She swallowed nervously, looking away, and her glance fell on the packet of photographs lying where she had dropped them on the carpet. The sight of them reminded her why she was in this mess, and grim determination stiffened her spine. She sat up straight, lifting her head to stare into the harsh face of her adversary.
'It is not money I am after. That is surely your game, Luc. But you tried to blackmail the wrong girl when you picked on Moya. She is a friend of mine.' She did not bother to mask the derision in her brilliant blue eyes. It was this man who was outside the law, not her, she told herself firmly. 'As for breaking in…'
I left the door open for a moment.' He said the words softly, as though he was talking to himself, and for a second Parisa caught a puzzled look in his dark eyes as his gaze swung searchingly around the room. 'You walked in.' He moved towards the desk, opened the drawer, then noticed the photographs on the floor and, bending down, picked them up.
She did not bother to correct him. There was no need for him to know she had seen him with his mistress. Parisa watched him flick through the photographs, his sensuous mouth curving in a knowing smile.
'You came for these?' he queried, turning towards her.
The swine knew damn well she had. 'Of course.' She rose to her feet and bravely walked across to Luc. 'And as for paying thousands for them, you can go whistle.' She reached out and caught one end of the packet, but Luc quickly grasped her wrist and, by the simple expedient of tightening his grip, forced her to let go.
'Not so fast, Parisa. You think I am blackmailing this girl.' He shook the packet in front of her. 'So you decided to break into this apartment and steal the evidence. Have I got that right?'
'Don't try to play the innocent with me, Luc Di Maggi. I know all about your little game. To supplement your income from the casino you blackmail defenseless young women,' she jeered.
'The casino—you know about that?'
What was the matter with the man? Did he really think he could fool her with all these questions? 'Either you give me those photographs or I call the police,' she bluffed. The touch of his hand on her wrist, the closeness of his large frame, was having a very odd effect on her over strung nerves. She had to get out of here, and quick. Apart from anything else, she did not have a great deal of confidence in Moya. The girl was terrified, and it would not take much to push Moya over the edge and make her drive off if Parisa was much longer.
Luc's deep voice broke the lengthening silence. 'The police, Parisa? You surprise me. I thought you were more intelligent.'
'Blackmail is a major crime,' she snapped.
'But, my dear Parisa, by the time the police arrive I will have burnt the evidence, and all they will find is a young woman dressed for robbery.' His dark eyes skated over her, his lips tilting in a sensual smile as his eyes lingered on her full breasts.
Suddenly she realised what a sight she must look. The black leotard and black tights clung to every curve of her slender body like a second skin. Defensively she folded her arms over her chest, at a loss for words. If he did burn the evidence Moya's problem would be solved, but hers would only just be starting.
'Yes, cara.' He watched the changing emotions flickering across her lovely face. 'Instead they will see you, your knife and my broken desk. With the addition of a bundle of money, I think I can safely say you will end up serving a rather long hard sentence.'
His scenario was all too easy to believe, Parisa realised with a sinking heart, and her brief burst of confidence dwindled to nothing. Instead she stared up into a pair of cold black eyes, fearful of what would come next.
'However I'll make a deal with you. If you are agreeable, I will guarantee that your friend receives the photographs and negatives very soon, and in complete secrecy.'
'A deal.' She did not trust him. How could she? He was a crook, but she had to hear him out. 'What kind of deal?' she demanded, managing to sound much more in control than she felt.
Casually he strolled across the room and, placing the vital package in the drawer of a long mahogany sideboard, he picked up a bottle of whisky from a silver tray placed on top, and poured a generous measure of liquid into a crystal tumbler. 'Join me in a drink and I will explain.' His dark head turned towards her. 'Whisky, or perhaps brandy would be better. You look a little shocked.'
Shocked did not begin to describe Parisa's feelings, and there was no way she was going to share a drink with the man. 'Nothing for me, thank you,' she refused. 'Just get on with it.'
'Such impatience,' he mocked, and in a few lithe strides fee crossed the room and sprawled his large frame in the chair opposite. He took a sip of the amber liquid, his dark eyes fixed, on her with a narrow-eyed scrutiny, as if he was coming to some conclusion in his own mind. 'Yes,' he murmured almost to himself. 'Well, Parisa, it is quite simple. As Tina mentioned when she so rudely interrupted us, I have to go to my mother's birthday party in Italy on Tuesday.'
'I'm surprised you have a mother,' she muttered.
'Grazie, Parisa...'
'Yes, well get on with it”.
'My mother is seventy, but sadly not in the best of health, and it is her dearest wish to see me married. I have no desire to put my head in that particular noose, but for my mother's peace of mind I don't mind pretending, and that's where you come in.'
Parisa looked at him suspiciously; she did not think she liked the sound of this at all. Her blue eyes lingered on his face. He was a very handsome man. Thick dark hair fell in a slight wave across his broad forehead. His dark eyes were half closed, disguising his expression behind thick, curling lashes. His mouth was wide, the bottom lip slightly fuller than the top, his chin square and hard. His typical Roman nose gave an added ruggedness to features that would otherwise have been classically handsome.
'How?' she asked warily.
'You come to Italy and act as my fiancée for a couple of days, and your friend gets her photographs back. I think my mother will be suitably impressed with an English Lady as a prospective daughter-in-law, and it will get her off my back for a while.'
Parisa saw it all, of course. His mistress had begged to go with him earlier, and he had bluntly turned her down. Parisa never used her title, but she was quite used to other people using it when trying to impress. But could she stomach a couple of days in the company of a crook? And at the moment, virtually his prisoner, did she have a choice?
'What would I have to do, exactly?' She stalled for time. Luc placed his glass on a nearby table and, rising, moved to stand in front of her, much too close for her liking. She raised her head, his dark presence intimidating her. 'Attend one party, that is all...' she prompted, as though she was considering his proposition.