The Night That Started It All Read Free Page A

this last thing. And how might that impact on Emilie?
    She spotted Neil then, standing in a group with a tall, dark-eyed, sardonic-looking guy who was scanning the room, looking gloomy and detached.
    Luc noticed his host waving at someone and suppressed a yawn. These Australians were so open. So forward. So relentlesslyfriendly and lively. To a jet-lagged Frenchman, a houseful of them was overwhelming. He listened, nodded, made meaningless conversation with strangers and mentally gritted his teeth.
    These days, an hour in any roomful of couples was an eternity.
    He watched a couple’s unconscious linking as they chatted with other people. Hands brushing. Hips. Under duress he could admit to himself he missed those touches. The tiny automatic intimacies a man had with his lover.
    At least he lived cleaner now. No promises, no lies. And no pain. It was honest, at least.
    As though in ridicule of this absurd reflection a pang of yearning sliced through him. If only he could grow
used
to this life with no alleviating softness in it. No excitement. No warm body to open to him in the deep reaches of the night. What he needed was a …
    Through a chink in the crowd his eye was snagged on a flash of colour. He looked. And looked again. He caught a fleeting glimpse of a face, and for a minute the breath was punched from his lungs.
    The crowd moved, and now only her soft blonde hair was visible to him. He waited, not breathing, until she angled his way again. Ah. An intriguing sensation thrilled through him. It was her eyes. They were fascinating. So deep and alluring and mysterious. Eyes to haunt a man.
    He felt his blood quicken.
    The crowd parted again and he was able to take in the whole of her. She’d have fitted in well in any nightclub, but in this assembly she looked almost theatrical. Fragile, with her long legs in the high heels, the soft chiffon dress slipping off one shoulder, neat little shoulder purse knocking against her hip.
    Mesmerised, he couldn’t drag his gaze away.
    Shari smiled as a waiter proffered a tray. She helped herself to a shot of vodka, downed it, then replaced the empty glassand took another to be going on with. She was casting about for a friendly face when she noticed the dark-eyed guy still watching her, his brows lowered and intent.
    What the …? Had she broken the vodka laws?
    His eyes had a strangely hypnotic quality. A girl had to ask herself if it was really the vodka that was so capturing his attention.
    She attempted to crush his impudence with a haughty glare, but he didn’t even flinch. Shaken by a momentary pang of insecurity, she hastily drowned it with another gulp of the potato elixir.
    For goodness’ sake, she was at risk here of tipsiness, not a good thing in platforms. If the guy didn’t look away soon she’d be unable to lie on the floor without holding on.
    Luc was aware other women were probably present. Pretty women with breasts and soft hair. Women with an air of mystery. Blondes. Legs, long and lovely, shimmering with every slight movement.
    He just hadn’t until this moment burned to touch one particular one.
    Shari eyed her vodka guiltily. Although why should she? She was free, single and twenty-eight, and it was a party. She called the waiter back and rescued another glass from the tray. Turning then to face her examiner, she held them up and waved them at him, then took a sip from each.
    His frown intensified. He shook his head at her a little, and she felt her blood stir thrillingly. At the same time a nervous shiver slithered down her spine. This guy was inviting a connection. The question was—what kind?
    Shari flicked a glance about to see who else he might be with. He must belong to someone. In that swish dark suit and black silk shirt only a madwoman would have let him out on his own.
    But no. At this actual moment, he only seemed to be with Neil.
    His dark eyes swept her, bold, sensual while at the same time mildly censorious. Was he disapproving of the vodka,