'Be realistic. We have had an excellent arrangement, you and I.' The man's hand curved coaxingly around the woman's shoulder. 'Don't spoil it by asking more. Now, you really must go. As a matter of interest, how did you know where to find me?' His voice faded as, to Parisa's relief, he urged the woman towards the bedroom door. But for a second Parisa had the uneasy feeling that his voice was familiar.
'Your arrival was in the newspaper and I knew you had bought the casino, so when you weren't at the usual place I checked with the casino, and they gave me the address of..
Parisa could hear no more, but her blood boiled with anger. The swine must have blackmailed a hell of a lot of women if he could afford to buy one of the biggest private casinos in London. She heard the door shut, and then the sound of yet another door closing told her they were gone.
Carefully she wiped her sweaty palms down over her slim hips. The black leotard she was wearing absorbed some of the moisture. That was a close shave, she thought, breathing deeply until slowly her heartbeat returned to something like normal. Then, swiftly and silently, she moved out of the bathroom and into the hall.
The excitement that had sent her adrenalin sky-high as she had climbed up the fire-escape had now turned to a deep fear, bordering on panic. She must have been mad! she told herself, but resolutely she crossed the hall, opened yet another door and found herself in a large, gloomy room. She did not dare turn on the light, but carefully withdrew a torch from the pouch on the wide leather belt circling her waist. She switched it on. Yes, there was the desk. Swiftly crossing the room, she tried the first drawer. It was locked. Digging once more into the pouch at her waist, she found a penknife. Her fulllips quirked in a brief smile. If the scout troop could see her now!
Bending over the desk, she inserted the knife between the wood and the lock, and wriggled it around. Nothing happened. It looked easy enough on the movies, she thought with exasperation, and, leaning lower, she began jabbing at the stubborn lock. A sharp crack and she'd done it!
There was the packet of photographs. Quickly she took them out and, straightening, she ran the torch over the snaps. Yes, it was Moya all right. Considering some people bathed completely naked in the south of France, they were hardly pornographic. If Moya had been marrying into any other family, they would not have caused a ripple. Parisa smiled in satisfaction. Mission accomplished! She turned and walked straight into a large male body.
'Got you.'
She did not know what had hit her. Before she could cry out a strong-muscled arm had caught her around the waist, and flung her down on the floor. Parisa opened her mouth to scream when her attacker landed heavily on top of her, knocking the air out of her lungs so that the scream came out as a high-pitched squeak. She was enveloped in the musky scent of a warm male body. Parisa, stunned for a moment, made no attempt to escape. Still dazed, she realised she was flat on her back on the floor with what felt like a ton weight sitting on top of her. Her wrists were jerked above her head and pinned to the floor, and she saw an am raised to strike her.
'Get off me, you great brute!' she screamed, finally finding her voice. 'Or I'll call the police.' She was so furious that she never realised the incongruity of her remark, and with all the breath knocked out of her she was not in much of a condition to fight. But she did her best, bucking wildly beneath the hard body trapping her.
The hand that she had thought was about to strike her roughly pulled the black Balaclava from her head. Her platinum hair fell down in wild disarray as a large hand cupped her chin.
'Well, well, what have we here?'
He sounded like a ham actor in a B movie, Parisa thought irrelevantly, but quickly lost her sense of humour, suddenly aware of her appalling predicament. His heavy thighs gripped her waist. He was bent over her, his other hand firmly clasping her wrists. She was helpless. She felt the warmth of his breath on her face, and by the dim light of her torch, which was now lying on the floor, she saw the man's face for the first time...
'You!' she squeaked. 'I might have known.' He was older, but there was no mistaking the black, winged eyebrows, the hard line of his jaw, and the ruthless black eyes.
'Dio. Parisa.'
She stared, mesmerized as his handsome face came closer. Then everything went dark as his mouth crushed down on hers. He kissed her with a savage, angry passion—not a kiss, a defilement. Her head began to swim; she was going to pass out if she did not breathe soon.
Then a blinding light flashed in her eyes. The man's head jerked up, but he did not set her free. Dazed, Parisa moved her head to one side and saw a pair of elegantly shod feet, a slender, very feminine ankle.
'Really, Luc, surely you could have waited until you got to the bedroom?'
'Tina. You've arrived.' A deep, rasping voice echoed in Parisa's stunned mind.
'At the wrong moment, obviously.' The light laugh was followed by a shocked cry. 'My God! Parisa Belmont, after all this time! I never knew you two had kept in touch, but I'm delighted. I always thought you would make a great couple.'
From flat on her back on the floor, Parisa looked up into the grinning face of Tina Franco, a girl who had briefly attended the same boarding-school as herself. Parisa muttered a polite, 'Good evening, Tina.' Had she really said that? What an idiot. It was all just too much. The whole fiasco bore all the hallmarks of a French farce.
She closed her eyes. This was a nightmare; it had to be. But the weight of the man straddling her was very real; the slight, lingering trace of his cologne teased her nostrils. Suddenly her eyes flew open. There was no mistaking the hard masculine length of him pressing into her stomach. The filthy swine was fully aroused...
'Let me up,' she whispered fiercely, her pale face scarlet with embarrassment. As if he had just realised the intimate position they were in, he immediately jumped to his feet. Keeping his back to the latest arrival, he stretched out a hand to help Parisa to her feet. Not letting go of her hand, he slowly turned to face Tina.
'Sorry about that, cousin, but you did promise to call earlier.'
'Yes, well, Gino and I decided to eat first. We weren't sure if the apartment was near a restaurant. He's waiting downstairs in the taxi; we are flying back to Italy tonight.' And, holding out a black briefcase, she added, 'All the papers you wanted are in there. I have to dash!' Turning a brilliant smile on Parisa, she concluded with, 'It is great to see you again. I'm sorry I haven't time to chat, but you must come to the party on Tuesday. Luc's mother will be delighted to meet you. Ciao.' And she was gone.
The silence was deafening. Parisa tried to ease her hand from Luc's, but, without a word, he tightened his grasp and half dragged her across the room to a large hide sofa, and with a jerk of her hand he pushed her down. 'Sit down.'
She had no choice but to obey. Nervously she rubbed her cramped fingers. If she had had the slightest suspicion that the man Moya had been involved with was Luca Di Maggi—Luc, to his friends—she would have run a mile. She had met the man once, at the tender age of fourteen, and she had hoped never to see him again.
'So, Parisa Belmont—or should I say Lady Parisa Hardcourt-Belmont?' His mocking drawl grated on her shredded nerves. 'We meet again, and it is obvious age has not taught you any discretion. Perhaps you could explain what you think you are doing, dressed up like a cat burglar, and breaking into this apartment.'
He was towering over her, and for the first time that evening she got a really good look at him, a feeling of helplessness washing over her as she stared up at him. Huge and elegant, his dark jacket taut over his broad shoulders, his white silk shirt open at the throat, revealing the firm tanned flesh beneath, the slight dark shadowing of body hair clearly visible. He was powerful, all male and, as her wary blue eyes met his, absolutely furious.
'If you are so desperate for money I would have thought a woman of your obvious charms could have tried the oldest profession, before resorting to stealing,' he said cynically, his dark eyes raking her slender frame with a blatant sexual thoroughness that left her feeling as if he had stripped her naked.