what was he suggesting? She should be insulted!