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.’
‘He’s marrying a woman named Amber Carter.’
Lisa nodded. Yes. She’d seen pictures of Amber Carter, too—a stunning brunette and the daughter of some industrial magnate. Someone like that would be unbelievably well connected, with friends who might be interested in buying a Lisa Bailey dress. And mightn’t this wedding serve another purpose at the same time? Mightn’t it get Luc out of her system once and for all if she spent some time with him? Banish some of her dreamy recollections and reinforce some of the other reasons why she’d finished with him. It would do her good to remember his fundamental arrogance and inbuilt need to control. And while she had shared his bed for a while, she realised she didn’t really know him.
Because Luc hadn’t wanted anything deeper—she’d understood that right from the start. He’d made it clear that the personal was taboo and the reason for that was simple. He was a royal prince who could never get close to a foreigner. So there had been no secrets shared. No access to his innermost thoughts just because they’d been sleeping together. He’d said it would be a waste of their time and make their parting all the more difficult if they became more intimate than they needed to be. She had understood and she had agreed, because her own agenda had been the same—if for different reasons—and she had also been determined not to get too close. Not to him. Not to anyone. And so they had just lived in the present—a glorious present which had been all about pleasure and little else.
She returned his questioning look. ‘Where is this wedding happening?’
‘At Conall’s country house at Crewhurst, this Saturday. It’s only just over an hour out of London.’
She looked directly into his eyes. ‘So it would be possible to get there and back in an evening?’
He held her gaze and she wondered if she’d imagined another flicker of triumph in his smile. ‘Of course it would,’ he said.
WHY THE HELL was she here? Lisa’s fingers tightened around her clutch bag. Alone in a car with the handsome Prince as they approached a stately mansion which was lit up like a Christmas tree.
Had she been crazy to accompany Luc to the A-list wedding of two complete strangers? Especially when she wasn’t even sure about his motives for asking her. And meanwhile her own motives were becoming increasingly muddled. She was supposed to be concentrating on drumming up new business, yet during a journey which had been short on words but high on tension, all she’d been able to think about was how gorgeous Luc looked in a dark suit which hugged his powerful body and emphasised the deep olive glow of his skin.
The summer sky was not yet dark but already the flaming torches lining the driveway had been lit—sending golden flames sparking into the air and giving the wedding party a carnival feel. On an adjacent field Lisa could see a carousel and nearby a striped hut was dispensing sticks of candyfloss and boxes of popcorn. A smooth lawn lay before them—a darkening sweep of emerald, edged with flowers whose pale colours could still be seen in the fading light.
It looked like a fairy tale, Lisa thought. Like every woman’s vision of how the perfect wedding should be. And you’re not going to buy into that. Because she knew the reality of marriage. She’d witnessed her stepfather crushing her mother’s spirit, like a snail being crushed beneath a heavy boot. And even though they weren’t even married, she’d seen Brittany being influenced by Jason’s smooth banter, which had changed into a steely control once Britt had given birth to Tamsin. Lisa’s lips compressed into a determined line. And that was never going to happen to her. She was never going to be some man’s tame pet.
A valet opened the car door and out she got. One of her high-heeled sandals wobbled as she stepped onto the gravel path, and as Luc put out his hand to steady her Lisa felt an instant rush of desire. Why was it still like this? she wondered despairingly as her nipples began to harden beneath her silky dress. Why could no other man ever make her feel a fraction of what she felt for the Prince? She looked into his eyes and caught what looked like a gleam of comprehension and she wondered if he could guess at the thoughts which were racing through her head. Did he realise she was achingly aware of her body through the delicate fabric as she wondered whether he was still turned on by a woman with curves...?
‘Look. Here comes the bride,’ he said softly.
Lisa turned to see a woman running towards them, the skirt of her white dress brushing against the grass, a garland of fresh flowers on top of her long, dark hair.
‘Your Royal Highness!’ she exclaimed, dropping a graceful curtsey. ‘I’m so happy you were able to make it.’
‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,’ answered Luc. ‘Amber, do you know Lisa Bailey—the designer? Lisa, this is the brand-new Mrs Devlin.’
‘No.’ The bride shook her head and smiled. ‘I don’t believe we’ve met. I’ve heard of you, of course—and your dress is gorgeous.’
Lisa smiled back. ‘So is yours.’
She was introduced to Amber’s new husband Conall—a tall and striking Irishman, who could barely tear his eyes away from his wife.
‘We’re not having a formal dinner,’ Amber was saying, her fingers lacing with those of her groom as they shot each other a look which suggested they couldn’t wait to be alone. ‘We thought it much better if people could just please themselves. Have fun and mingle. Ride on the carousel, or dance and eat hot dogs. You must let me get you and Lisa a drink, Your Highness.’
But Luc gave a careless wave of his hand. ‘No, please. No formality. Not tonight,’ he said. ‘Tonight I am simply Luc. I shall fetch the drinks myself, which we will enjoy in this beautiful garden of yours, and then I think we might dance.’ His eyes glittered as he turned his head. ‘Does that idea appeal to you, chérie?’
Lisa’s heart smashed against her ribcage as his sapphire gaze burnt over her skin and the unexpected French endearment reminded her of things she would prefer to forget. Like the way he used to slide her panties down until she would almost be pleading with him to rip them off—and his arrogant smile just before he did exactly that. But those kinds of thoughts were dangerous. Much. Too. Dangerous.
‘I like the sound of looking round the garden,’ she said. ‘Not having any outside space