a woman greets you in a dress designed to destroy a man, smile in an easy and open fashion, comment on the suitability of the weather, and ask her if she likes puppies.’
‘Puppies?’ echoed Luc.
‘Puppies,’ she said firmly. ‘Not kittens. Stay away from the kitten talk—you never know where that one might lead. Keep the conversation grounded. Nothing too sophisticated. Something casual and feel-good without being threatening. Puppies are perfect.’ She eyed him speculatively. ‘It’s a pity you didn’t come to me earlier with this. I could have arranged for you to borrow one.’
Borrow a puppy? Four bounding legs, sweeping tail, floppy ears, liquid eyes, and a wet, inquisitive nose? His sister had gone insane. ‘Thank you, but no.’
‘You also need to do a little something with your hair.’
‘My hair? What’s wrong with my hair?’
‘Well, it’s falling all over your face and needs cutting for starters, but apart from that a woman’s going to take one look at it and want to run her fingers through it. Tie it back. Like a soccer star or a scorpion king. Trust me, your features won’t suffer for it.’
‘ What? ’ He really wasn’t keeping up with the gist of this conversation at all.
‘I’ll lend you a black leather band. Very manly.’
‘Won’t pulling my hair back make a woman want to rearrange it?’ Luc didn’t know a lot about how a man’s hair affected a woman’s fingers but he knew enough about his own reaction to a woman’s tresses toknow that whenever they put it up, he rarely rested until he’d taken every last pin and hairband out .
‘Not at all,’ said Simone blithely. ‘Where’s your coat?’
‘Do I need a coat?’
‘But of course you need a coat. A coat makes you look solid and dependable. You should keep it on. You should probably make your companion keep hers on too. Just a nice platonic dinner between two people wearing coats and talking puppies. Not a lot to get excited about there.’
No, thought Luc with the first faint stirrings of unease. There wasn’t. ‘Anything else?’
‘Isn’t that enough?’
She was probably right. ‘Well, thanks for the advice.’
‘You know me.’ Simone favoured him with a sisterly smile. ‘Always happy to help.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
L UC’S dinner date with Gabrielle started well. He wore a coat. She met him at the door to her apartment and, lo, she happened to be wearing a coat also. A severe black leather three-quarter-length, double-breasted coat cinched tightly at the waist with a wide black belt. Her black leather purse had a severe Prada look about it, and her hair had been scraped off her face into a no-nonsense schoolmarm bun with not a wayward tendril in sight. Luc’s fingers began to itch, but he shoved them in his coat pocket and thought of puppies. He stepped back to let her by as she shut the door and brushed past him towards the narrow garden path. He glanced downwards to make sure she was minding her step on the uneven cobbles and all coherent thought fled. Gabrielle’s shoes were black like the rest of her attire, but there the resemblance to the rest of her attire ended. The elegant four-inch stilettos owed nothing to practicality, severity, or plainness. These shoes had one purpose and one purpose only.
To bring a man to his knees.
‘St Bernards,’ he muttered.
‘What?’
‘Puppies. St Bernard puppies. I saw some today. I’m thinking of getting one.’
‘You?’ she said sceptically. ‘And a puppy.’
‘Yes.’
‘At Caverness.’
‘Yes.’
‘Josien will be pleased,’ said Gabrielle dryly.
‘For company,’ he said, suddenly inspired. ‘He could sit at my feet on those long winter nights, in front of the fire while I…’ While he what?
‘Rest?’ supplied Gabrielle.
‘Yes, rest, and maybe do a spot of reading. The Napoleonic Wars, The Battle of Waterloo, that sort of thing.’ Did that sound platonic and non-sexual enough? ‘The Joy of Shoes.’
‘The what?’
‘The
‘Puppies?’ echoed Luc.
‘Puppies,’ she said firmly. ‘Not kittens. Stay away from the kitten talk—you never know where that one might lead. Keep the conversation grounded. Nothing too sophisticated. Something casual and feel-good without being threatening. Puppies are perfect.’ She eyed him speculatively. ‘It’s a pity you didn’t come to me earlier with this. I could have arranged for you to borrow one.’
Borrow a puppy? Four bounding legs, sweeping tail, floppy ears, liquid eyes, and a wet, inquisitive nose? His sister had gone insane. ‘Thank you, but no.’
‘You also need to do a little something with your hair.’
‘My hair? What’s wrong with my hair?’
‘Well, it’s falling all over your face and needs cutting for starters, but apart from that a woman’s going to take one look at it and want to run her fingers through it. Tie it back. Like a soccer star or a scorpion king. Trust me, your features won’t suffer for it.’
‘ What? ’ He really wasn’t keeping up with the gist of this conversation at all.
‘I’ll lend you a black leather band. Very manly.’
‘Won’t pulling my hair back make a woman want to rearrange it?’ Luc didn’t know a lot about how a man’s hair affected a woman’s fingers but he knew enough about his own reaction to a woman’s tresses toknow that whenever they put it up, he rarely rested until he’d taken every last pin and hairband out .
‘Not at all,’ said Simone blithely. ‘Where’s your coat?’
‘Do I need a coat?’
‘But of course you need a coat. A coat makes you look solid and dependable. You should keep it on. You should probably make your companion keep hers on too. Just a nice platonic dinner between two people wearing coats and talking puppies. Not a lot to get excited about there.’
No, thought Luc with the first faint stirrings of unease. There wasn’t. ‘Anything else?’
‘Isn’t that enough?’
She was probably right. ‘Well, thanks for the advice.’
‘You know me.’ Simone favoured him with a sisterly smile. ‘Always happy to help.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
L UC’S dinner date with Gabrielle started well. He wore a coat. She met him at the door to her apartment and, lo, she happened to be wearing a coat also. A severe black leather three-quarter-length, double-breasted coat cinched tightly at the waist with a wide black belt. Her black leather purse had a severe Prada look about it, and her hair had been scraped off her face into a no-nonsense schoolmarm bun with not a wayward tendril in sight. Luc’s fingers began to itch, but he shoved them in his coat pocket and thought of puppies. He stepped back to let her by as she shut the door and brushed past him towards the narrow garden path. He glanced downwards to make sure she was minding her step on the uneven cobbles and all coherent thought fled. Gabrielle’s shoes were black like the rest of her attire, but there the resemblance to the rest of her attire ended. The elegant four-inch stilettos owed nothing to practicality, severity, or plainness. These shoes had one purpose and one purpose only.
To bring a man to his knees.
‘St Bernards,’ he muttered.
‘What?’
‘Puppies. St Bernard puppies. I saw some today. I’m thinking of getting one.’
‘You?’ she said sceptically. ‘And a puppy.’
‘Yes.’
‘At Caverness.’
‘Yes.’
‘Josien will be pleased,’ said Gabrielle dryly.
‘For company,’ he said, suddenly inspired. ‘He could sit at my feet on those long winter nights, in front of the fire while I…’ While he what?
‘Rest?’ supplied Gabrielle.
‘Yes, rest, and maybe do a spot of reading. The Napoleonic Wars, The Battle of Waterloo, that sort of thing.’ Did that sound platonic and non-sexual enough? ‘The Joy of Shoes.’
‘The what?’
‘The
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