The Night That Started It All Read Online Free Page B

struggle?
    Though this
might
be the moment she should let slip her knowledge on the subject of Rémy. Tell Luc his charming cousin was bound to be in LA by now. No doubt with a woman along, maybe even the twenty-year-old he’d recently taken up with. That was if he’d been able to find his missing passport, after turning over the apartment
and
her in his fruitless, vindictive search.
    It was all so ugly. The old revulsion threatened, and she turned impatiently away from all things Rémy. Tonight she needed to wipe him from her mind.
    ‘Are you very important in D’Avion?’ she said conversationally, just as if she hadn’t noticed their feet were on the path.
    The air was heavy with the sweet sultry fragrance of night jasmine. The back of Luc’s hand touched hers and her skin cells shivered in welcome.
    They turned the corner and were out of sight of the house. Excitement infected her veins with a languor, as if her very limbs had joined the conspiracy.
    ‘Very,’ he said gravely, though his eyes smiled. ‘And you? Are you in the theatre, by some chance?’ She shook her head, and he considered her, his lashes heavy and sensual, his eyes appreciative. ‘Let me guess.’ He touched her nape, drew a caressing finger down to the edge of her top. Magic radiated through her skin and into her bloodstream. ‘Something creative. You give the impression of not always being bound by the ordinary rules. Would that be true?’
    Her heart lurched. It was such a line, but all at once it seemed quite possibly true. Especially now she was in disguise.
    ‘Oh, well.’ She hated to exaggerate her minuscule claims. ‘I guess I’m an artist of sorts.’ She flashed him a brilliant smile. Gouache, crayons and cuddly possums didn’t go with five-inch heels and red toenails, but they had their excitements.
    ‘So you paint?’
    She barely hesitated before she nodded. ‘Partly.’
    ‘What does that mean?’
    ‘Well, I write stories for children. And paint—you know, the illustrations. I’m not that good yet, but I have actually had a book published. It’s a picture story book about a cat.’
    She pulled herself up, not wanting to babble on about herself and bore the man to tears, but he was gazing intently at her as if genuinely interested.
    He drew in a breath. ‘
Tiens
. Shari, that’s very impressive.’ He spoke so warmly she couldn’t doubt his sincerity. ‘You are a genuine author.’
    Inwardly, she absolutely glowed. ‘Oh, in a very small way.’
    He took her hand and pulled her to face him. It had been so long since a man had touched her in that special way. She trembled inside her bones with a nervous yearning. What if she froze and couldn’t summon the necessary fire? What if she embarrassed herself and shied away at the crucial moment like a scared animal?
    She felt her mouth dry to an uncomfortable clumsiness.
    ‘You are modest.’ He said rather hoarsely, ‘I think you are not what I expected.’
    She said breathlessly, ‘What did you expect?’ Compelled to moisten her lips, she saw a hot flare in his eyes.
    He kissed her then, a firm, purposeful sexy pressure that shot a delicious flame through her blood and made her entire being tremble with longing.
    Ready to swoon, she moved against his hard body, opening up to the full sexy onslaught, but he pulled back and released her. He gazed at her, his eyes unreadable, then traced the outline of her face with his finger. He pressed her lower lip with his thumb and her insides melted in the blaze.
    ‘You taste
douce
.’ His voice was a little gravelly.
    Douce.
Douce
? Was that all? To her parched senses he tasted like man and sex and long, hot nights.
    With her adrenaline pumping like crazy, they resumed walking until they reached the end of the path where the boat-house gazed out over the water, its windows blank and enigmatic. As they stepped onto the boardwalk near the landing stage, the moonlight contoured the Frenchman’s face with hard lines and angles.