Sinful Revenge. Annie West

to douse it just yet.

      Luc felt the old tentacles of vulnerability reach out to touch him with ghostly memories, but he pushed them aside and damned them all. Jesse was different … this situation was different. He would never be led astray again.

      As he fell asleep he reassured himself that he hadn’t lost sight of his goal at all. He was still entirely focused on his endgame, and in complete control of what was happening …

      Jesse was sitting on the couch in the den, feeling more sated than she’d ever felt in her life. After waking late, and a lazy, lingering brunch, which had inevitably ended with them back in bed, she’d left Luc asleep upstairs to come down and see to Tigger. Before she’d left the bedroom, though, she’d spent an indulgent moment watching Luc, his big body sprawled in abandon, utterly self-confident even in sleep.

      She watched Tigger now, who was valiantly trying to unthread the stunning oriental carpet on the floor with his tiny claws, and deftly lifted him out of harm’s way and onto the couch beside her. He promptly went to the edge and looked down the great distance. He miaowed indignantly, and she smiled at his clear frustration.

      She lifted him up and took him into the kitchen saying into his sweet fur, ‘I think it’s milk and nap time for baby cats …’

      It was only when she was tucking him into his box and watching him lap greedily at the milk that Jesse realised with a shock just how far into a fantasy world she’d allowed herself to travel.

      In the past few days, since everything had become physical between her and Luc, she had somehow begun to imagine that perhaps this was real. That this bubble was not some mad aberration. When the reality was that she’d kidnapped Luc Sanchis to stop him from saving her father … which he must still want to do at all costs. She’d conveniently blocked that out because she’d become far more interested in the physical nirvana Luc promised every time he touched her.

      She heard him call her name now, faintly, from upstairs. Galvanised by panic, because she couldn’t have him look at her with that far too perceptive gaze when she felt so exposed, Jesse lurched out of the villa and down a path she hadn’t yet explored. It led to a beautifully soft and sandy private cove. But Jesse was oblivious.

      She hugged her arms around herself at the water’s edge, feeling cold. What had she been thinking, allowing Luc to seduce her like this? She mocked herself. More accurately, what had she been thinking, allowing herself to be a full and willing participant in that seduction?

      The deadline was in three days’ time. Three days and her father would be ruined. She’d almost lost sight of that goal. If Luc had turned to her that morning as they’d lain in his bed and said to her, I really need to get back to work … Jesse would most likely have tripped downstairs and rung for a jet before she’d even realised what she was doing.

      With a little sob of emotion that made her clamp her hand over her mouth, she realised I don’t know who I am any more! The cool shell she’d built up to keep people at arm’s length was well and truly gone. She’d turned into someone who cried at the drop of a hat and was happy to blurt out secrets she’d harboured for a lifetime. Not even the nicest of her social workers or foster parents had managed to get her to reveal what had happened to her, and yet with Luc she’d spilled it all.

      How could she trust anything that had happened between them? She imagined Luc waking and remembering with distaste that he had a job to do: to try to make Jesse believe he really wanted her. This whole environment was contrived and false. From the moment she’d forced Luc onto this island she shouldn’t have trusted anything. Or him. No matter how much the weak part of her believed she could or longed to.

      She’d seen how her father had charmed people when she was small—only to turn around and stab them in the back with cruel words as soon as they’d gone. And now she knew worse than that: her father had ruined the businesses of people who’d slighted him over dinner. So she knew how easily someone could present a façade when it suited them …

      Luc’s words came back to her—words he’d said only days ago: All you’ve done is make yourself a foe for life … I will find out all your secrets and you will pay …

      After long minutes of looking blankly at the sea, feeling as if a part of her soul was ebbing away, Jesse went back inside. She found Luc in the den, and valiantly ignored the kick of her heart when she saw him.

      He turned from where he’d been looking out at the view, with his hands in the pockets of his trousers. His hair was damp from the shower. Incredible pain lanced Jesse, but she ignored that too.

      He said to her now, ‘That storm never did materialise, did it?’

      Jesse shook her head. Not that storm. But another storm had. It had whipped her up inside so intensely that she knew she’d never emerge as the same person.

      Luc squared his body to face her more fully, and Jesse had the uncanny prescience that she wasn’t the only one who’d just faced some revelations.

      ‘Your name … Moriarty … it’s Irish, isn’t it?’

      Jesse nodded, a little blindsided by this observation. ‘Yes, it is … My mother was Irish—from Kerry.’

      ‘O’Brien is Irish too …’

      Jesse went cold all over. Goosebumps broke out on her skin. And then Luc said it out loud.

      ‘He’s your father, isn’t he, Jesse? Your mother was his housekeeper.’