Chapter 20

Luc was being abnormally obtuse. Colliding with golden eyes that had a stunned stillness, she went pink and, lowering her head, embarked on the buttons of his shirt. Hiding a mischievous smile, she understood his incredulity. Undressing Luc was a first. Initiating lovemaking was also a first. She ran caressing fingertips over warm golden skin roughened by black curling hair. His audible intake of oxygen matched to the raw tension in his muscles encouraged her to continue.

There was so much pleasure in simply touching him. It was extraordinary, she thought abstractly, but, although sanity told her it couldn't be possible, she felt starved of him. As she pressed her lips lovingly to his vibrant flesh and kissed a haphazard trail of increasing self-indulgence from his strong brown throat to his flat muscular stomach, he jerked and dropped the phone.

'Catherine…' he muttered, sounding satisfyingly ragged.

Her small hand strayed over his thigh. As she touched him he groaned deep in his throat and a sense of wondering power washed over her. He was trembling, his dark head thrown back, a fevered flush accentuating his hard bone-structure. All this time and it was this easy, she reflected, marvelling at the sheer strength of his response to her.

'Catherine, you shouldn't be doing this.' He was breathing fast and audibly, the words thick and indistinct.

'I'm enjoying myself,' she confided, slightly dazed by what she was doing, but telling the truth.

'Per amor di Dio, where's my conscience?' he gasped as she ran the tip of her tongue along his waistband.

'What conscience?' she whispered, lost in a voluptuous world all of her own as she inched down his straining zip.

'Cristo, this is purgatory!' Taking her by surprise, Luc jackknifed out of reach at accelerated speed. 'We can't do this. We're nearly at the airport!' he muttered unsteadily.

'We're in a traffic jam.' In an agony of mortification more intense than any she had ever known, she stared at him, her hauntingly beautiful eyes dark with pain.

With a succinct swear-word, he dragged her close, taking her mouth with a wild, ravishing hunger that drove the breath from her lungs and left her aching for more. Every nerve-ending in her body went crazy in that powerful embrace. Plastered to every aroused line of his taut length, the scent of him and the taste of him and the feel of

him went to her head with the potency of a mind-blowing narcotic.

Dragging his mouth from hers, he buried his face in her tumbled hair. The sharp shock of separation hurt. His heart was crashing against her crushed breasts. She could literally feel him fighting to get himself back under control. A long, shuddering breath ran through him. 'You're not strong enough for this, Catherine. You're supposed to be resting,' he reminded her almost roughly. 'So, have a little pity, hmm? Don't torture me.'

'I'm not ill. I feel great.' She ignored the throbbing at the base of her skull.

With a hard glance of disagreement, he set her back on the seat. 'You're quite capable of saying that because you think that's what I want to hear. How could you feel great? You must feel lousy, and, the next time I ask, lousy is what I want to hear! Is that clear?'

'As crystal.' Bowing her head, she fought to suppress the silent explosion of amusement that had crept up on her unawares. Why was she laughing? Why the heck was she laughing? Her body was shrieking at the deprivation he had sentenced them both to suffer. It wasn't funny, it really wasn't funny, but if she went to her dying day she would cherish the look of disbelief on his dark features when she, and not he, took the initiative for a change.

She had shocked Luc, actually shocked him. Who would ever have dreamt that she could possess that capability? It made her feel wicked…it made her feel sexy…and his reaction had made her feel like the most wildly seductive woman in the world. And wasn't it sweet, incredibly sweet of her supremely self-centred Luc to embrace celibacy for her benefit?

Once, she was convinced, Luc would have taken her invitation at face value, satisfying his own natural inclinations without further thought. That he had thought meant a great deal to her. That brand of unselfish caring was halfway to love, wasn't it? In a state of bliss, Catherine listened to him reeling off terse instructions to some unfortunate, no doubt quailing at the other end of the phone line. She wanted to smile. She knew why Luc was in a bad mood.

They traversed the airport at speed in a crush of moving bodies, security men zealously warding off the reporters and photographers Luc deplored. He guarded his privacy with a ferocity that more than one newspaper had lived to regret.

'Who's the blonde, Mr Santini?' someone shouted raucously.

Without warning, Luc wheeled round, his arm banding round Catherine in a hold of steel. 'The future Mrs Santini,' he announced, taking everyone by surprise, including Catherine.

There was a sudden hush and then a frantic clamour of questions, accompanied by the flash of many cameras. Luc's uncharacteristic generosity towards the Press concluded there.

They were crossing the tarmac to the jet when it happened. Something dark and dreadful loomed at the back of her mind and leapt out at her. The sensation frightened the life out of her and she froze. She saw an elderly woman with grey hair, her kindly face distraught. 'You mustn't do it…you mustn't!' she was pleading. And then the image was gone, leaving Catherine white and dizzy and sick with only this nameless, irrational fear focused on the jet.

'I can't get on it!' she gasped.

'Catherine.' Luc glowered down at her.

'I can't…I can't! I don't know why, but I can't!' Hysteria blossoming, she started to back away with raised hands.

Luc strode forward, planted powerful hands to her narrow waist and swung her with daunting strength into his arms. In the grip of that incomprehensible panic, she struggled violently. 'I can't get on that jet!'

'It's not your responsibility any more.' Luc held her with steely tenacity. 'I'm kidnapping you. Think of it as an elopement. Good afternoon, Captain Edgar. Just ignore my fianc;aaee. She's a little phobic about anything that flies without feathers.'

The pilot struggled visibly to keep his facial muscles straight. 'I'll keep it smooth, Mr Santini.'

Luc mounted the steps two at a time, stowed Catherine into a seat and did up the belt much as though it were a ball and chain to keep her under restraint. He gripped her hands. 'Now breathe in slowly and pull yourself together,' he instructed. 'You can scream all the way to Rome if you like but it's not going to get you anywhere. Think of this as the first day of the rest of your life.'