‘I thought so at the time.’
‘I don’t think I could do that,’ she mused.
‘Do what? Lose money?’
‘Do something I hated just for money.’ The look she directed towards him was tinged with reproach. ‘Especially if I was as talented as you are.’ With no talent for anything artistic, she had always envied people who were.
His expressive mouth twisted in a derisive smile. ‘You could, believe me you could. Job satisfaction is nice, but so,’ he added drily, ‘is eating. I like to eat, most people do, and relatively few have the luxury of being able to pick and choose what they do. It’s easy to turn up your aristocratic little nose when you’ve never had to worry about money. You’ve always had the cushion of Daddy’s millions.’
A mortified flush travelled over Megan’s fair skin. She swallowed hard. His scalding derision was well deserved. She was deeply ashamed that she had sounded like a spoilt little rich girl.
Actually her strict parents had never overindulged her. They had gone out of their way to teach her the value of money, but Luc was right, she reflected with a repentant shake of her head—she didn’t know what it was to worry about money. Compared to many, her life had been easy.
‘You’re right, that was a really stupid thing to say.’ She heaved a sigh. How many women who had found themselves in her present situation had not had the luxury of choice?
It was a sobering thought. Sadly money did make a difference. ‘I do appreciate that I’m incredibly lucky, you know,’ she told him huskily.
The cynical sneer faded from Luc’s face as he stood there for a moment, recognising the unmistakable glow of genuine penitence shining in her blue eyes. The line above the bridge of his masterful nose deepened.
Megan got the impression that for some reason her response had surprised him…disappointed him even…as though he wanted her to do something he could disapprove of. She almost instantly dismissed this fanciful idea.
‘The photos really are very good, you know. Have you ever though of exhibiting any?’ she wanted to know.
‘Have you been talking to Malcolm?’
Megan froze guiltily. ‘No, yes…well, he didn’t want to tell me you were here. Why do you ask?’
‘Oh, I thought maybe he had sent you here as his advocate.’
She shook her head. Her instincts told her to drop the subject but her curiosity wouldn’t let her. ‘Advocate for what?’ she asked.
‘Oh…’ he shrugged carelessly…’his latest money-making project. Ever since Malcolm saw my gallery upstairs he’s been nagging me to publish a book of them.’
‘And you don’t want to?’ It sounded like a great idea to her. ‘If Uncle Malcolm says there’s a market for that sort of thing, I’m sure he’s right,’ she ventured tentatively.
Her earnest defence of her uncle brought an amused, ‘Are you sure he hasn’t got to you?’
‘No, he hasn’t, but if he had I’d have told him the best way to get you to agree was to let you think it was your brilliant idea to begin with.’
He looked at her, startled for a moment, then the stern lines of his face melted into a grin.
Megan grinned back. ‘I did a psychology module in my first year at uni,’ she explained.
Her laughing eyes meshed with his, the moment of harmony didn’t last long. At almost the exact moment that Megan recognised the atmosphere had changed, that the air between them throbbed with unspoken and dangerous things, Luc stopped laughing. Megan touched her tongue to the perspiration beading her upper lip and the pupils of Luc’s eyes dramatically dilated. She saw him swallow before his dark head angled away from her.
‘Tea or a beer?’ he asked, not looking up.
‘Tea.’ If he could act as though nothing had happened so could she. Maybe she was the one who had started reading sex into everything because she was obsessed—not Luc.
‘Do you mind if I sit down?’ She didn’t wait for his response; if she didn’t sit down soon she would fall. Her knees were shaking. She presumed it was a reaction to the confrontation—she hated confrontations. It couldn’t be good for the baby for her to feel this terrible. In an unconsciously protective gesture her hands went to her still-flat belly.
She sank into the soft chair and tried to think calm thoughts…it was an ambitious plan. Her brain was firing off questions one after the other in rapid succession; there was no let-up from the anxiety-inducing bombardment. How would Luc react? Was he going to be angry? Shocked, obviously—heaven knew she had been! Was he even going to believe her?
When Luc approached, mugs of tea in hand, Megan saw his bare feet. Her stomach muscles fluttered. How could she, how could anybody find bare feet erotic? Now hands, yes. Luc had the most beautiful hands, expressive hands with long, sensitive fingers…This time the tightening of her stomach muscles was vicious.
Catching the direction of her fixed gaze, Luc offered a curt explanation of, ‘Under-floor heating,’ before he nudged an open laptop to one side and set a mug of hot tea on the rustic oak coffee table.
Megan ran her fingers across the oiled surface of the wood. The cottage was filled with natural materials and textures and it was all very tactile and sensual. But nothing she had seen in the cottage made her want to reach out and touch more than the man who took a seat opposite her.
Megan nodded her thanks as her fingers closed around the hot, steaming mug, and pretended she was looking at the flickering images of the screen saver while she was actually greedily observing him fold his long length with fluid grace into a Kelim-covered sofa opposite her. Something in her stomach twisted painfully as she looked at him.
The feeling didn’t go away when she stopped looking.
Luc glanced at his watch.
The pointed gesture brought a resentful sparkle to her eyes. This was about the single most momentous moment in her life and he didn’t even bother disguising he couldn’t wait to see the back of her. Deep down she knew it was irrational to feel angry. Luc didn’t have the faintest idea why she was here—not that anything excused this boorish display of bad manners.
‘I’m so sorry if I’m keeping you from something more important,’ she drawled sarcastically.
‘Only a couple of thousand words.’ Luc, who hadn’t been able to write a word since he’d arrived at the cottage, lied. He leaned forward and rested his chin on the platform of his interlocked fingers.
Megan shivered as his silvered appraisal moved over her.
‘You’ve lost weight,’ he judged with a disapproving frown.
‘A little,’ she admitted.
‘It doesn’t suit you.’
Megan let the brutal observation pass; she recognised a perfect opening when she heard it. Then again, he wasn’t in the best of moods—perhaps she should wait. Wait until when you give birth…? Tell him, Megan, now…now…the voice in her head prompted urgently.
As she opened her mouth her heart was beating so fast she could hardly breathe.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be putting the pounds on again soon,’ she said, fixing her eyes firmly on her hands clasped neatly in her lap.
There was a silence, which got longer until, frustrated to the point of screaming, Megan lifted her gaze to his.
‘You were supposed to ask why!’
‘Why what?’
‘Why will I be putting on weight…?’ she prompted.