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She didn’t dare argue the point. Not when he was right. “I happen to think snuggling with my fiancé in front of a roaring fire with nothing between me and a bearskin rug but a scrap of lace sounds perfect.” She could hear the tension in her voice now, but for some reason couldn’t bring herself to end the strange and intimate conversation.
His eyes half closed and he bent closer. “Making love on top of dead animals doesn’t appeal to me. And with your skin, nothing but silk will do. Something low cut and simple.” He released her collar, the back of his hand stroking a leisurely path across her cheek and jaw. “Better yet, why don’t we try a feather mattress and nothing between us at all. What do you say to that?”
She shivered beneath his touch, horrified by the magnitude of her reaction to him. Where was her control? Where was her detachment? “Luc . . .” His name escaped on a breathless sigh.
His mouth curved upward. “Is that a yes?”
Her eyes widened in panic and she inhaled sharply, fighting the desire sweeping through her veins like wildfire. “No!”
“Just checking.” He released her, putting an entire two inches worth of breathing space between them. “So good old Will-William the accountant from San Jose—”
“San Mateo!”
“—wants sex beside a roaring fire and is offering a chalet, champagne, and dead animals to get his way. Is that about it?”
He hadn’t been serious about making love to her, she realized then. He’d merely been teasing again. He didn’t really care, not on a personal basis. The knowledge bit deep. It didn’t matter what he thought of her, she tried to convince herself. It didn’t.
It didn’t!
“Maybe,” she said in a hard, tight voice, “that isn’t what he’s offering, but what I’m offering.”
She stepped farther away from him and jabbed the button to resume the ride, but not before she saw anger flash across Luc’s face. Good. Let him be on the losing side of a disagreement for once. She faced the elevator doors again, seeing her metallic reflection the way he must see it.
She’d kept her hair rinsed to a nondescript shade of brown and still twisted it into a tight knot at the nape of her neck. The tinted glasses she wore had proved most effective this past year, swamping her delicate features and concealing her leaf green eyes and high, arching cheekbones. Her experiments with makeup only added insult to injury. The foundation she’d chosen gave her face a pallid, sallow appearance. And completing her disguise were her clothes, the businesslike suits a size too large, downright frumpy, and ranging in tone from a dirt brown to navy and black.
It was absolutely perfect.
It also made her want to cry.
This past year had given her an acute awareness of how cruel the world could be toward unattractive people. All her father’s little sermons about vanity, about it being a person’s inner beauty which counted most, came home to roost. Never again would she judge by appearances alone.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Luc said at last. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s quite all right.” She sounded stilted and couldn’t help it. And though she’d just vowed to never again judge by appearances, she couldn’t help wishing—wishing with a passion that shocked her—that he could see the “real” her.
The elevator slowed and the doors opened. Luc stepped forward, blocking her avenue of escape. “I’ll just say this one last thing. You shouldn’t sleep with him unless you’re sure. Very sure.”
He stepped off the elevator, leaving her openmouthed and fuming. Before she could dart between the doors, they closed with a snap, forcing her to endure a return trip to the lobby. Just as well, she decided with stoic resolve, since she’d left her umbrella leaning against Edward’s desk.
Five minutes later, she returned to the executive floor and hurried to the reception area outside Luc’s office. She disposed of her coat and umbrella in the office closet and sat at her desk. Removing a bright red marker from her drawer, she took more than her usual delight in crossing off one more day from her year-long sentence.
She looked up to see Luc standing at his door, watching.
“You do that every morning. It’s almost as though you’re counting the days until...” He shrugged. “Something.”
She stared at him, stricken. “Nonsense.”
His eyes narrowed. “It’s not nonsense. What are you counting down to?”
“Nothing,” she repeated. Had she somehow given herself away? She couldn’t have.
“That’s twice today,” he stated ominously.
She swallowed. “Twice?”
“Twice today you’ve lied to me.”
He frowned and she froze. His frowns, rare though they were, worried her. A lot. They invariably preceded an explosion. Only once had that explosion been directed her way, and she’d decided then and there it would be the last time she’d give him cause to exercise that infamous temper of his.
