LIBBY took a deep breath and steeled herself to return to the table.
As she was leaving the room a very attractive blonde of a similar age to herself bumped straight into her. ‘Pardon, madame!’ The woman stepped back apologetically.
‘It’s OK, I’m fine.’ Libby smiled at her.
‘Ah, you are English, are you not?’
Why was it that when a Frenchwoman spoke in broken English it was the most attractive sound? Libby was certain the same couldn’t be said for her when she spoke in her stumbling French.
‘Yes, I am.’ She nodded.
‘I noticed you in the dining room.’
It was strange, but Libby hadn’t noticed her…but then she had been concentrating so hard on what Marc had been saying to her that she hadn’t really noticed anybody.
‘Tell me, is that Marc Clayton you are dining with?’
‘Eh…yes,’ Libby answered in surprise.
‘I thought so…he is very attractive.’
‘I suppose so—’ Before Libby could finish the woman had swept on by and into the bathroom.
With a frown Libby returned to her table. She supposed that a lot of people would recognise Marc, he was a high-profile celebrity in his own right.
She was going to tell Marc about the incident, but as soon as she resumed her seat opposite him he continued briskly, ‘Anyway, getting back to the subject in hand.’
‘Yes? What was that?’ Libby asked distractedly.
‘I think you should give the press a short statement, something along the lines of how much you love your father and how circumstances have kept you apart. You don’t need to go into details—’
‘Oh, I see.’ He had her full attention now. ‘Perhaps you’d like to write a speech for me, put a bit of emotional spin in there while you are at it,’ she suggested dryly.
‘Emotional spin…’ Marc pretended to think about that for a moment, and then smiled at her. ‘Now, what do you suggest?’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Libby waved her hand airily. ‘I’ll leave that up to you, shall I? Because, judging by the things you have been saying to me, you do seem to have a remarkably vivid imagination. Maybe you could tell everyone I was lost at sea and spent twenty years living on a desert island? ‘
‘Yes, well, from your point of view I suppose that beats telling the truth,’ Marc said, cutting across her sarcasm dismissively. ‘That you have wanted nothing to do with your father until now and the only thing driving your little reunion is the fact that he now happens to be in the media spotlight and the money.’
Libby felt her skin heat with fury at those insulting words. There, she told herself furiously. Now he was showing his true colours again! ‘That is your version of the truth,’ she told him tightly, ‘and it is way off line.’
‘Bit more believable than your desert-island excuse, though,’ Marc replied nonchalantly.
Libby’s temperature felt as if it had shot through the ceiling now. ‘I don’t have to make excuses for my behaviour, because I haven’t done anything wrong.’ Her eyes blazed into his.
‘If you say so.’ Marc’s tone was infuriatingly calm.
Libby wanted to storm out of there and have nothing more to do with him. It seemed the safest option as well! Hastily she pulled herself together, but it took every ounce of her self-control to rein in her temper and remind herself that Marc was her only real link with her father and walking out on him right now wasn’t really an option.
‘So what are you going to tell the press, then?’ She forced herself to ask the question calmly.
‘Well, certainly not that your credit rating is low,’ he replied nonchalantly.
Libby’s face was on fire with fury now. ‘There’s nothing wrong with my credit rating,’ she blustered.
‘There is according to my research.’
Libby stared at him in consternation. ‘What research?’
‘Oh, I’ve got a dossier on you this thick.’ Marc held his hand twelve inches off the table. ‘I put a private investigator on the case.’
Libby was so shocked she could hardly speak. ‘I hope that is a joke?’ she spluttered.
‘No.’ In contrast to her, Marc sounded coolly composed. ‘Firstly I needed to make sure you were who you said you were. And secondly I wanted to know as much about you as possible so that I knew who I was dealing with.’
‘Really?’ Libby’s head was reeling with this information. ‘So you know all about my misspent youth, then?’ She tried to make a joke, but her voice was filled with arid disdain.
‘Unfortunately my investigator missed that bit out.’ Marc leaned his head in his hands and fixed her with a very interested look. ‘Would you like to tell me about it? I promise it will go no further.’
‘Much as I’m sure you are the soul of discretion, I think I’ll pass, thanks, just in case it gets incorporated into the little speech you are preparing for the press on my behalf.’
‘Pity.’ Marc shrugged. ‘I think I might have enjoyed that piece of information. I did learn, however, that you and your boyfriend Simon have split up…which begs the question why you lied to me about that earlier?’
The nonchalant question made her stomach churn. She never usually told lies…it was just her luck that when she did she was instantly found out! And by Marc Clayton of all people, he already had a lower-than-low opinion of her. With difficulty she held his gaze. ‘I didn’t lie. We are just having a break from each other, that’s all! And we are making plans now to get back together—not that it is any of your damn business.’
‘Ordinarily I would agree. But I got to wondering why you had split up, and when I saw the state of your finances I couldn’t help wondering if Simon’s departure had anything to do with the fact that you are hopeless with money…a compulsive shopper, I believe.’
‘You know, Marc, I think you are quite obsessed with the subject of money.’ Her eyes burned into his. ‘And I hate to disappoint you, but your theory is wrong. Money had nothing whatsoever to do with Simon and I taking a break! And I am not a compulsive shopper.’
‘But you are all spent up,’ he reflected. ‘So I suppose that was when you decided to come and find Daddy?’
Libby was so furious now that she wanted to reach out and wipe that infuriating, smug, know-it-all expression off his face. She linked her hands together and reined in tight control.
‘Your remarks are insulting and absurd!’ She glared at him. ‘And do you know what? I’m not even going to grace them any further with an answer.’
She was quite proud of the fact that her voice was now very cool and her manner poised. There was no way she was going to allow this man to upset her further.
Marc met her eyes across the table. He had to admit, her cool dignity was impressive. Hell, the way she looked at him with those big blue eyes even made him feel momentarily guilty! He frowned. Why should he feel guilty? She was the trickster here… He had already caught her out on two lies this evening. ‘I’m sorry I had to pry, Libby. But for your father’s sake I had to check you out.’
She glanced at her watch. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to go now.’
‘Go?’
‘Yes, back to my hotel. It’s been rather a long day.’
‘You haven’t eaten much. Why don’t you let me order you something else?’
Libby was surprised that he had noticed how much she had eaten, and was even more taken aback by that sudden note of concern in his voice… It was fake, of course.
‘I’m fine. I really enjoyed the meal. It was just the company that was a bit dodgy.’ She flashed him a pointed look from bright blue eyes and shrugged. ‘But you can’t have everything, can you?’
‘So they say.’ Marc seemed not in the least put out by the remark. ‘Though I’ve never held with that sentiment myself.’
No, he wouldn’t, Libby thought as she watched him put up a hand to summon the waitress over. Marc Clayton was obviously very used to having it all. There was an unmistakable air of power and determination about him that stated very clearly that he got what he wanted. She still couldn’t believe he’d had the audacity to put a private detective on her!
The bill was produced and Marc put his credit card down on the silver tray provided.
‘So how much do I owe you?’ Libby asked quickly.
Marc waved a hand dismissively. ‘Let’s just put it on the account, shall we?’
‘What account?’
‘The account to be settled at a later date.’ He looked over at her and smiled. ‘By me.’
‘I’d rather not, thank you.’ She hoped she didn’t sound too prim, but there was no way she was going to be under an obligation to him. Quickly she stretched out a hand and took the bill from the plate.
As she glanced down at it she thought for a moment that she was looking at a VAT number or the till-receipt number… The meal surely couldn’t have cost that much? But, no, as she scanned the list she saw that the bottom number was indeed the correct total. She certainly didn’t have enough cash on her to even pay half!
She glanced over at him and half smiled. ‘I’ll have to give you my credit card.’
Marc reached out and took the bill back from her. ‘I invited you to dinner, Libby, and I am paying.’
‘Certainly not!’ Hastily she scrabbled for her purse, produced her credit card and dropped it onto the silver plate along with his. ‘There.’ She smiled at him. ‘Just split it between the two cards.’ She was pleased by how nonchalant her voice sounded, as if the amount was nothing to her.
For a moment Marc’s eyes held with hers across the table. He noticed the defiant sparkle in her gaze and the erect way she held herself so ramrod-straight in her chair. Then he stood up. ‘I’m not fooled for one moment by that act, Libby.’ He tossed her credit card back on the table. ‘Save your “little miss independent” charade for your father.’
Before she could answer him he had walked away to take the bill towards a small reception area.
Libby glared at his retreating, broad back. ‘Loathsome man,’ she muttered, putting her card away.
A few moments later Marc made his way back to the table. He had a grim expression on his face.
‘Everything OK?’ She gritted her teeth and forced herself to sound civil.
‘Not really,’ he muttered. ‘The paparazzi are out at the front of the restaurant so we had better leave by the back exit.’
‘Really?’ Libby was astounded.
‘Yes, really. So what I suggest is that I leave the table first and, just in case they can see us through the windows, you give me a few minutes before following.’
Libby shook her head. ‘I can’t believe they have followed us out here.’
‘Well, they are definitely out there. I’ll see you outside in five minutes.’
Was this really necessary? There was no time to ask; Marc was already moving away from the table.
She sat for the required amount of time and tried not to glance towards the windows. Then she stood up and followed the direction Marc had taken towards the back of the restaurant. This really was strange. Who would ever have thought that she would be fleeing the paparazzi through a back door? Surely it wasn’t because of her? Maybe they were more interested in Marc?
Their waitress was waiting for her by the back door and she opened it for her with a smile. Then Libby found herself in a moonlit garden fragrant with the scent of lavender. Just beyond the dark, neat rows of flowerbeds, the sea was a silver and charcoal mosaic of light.
‘Over here.’ Marc was waiting for her by a gate.
‘This is ridiculous,’ Libby muttered as she made her way across to him. ‘Are you sure the paparazzi are out at the front? I can’t understand why they would be bothered to follow us like this.’
‘They didn’t follow us. Someone has tipped them off, told them we are here.’
Libby stopped in her tracks. ‘I hope you are not suggesting that I did that! Because I’m getting really tired of you throwing these accusations at me!’ She put one hand on her hip. ‘I did not tip the press off.’
Marc turned and looked down at the bright sparkle of anger in her eyes. ‘You know, I was right! You really should take up acting. You can be very convincing.’
‘I’m telling you, Marc, I haven’t tipped them off.’
‘So you haven’t got a mobile phone in your handbag? And you didn’t rush off from the table to use it a little while ago?’
‘No, I did not! Why would I?’
‘Because you are playing a very dangerous game.’ Marc’s voice was harsh and grating and as he stepped closer Libby swallowed down a feeling of trepidation…but she wasn’t sure if the feeling was generated by his mood or by how dangerously attractive she found him.
‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’ She tried to take a step away from him, but he caught hold of her arm. The touch of his skin against hers made her temperature start to rise.
‘It’s called playing two ends to the middle. You are hoping to get money out of the press…and hoping your father coughs up to shut you up. I suppose another word for it is blackmail, Libby.’
Libby brushed his hand away from her furiously. ‘How dare you say something so repugnant?’
‘How dare you ring the press?’
‘I told you I didn’t.’
‘Well, that’s strange, because I sent our waitress outside to see what was going on, and the paparazzi told her they had received a phone call from a woman about twenty minutes ago… About the same time as you left the table.’
‘Well, it’s a coincidence!’ Libby spluttered indignantly.
‘Just like the journalist at your hotel was a coincidence as well?’
‘Well…yes…I can’t explain it…’
‘No, I didn’t think you could.’ Marc reached out and pulled her even closer. Libby felt her heart thud heavily against her chest as she suddenly became aware of the touch of his hand against her waist now.
‘You see, the thing is…’ Marc reached out and tipped her face gently upwards with one finger under her chin ‘…that people who play with fire should expect to get burnt.’ Although his touch was gentle, his voice was rough like sandpaper on her senses.
Libby couldn’t find her voice to be able to make a reply. She could hardly think straight because his fingers were stroking lightly against the side of her face and the butterfly-soft caress was doing very strange things to her emotions. The scent of his cologne mingled with the scent of lavender in the air and it intoxicated her senses.
‘What do you want, Marc?’ The question was no more than a whisper in the softness of the night air.
‘I want you to keep away from the press,’ he grated, ‘and do as you are damn well told.’
From somewhere she summoned up enough strength of spirit to put defiance in her tone. ‘I’ve never been one for doing what I’m told.’
‘Now that I believe.’ For a second his lips twisted in a ruggedly handsome smile.
‘And I won’t be bullied or distracted away from what I have come to France to do, and that is see my father.’
‘I have no intention of bullying you,’ Marc said wryly. ‘And I think you are the one who is employing distraction tactics…’ For a moment his eyes flicked down over the provocative way her dress showed just a hint of her curves. ‘You’ve deliberately worn a very sexy dress tonight and you know exactly what you are doing every time you moisten your lips…bat your long eyelashes at me.’
‘That is absolute rubbish.’ Her voice trembled a little and she cursed herself for the sudden loss of composure. But it was really hard to think straight when he was saying things like that…and looking at her with such intensity.
A soft breeze blew a strand of her hair across her face and he reached out a hand to brush it back. The touch of his skin against hers sent tingles of awareness rushing through her.
‘Is it?’ He shook his head. ‘Maybe you just need to learn a little lesson about playing with fire…hmm?’
‘Marc, I—’
Whatever else she had been going to say was cut short as his lips crushed down against hers in a ruthlessly punishing kind of kiss.
She should have pushed him away! But the strange thing was that an instant flame of passion flared as soon as their lips met, a flame that was so intense that it spun all the way through Libby’s body making her feel weak with a raging desire.
Her hands curled upwards around his neck and she found herself kissing him back with equal hungry intensity.
The moment was slightly unreal. The sound of the sea breaking on the beach below them thundered now in her ears, and all that seemed to matter were the wonderful sensations of desire that he was stirring up inside her. His lips were wildly intoxicating; his hands as they stroked over the side of her face and then moved down her back were masterfully confident and yet so gentle that they melted every inch of her. She longed to be closer to him…longed for so much more…
Then suddenly the dark velvet softness of the night was torn apart by bright flashes of light. Libby stumbled back from Marc in shock and he reached to take hold of her hand as men holding cameras, asking questions, surrounded them.
‘No comment, guys,’ Marc called as he tried to shelter her from them and hurry her away through the gate out into the car park.
He sounded so together, Libby thought hazily as she got into the car. How was that, when she felt totally dazed…totally out of her depth?
‘Who is the young lady, Marc?’ One of the reporters shouted the question as Marc backed the car up. ‘Are you going to let us in on the secret? Is she Carl Quinton’s daughter?’
‘She is nobody of any importance to you,’ Marc shouted back at them, and then with a squeal of brakes they drove off into the night.