Wearily she slid out of the car and reluctantly entered the house. The changes were immediately obvious. The wood parquet floor of the hall had been scraped, sealed and polished, the cornice and ceiling all repainted. A new stair carpet held in place with brass runners enhanced the grand staircase. The only jarring effect was the absence of the family portraits, revealing lighter patches on the mellow oak panelling of the walls. They had been removed for cleaning.
In the three weeks since she had walked out of the hotel and Luc's life, the alterations in her home had proceeded with break-neck efficiency. Didi was ecstatic about the new kitchen and the new bathrooms. At the moment the plumber was installing a bathroom in the new master suite. Parisa had decided on the design and colour scheme when in London with Luc. Now she could not bear to go near the room. In fact she was fast reaching the stage where she had to force herself to walk into her old home at all.
She dropped her rucksack in the hall, her hand going to undo the tie at her neck, then pulling off the scarf restraining her hair. She must get out of her uniform, she thought tiredly. She would give anything for a good night's sleep, but knew all the money in the world could not bring her the peace of mind she craved.
'Good, you're back, Miss Parisa. I thought I heard something.' Didi stood at the foot of the stairs.
'Yes, Didi, and I'm going to have a bath and an early night. I have school tomorrow.'
'But it's only five, and what about dinner? I've made all your favourites.'
Parisa stopped, one foot on the stair, and, turning her head, she looked at the older woman. She knew she had hurt Didi deeply by refusing point-blank to discuss her marriage, and she did not want to hurt her any more, but the last thing she needed after canoeing with a horde of kids all weekend was to have to face yet more signs of her new wealth in the form of an expensively refurbished dining-room. 'Please, Didi. I'm shattered.'
'And what am I supposed to do with the food I have already cooked?'
'All right, give me an hour or so.' Parisa relented, and, turning, began to ascend the stairs. The deep pile carpet was rich beneath her feet, but her lips curled with distaste as she reached the upper hall. How had she ever convinced herself she was cynical enough to sell herself for the sake of a house? She must have had a brainstorm. There was no other explanation. It hurt her every time she looked at all the alterations, knowing who had paid for them... She closed her bedroom door behind her with a heartfelt sigh of relief.
Her sanctuary: the one place not yet altered. She eyed her old four-poster bed longingly, but forced herself to strip off her uniform and, slipping on her robe, made her way to the bathroom. After a quick shower she returned to her room, and, still wearing only her robe, gratefully lay down on the old bed. At least here there was nothing to remind her of her folly, she thought, and closed her eyes.
She was immediately tormented by images of Luc and the passion she had found in his arms, the naive hope she had felt that he would fall in love with her, and the terrible night when all her hopes and dreams were so brutally betrayed. She relived in her mind the journey from the hotel.
She had left the taxi at the railway station and dashed for the ladies' room, where she had been violently sick. She had had no idea how long she had sat there until a railway official had told her they were locking up for the night. The last train had left. She had spent the night lying on a single bed in a seedy hotel, crying her eyes out. The following morning, when she had returned to Hardcourt Manor, Didi had greeted her in extreme agitation. Luc had called countless times. Parisa had walked past the exasperated Didi, refusing to discuss him, or ring the number he had left.
She never wanted to hear from the lying swine again. The following day, the clothes she had left behind arrived by post, and any lingering subconscious hope that Luc might care for her was squashed for all time. The note that accompanied the clothes read: 'You earned them, keep them. Luc.'
Parisa sighed, and finally slid into an uneasy sleep. Oh, God! It was happening again. Would this dream never cease? She felt the flood of heat in her slender body, and stirred restlessly on the wide bed. His lips, so firm, so smooth, so hot, were once again trailing across her skin, down the curve of her cheek, teasing the corner of her mouth. Her lips parted, but the heated caress travelled on down her throat. She moaned softly, her eyelashes fluttering. She wanted to lose herself in the dream, but knew the agony of waking up alone and frustrated was too much to bear.
Parisa forced her eyes open, and gasped. It was no
dream. Sitting on the side of the bed, leaning over her, one hand either side of her shoulders, was Luc. 'You...' she exclaimed.
'I should hope so. Who else but your husband has the right to be in your bedroom?' his mocking voice demanded.
'How did you...? Who let you in?' she asked hoarsely, her pale face flooding with colour.
She watched as he rose from the bed and walked across to the window, his back to her. His hair had grown— progressed from short and spiky to soft curls. She could see the beginning of the savage scar on the back of his neck before it was hidden beneath the cream collar of his knitted shirt. His broad shoulders seemed oddly tense. Her eyes slid down the long length of him—his taut buttocks, the muscular legs covered in dark tan trousers. She couldn't tear her gaze away. Once she had known his body as intimately as her own. The heat scorched through her as a vivid mental image of her and Luc naked... Brutally she stamped down on the image, and sat up. Readjusting her robe more firmly around her, she swung her legs to the floor. The silence was filled with an electric tension that she was desperate to dispel.
'What are you doing here?' she demanded coolly, amazed at the even timbre of her voice, when in reality she felt as though she were dying inside.
'It's not unusual for a man to want to see his wife.' Luc turned and sat down on the wide window-sill, one long leg stretched negligently in front of him, the other hooked sideways across the sill. The fabric of his trousers pulled tight across his thigh, his elegantly shod foot swinging back and forwards, the muscles in his thigh rippling erotically with the movement, and Parisa swallowed hard as an unwanted stab of desire pierced her loins.
'In the ordinary course of events, yes, but surely that does not apply in our case?' She arched one delicate eyebrow in mock query, and bravely faced him. The evening sun behind him tipped his black hair with gold. His rugged features were remarkably bland, but for some reason his dark eyes avoided her direct stare. If she had not known better she could have sworn he looked unsure, almost wary. But Luc Di Maggi had never had a moment's uncertainty in his life. He knew what he wanted and took it, as she knew all too well.
'"Our case",' he parroted. 'Which reminds me, did you have a good weekend?'
'Strenuous, but good fun.' She wondered how he knew and couldn't resist asking.
'I rang on Saturday morning. Didi told me you had left for the weekend. It is rather a humiliating experience to be told by the housekeeper where one's wife is and who with. David, wasn't it?' he sneered and straightened up, his black eyes seeking hers as he continued, 'Your old boyfriend.'
Her blue eyes widened in astonishment. There was nothing unsure about him. He looked furious, but what had he said? Didi had spoken to him.
'Was he good, Parisa? Did he make you cry out the way I can?' he demanded icily, advancing towards her with an ominous expression on his rugged face. 'Did you wrap this glorious silver hair around him?' His hand snaked out and caught a handful of her long hair, tugging her towards him, the icy anger in his tone giving way to something much more sinister... 'Did you cling and whimper his name? Did you? You bitch...'
'What's it got to do with you?' she bit out, her hands pushing against his massive chest, as she looked a long way up into his furious black eyes. 'You and I had a deal, and it's finished.' How dared he call her names, assume she was as immoral as he was, the swine? She had wept buckets for this man. What a waste of emotion...
He went oddly white round the mouth. 'Dio, Parisa. Don't try me too far or I'll make you regret it.'
A bitter smile contorted her full lips. As for regret, she already rued the day she had ever met him. 'And you have a lot further to go, so I suggest you leave now...' she said sarcastically while battling to subdue the wayward feelings his closeness aroused in her traitorous body.