Her Pregnancy Surprise (5 page)

The acid interjection brought an answering flicker of humour to his deep-set eyes but didn’t deflect him from his purpose.

‘So I’m assuming that there are men in your life.’

Megan was continually amazed and
increasingly
aggravated by his apparent belief that being a co-conspirator gave him the right to delve into all personal aspects of her life. She watched his expression grow reflective as he focused his thoughts on the subject of her love life.

‘Men compose half the population; it would be hard to avoid them even if I wanted to.’

Luc acted as though she hadn’t spoken—something she had noticed he had a habit of doing—as he continued. ‘But you don’t bring them home to meet Mummy. Now I wonder why…?’ One dark brow elevated he turned his speculative gaze upon her face.
‘Married…?’

Megan stiffened in outrage. ‘You th…th…think that I would go out with a m…m…married man?’ she demanded.

Luc silently studied her rigid chalk white features for a moment before shrugging. ‘Apparently not,’ he observed drily. ‘I’ve got a mate…your classic commitment phobic who only dates married women. I thought that might be your problem.’

‘That you have that sort of mate does not surprise me.’

‘He’s a reformed character since he met the love of his life. So if they’re not married…what’s the problem? Not the right social class? Don’t they know which fork to use?’

The amazing thing was he didn’t even seem to be aware he’d insulted her!

Megan fixed him with a look of seething dislike. If she still had some of the power that the ancestors he despised had enjoyed and, she was the first to admit, abused, she would have wielded them in this instance.

Contemplating having him shipped off to some distant colony, preferably one infested by insects that would bite his smooth, sleek hide, brought a grim smile to her lips. As she contemplated the vee of smooth olive-toned skin visible at the base of his throat her smile wobbled.

For some reason she found herself thinking about an infamous female ancestor of hers. The scandalous Lady Edith who was reputed to have enjoyed the services of several lusty local lads, one of whom was said to have fathered her son who had inherited the estate. Edith, with her shameless appetites, would have had different methods of taming a stroppy male. She would have undoubtedly considered the banishment of Luc, with his sleek, dark and incredibly sexy looks, a waste.

Edith would have found a place for him in her bed.

‘Does a bit of rough do it for you?’

The disturbing mental image of Luc tumbling amongst silk sheets with the sloe-eyed lady who looked down haughtily from a painting in the library vanished in a flash. Megan released a long sibilant hiss of fury.

‘Go jump in the lake,’ she urged pleasantly.

Luc grinned at her venom. ‘It’s a reasonable question,’ he protested.

‘My personal life is none of your business,’ she told him frigidly.

‘It is if you have a secret boyfriend hovering in the background somewhere,’ Luc retorted. ‘If someone is likely to try and knock my lights out I’d like to know about it.’

She gave a disdainful laugh. ‘So this is about you being scared, is it? I should have known,’ she sneered scornfully.

He sighed. ‘My secret is out.’

‘Well, you can relax. Your pretty profile is not in any danger.’ Actually he looked, in stark contrast to herself, totally relaxed, especially considering the barrage of abuse she was aiming at his dark head.

‘No jealous boyfriend lurking…?’

She half turned then with a hard laugh flung over her shoulder.

‘No boyfriend full stop. And before you progress to the painfully predictable male,
you-must-be-a-lesbian
line…I’m not.’ She stopped dead and frowned. ‘I’ve not the faintest idea why I’m explaining myself to you,’ she admitted angrily.

His shoulders lifted. ‘Don’t look at me, but go on—I’m finding it educational.’

Megan fixed him with a narrowed resentful glare. It was actually good advice—
looking at him,
…even hearing his deep drawl, was a recipe for stress and mental disintegration.

‘I have no time for a boyfriend. As I have already told you, at this point in my life I want to concentrate all my energies on my career.’ It made Megan so furious, if she had been a man her decision would not have caused any raised eyebrows.

‘And…’
he prompted when she stayed silent.

‘There is no
and
,’ she told him crossly.

‘A love life or a career is not generally considered an either-or decision.’

‘For me they are.’

‘Aren’t women meant to be big on multitasking?’

‘That rumour was undoubtedly started by a man who was more than happy for his partner to run herself ragged trying to do all the things he didn’t have time for.’

Luc looked amused. ‘You could be right, but you were engaged so you couldn’t always have felt that way.’

Unconsciously Megan’s hand went to her cheek.

‘How did you know about Brian?’

‘Your mother told me; she was pretty gutted that you chucked him.’

‘She got over it.’ Frankly she didn’t care if he thought she was a cold, heartless bitch.

‘No job is a substitute for sex.’

The way Brian did it, it was. ‘Did I say I was celibate?’

His brows lifted sardonically. ‘Your mother thinks you are.’

Megan flushed. ‘This is the twenty-first century, Luc,’ she told him, injecting scorn into her voice. ‘Does everything have to be about sex?’ When did I start panting? Megan pressed a hand to her throat and made a concerted effort to slow the shallow, rapid character of her breathing.

Knuckles pressed to the slight indent in his chin, Luc pretended to consider the matter. ‘Yes.’ Eyes that seemed scarily
knowing
zeroed in on her face.

Now she wasn’t just panting as if she’d been running a marathon, she was sweating too. Did everybody find his mouth as fascinating as she did? Megan wondered as she watched one corner drop in a cynical smirk.

‘Few things in life are constant, but sex is,’ he contended in a throaty purr that ought in a fair world to have been preceded by a ‘there are flashing lights in this film’ type warning for the susceptible.

Megan was definitely susceptible! The moisture between her aching thighs was ample evidence of that.

‘It doesn’t really matter what decade or, for that matter, what century; it doesn’t change. Scratch the surface of the most sophisticated male and you’ll find a man who is thinking about sex. Take me, for instance…’

This smooth suggestion wrenched an instinctive croak of protest from Megan’s throat. He angled a questioning brow at her flushed, uncomfortable face.

‘I don’t think I will, if it’s all the same to you. You may be right about men, they probably haven’t evolved beyond the Neanderthal, but women—of course, I can only speak personally—can rise above their hormones. We’ve learnt how to work the system like men have been doing for years. A man doesn’t date a woman with the primary intention of settling down and starting a family. Why should it be different for a woman?’

‘So you’re telling me that any sexual needs you have are satisfied by no-strings one-night stands.’

Megan wasn’t, she had been blustering, but she was quite prepared to take the credit for this idea. In reality the idea of emotionless sex was not something she warmed to, but he didn’t need to know that.

‘You have a problem with that?’ she gritted belligerently.

‘Men and women are driven by very different biological needs. A man has the basic urge to impregnate a woman, to nurture.’

‘That’s remarkably sexist…’ But sadly probably essentially true…is that me talking or my conditioning? In the end does it really matter? I am, and I don’t do casual sex.

‘No, that’s a biological fact,’ he stated bluntly. ‘I’d say if you try to act like a man you stand every chance of being badly hurt.’

‘On the contrary it’s women who fall in love with men and idolise them who get hurt when they…’ Aware that her comment had awakened a speculative gleam in his eyes she checked her emotional flow abruptly and began to examine her linked fingers.

‘Who did you idolise?’

‘We were all young and stupid once.’

The silence between them lengthened.

‘What’s through there?’

Relieved that he had dropped the subject, she turned and saw him lifting the latch on a tall wrought-iron gate half hidden in the ivy-covered wall.

‘It’s an entrance to the workshops,’ she replied absently, ‘but this isn’t the way back to the house. Where are you going now?’

‘What’s the hurry?’ he asked, skimming her a questioning look before pushing the gate open to reveal a courtyard.

M
EGAN
followed Luc into the attractive flower-bedecked courtyard, her heels clicking loudly on the wet cobbled surface. ‘It used to be the old stables.’

‘And now it’s…?’

‘A bit of a tourist attraction.’ She saw him lift his hand to his eyes to peer into the darkened window of the forge. ‘That’s Sam’s studio.’

‘Sam…?’

‘He was a bus driver, now he makes terrific wrought-iron stuff to order.’

A local potter had approached her father ten years earlier with a view to him renting her workspace. The idea had snowballed…

‘And the others…?’ Luc’s expansive gesture took in the rest of the quadrangle.

‘There are about ten workshops here now all used by local artists and craftsmen,’ she told him proudly. ‘They double as workspace and a shop front. There’s a really marvellous community feel about the place. People can come and watch them work and, if they like it, buy what they see. There are also occasional workshops where you can learn to throw a pot, that sort of thing. Local schools frequently come. It’s proved rather successful.’

So much so that the planning authorities were considering an application to extend the operation into the adjoining granary providing tearooms and an art gallery.

‘Very enterprising.’

‘It’s a non-profit-making operation,’ she added defensively. Wanting to gain his approval just a little too much. ‘We charge a nominal rent and—’

‘Hold up,’ he interrupted. ‘I may think the aristocracy is an anachronism in this day and age, but that doesn’t mean I assume that they are
all
out to subjugate the masses.

‘That’s remarkably open-minded of you, L…’

‘Luc,’ he prompted, watching with a glimmer of a smile in his deep-set eyes as she bit her lip. ‘It is my name.’

‘You don’t have to
live
the role you—’ She broke off and gave a grimace as a stab of pain shot through her right ankle.

‘Are you all right?’

Megan waved aside his concern and flexed her right foot. ‘Fine, just turned my ankle, that’s all.’ She frowned at the heel that had got jammed in a crevice in the uneven cobbled surface. She pulled but it didn’t budge. She swore softly under her breath. ‘These things are lethal,’ she complained.

‘But very sexy.’ His lashes lifted and the glitter she saw reflected in the platinum depths of his eyes made her heart thud.

Flushing, Megan lowered her gaze and let the skirt she was holding, gathered bunched in her hand, fall with a damp, silken slither to the ground.

‘I’m not prepared to cripple myself in the pursuit of wolf-whistles…
normally
,’ she added drily.

Megan had no self-esteem issue, she knew that some men found her attractive, but even while she had been carefully selecting her outfit earlier she had been aware that, no matter what she wore, it wasn’t going to make her look drop-dead gorgeous. It was a fact of life that men who looked like Luc were not generally seen with women who looked the way she did, so tonight she had made an effort.

‘I haven’t inherited my mother’s fashion sense or, for that matter, her figure.’ Forgetting for a split second whom she was talking to, she pressed her hands flat to her nicely formed but not impressive bosom.

Luc’s eyes followed her gesture and his lips twitched. There was no hint of apology in her gesture, just the merest suggestion of wistfulness. ‘You look fine to me.’

The notion that he might have thought she had been fishing for compliments brought a deep flush to her fair skin and a look of horror to her face.

‘I can do without your approval.’ Do without, but wouldn’t it be nice to have it…? Megan’s glance dropped as the thought surfaced unbidden to her mind.

His heavy sigh—a mixture of resignation and irritation, brought her head up.

Eyes holding hers, he set his shoulders against the wall behind him. With his weight braced on one leg, he crossed one ankle over the other. The man, she admitted, could slouch like nobody else she had ever met.

‘Do you actually want this thing to work?’

The question startled her out of her contemplation of his effortlessly elegant body language. ‘Of course I want this to work. Why wouldn’t I?’

His lips formed a twisted smile as he scanned her face. ‘Good question. Well, if you do want a result it’s going to require a bit of effort.’

Effort? Did he have any idea how much effort she was making? ‘What do you mean “effort”?’

‘Well, for starters you’re going to have to put some work in on the adoring love slave front…’

The awful Brian had expected if not demanded his bride-to-be’s uncritical adoration as his due, and he had received it. That was, until Megan had woken up to the fact that he was an inadequate creep, and furthermore she didn’t love him. Megan fixed Luc with a glare and tossed her head, a disdainful sneer twisting her lips.

‘What’s wrong with your face?’ he asked, watching her rub the left side of her face. His eyes narrowed; it wasn’t the first time he had noticed her doing that. The first time had been…when…?

Megan’s hand fell self-consciously away. She tried to turn but her foot held her fast. ‘Damn…damn,’ she cursed.

‘Did he hit you?’

An expression of total shock chased across her pale features as she focused on his face. His expression was blank.

It wasn’t the reminder of that contemptuous backhander that Brian had delivered when she had explained that she would not be giving up her job or marrying him that brought the look of dismay to her face, but this man’s startling perception. It was almost as if he could read her mind at times.

‘Pardon…?’ she faltered.

‘You heard me,’ he intoned grimly.

‘Once,’ she admitted, because one look at his face revealed he wasn’t going to let this one go.

Brian had said it wouldn’t happen again, but Megan had seen the mask slip and had recognised his tearful apology for the lie it had been. In a weird way it had been a relief; it had been much easier to walk away with a clear conscience.

Luc struggled to keep his expression neutral; it wasn’t easy. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt anything like this sort of blinding rage, this desire to rip someone limb from limb, and laugh while he was doing it.

‘Why didn’t you tell your mother the scumbag hit you? She talked like he was the second coming.’

‘It would have upset her and…I suppose I was…ashamed—? Irrational, I know, but I’m not a victim.’

For a long painful moment Luc looked down into her face. His shoulders lifted. ‘No, just a stubborn idiot,’ he gritted. ‘Not all men are vicious bullies.’

‘Oh, God, I know that!’ she exclaimed. ‘Don’t run away with the impression I’m emotionally scarred or anything. Damn, damn thing…’ she addressed her curse to her shoe.

‘What are you doing?’ Her voice was high-pitched with alarm as he hunkered down in front of her. She stiffened as Luc took hold of her ankle. Megan swayed like a sapling caught in a strong gust of wind then, eyes half closed, mouth slightly open, she took a series of shallow breaths and she forced herself to remain still.

‘This situation requires a light touch.’

Well, he had that, she was forced to concede as slither after shivery slither of sensation sliced like a knife through her helplessly receptive body. It was no longer possible for her to ignore the heat, specifically the heat between her thighs. When his fingertips brushed against the fine, almost invisible denier that covered the skin of her calf she had to bite her lip to stop herself gasping out loud. The situation made it hard to think straight—actually, it made it hard to think full stop!

‘It’s stuck fast,’ came his oddly muffled verdict after a few moments.

The dull thud in her ears made his voice seem to come from a long way off to Megan.

‘Tell me something I didn’t know,’ she grunted, trying desperately to marshal her thoughts.

The man kneeling at her feet lifted his head. In the fading light she didn’t see the lines of darker colour scoring his high slashing cheekbones, she could just see his eyes…and his mouth and…
oh, God
—!

‘You should take them off.’

Anything you say.
God, please let me not have said that out loud! She ran the tip of her tongue nervously over her dry lips. ‘What…?’ she croaked.

‘The shoes,’ he replied. ‘You should take them off. The stockings too,’ he added as an afterthought.

‘How did you know?’ She stopped and shook her head blushing deeply. Far better, under the circumstances,
not
to know how he knew when a woman was wearing stockings and not tights.

‘Don’t worry, I don’t have X-ray vision.’

‘I wasn’t worried.’ The knot of heat low in her belly made it hard for her to concentrate on what she was doing and a second later she found herself standing in one shoe, teetering awkwardly to one side without having any clear recollection of how she had got to be in that position.

‘For God’s sake…’ His voice impatient, Luc caught her hands in his and placed them firmly on his own shoulders. ‘Hold onto me.’

It was either that or fall down in an ungainly heap.

‘Give me a minute,’ she heard him say. ‘That’s it.’ Hazily she saw him rise, her shoe minus the heel in his triumphant grasp. ‘The shoe’s a write-off, I’m afraid.’

She shook her head; the loss of a shoe was the least of her problems! Her response to this man was less easy to dismiss. In the gathering dusk it was impossible to read the expression on his lean, hard-boned face.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Awkwardness made her voice abrupt. Minus her heels she only just topped his shoulders. The illusion of being small and dainty was one she shouldn’t in this enlightened age of equality have found attractive…
Shouldn’t…!

The impressive shoulders on which her hands were still hanging, quite unnecessarily, flexed and she felt the powerful muscles clench.

She uncurled her fingers. As if reluctant to lose the contact, her fingertips trailed slowly down the front of his open necked shirt. She felt his lean, hard body tense before she lost contact. It made her cringe to imagine that her action might have been interpreted as deliberately provocative, because she had no control whatever over her actions.

‘I suppose we ought to go back.’ The thread of reluctance she heard in her own voice made Megan’s eyes widen in alarm. Anyone listening would have been excused for assuming she wanted her pulse to carry on racing too fast…that she wanted to prolong the moment.

And you don’t…?

‘You could be right.’ she heard him concede. ‘Do you always do the right thing,
ma chérie
…?’

Just this once Megan let the endearment pass, when he said it in that deep smoky voice of his it sounded like a caress.

With a sigh she lifted her head, her eyes meshed with enigmatic silvered orbs that made her heart pound slow and strong…Luc; the name might be no more real than his supposed attraction for her, but strangely fitted him.

He really was the most incredible-looking man!

‘I try to.’ She gave a shaky little laugh as her eyes slid from his. ‘I won’t waste my breath asking you the same thing.’

Luc looked like a man for whom
not
doing the right thing was one of life’s guiding principles. Was the danger part of his attraction? Had she been playing it safe for so long that she couldn’t resist what was dark, dangerous and available?

‘I try to do what comes naturally.’ His explanation was not soothing. ‘We should definitely go back, only first…’ Luc’s dark head bent as he framed her face between his hands. She felt his breath fan her cheek as he fitted his mouth to hers. Megan’s eyelashes fluttered against her cheek as her hand came up to cover one of his.

She murmured his name; the sound was lost against his mouth. The pressure of his lips was gentle but insistent; his mouth was cool and firm against her own.

Luc drew back, his lashes lifted from the angle of his knife-edged cheekbones as he examined the passion-flushed features of the woman who stood in the circle of his arms. He gave an almost imperceptible nod of satisfaction.

‘
Now
you look like a woman who’s shared a few illicit kisses in the moonlight.’

She was floating; she was on fire, every inch of her skin was prickling with the heat of desire. His words had the same effect as an icy shower.

‘There is no moon and I will not be used by you or anyone else!’ she declared in a low, passionate voice.

‘I wasn’t using you; I was kissing you and,’ he added with a slow, contemplative smile, ‘I was enjoying it.’

‘How nice for you that you’re happy in your work. Next time maybe you might like to ask whether I
want
to be
kissed,’ she told him, dragging a hand across her mouth. The symbolic gesture just reminded her of how sensitised and tender her lips felt.

Luc, no longer languid, looked suddenly incredibly furious. ‘Are you suggesting I kissed you against your will?’

‘Not
exactly
,’ she conceded, her glance dropping guiltily from his outraged face.

‘Good,’ he bit back, not sounding much mollified. ‘Because I don’t need a signed affidavit to know when a woman wants to be kissed. I know and you wanted it.’

The shocking sound of her hand connecting with his cheek resounded across the courtyard. Megan’s hand went to her mouth as her eyes travelled from the livid mark developing on his lean cheek to his eyes, they told her nothing more than his blank expression.

‘That was unforgivable,’ she said, totally contrite. The fact that physically she was much weaker than him was in her eyes no excuse for her loss of control. She felt deeply ashamed. ‘You’re right.’ Humiliation sat like a leaden weight in her stomach. ‘I
did
want you to kiss me.’

‘You did?’

She nodded; his expression was as unrevealing as his tone. ‘That’s why I was so angry…not with you,’ she hastened to assure him. ‘With me.’

It was ironic—she had been busy getting het up worrying that Luc was getting too immersed in his role, when in reality
he
wasn’t the one getting reality mixed up with fiction; she was the one letting her fantasies take control!