A Husband's Vendetta

She wasn’t the kind of person he wanted Gemma to be with, not ever again. Ellen’s part in the visit was off. He’d have to make other arrangements. Nothing could be more inconvenient! Still, there was one consolation. At least in future he wouldn’t have to cope with Gemma’s hysterics every time she returned from seeing her flighty, selfish mother.

Slowly his resentful gaze wandered over Ellen’s tight, firm rear, and he felt his blood pressure rising as he imagined other men touching her, hearing her moans and whimpers…. Luc clenched his fists, but in his mind he was tasting the softness of her flesh, its satin smoothness eagerly accepting his tongue, his lips…

Shaking, he lifted the newspaper higher and hid behind it, appalled by the strength of his desire. He tried to read but her image danced before his eyes and the latest political scandal didn’t have a chance. Wherever he focused, there was Ellen: slender and beautiful and wearing that outrageous lime top and body-moulding skirt, both of which left little to the imagination as far as her shapely curves were concerned.

She was announcing her availability. And he was salivating and lusting after her like any normal male. But the difference was that he knew that she was a piranha and he had no intention of being eaten alive. On the contrary, he meant to eat her.

Ellen had heard the rustle of the newspaper and presumed he was looking in her direction. Contrarily, she ignored him and made her way to the counter instead of going over and saying hello. Behind her back she could feel the atmosphere thickening. The hairs on the nape of her neck came to attention.

She didn’t want to turn around. Her first-night nerves seemed to have returned with a vengeance. She felt, she thought, groping for humour to ease her jitters, as if she were about to recite her thirty-four times table before a bunch of university dons.

‘How’s your love life? Still fighting them off?’ asked Tracy enviously, in a voice which could have reached across a windswept airfield.

Ellen gave a silent groan. More grist to Luc’s mill! Not that it mattered any more. ‘In droves,’ she said with a sigh.

Tracy leaned close and produced her version of a whisper. ‘That’s one of yours, over there. Been asking after you. Eyelashes and foreign accent to die for! Go on, grab him before someone else does—’

‘No, thanks. I’m trying to give him up. He’s my estranged husband, Tracy,’ she said drily. And she winked and made a face to show that she wasn’t offended by Tracy’s remarks.

‘No sweat!’ Tracy eyed Ellen in awe. ‘You sure can reel ’em in! So who left who?’

Casting a covert glance at the mirror behind Tracy’s head, she saw that Luc was watching her, his dark eyes glittering cynically.

‘I left him.’

‘I knew it! You’re mad!’ Tracy said with a grin.

Ellen gave a wry smile. ‘Many a true word said in jest,’ she replied.

With her heart beating in a peculiar rhythm, she picked up her coffee and doughnut and swivelled around carefully, remaining perfectly balanced on her stilettos. A movement told her that, always the gentleman, he’d risen from his seat and was waiting for her to go over. Deliberately avoiding his gaze, she walked towards him with measured stride, her eyes firmly fixed on the mug and plate in her hands.

Everything seemed magnified. Her breathing. The supple movement of her body, the unstoppable sway of her hips. And suddenly she became intensely conscious of the tightness of her skirt and the brightness of the top she was wearing.

She argued that her clothes were no different from those of the younger women at work. The same as Tracy’s even. It annoyed her that she suddenly felt uncomfortable with what she was wearing, when even blue-blooded babes in the society columns were sporting equally trendy and far racier outfits. There was nothing wrong with her gear. She looked great. To hell with it.

‘Evening.’

The manner in which he spoke conveyed total disapproval. By focusing her attention on placing the plate and mug on the table, then sliding gracefully onto the red plastic seat, she successfully dispelled her knee-jerk dismay at Luc’s intense assessment. He could think what he liked. She didn’t need his approbation.

Slowly she elevated her chin, meeting his gaze with a steely and haughty stare. He returned it with the force of a flashing laser beam. A shock of recognition ran through her body, throwing her emotions into a spin. He still hated her! Hastily she dipped her startled eyes to her doughnut.

‘Been waiting long?’ she asked, as if she didn’t care if he had.

Thank you, she said to the doughnut silently. Thanks for being there! She raised it to her lips and took a small, almost fussy little bite. And, without thinking, delicately licked the sugar grains from the corners of her mouth with her small questing tongue.

He didn’t reply, but she was aware of some kind of struggle going on inside him. That surprised her. Without knowing how or why, she was reading his body, the imperceptible movements of his chest and shoulders, the change in his breathing. But then she knew it so well.

The doughnut proved useful again, allowing her to sink her teeth into it and drive away all memories of Luc’s beautiful physique. The mystery of his strained silence remained. Inwardly shaken by the impact of his venom, she looked up again and raised one beautifully arched eyebrow to its full extent.

‘Something wrong?’ she asked coolly.

He looked expensive. Suit, shirt, watch, manicure, groomed hair, the lot. He’d made a good deal of money if his appearance was anything to go by.

She watched the shapely shoulder lift a fraction in an imperceptible shrug. He treated her to a full head-to-middle appraisal, only the table between them preventing him from continuing down to her thighs, bare legs and shoes.

Ellen tensed, finding the thought of a whole-body search by his roving eyes horribly disconcerting. And very, very exciting.

Unnerved by this, she lowered her lashes again, certain that he could identify her disgusting reaction. Too many early nights, she thought gloomily. Along came a half-decent-looking man and all her needs had to kick common sense into touch!

‘I wasn’t expecting you to be so…’ Another long, slow glance. He made a sound in his throat like a husky growl. ‘So up-front,’ he finished grimly. ‘I hardly recognised you.’

That could be a compliment or an insult. She fiddled with her almost non-existent hair from habit, surprised as always not to find a mass of curls beneath her fingers. Disconcerted by the discovery, she struggled not to become a casualty of his wickedly unconscious sensuality.

‘I’m not the same person you knew at all.’

‘I can see that.’

He had followed the arc of her creamy arm, his hooded gaze wandering down its curves to her breasts. And he’d smiled to himself, his wonderfully erotic mouth lifting with hunger when his lazy glance somehow tightened her flesh and caused her nipples to peak through the thin fabric. Incensed at being so damn obvious, she folded her arms across her chest, hoping that she looked a million times less flustered than she felt.

‘What a change!’ he went on slowly, the husky admiration in his voice warming her through and through. She felt pleased. She’d wanted him to be impressed. And then he spoiled it. ‘I can see you’ve become a fully-fledged fun-loving girl,’ he drawled, making that sound like a crime.

‘Woman!’ she corrected, forcing herself to stay remote. You didn’t go through hell and out the other side and stay girly.

Luc slowly shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. Women take life seriously when necessary.’

‘You poor old thing! You’re so stuffy,’ she countered breezily, not bothering to defend herself. Why should she? Let him think she was having a ball. Nothing mattered any more.

‘Better stuffy than frivolous,’ he replied stiffly.

Watching him, she realised that he wasn’t happy; it was written all over his face. He had the gravity of a man who hadn’t laughed in ages. She longed to ask him questions, to know what had happened to him. But she bit them back. He’d think her interest was personal, whereas it was… She frowned. What was it?

Old-fashioned nosiness. Yes. That was it.

‘I disagree. Life is to be enjoyed and I’m doing just that,’ she said, producing a big, beaming smile. And couldn’t resist, ‘How about you?’

Luc looked puzzled, as if enjoyment wasn’t on his agenda and it had never occurred to him that it should be. He ignored her question. ‘You still wear your wedding ring.’

Her fingers went to it automatically. It had been the cheapest they could find. But she would never remove it. ‘And you wear yours,’ she said in surprise.

He shrugged. ‘It’s a useful deterrent, as I’m sure you’ve discovered for yourself. I gather you’re much sought after. Being free suits you—whereas living with Gemma and me was unpleasantly inhibiting for you—’

‘Let’s forget that!’ she said hastily, with a dismissive wave of her hand. She wasn’t going to sit there while he reminisced about bad times. Her knees began to tremble and she squeezed them together. ‘Water under the bridge,’ she said, more airily than she’d intended. She blushed. It sounded as if their break-up had meant nothing to her.

‘More like an ocean,’ he muttered.

For a moment she thought she saw regret in his eyes. Hers must have responded and gentled, because she felt her animosity vanishing like melting snow as his dark gaze captured and held hers.

They were very close to one another. Maybe a foot apart. Some Italians, she thought hazily, had no sense of personal space. They were close enough for her to find herself inching forwards to confirm the whisper of his breath across her throbbing mouth. Close enough to smell him. It was something she wasn’t prepared for: the familiar scent which was Luc, and Luc alone, clean, fresh and male.