One Night with His Wife by Lynne Graham

flowers home on Friday evenings. Surely even you could manage that!’
    Luc sent her a gleaming glance. ‘The flowers are your department. I got a dozen red roses every day of the six weeks we were together. They were delivered to the very door of my office with cute little handwritten cards attached. My staff took extraordinary steps to get the chance to read those cards before I did. Surely you don’t think I could have forgotten that experience?’
    A crimson blush now flamed over Star’s taut cheekbones.
    ‘Should you be thinking of repeating that romantic gesture, do you think it would be possible for you to put the cards into sealed envelopes?’
    Fury and intense mortification were licking like flames through Star’s slender length. ‘Don’t worry about it…I’ll never ever send you flowers again!’
    ‘And while we’re on the subject, you’re not getting my mobile phone number until you assure me that it will only be used in an emergency.’
    ‘I’ve grown out of any desire to keep hourly tabs on your whereabouts!’ Star bit out between gritted teeth, eager to escape the dialogue and turning away. ‘Well, if I’m going to be stuck in here with you, I’m sleeping on the sofa.’
    Luc surveyed the gilded sofa which had been in the family since the late eighteenth century. He said nothing. He knew a marble slab would have offered as much comfort.
    Star stalked into the dressing room and rattled and banged through loads of drawers and closets before she found her own small stock of clothing. Gathering up nightwear, she headed for the bathroom. Stripping off her clothes with trembling hands of angry frustration, she switched on the shower. She yelped as enervating jets of water hit her tense body from all directions. Her hair soaked, she threw herself down on the seat in the corner. It was typical of Luc to have a shower with more confusing controls than a rocket ship!
    She pictured him as she had last seen him in the bedroom. Tailored silk shirt partially unbuttoned to show a riveting triangle of golden brown skin, taut, flat stomach, lean hipsand long hard thighs encased in charcoal-grey trousers cut to enhance every lithe masculine line of his tightly muscled length. A treacherous burst of warmth low in her belly made her tense up even more. She clenched her teeth, hating herself for being so weak. She’d stood there arguing with him and burning for him at the same time. It was sick, indecent.
    But Luc had always made her feel like that. Everything about him pulled at her senses, awakening the most tormenting hunger. His dark, deep voice, his husky accent, his beautiful eyes, his sexy mouth. She listened, she looked, she went weak at the knees with lust.
Lust.
She latched onto that word with intense relief. It definitely wasn’t love any more; it was lust. A greedy, mindless, wicked craving which she
had
to control, stamp on, stamp
out
!
    No longer did she crave that rare smile, that devastating little glimmer of gold in his eyes when he was amused, the sense of achievement she had once enjoyed when he laughed. No, she didn’t, she absolutely didn’t, she told herself with ferocious urgency. Which was just as well, she reminded herself. Luc might not have been exactly delighted to believe that the twins had been fathered by some other man, but he was likely to be even less happy when she told him the truth. It was going to be a very long and miserable summer, and tomorrow, when she informed Luc that he was a father, promised to be the very worst day of her life…
    Star emerged from the bathroom and stopped dead, heart hammering so hard against her breastbone she felt faint, like someone in the grip of a severe anxiety attack. And no wonder! Luc had evidently made use of some other bathroom. Black hair still damp and gleaming, he was in the act of shedding a short silk robe. From across the room, Star watched the collar dipping, the light fabric drifting down to expose what had to be the most