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‘But…?’ she prompted sadly, and Luc looked up and smiled.
‘I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘You won’t.’ More brave words, Abby knew. Foolish words, perhaps. Yet at that moment she felt like anything would be better, or at least more bearable, than walking away from Luc and the blossoming feeling of possibility he evoked in her just then.
Luc sighed, a heavy sound, and he shook his head slowly. Abby waited, holding her breath, hoping.
Then he stood, almost lazily reaching out to draw her to her feet, their fingers still twined.
‘Where are you going?’ Abby asked as she rose.
‘The question,’ he answered, tugging on her hand, ‘is where are we going?’
Abby let him lead her out of the bar; the only sound was the swoosh of her gown around her ankles. Back in the lobby Luc had a rapid discussion with the concierge, and seconds later he led her to a bank of lifts. Abby’s breath caught in her throat. She could hardly believe this was happening, that she was allowing it to happen, that she had asked for it to happen. She barely knew Luc, and yet…
Yet she knew him, perhaps better than she’d ever known anyone before. She couldn’t turn away from this—him—even if she wanted to, even if she tried. She had no choice; her desire and need were too great.
The heady, surreal feeling didn’t leave her as they stepped into the lift and Luc pressed the button for the top floor: the penthouse suite.
They rode in silence and Abby felt sure Luc could feel her heart beating; it felt as if it were thudding right out of her chest. She gave a sideways glance and saw how calm and unconcerned he looked. Determined, resolute even.
The lift came to a halt and the doors opened directly into the suite, which took up the whole floor.
‘Come,’ Luc said, and Abby followed him into the sumptuous living-room, all velvet sofas and spindly gilt-tables, with about an acre of Turkish carpet. Abby stood in the doorway, mindlessly smoothing the silk of her gown, feeling shy and uncertain despite her earlier bravado.
She knew it wasn’t the luxurious suite of rooms that put her on edge. In her years as a concert pianist she’d seen and experienced her fair share of luxury. No, it wasn’t the room. It was the man.
He’d casually dropped the key-card the concierge had given him on a side table and shed his suit jacket, the muscles of his back and shoulders rippling under the smooth, silken fabric of his shirt. For a brief moment his body was in profile, his face in shadow. Abby didn’t think she was imagining the grim set to his jaw, or the accompanying shiver that rippled through her body at the sight of him and the darkness emanating from within that beautiful body.
Yet then he turned to her with a little smile, his expression light and easy, and she wondered if she’d been imagining it after all.
‘Aren’t you going to come in?’ he asked, laughter lurking in his voice, and Abby lowered her gaze.
‘I…’ She licked her lips. Now was not the time for cold feet, surely? ‘I’m not sure.’
Luc frowned and strode towards her, his hands coming to curl around her shoulders. ‘Abby…are you afraid?’
‘Not…exactly.’ Abby tried to laugh, but it came out wobbly and uncertain. ‘Not of you,’ she amended. ‘More of…the situation.’ She licked her lips again, hurrying to explain. ‘And I’m not afraid. I just…don’t know what to do. I know what I said, but…’
Luc’s hands relaxed on her shoulders, sliding down her bare arms to leave a wake of goosebumps before he loosely linked her fingers with his own.
‘We can simply sit and chat,’ he told her gently. ‘I enjoyed talking to you.’
‘I did too,’ Abby admitted. ‘That is, talking to you, not to me.’
‘Abby.’ Luc chuckled softly as he brushed her cheek with his knuckles. ‘I understand.’
Abby gave a little nervous laugh. ‘You must think me incredibly gauche,’ she said and he raised his eyebrows.
‘Not at all.’
‘Really?’ She laughed again, the sound more normal and easy. ‘Because, listening to myself, I think I sound gauche.’ She met his gaze directly, her own gaze open and candid. ‘I don’t know what to say or do.’
‘There’s no script, is there?’ Luc asked. ‘Or did I not get the memo?’
‘No script,’ Abby confirmed as, still holding her by the hand, he led her to the sofa. ‘But surely certain things are…expected?’
‘Abby, I promise you, I have no expectations. I was amazed to see you in the bar, and I’m even more amazed to see you here.’
They were sitting on the sofa now, Luc’s thigh nearly pressed against her own. Abby slipped off her heels and tucked her stocking-clad feet under the silken folds of her gown.
‘Anyway,’ Luc continued, ‘I don’t think you gauche at all. Refreshing, I would have put it.’
‘Isn’t that just a nice way of meaning “different”?’
‘Different is good.’
‘Different means different,’ Abby insisted. ‘Abnormal, weird.’
Luc reached out to touch her ankle through the folds of her gown. It was an almost absent-minded caress, his long, lean fingers lingering on the delicate bones even as his eyes, and his smile, never left her face. ‘Is that how you’ve felt?’
‘Sometimes.’ Why, Abby wondered, was it so easy to talk to him like this? To admit, confess things, she never had before even to herself? ‘Piano was pretty much my life from about age five,’ she elaborated with a shrug. ‘I stood out.’
‘At school?’
She shook her head. ‘Not really. I was home-tutored from age eight so I could devote more time to music.’
‘Those kids on Hampstead Heath, then?’ Luc guessed, and Abby wondered how he knew so much so quickly. ‘Them?’
‘Yes,’ she agreed wryly. ‘Them.’
In the ensuing silence Abby felt herself staring at his leg, at the taut muscle underneath the dark wool, as if fascinated by that one limb, and in truth she was. She wanted to touch it. Him. Wanted to feel the hard muscle underneath, to slide her hand along his hot skin…
What was she thinking? Feeling? Whatever it was, it coursed through her, electric and magical, as he’d described it. It made her breathless, heady and shy, even as her hand lifted almost of its own accord, her body emboldened even if her mind was not.
Her eyes flew to Luc’s face. He was smiling at her, too much knowledge glinting in his own eyes. He reached out and stroked her cheek with one finger, and Abby could barely keep from shuddering. She found herself leaning in to that little caress, openly, wantonly, until her cheek was cupped in Luc’s hand.
He hesitated, and Abby saw the concern and doubt flicker across his face. She closed her eyes to it, not wanting this moment to end. She wanted it to go on for ever, to stretch it out and savour each precious second.
‘Abby…’ His voice came out as a breath, a plea. Abby’s only response was to turn her head so her lips brushed his palm. She acted on instinct, on need, knowing this was foreign territory, frightening and dangerous, yet exciting and wonderful too. How could she feel so much? She felt as if she’d been numb all her life and was only now melting into emotion, springing into vitality.
Luc leaned forward and kissed her, his lips softly brushing hers. Abby’s breath hitched at the contact. Twenty-four years old and she’d never been kissed before—not properly, anyway. She’d had her fair share of air kisses, the European double-cheek kiss and some perfunctory pecks. It was all part of the entertainment business.
But this…this was wonderful. And she wanted more. She deepened the kiss, surprising herself, and perhaps Luc as well. She was untouched, unschooled, but need was the best teacher and it drove her to open her mouth, to touch her tongue lightly to his; his other hand came up to cradle her face as his tongue began its own exploration, and Abby felt herself spinning, her breathing grew ragged, her heart racing as it never had before.
She heard Luc’s breath hitch as well and felt a sharp thrill at the thought that perhaps he was as affected as she was by what was undoubtedly a small, ordinary kiss for most people. Except right now nothing felt small or ordinary; it felt big and special, and wonderfully exciting and new.
Her hands bunched on his shirt, her fingernails snagging on the buttons before she smoothed her palms out, felt the muscles of his chest leap and jerk under her hands. Luc’s lips trailed along her jawbone, and then he lowered his head to press a kiss to the silken curve of her neck, dropping lower to her collarbone, and then lower still to the soft swell of her breast above her evening gown.
Abby gasped. She’d never been touched so much, felt so much. Wanted so much. Luc’s hair, soft and springy, brushed her lips as he continued his path of kisses. Driven by instinct, Abby arched backwards to allow him more access, her mind still spinning, her body lazy and languorous and yet so alive… And then it stopped.
He lifted his head, leaving her skin suddenly cool. One of her dress’s diamanté straps had slipped off her shoulder, and, smiling wryly, Luc righted it.
‘You should go home, Abby.’
Abby started; she was not expecting this, not wanting it. She felt a crushing sense of disappointment she’d hardly thought possible. ‘But…why?’ Her voice sounded lost and forlorn, and Abby saw an answering bleakness flicker in Luc’s eyes.
‘Because I don’t want to take advantage of you. You’re young and innocent, and you should stay that way.’
A white-hot flame of rage blazed through her. ‘I’m not a china doll to be kept on a shelf and left alone.’
‘I didn’t—’
‘That’s how everyone sees me, Luc. How everyone treats me.’ Abby swallowed convulsively, suddenly ridiculously near to tears. She needed Luc to understand this; she wanted to be understood for once. ‘Someone to be admired—petted, perhaps, but not touched. Not—’ She stopped abruptly, yet her mouth still formed the word silently…Loved. ‘You’re not taking advantage of me if I say yes,’ she whispered.
Luc shook his head. ‘Do you even know what you’re saying yes to?’
Abby gave a shaky little laugh. ‘I’m not that innocent.’
He brushed a tendril of hair away from her face, his fingertips grazing her cheek. ‘If I didn’t want you so much,’ he murmured, and with sudden boldness Abby took his fingers and pressed them to her mouth.
‘I want to be wanted.’
‘By me?’ he asked, and he sounded both honoured and incredulous.
Abby smiled against his fingers. ‘Yes, by you. Only you. I’ve never…’ She paused, for there were too many ‘nevers’ about this situation. ‘Don’t ask me to go home,’ she said simply. ‘Let me stay.’
Luc’s eyes darkened, his mouth tightening. ‘I’m a selfish man for keeping you here,’ he told her in a low voice. ‘But, God help me, I will. I don’t want to let you go. Not now. Not yet.’ His voice turned ragged as he added, half to himself, ‘I can’t.’
‘Then don’t,’ Abby replied, and her heart finished silently, ‘ever’.
Silently Luc took her by the hand and led her to the bedroom with its sumptuous king-sized bed. She stood there, still and straight, as he slipped the gown from her shoulders, letting it pool on the floor in a dark puddle of silk. Almost reverently he removed her underwear, and Abby thrilled his touch, and at the fact that she wasn’t nervous or even embarrassed. How could you be embarrassed by someone who looked at you as if you were the Venus de Milo or the Mona Lisa—an exquisite, priceless treasure?
For that was how Luc looked at her, how he touched her. His fingers barely skimmed her skin, and his head bowed almost reverently. When she was naked he brought her to the bed, and Abby stretched out on the cool sheets, expectant, and now just a little shy.
Luc undressed himself, and she watched as his shed clothes revealed a body of tanned skin and taut muscle. Naked, he stretched out next to her and let his fingers brush her navel. She shivered.
‘Cold?’
‘No,’ she confessed, and he smiled and touched her lips where his hand had been, so Abby shivered again.
‘I will do my best not to hurt you,’ he murmured, his head still bent, and Abby lightly touched his hair.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said, a new confidence blooming through her. ‘You won’t hurt me.’
And it didn’t hurt. It all felt wonderful, and even more so as Luc touched her, his hands skimming over her body, lips following; every sensation was sharp and exquisite. When Luc let her touch him Abby found herself becoming bold, touching and tasting him as he had her, revelling in his gasps and moans of pleasure.
They didn’t speak any longer, but the lack of words didn’t bother Abby, for surely this ran too deep for words? What need was there to speak of when their bodies communicated so beautifully, working together in silent, sensuous harmony?
And then it stopped. Luc rolled away, leaving Abby bereft, her arms empty and wanting.
‘Luc…’ she said, half-gasp, half-moan.
‘I don’t have protection.’ Luc sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her, and ran a shaky hand through his hair. ‘To think how close…’
Abby’s body ached and throbbed with unfulfilled desire. She moved restlessly on the sheets, her fingers bunching against the rich satin, needing more even though she wasn’t entirely sure what ‘more’ would feel like. ‘You aren’t going to…?’
‘I’ll be back in a moment.’ Luc gave her a fleeting smile even as he pulled on his clothes. ‘We need protection, Abby. I won’t play roulette with your life.’ He paused, his brows drawing together. ‘That is, you don’t have protection already? You’re not on the Pill?’
Abby shook her head, still dazed with desire. She hadn’t even given a thought to birth control or the implications of what they were about to do.
‘I’ll be back in a moment.’
It felt like it would be a lifetime. With a little smile Abby saw he’d buttoned his shirt wrong; his fingers had been shaking. He pressed a kiss to her damp brow. Abby reached up and touched his jaw, her fingers sliding to his cheek.
‘Hurry,’ she said, and after a second’s pause Luc nodded.
‘I will.’
Luc left the room; in the distance Abby heard the soft ping announce the lift’s arrival, and then the swoosh of the doors opening and closing. Already she felt horribly alone.
The air felt cold on her naked skin and she wrapped the sheet around her, curling into it, desperate for Luc to return. The events of the evening—the champagne, the rich food and the overwhelming emotion—all caused her to suddenly feel exhausted. Without meaning to or even realizing what she was doing, her eyelids slowly drooped shut.
It was a matter of minutes to find the nearest chemist and buy the necessary items. Back in the suite, Luc strode to the bedroom, his whole body tingling with emotion, awareness. He felt so alive.
He stopped short at the sight of Abby lying in bed, her hair spread like dark silk across the pillow, her lashes fanning her cheek. Her mouth, still swollen from his kisses, was pursed slightly in sleep, and he wondered what she was dreaming about.
Him?
Surely that was a dream?
In that moment, the condoms still clenched in his hand, Luc realized with cold, stark clarity how impossible this evening was. How fantastical.
Is this real? Tonight is as real as anything is.
Except, Luc acknowledged as he gazed down at Abby, this wasn’t real. He’d lied. This was but a moment in time, an evening taken from reality. And it had to stop now. He’d been about to take her innocence, Luc thought, the realization lashing him. He’d been about to take what wasn’t his, selfishly, utterly, and then walk away in the morning, for he knew he had no other choice. He had nothing more to give, nothing more to feel. Already he felt the numbness creep over him once more, his mind, soul and even heart turning cold and blank again.
He was so used to the sensation, it was almost comforting, and only the knowledge of how he might have hurt Abby pierced it like a well-aimed arrow. For surely he would hurt her? Unless…
Unless he left now, before he claimed her for his own and took her innocence. If he left now, while she slept, he would hurt her, but not as much. Not as deeply.
Luc let out a ragged sound, half-sigh, half-cry. He didn’t want to go. He wanted nothing more than to lose himself in Abby’s embrace for a few hours.
What a selfish bastard he truly was, and always had been, turning a blind eye to another’s pain as he took and did what he wanted.
No longer. Slowly, aching with regret and loss for what he’d never really had, Luc slid the unused pack of condoms into his pocket. He reached down to kiss Abby’s forehead once more, letting his lips barely brush her skin. She let out a little sigh, and the tiny sound clawed at Luc’s heart, causing little shocks of emotion that penetrated the hard shell he’d surrounded himself with. He’d kept himself numb for so long, he hadn’t thought he could feel again. He didn’t want to. Didn’t want to feel the guilt and regret his own failure caused streaming hotly through him.
He’d failed Suzanne. He’d failed her spectacularly, through month after month of never seeing, never understanding. Never doing anything to save her. He wouldn’t fail anyone else again, especially not someone as innocent and sweet as Abby. He wouldn’t allow himself the opportunity.
She had her life, her music, a whole, wonderful world that had nothing to do with him. It was better that way.
Gently Luc tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear, and let his fingers linger on her cheek before he forced his hand away.
He walked slowly to the doorway, his heart aching, feeling. He forced the emotion away, let the numbness settle over him once more like a mantle, a shroud. His coat draped over one arm, he turned back towards her sleeping form and whispered a single word: ‘Goodbye.’
Then he stole from the room, so quietly that in her sleep Abby didn’t even stir.
CHAPTER FOUR
ABBY woke slowly, languorously, a sleepy warmth still spread over her like a blanket.
‘Excusez-moi…’
Abby jerked upright, shock drenching her in icy ripples. A maid stood at the foot of the bed, her eyes downcast, a duster held in one hand.
Abby clutched the sheet to her chest—her naked chest. She didn’t have a stitch on; she looked around with a gnawing desperation for Luc. He was nowhere to be seen.
He was gone.
She felt it, just as she’d felt the connection—electric, magical—between them last night. This felt much worse—a consuming emptiness that told her he’d left like a thief in the night, before they’d even…She bit back the thought and its accompanying sob. She didn’t need to look down at the floor to see only her clothes strewn there, so carelessly, so obviously, to know he was gone. His departure echoed emptily inside her.
She glanced back at the maid who had raised her eyes to gaze at her with sly speculation that made Abby’s whole body flush. From somewhere she dredged the last remaining shreds of her dignity and stared haughtily at the maid.
‘Vous pouvez retourner dans quelques minutes…’
The maid nodded and disappeared from the room. Abby heard the lift doors swoosh open and knew she was alone.
Completely alone.
She choked back the sudden grief that threatened to swamp her. Why had he left? He’d gone to buy birth control, for heaven’s sake, and then he’d just left her here—why? Had he had second thoughts? Decided she wasn’t worth the effort? Would he ever be back? This was his room, after all; perhaps he would return. Surely…?
Abby slipped from the bed, wrapping the sheet more firmly around her as she stalked through the suite looking for clues, promises that he would be back, that he’d just slipped out for coffee.
But of course he hadn’t. In a place like this, coffee would have been delivered, along with warm croissants and the newspaper. She and Luc would have lounged in bed, drinking coffee and feeding each other croissants while they shared interesting bits of news they’d read. Then they would have made love as they’d meant to, had been about to, last night, slowly, languorously, taking their time…
Except of course they wouldn’t, now, because he was gone. It was a fantasy, just as last night had been a fantasy. What she’d felt had been a fantasy.
False.
Fairy tales didn’t happen. They were lies masked as bedtime stories, and she’d been a fool to believe in them—in him—for one moment.
Abby walked through the living room where they’d sat and talked, looking for—what? A scribbled message, a scrap of paper, anything to show her he hadn’t left so abruptly, hadn’t snuck out while she’d been sleeping with false promises of his quick return. Anything to show her last night had been real, that he’d felt as she had.
There was nothing.
Luc had taken every shred of evidence with him, as thoroughly and mercilessly as a criminal erasing his clues. The bureaux were empty, the cupboards bare.
He was utterly, utterly gone.
Still wrapped in a sheet, Abby sank on the edge of the bed, her mind spinning, desolation skirting on the fringes of her mind.
She couldn’t break down, not here, not now.
Not yet.
She took a deep breath and willed herself to think clearly. He was gone; she needed to accept that. She needed to get out of here.
She glanced down at her evening gown, still lying on the floor in a pooled heap of silk. That was all she had to wear, and the thought of walking through the lobby of the hotel in last night’s clothes made a fresh flush creep across her body once more as her head bowed in shame.
How could he have done this, have left her? After everything? And yet nothing. She’d been aching with desire, her body desperate to join with his, and he’d simply walked away! She closed her eyes, remembering the sweet, sweet pleasure of his hands on her body. A choked sob escaped her and she pressed a trembling fist to her lips. No, she wouldn’t think of that. She couldn’t, if she wanted to get out of here. She needed strength for the journey home, for surely her father was waiting for her, worried, furious, needing explanations.
What had she done?
Last night she hadn’t been thinking of repercussions. She hadn’t been thinking at all. She’d just wanted, wanted Luc, had wanted the night with him never to end.
And now it had. It had ended hours ago, and she hadn’t even realized.
With shaking hands, Abby dressed herself. Her Cinderella’s ballgown felt like rags now and left her just as bare. She shrugged on her coat and slipped her feet into the heels. A glance in the mirror showed her pale face, made strained and gaunt by the morning’s realizations. The evening gown spoke volumes about how she’d spent her night.
Abby heard the lift doors open once more and knew the maid had returned. She took a deep breath and kept her head held high as she swept towards the foyer.
‘Excusez-moi, mademoiselle,’ the maid murmured. ‘The gentleman checked out late last night. I did not realize he had a visitor.’
‘I was just leaving,’ Abby said in a cold voice, for her pride was all she had right now. Without looking at the maid, unable to bear seeing her scorn or pity, she entered the lift. As the doors closed, she sagged against the bench, the howl of misery inside her threatening to claw right up her throat and spill out in an endless rush of tears.
Somehow she managed to hold it together as she left the hotel. An almost comforting numbness stole over her as she walked alone through the opulent lobby, her head held high, looking neither left nor right. She heard the speculative murmurs in her wake, and knew she’d been recognized. She pushed the thought away, emerging into the street, the crisp morning air cooling her heated cheeks.
She hailed a taxi, relief pouring through her when one pulled up smoothly to the kerb seconds later. She slipped inside, gave her address and closed her eyes.