Making a face, Lissa followed him through the close-set trees. The scent of the honeysuckle drifted to her and she inhaled it "with a sigh.
She heard a footstep behind her and turned abruptly. A tall, dark figure emerged from the sheltering gloom around it, and her heart stopped with a fierce pang.
Her mouth dried up. She felt like running, which was absurd, because what did she think he might do? There were plenty of people within earshot and she only had to scream if he so much as laid a linger on her.
'Where are you going?' he asked lazily, sauntering towards her, the moonlight chequering his body and giving him the appearance of a harlequin, the black hair a neat cap.
'I'm taking my dog for a walk,' she said huskily, furious with herself for her own nervous reaction to him.
He came closer. She saw the blue eyes glinting in the moonlight, as though he could read the panic which had flared up in her and was amused by it.
'Your act tonight was more what I'd expected from you,' he told her softly.
Lissa prickled with annoyance at that, and a flush ran up her face. 'I'm glad you were pleased,' she said in a brittle voice.
He laughed, watching her with wicked amusement. Lissa turned to go on an impulse of sheer fury and he caught her arm.
'Don't move,' he said, as though warning her against some danger.
'Why?' she asked, startled.
'I want to watch the moonlight sliding down your throat and between your breasts,' he murmured, smiling, and Lissa's nerves leapt with angry fire.
She pushed his hand away and turned on her heel. The insolence of his tone was not making her as angry as her own reaction the look in the teasing blue eyes. Her spine had shivered as he stared at her like that.
As she walked away Luc Ferrier said softly, 'Lucky moonlight,' and although Lissa struggled to retain command of herself she was so alarmed that she broke into a run. She heard him laughing and could have burst into tears of humiliation.
CHAPTER THREE
Chris was terse and irritable next day. When he snapped at her Lissa looked at him in anxious surprise and he turned away, his shoulders set.
'Did you play last night?' she asked hurriedly, and he gave her a furious look.
'No, I didn't. I promised, didn't I?' Relief flooded into her and she understood the reason for his mood. Chris had kept his word, but it had been a hard struggle. He was feeling cross with her for demanding that promise. At least, though, he had won his fight against himself. Against himself-and against Luc Ferrier, she thought sinkingly.
She had not slept well again. Her dreams, when she had them, had been dappled with moonlight, which wasn't so surprising, since the moon lay all night in the room and passed over her sleeping face like a caressing, curious hand. In the dream moonlight Lissa was in flight from a faceless pursuing figure, a harlequin, silent and laughing at the same time. She did not once look over her shoulder, but she could feel him there and burning panic ran in her veins.
Whenever she had had problems as a child she had taken them away from the hotel to brood over them in private far away from everyone. Her favourite bolthole had been the echoing, creeper-hung forest which crept down towards the hotel from the hills.
The edge of it was penetrable, crowded with tall palms and banana trees, locust trees among whose brandies gleamed the brilliant plumage of tropical birds. She rarely saw anyone there.
When she had left Chris sulkily at work she whistled for Fortune and walked out of the hotel grounds, cutting along the narrow dirt track road which lay close beside the forest. The dog vanished on one of his own expeditions and Lissa moved off the track into the deep green of the forest.
The grass was thick and coarse, a vivid green, with flowers sprinkled among it. A little stream ran beneath the trees down from the hills. The stony bed of it could be seen clearly through the crystal clear water. Sunlight glanced through the foliage and sparkled on tiny quartz stones on the stream bottom. Lissa was wearing a pair of her brief denim shorts. She kicked off her straw sandals and waded into the stream. The water was cool, icy when it first left the hills but warming as it ran down to the sea. A gnarled willow hung over the water, and Lissa pulled a leaf from it, the long serrated edge almost cutting her palm, and stirred the water with it like a child.
There was a movement among the trees. Startled, she looked up, and the willow leaf fell from her hand and drifted, swirling, down the stream.,
Her heart beat a rapid tattoo as the black-haired figure moved towards her.
'How old did you say you were?' Luc Ferrier asked drily, staring at her long brown legs, the stream washing softly round them. The hem of her shorts was dark with splashed water. Her hair shone golden in the sunlight glancing through the trees.
It was more than a coincidence that he was there and
Lissa knew it, her instincts prickling.
'You followed me I' she accused.
He leaned on the low branch of the willow, his long lean body as briefly clad as her own in shorts and a sleeveless black cotton top.
'Clever,' he mocked, eyeing her with amusement.
Last night he had flung her into panic and confusion, but this morning it was daylight and she did not intend to let him bother her again. She lifted her rounded chin defiantly and glared at him, the green eyes very sharp and cold.
'I don't know what's in your mind, Mr Ferrier…'
'Oh, yes, you do,' he drawled, a wicked light in his eyes.
Her flush deepened, but she obstinately went on with her little speech. 'But I'm not interested.'
'Sleep well last night?' he asked softly, and their eyes clashed before Lissa could look away. She felt the probe of his stare intensely. He slowly moved his eyes and looked at her throat. The tiny blue vein visible beneath her skin began to beat faster than ever. Lissa struggled to get a grip on herself; bewildered, deeply disturbed. She didn't even like him. He frightened her. Why was she trembling like this?
He moved, the water lapping round his bare legs, and she looked at him, eyes wide and nervous. He was a head taller, his shoulders very broad under the black cotton. The throat of it lay open, and sunlight flickered over his brown skin. Lissa looked at the powerful muscled strength of his body and her heart was in her throat.
She had never thought of herself as particularly superstitious, but she was feeling a primitive, superstitious dread now, an instinct older than time, buried deep in the back of her subconscious. Slender and dry-mouthed, she looked back at Luc Ferrier and felt a pressing urge to run, to hide. She had never in her life been so conscious of being a woman. She had grown up sheltered and protected by the men around her. Even Chris kept a strong hold over his own feelings around her. Now she felt her own femininity and, in contrast, the strong threat of this man's masculinity, and she hadn't got a clue how to deal with him except by running.
As if he understood exactly how she felt he was watching her with a strange little smile, his winged black brows rising. 'My God,' he drawled, 'you show everything, don't you?'
Her flush deepened, her eyes widened further.
'You shouldn't be allowed out on your own,' he added with a mixture of amusement and wryness. 'It's time you learnt to hide your feelings.'
'I don't know what you're talking about,' she muttered huskily, head bent.
'You know precisely what I'm talking about,' he said with a smile in his voice. 'I wouldn't be here if you didn't.'
That ambiguous remark quickened her heart and intensified her state of nervous tension. He was close, far too close, the strength of his tall body an increasing threat the closer be came. The cotton shirt rose and fell as he breathed and she watched it, staring at the muscled structure of his chest beneath it.
A flash of startling blue winged over the stream and they both glanced round as a bird vanished into the close-set trees behind them. 'Fascinating,' Luc Ferrier said. 'The colours here make the eyes ache.'