Tall, Dark And Dangerous

‘We were at school together for almost a year,’ corrected Ginny, trying in vain to mask her growing resentment. ‘And not only did we write to one another, we also managed to meet once or twice over the years. Of all her ex-stepmothers, Jane’s the one Libby is closest to and still sees whenever she can.’

‘From what I’ve heard, it was always handy for Libby to have England to escape to from whatever mess she got herself into in the States,’ he stated, his heavy-lidded eyes coolly watchful. ‘Though it seems she’s now traded in England for France…Or will she end up running back to England from here this time, instead of from the States?’

‘I suppose it’s never occurred to you that it might be her family she’s always running from?’ exploded Ginny, and instantly regretted her outburst. ‘Look, I’m sorry—I had no right to say that,’ she apologised, certain she had, but even more certain that if she didn’t get her temper in hand she would end up giving something away.

‘No, you hadn’t,’ he agreed, his eyes blazing. ‘So Libby’s still running, is she? If that’s the case, I think it’s time we cut the pussy-footing and got on to what it is you and she are up to here!’

‘Up to?’ croaked Ginny. ‘We’re not up to anything! And you misunderstood me—I didn’t mean to imply Libby was actually running from you now!’

‘So what’s she doing?’

‘How do you mean, exactly?’

He flashed her a look of irritation. ‘A couple of years back, Libby got herself involved with a playboy French aristocrat—a guy with about as much idea of responsibility as she has—and later followed him to France. He disappeared off the scene several months ago and she’s been living down here ever since—and no one’s heard a word from her.’

‘I’ve heard from her!’ retorted Ginny, astounded by how much he seemed to know. But if only he knew the rest of it; how, accepting they both had irresponsible pasts to live down, Jean-Claude and Libby had agreed to his parents’ conditions to giving their marriage their blessing—a year’s total separation, during which time Jean-Claude proved himself in the family business and neither came within a hair’s breadth of scandal. ‘I’ve heard from her,’ repeated Ginny, the words losing their edge of indignation as she struggled to shake free from those thoughts. ‘She wrote and asked me to join her here.’

‘That’s not the story you were giving me a few moments ago.’

‘I wasn’t giving you a story a few moments ago,’ she protested, his tone re-igniting her indignation. ‘My wanting a change of scenery happened to coincide with Libby writing to me.’

‘How very convenient,’ he drawled. ‘You housekeep and tend the gardens—but what does my niece do to while away the hours? We’re talking here about a girl who isn’t happy unless she’s surrounded by a freeloading mob of lunatics; a girl who, twice in her life, has had to be rescued by this terrible family of hers from dubious, if not downright dangerous, communes in which she got herself involved!’

‘I know about that,’ said Ginny uneasily, remembering Libby’s own retrospective horror and shame when she had confided those episodes to her only a few months ago. ‘And she’s only too aware of what you saved her from…You see, Libby’s changed; she’s——’

‘If she’s changed so much,’ he cut in savagely, ‘how come she takes off the moment I arrive?’

‘She hasn’t taken off,’ protested Ginny wretchedly, wondering how much of this she could take. ‘She had already gone when you arrived!’

‘So why did you feel obliged to call her and warn her I was here?’

‘For heaven’s sake, she rang me! groaned Ginny. ‘Simply to say she didn’t know how long she’d be staying on in Paris.’

‘Oh yeah?’ he drawled, imbuing the words with every bit as much scepticism as his niece did whenever she used them.

‘Perhaps it won’t surprise you to hear that, even had she not intended staying in Paris—which she had—she probably would have once I told her you were here,’ retorted Ginny, as her wits at last began collecting themselves. ‘I got the impression that you weren’t exactly her favourite person.’

‘And I guess I can’t exactly be yours either,’ he murmured, flashing her an unexpected smile. ‘I shouldn’t be taking out my feelings over family problems on an innocent bystander—especially not one who’s served me up such a delightful meal.’

Ginny gave him a wary look, dazzled by the smile, yet not entirely convinced there hadn’t been a measure of sarcasm in his softly spoken words.

‘And now that we’re on the subject, I have a proposition to put to you.’ He gave a throaty chuckle as Ginny’s eyes widened in consternation. ‘I know they say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,’ he laughed, ‘but that’s not the sort of proposition I had in mind.’

Ginny maintained a mortified silence, wondering how on earth she could be expected to feed this man a string of lies when she was so easily caught off her guard.

‘I keep you on as housekeeper and gardener—and you help me mend my bridges with Libby. You see, she’s probably not aware that about a year ago I took over the European side of the family business—my base is now Paris.’

Libby was most certainly not aware that there was a member of the Grant family on the same continent, let alone a few hundred miles up the road from here, thought Ginny, her heart plummeting.

‘Now that I’m settled in Paris, I’ve decided to combine a vacation with a look at our banking connections in the south. No doubt I’ll have to make the odd trip or two back to Paris, but, for the next month, I’ll be based here.’

‘You…’ began Ginny, and had to clear her throat when she discovered her mouth was bone-dry. ‘You’ll be staying here for a month?’

‘That’s what I said,’ he replied, the heavily lashed midnight blue of his eyes drilling through her. ‘Does the idea disturb you, Ginny?’

‘What a strange thing to say!’ she blustered, but what should have been a careless laugh came out as a strangled croak.

‘Right,’ he stated briskly. ‘I’ll let the agents know I’m here and they can arrange for extra staff for laundry and housework—I don’t intend overworking you. As I see it, the only extra work for you will be cooking for three instead of two once Libby gets back.’

‘Fine,’ managed Ginny, so limp with shock that she was astounded she had actually got the word out. Right now she had to accept she was in no fit state to absorb any of this, she warned herself. ‘Would you like me to make fresh coffee?’ she offered, her mind beginning to ease into the blank state that had become its refuge during the years of mental warfare with her aunt.

‘No, this is fine,’ he said, producing a smile that penetrated her blankness and forcefully revived the memory of her initial reaction to his stunning looks. ‘But I wouldn’t mind a cognac—you will join me, won’t you?’ he asked, rising.

Thrown by her reaction to what, after all, had only been a smile, she decided she would join him, despite the fact that she rarely drank spirits…A cognac might be just what her strung-out nerves needed.

But after her first few sips of the fierily velvet spirit she found herself wondering if it wasn’t over-stimulating her awareness as she began feeling she was hearing the odd note of mockery creeping into the tone of his desultory, though studiously polite conversation. Though it might have nothing to do with the cognac, she reasoned uncertainly, because even in the best of circumstances he wasn’t the sort of man in whose company she would ever have felt in the least relaxed. And it wasn’t simply his scarcely credible looks, it was everything else about him—from the almost arrogant ease oozing from his every pore to the careless expensiveness of every stitch he wore—that made him the sort of person who left her feeling gauche and vaguely inadequate.

‘I’m sure that drive from Paris must have been tiring,’ exclaimed Ginny, rising also and reaching over to collect the coffee-cups. ‘I’m sure I’d have—’ She let out a gasp of horror as she knocked a heavy crystal glass off the table. ‘Oh, heavens!’ she groaned, sinking to her knees and attempting to pick up pieces of the shattered glass. ‘I’m so sorry!’

‘For God’s sake, what do you think you’re doing?’ he exclaimed impatiently, striding over and hauling her to her feet. ‘You’ll cut yourself!’

‘I really am sorry,’ she muttered dazedly.

‘So you broke a glass—it’s no big deal.’

But a glass, judging by the weight and feel of it, that probably cost a small fortune, she fretted, her head beginning to swim. ‘I’ll replace it—I promise.’

‘I’m not too sure about that,’ he said, something in his tone drawing Ginny’s eyes to his. She had thought for an instant he had been about to laugh, but there was no trace of laughter in either his expression or his tone as he continued. ‘You see, that was one of a set, made exclusively for my great-great-grandfather—I guess they could be described as priceless.’

Ginny felt herself slump weakly against the table.

‘So…I don’t think you’ll be replacing it in any hurry.’

This time when she looked up at him, she actually caught a glimpse of amusement on his face, before it instantly disappeared—or had she imagined it?

‘I…This isn’t your idea of a joke, is it?’ she asked uncertainly.

‘Of course it is,’ he groaned exasperatedly. ‘But it riled me the way you were carrying on as though the darned glass really had been priceless.’

‘You have an extremely warped sense of humour,’ she retorted with as much dignity as she could muster.

‘You know something, Ginny?’ he drawled. ‘I’ve a feeling I’m really going to enjoy my stay here—what with my warped humour and——’ He broke off, frowning as he leaned forward and peered down into her face.

‘What is it?’ she exclaimed, alarmed.

‘Just indulging my warped humour,’ he murmured, taking her by the shoulders and drawing her closer to him. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if I didn’t make the wrong proposition to you earlier,’ he added huskily, lowerng his head towards hers.

Her entire body stiffened as his lips touched, then gently stirred against hers. Her first thought was to wonder where, exactly, she should attack him; her second was that it might not be such a good idea to attack any part of someone of his build. And then there was the fact that he wasn’t using the slightest force as his mouth played in soft invitation against hers and that all she had to do was step back to escape. But at some point during those thoughts, her own lips had parted in a manner that could only be described as inviting, and her arms had somehow become entwined around his neck. And it was then, and only then, that his arms encircled her, drawing her body fully against the muscled leanness of his. It wasn’t until a hint of demand entered his kiss that she began fighting—not the man, but the sensuous softness slinking insidiously throughout her entire being.