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time.'
'So where did you get treatment?'
'I met one of my neighbours in the lift at my building. He was much
concerned at the sight of me, and insisted on driving me to a hospital,' Luc
shrugged, it was unnecessary, but without the stitch there would have been a
scar, the doctor informed me.'
'Would that have worried you?'
His eyes gleamed sardonically. 'From a cosmetic point of view, not at all.
But it occurred to me that if the cut was slow to get better I would not be able
to kiss anyone.' The black- lashed eyes narrowed with a look that quickened
her pulse. 'And even as you look now, cherie, with that regrettable black eye,
the urge to kiss you is so strong it is a miracle I am so tamely keeping my
distance.'
Portia felt colour flood into her face, and she jumped to her feet, which was a
mistake, since Luc rose swiftly to bar her way. He stared down into her eyes,
then took her in his arms.
'Do not be afraid,' he muttered into her hair, and tightened his hold as though
expecting her to pull away. 'Yesterday you pushed me away.'
'I know,' she said into his shirt-front.
'Today is different?'
it appears to be.'
Luc put a finger under her chin and lifted her bruised face to his, a wry smile
twisting his injured mouth. 'Next weekend,' he said huskily, 'my stitch will
be gone. If I flyover on Saturday, will you dine with me, Portia? Or will this
man of yours object?'
'I'm my own woman, Luc,' she said with emphasis. 'If I want to dine with
you I shall.'
His eyes glittered. 'And do you?'
She thought about it for a moment. 'Ring me later in the week.'
He scowled blackly. 'Why can you not say yes right now?'
Portia gave him a crooked little smile. 'Because I'm not dining out anywhere
with a black eye, Luc Brissac. I do have my pride. So if you ring me on
Friday I'll let you know if I'm fit to be seen.'
'I care nothing for your black eye.'
'Possibly not. But I do,' she said firmly, and smiled up at him.
'Mon Dieu,' he breathed, closing his eyes. 'I want to kiss you so much,
Portia.'
'I could kiss you,' she offered, surprising herself.
Luc's eyes flew open, staring down into hers in disbelief.
'I'll be very careful,' she promised, and reached up to place her mouth at the
corner of his, where she couldn't hurt him.
Luc stood like a man undergoing torture, his eyes tightly shut as her mouth
moved over his cheek, and touched the bruise on his jaw with exquisite
gentleness. With a stifled groan he put her away from him, breathing
unevenly as he looked down at her flushed face.
'I was angry when I arrived,' he muttered.
'I know.'
'I thought you disliked me so much you would not even tell me where you
lived.' He let out a deep, unsteady breath. 'Whereas I '
'Whereas you?' prompted Portia.
"I do not dislike you,' he said in a constricted voice. .'But if I say more as
you well know I wish to do you will refuse to see me again.'
Portia was surprised to find how unlikely that was. Now. It must be the
knock on the head, she decided. It was by no means a habit of hers to kiss
any man of her own accord. But his protective embrace had been strangely
seductive.
'No,' she said quietly. 'I don't think I'll do that.'
'Bon. I am pleased.' Luc's eyes locked with hers. 'I must warn you, Portia,
that it is only our respective wounds that force me to such restraint.'
Portia looked at him in silence for a moment. 'Are you saying,' she said
slowly, 'that you will expect to sleep with me afterwards if I accept your
invitation to dinner?'
He stood very still, his eyes suddenly like ice. 'I expect nothing, other than
the pleasure of your company. I am no schoolboy ruled by the demands of
my body, Portia.'
She shrugged, to mask the little chill that ran through her at the sudden
coldness in his expressive voice. 'It's best to make things clear.'
Luc eyed her with hostility. 'Does this man of yours submit so tamely to such
restrictions, Portia?'
'Not that it's any of your business, but as it happens he does.'
Luc shook his head in wonder. 'What kind of man is he?'
'A friend.'
'I was a fool to delude myself that I could be your friend.'
Portia was suddenly as angry as Luc. 'It's obvious we'd better keep our
acquaintance on a purely business level.'
'Which, of course, is what you value most.' The green eyes shot sparks of
fire at her. 'As long as I buy Turret House it is all that matters to you, n'est
cepas?'
'It matters, yes.'
He looked at her in silence for a moment. 'As I said before, Portia, you are
bad for my self-esteem.'
'Or possibly good for it,' she contradicted tartly. 'I suppose other women in
your life fall over themselves to do whatever you want?'
Luc's eyebrows rose tauntingly. 'Are you curious about the women in my
life?'
'Not in the least,' she lied.
'Then I shall not discuss them. I must go. I arranged an appointment for noon
today.'
'Then I won't keep you,' said Portia tightly, and went ahead of him to the
door. 'Goodbye, Luc. Thank you again for the roses.'
'I am glad you liked them,' he said, looking down at her broodingly. 'They
reminded me of you.'
Her eyes narrowed, in what way?'
'Their tawny beauty and their thorns.' He touched a finger to her unbruised
cheek, and left without another word.
Not even an au revoir, she thought bitterly, and wondered who, exactly, he
was on his way to meet.
Portia's eye had progressed to an angry plum colour ringed with green by
next day, and, as expected, it provoked ribald, predictable comments from
her male colleagues. Portia was in a bad mood by the time Biddy provided
her with strong black coffee to kick-start her day.
'Are you telling the truth, Portia?' asked the middle-aged, streetwise Biddy.
'I mean, you didn't have a run-in with some bloke, by any chance?'
'No. I really did hit my head on a car window.' Portia thought for a moment.
'And if Monsieur Brissac the man buying Turret House rings, just take a
message.'
'You mean whether you're here or not?' said Biddy sagely.
'Exactly.'
'Whatever you say. Mr Parrish wants a private word, by the way, when
you've got a minute.'
When Portia went into Ben Parrish's office he rose and pulled out a chair.
'Take five and sit down.'
She did so, eyeing him questioningly. 'What's up?'
He looked away, shuffling papers in front of him on the desk. 'How much do
you know about Luc Brissac?'
Startled by a secret leap of reaction, Portia shrugged casually. 'He's French,
and represents a hotel chain. Other than that, not a lot.'
Ben eyed her uneasily. 'I feel a bit responsible because you had to get
involved in the Turret House sale with him. It occurred to me you might like
to know more about his background.
'Portia looked at him in alarm. 'Don't tell me he's not good for the money!'
Ben shook his head. 'Quite the reverse. Luc Brissac was only
twenty-something when he turned the family chateau into a hotel, and just
went on from there. His speciality is snapping up country houses and turning
them into hotels I quote "famous for individuality and luxury". Both
here and in France. The man's a millionaire.'
Portia stared at him. 'But he beat me down on the price of Turret House.'
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