Master of Passion Read online

  The swine knew damn well she had. 'Of course.' She rose to her feet and bravely walked across to Luc. 'And as for paying thousands for them, you can go whistle.' She reached out and caught one end of the packet, but Luc quickly grasped her wrist and, by the simple expedient of tightening his grip, forced her to let go.

  'Not so fast, Parisa. You think I am blackmailing this girl.' He shook the packet in front of her. 'So you decided to break into this apartment and steal the evidence. Have I got that right?'

  'Don't try to play the innocent with me, Luc Di Maggi. I know all about your little game. To supplement your income from the casino you blackmail defenseless young women,' she jeered.

  'The casino—you know about that?'

  What was the matter with the man? Did he really think he could fool her with all these questions? 'Either you give me those photographs or I call the police,' she bluffed. The touch of his hand on her wrist, the closeness of his large frame, was having a very odd effect on her over strung nerves. She had to get out of here, and quick. Apart from anything else, she did not have a great deal of confidence in Moya. The girl was terrified, and it would not take much to push Moya over the edge and make her drive off if Parisa was much longer.

  Luc's deep voice broke the lengthening silence. 'The police, Parisa? You surprise me. I thought you were more intelligent.'

  'Blackmail is a major crime,' she snapped.

  'But, my dear Parisa, by the time the police arrive I will have burnt the evidence, and all they will find is a young woman dressed for robbery.' His dark eyes skated over her, his lips tilting in a sensual smile as his eyes lingered on her full breasts.

  Suddenly she realised what a sight she must look. The black leotard and black tights clung to every curve of her slender body like a second skin. Defensively she folded her arms over her chest, at a loss for words. If he did burn the evidence Moya's problem would be solved, but hers would only just be starting.

  'Yes, cara.' He watched the changing emotions flickering across her lovely face. 'Instead they will see you, your knife and my broken desk. With the addition of a bundle of money, I think I can safely say you will end up serving a rather long hard sentence.'

  His scenario was all too easy to believe, Parisa realised with a sinking heart, and her brief burst of confidence dwindled to nothing. Instead she stared up into a pair of cold black eyes, fearful of what would come next.

  'However I'll make a deal with you. If you are agreeable, I will guarantee that your friend receives the photographs and negatives very soon, and in complete secrecy.'

  'A deal.' She did not trust him. How could she? He was a crook, but she had to hear him out. 'What kind of deal?' she demanded, managing to sound much more in control than she felt.

  Casually he strolled across the room and, placing the vital package in the drawer of a long mahogany sideboard, he picked up a bottle of whisky from a silver tray placed on top, and poured a generous measure of liquid into a crystal tumbler. 'Join me in a drink and I will explain.' His dark head turned towards her. 'Whisky, or perhaps brandy would be better. You look a little shocked.'

  Shocked did not begin to describe Parisa's feelings, and there was no way she was going to share a drink with the man. 'Nothing for me, thank you,' she refused. 'Just get on with it.'

  'Such impatience,' he mocked, and in a few lithe strides fee crossed the room and sprawled his large frame in the chair opposite. He took a sip of the amber liquid, his dark eyes fixed, on her with a narrow-eyed scrutiny, as if he was coming to some conclusion in his own mind. 'Yes,' he murmured almost to himself. 'Well, Parisa, it is quite simple. As Tina mentioned when she so rudely interrupted us, I have to go to my mother's birthday party in Italy on Tuesday.'

  'I'm surprised you have a mother,' she muttered.

  'Grazie, Parisa...'

  'Yes, well get on with it”.

  'My mother is seventy, but sadly not in the best of health, and it is her dearest wish to see me married. I have no desire to put my head in that particular noose, but for my mother's peace of mind I don't mind pretending, and that's where you come in.'

  Parisa looked at him suspiciously; she did not think she liked the sound of this at all. Her blue eyes lingered on his face. He was a very handsome man. Thick dark hair fell in a slight wave across his broad forehead. His dark eyes were half closed, disguising his expression behind thick, curling lashes. His mouth was wide, the bottom lip slightly fuller than the top, his chin square and hard. His typical Roman nose gave an added ruggedness to features that would otherwise have been classically handsome.

  'How?' she asked warily.

  'You come to Italy and act as my fiancée for a couple of days, and your friend gets her photographs back. I think my mother will be suitably impressed with an English Lady as a prospective daughter-in-law, and it will get her off my back for a while.'

  Parisa saw it all, of course. His mistress had begged to go with him earlier, and he had bluntly turned her down. Parisa never used her title, but she was quite used to other people using it when trying to impress. But could she stomach a couple of days in the company of a crook? And at the moment, virtually his prisoner, did she have a choice?

  'What would I have to do, exactly?' She stalled for time. Luc placed his glass on a nearby table and, rising, moved to stand in front of her, much too close for her liking. She raised her head, his dark presence intimidating her. 'Attend one party, that is all...' she prompted, as though she was considering his proposition.

  'Yes. And be nice to me, act as though we are in love,' he drawled cynically, and before she could respond he had hauled her into his arms, her own arms pinned to her body.

  At the touch of his hard body pressed against her own, her consideration flew out of the window. 'I'm not that good an actress,' she spat, her hands clenching at her sides in frustration, itching to slap his arrogant face, but unable to move.

  I’ll teach you,' he mocked, correctly reading the anger in her eyes, and amused by it.

  'Why, you arrogant swine!' she fumed, but the rest of her words were swallowed as his dark head swooped down, his mouth capturing hers. She twisted sharply, trying to break free of his hold, but as his mouth continued to ravage hers she felt her anger fading, and the unexpected coil of desire uncurling in her stomach. No! she told herself, but as his lips softened on hers, and somehow his tongue found a way between her teeth, her pulse leapt alarmingly.

  She was aware of the hard muscular chest pressed against her breasts, and to her horror she could feel her nipples begin to tighten in an aching response. She vaguely heard a moan—Luc or herself, she was not sure.

  The moist heat of his mouth burnt as he broke the kiss and trailed kisses to the pulse beating madly in her neck. His tongue licked lightly, almost soothingly; then he was holding her away from him.

  'That will do for starters,' he said coolly. 'And you are quite wrong, Parisa. If that kiss is anything to go by, you have lost none of your acting talent.'

  She stared up at him, her blue eyes dazed by the force of her own emotional response. He was smiling a cold, cynical smile, as though the last couple of minutes had never happened. Parisa despised him, but she despised herself more. To allow a man of his character to arouse her sexuality was so humiliating. There was no way she was going to Italy with him. Moya would have to sort the mess out herself. Parisa no longer dared. Her one thought was how to get out of the apartment, away from this man.

  'Don't look so shocked, cara, you won't have to perform too often.'

  'Yes, well, all right,' she said with commendable calm, considering that her legs were trembling. Her mind was racing, and she knew what she had to do. I think I will have that drink now, and we can discuss the details, but first I must visit the bathroom.'

  'Good girl, I knew you would see it my way. After all, it is to our mutual benefit.' He smiled.

  Parisa forced a smile in response, turned, and almost made a mistake by heading straight for the bathroom. She swung back around. 'Where i
s the bathroom?' she asked with pseudo innocence.

  'Straight across the hall. I'll show you.' And with a hand at her back he urged her into the hall, and gestured with his other hand to the bathroom door. 'I will have the champagne waiting to celebrate our deal,' he said silkily, while making sure he stood between Parisa, the front door and escape.

  'How lovely.' The swine was in for a shock, she thought gleefully.

  In seconds she was in the bathroom, back out of the window, and down the fire-escape. She heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of Moya's familiar blue Fiat still waiting. Running along the back lane, she opened the passenger door sad jumped in.

  'Drive quickly.'

  'Did you get them?' Moya demanded urgently.

  'Not now’, Moya, hurry!' And with a grinding of gears the car shot forward.

  Half an hour later, seated in a comfortable armchair in Moya's apartment in Kensington, a glass of brandy in her hand, Parisa took a large gulp of the fiery liquid, and slowly began to relax.

  'For God's sake, Parisa, don't keep me in suspense. I can't bear it...

  Have you got the photographs?'

  Parisa looked at her friend sitting opposite. Moya was medium height with long chestnut hair, big brown, eyes, and a figure that rivaled Marilyn Monroe's. Yet perched on the edge of the chair, an apprehensive expression marring her beautiful face, and dark shadows under her eyes, she looked positively haggard.

  'I'm sorry, Moya. It was a total flop.'

  'But how? All you had to do was climb in and get them. You're a sports mistress, for heaven's sake!' she wailed. 'You were my last hope.'

  'Oh, I got in all right. Unfortunately, contrary to your information, the place was not empty. Your Italian was there, and, by the way--Parisa grimaced '—I would hardly have called the man small. He knocked me down with no trouble at all.'

  'Oh, my God!'

  'Exactly! Prayers are all you have left, my friend.. Parisa said bluntly. 'There is no way I am having anything more to do with this. I was crazy to agree in the first place, and how come you told me his name was Luigi something or other? The man is called Luca Di Maggi, and if I had known that I wouldn't have gone within ten miles of his apartment.'

  'Luigi, Luca, what's the difference?' Moya responded, the agitation evident in her tone. 'You still haven't told me what happened. He must have said something.'

  In a few short sentences Parisa described the events of the evening, leaying out the part about his mistress. She lifted a finger to her slightly swollen lips, the memory of his kisses oddly disturbing. 'Anyway, there I was on the carpet, imagining he was going to kill me, when this woman walked in. Do you remember Tina Franco?'

  'That mysterious Italian girl from school, the one whose family we thought belonged to the Mafia... But what are we reminiscing for when my life is…?'

  Parisa cut in, 'She's a cousin of his. Anyway, she recognised me, and thought we were a couple. Seemingly the man's mother is having a birthday party next week, and he had the gall to suggest that if I went to Italy with him and acted as his fiancée he would give me the photographs.'

  'You'll have to go, Parisa. Please... My whole future is at stake here. You've got to help me. I couldn't bear to lose Simon, and I will, I know I will, if those photographs are ever published...

  'No, Moya. I would do a lot for you. But I am not going anywhere with Di Maggi, and I honestly can't understand how you got mixed up with him. I think your best bet is to explain everything to Simon. He loves you; he will forgive you one lover, surely.'

  'Lover!' Moya screeched. 'Never...! I met the man with a crowd of friends at the casino. Then last summer I went on holiday to Nice with the same crowd, and he happened to be there. We were all on the beach and he took those photographs. I only went out with him once when I got back from holiday, and he was like an octopus, so I chased him. I'm still a virgin,' she ended tremulously.

  'Ah. Well, then...you've nothing to worry about. Tell Simon the truth and forget about the crook.'

  'I can't, Parisa. He worships me, and I love him. If those pictures ever appear in a newspaper it would destroy everything. His family would disown me. So, you see, you must help me.' She leant forward, clutching Parisa's arm. 'You could do it, Parisa. You're on half- term holiday from school. A call to your housekeeper, extending your stay—tell her we're going shopping for the bridesmaid's dress on Monday. Please I have no one else to turn to.'

  Parisa almost succumbed to her friend's pleading, until, she had a vivid mental image of the man concerned lying on top of her, his lips ravaging hers. A shudder danced down her spine and she sat up stiffly in the low chair.

  'No, Moya, I'm sorry. In the morning I'm going to get the first train back home before that man has a chance to catch up with me. He knows your address, and I'm not taking any chances. Talk to Simon. He loves you; he will understand. Or call the police. Now I'm going to bed.' She stood up.

  'Please, Parisa,' Moya begged. 'My future happiness is at stake.' Her bottom lip trembled. 'We've always helped each other before. Remember the time you wanted to go to the pop concert? You climbed out of the dormitory window, down the oak tree. I covered for you when Miss Cliff checked the dorm, and stayed up half the night to drag you back in.'

  Parisa felt terribly guilty, letting Moya down, but she couldn't explain the fear she felt in Luc Di Maggi's presence. Not without explaining about a summer day ten years ago, and she had told no one—not even Moya— what had happened. She had made a fool of Luc Di Maggi, and he was not the type of man to forgive easily. She just knew instinctively that to get tangled up with the man would do her nothing but ham... 'Sorry,' she muttered, heading for the door.

  'OK, Parisa, if you can't, you can't,' Moya said sadly. 'I suppose I will have to sleep with the man, although the very thought makes my flesh crawl.'

  'What!' Parisa cried, spinning on her heel to face her friend.

  'Well, he did say cash or kind, and as neither you nor I have the cash...' Moya's anguished words trailed off, her brown eyes desolate.

  Parisa was hit with a host of conflicting emotions. That the swine could blackmail women into his bed was beyond belief, and she hated the thought of Moya being one of them. She glanced at her friend. Moya looked completely crushed, and yet some devil deep inside Parisa whispered that Luc Di Maggi was far too attractive, too much male. He was more likely to be fighting women off than having to blackmail them into his bed. He must really want Moya badly—either that or he was a sex maniac! Neither thought gave Parisa any comfort.

  'If you won't help me I have no choice. I couldn't bare to see the disgust in Simon's eyes if he ever saw those pictures. I just couldn't live without Simon. Please, Parisa.'

  'Let's sleep on it, Moya. Things always look better in the morning.'

  CHAPTER TWO

  Wearily Parisa stripped off her clothes, and stepped into the shower. She turned the water to hot and stood under the refreshing spray. God! What a night. But then she should have known. On the rare occasions she gave in to the reckless side of her nature it invariably ended in a fiasco, and becoming a cat burglar had not been a good idea. Parisa loved Moya dearly, but the girl was virtually incapable of looking after herself. They had met as fourteen-year-olds at Brenlodge School for Girls. Parisa had just lost her parents in, of all things, a hot- air balloon attempt at crossing the Atlantic. Moya's mother had recently died in a car crash. Her father was a self-made man who worked all the hours God sent and had little time for his daughter, and so had sent the girl to boarding-school. Parisa and Moya had become firm friends, Moya spending most of the school holidays with Parisa at her home, Hardcourt Manor, as her own father was rarely at their Norfolk home.

  When Parisa had gone to university and then into teaching at a private school in Battle near her home, they had still kept in touch. In fact it was when Moya had spent last Christmas with Parisa that she had met Simon and fallen in love at first sight. His father had just bought the estate adjacent to Parisa's home.

 
Parisa sighed. She felt in some way responsible for her friend, but what she could do about it she hadn't a clue. Turning off the tap, she stepped out of the shower, took a large towel off the heated rail, and briskly rubbed herself dry. What she would like to do was murder Luc Di Maggi, but it wasn't really an option, she told herself wryly. She was tired, her head ached, and all she wanted was sleep. She walked into the bedroom, dropped the towel to the floor, and climbed, naked, into bed, but sleep was elusive.

  Every time she closed her eyes the image of Luc Di Maggi appeared in her mind. She had not thought about him in years, but tonight, seeing him and Tina again, had brought it all back.

  At fourteen she had been exactly the same as she was now. Five feet nine, platinum, almost silver hair, and fully developed. She had loved school and excelled at sports, and, looking back, she could see that was probably why Tina had sought her out. Tina had been eighteen and in her last term at school. One Saturday morning she had cornered the much younger Parisa and asked her if she would do her a favour. Seemingly her boyfriend was arriving to see her that day, but her cousin was coming with him as a chaperon, and would Parisa make up the foursome to distract the cousin?

  Parisa had been so naive and slightly in awe of a sixth- former actually wanting to speak to her that she had agreed to everything. She had meekly allowed Tina to dress her up in one of her skirts, which might have been respectable on her five-foot-two frame, but was indecently short on Parisa. The scoop-necked blouse had not been much better. With the addition of make-up, by the time Tina had finished Parisa easily looked eighteen.

  Tina had coached her well. 'Just remember you are eighteen, in my class, and my good friend, if Luc asks. Flutter your eyelashes a bit and hang on to his every word and he'll be eating out of your hand. He's a sucker for leggy blondes; you'll have no trouble at all. By the way, you're captain of the rowing team and have the key to the boat-house, don't you?'

  Parisa quickly confirmed the fact, and Tina had said, 'Well, just for fun, I want you to show Luc the boats and accidentally lock him in for a while.'