Avoiding Mr Right by Sophie Weston

moved from her hip to her thigh and beyond, all the wariness which had protected her on the beach deserted her. She had no thought of denying him.
    Then he said something strangled and almost flung himself away from her. He was breathing hard. There was no private irony in his expression now, just a wild blaze of feeling. Unmistakable feeling, thought Christina, shaken. She recognized it because she shared it. As, presumably, he could see.
    She put an unsteady hand to her mouth. It was swollen.
    The flame in his eyes was dying down. He searched her face. He looked astonished.
    ‘I’d forgotten,’ he said softly, half to himself.
    Christina felt a tiny flicker of anger. He had .kissed her into a daze of delight and he was talking to himself ?
    ‘I hadn’t,’ she said with a return of acidity. ‘It’s Costa’s all over again.’ She remembered what she had felt then and whipped up her anger. ‘You really think you can do any damn thing you want, don’t you? No matter where. No matter to whom.’
    Amusement lit his eyes. Luc took her hand away from her mouth and surveyed the tremulous softness of her lips.
    ‘I? I wouldn’t say I did that unaided,’ he remarked. Christina tugged at his hold. It made not the slightest difference. He barely seemed to notice.
    ‘Let me go.’
    His eyes were steeply lidded. They made him look cool, in control—almost bored by being in control. It added fuel to her anger.
    ‘I said, let me go.’
    He smiled lazily. ‘As soon as you tell me when I’m going to see you again.’
    ‘You’re not,’ she said instantly.
    It was pure instinct. She needed to defy that lazy control. She hauled at his grip on her wrist again. Without effect.
    ‘That’s plain unrealistic,’ he said with odious patience.
    Would nothing puncture that assurance?
    ‘No,’ Christina almost shouted.
    He gave a silent laugh. She twisted violently in his grip, her wrist dragging painfully. She bit back an exclamation. The only notice he took of her efforts was to carry her hand to his lips. Looking into her blue eyes all the time, he brushed his mouth across her knuckles in the lightest of kisses.
    Christina recognised a challenge when she saw one. She abandoned the attempt to retrieve her hand and tried to take a grip on herself. She did not like the appreciative amusement in his eyes at all. It had to be quenched.
    ‘I said no,’ she told him more calmly but with great firmness.
    There was a little silence. Half-nervous, half-furious, Christina tossed her hair back. ‘I said—’
    She stopped as Luc’s eyes flared. Then the sleepy lids drooped. ‘Don’t do that,’ he said softly.
    For a moment she was bewildered. She shook her head in confusion. ‘Do what?’
    ‘That,’ he murmured.
    At last he let go of her hand. Christina gave a gasp of relief. It turned into something very different as he reached out. He slid his hand under the flying softness of her hair.
    Christina’s breath stopped as if he had stabbed her. She was shaken by the sensation of his long fingers, warm and secret, against her neck under the cloak of her hair. She moistened suddenly dry lips and swallowed. She saw him watch the little reaction and wished suddenly, passionately that she did not suspect what he was and what he was doing here.
    His gaze on her mouth, he said, ‘Or that.’
    Christina felt her face flame. Suddenly she could not bear it any more. She said abruptly, ‘Who are you, Luc Henri?’
    His lids veiled his eyes at once. He went very still. His hand fell from her neck. The man of secrets was back with a vengeance, she thought. When he looked at her at last, Christina detected wariness.
    ‘It’s taken you a long time to ask that,’ he said slowly.
    This time she was not quick enough to suppress the wince. ‘So you admit it needs to be asked?’
    His mouth twisted but he looked her coolly in the eye. ‘I admit nothing.’
    ‘Not even that you haven’t been straight with me?’ she flashed.
    His eyes