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‘Oh, come on, Luc,’ she said quietly. ‘You need a date? You of all people? I can’t believe you’re revisiting an old lover when there must be so many new ones out there. There must be women lining up around the block to go out with you—unless something is radically different and you’ve had a complete personality change.’
He gave an answering smile and wondered what she would say if she knew the truth. ‘I cannot deny that there are any number of women who would happily accompany me,’ he said. ‘But none of them entice me sufficiently enough to take them.’
‘So why not go on your own?’
‘Unfortunately, it is not quite that simple.’ He glanced out of the window, where he could see the shadowy shapes of his bodyguards standing beside one of the waiting limousines. ‘If I turn up without a woman, that will leave me in a somewhat vulnerable position.’
‘You? Vulnerable?’ She gave a little snort of a laugh. ‘You’re about as vulnerable as a Siberian tiger!’
‘An interesting metaphor,’ he mused. ‘Since, in my experience, weddings are a prime hu
nting ground for women.’
‘Hunting ground?’ she repeated, as if she’d misheard him.
‘I’m afraid so.’ He gave an unapologetic shrug. ‘Some women see the bride and want to be her and so they look around to find the most suitable candidate for themselves.’
Her eyebrows arched. ‘You being the most suitable candidate, I suppose?’
Luc looked at the tendril of hair still lying against her pale cheek and wanted to curl it around his finger. He wanted to use it like a rope and pull her towards him until their lips were mere inches apart. And then he wanted to kiss her. He shifted his weight a little. ‘I’m afraid that being a prince does rather put me in that category—certainly amongst some women.’
‘But you think you’d be safe with me?’
‘Of course I would.’ He paused. ‘Our relationship was over a long time ago, and even when it was in full swing neither of us was under any illusion that there was any kind of future in it. You were probably the only woman who truly understood that. You can protect me from the inevitable predators.’ He smiled. ‘And it might be fun to spend the evening together. Because we know each other well enough to be comfortable around each other, don’t we, Lisa?’
Lisa looked at him. Comfortable? Was he insane? Didn’t he realise that her pulse had been hammering like a piston ever since he’d stepped inside the shop? That her breasts were so swollen that it felt as if she’d suddenly gone up a bra size? Slowly, she drew in a deep breath. ‘I think it’s a bad idea,’ she said flatly. ‘A very bad idea. And now if you don’t mind—I’m about to shut up shop.’
She walked over to the door and turned the sign to Closed and it was only afterwards that she wondered if it was that gesture of finality which suddenly prompted him to try a different approach, because Luc was nothing if not persistent. Because suddenly, he began to prowl around the shop like a caged tiger. Walking over to one of the rails, he slowly ran his fingertips along the line of silk dresses, a thoughtful expression on his face as he turned around to look at her.
‘Your shop seems remarkably quiet for what should be a busy weekday afternoon,’ he observed.
She tried not to look defensive. To replicate the same cool expression he was directing at her. ‘And your point is?’
‘My point is that a society wedding would provide an excellent opportunity for you to showcase your talent.’ His blue eyes glittered. ‘There will be plenty of influential people there. You could wear one of your own designs and dazzle the other guests—isn’t that how it works? Play your cards right and I’m sure you could pick up a whole lot of new customers.’
And now Lisa really was tempted, because business hadn’t been great. Actually, that was a bit of an understatement. Business had taken a serious dive, and she wasn’t sure if it was down to the dodgy state of the economy or the more frightening possibility that her clothes had simply gone out of fashion. She’d found herself looking gloomily at magazines which featured dresses which looked a lot like hers—only for a quarter of the price. True, most of the cheaper outfits were made from viscose rather than silk, but lately she’d started wondering if women really cared about that sort of thing any more.
She kept telling herself that the dip in her profits was seasonal—a summer slump which would soon pick up with the new autumn collection, and she prayed it would. Because she had responsibilities now—big ones—which were eating into her bank account like a swarm of locusts rampaging through a field of maize. She thought about Brittany, her beloved little sister. Brittany, who’d flunked college and become a mother to the adorable Tamsin. Brittany, who was under the dominating rule of Jason, Tamsin’s father. Lisa helped out where she could, but she didn’t have a bottomless purse and the indisputable fact was that Jason wasn’t over-keen on earning money if it involved setting the alarm clock every day. Just as he seemed to have a roving eye whenever any female strayed into his line of vision. But Brittany trusted him, or so she kept saying.
A bitter taste came into Lisa’s mouth. Trust. Was there a man alive who could be trusted—and why on earth would any woman ever want to take the risk?
‘So pleased you’re giving my proposal some serious consideration,’ Luc said, his sardonic observation breaking into her thoughts. ‘Though I must say that women don’t usually take quite so long to respond to an invitation to go out with me.’
‘I’m sure they don’t.’
‘Though maybe they would if they realised how much a man enjoys being kept guessing,’ he added softly. ‘If they knew just how irresistible the unpredictable can be.’
Lisa looked at him. Instinct was telling her to refuse but the voice of common sense was suddenly stronger. It was urging her to stop acting as if millions of offers like this came her way. She thought about the kind of wedding someone like Luc would be attending and all the upmarket guests who would be there. Women with the kind of money who could afford her dresses. Women who wouldn’t dream of wearing viscose. Surely she’d be crazy to pass up such an opportunity—even if it meant spending the evening with a man who symbolised nothing but danger. She swallowed. And excitement, of course. She mustn’t forget that. But she could resist him. She had resisted him once and she could do it again.
‘Who’s getting married?’ she questioned carelessly.
He failed to hide his triumphant smile. ‘A man named Conall Devlin.’
‘The Irish property tycoon?’
‘You’ve heard of him?’
‘Hasn’t everyone? I read the papers like everyone else.’
