'Next month,' Chris said hoarsely, nodding. He bent his fair head over her arm, kissing it moistly, 'Liss, Liss,' he groaned.
When the dancing began Lissa gave him a light, flirtatious little smile. 'Aren't you going to dance with me?'
He had been talking in a low voice to Max, out of her hearing, but he came over to smile and take her hand to lead her out on to the floor. Max and the other two men with him watched, grinning broadly.,
Held close to Chris, both his arms round her, his hands on her slender shoulderbones, she felt the pressure of his tense thighs on her body and had to resist the shiver running through her.
She leaned her cheek against his face and his arms tightened. 'God, I want you, Liss,' he muttered, nibbling her ear.
Over his shoulder her eyes met those of Luc Ferrier. He was dancing with Joanne Lucas. The woman was moving sensually against his lean body, both arms round his neck. Luc's face was hard and unreadable as Lissa looked at him.
She looked away, a very faint blush creeping into her cheeks. Chris was kissing her neck now and she felt the excitement inside him with wary alarm.
She wriggled. 'Don't,' she whispered. 'People are watching.'
He grinned and drew back a little, 'What a little rabbit you are,' he teased. 'Does it matter? Do you think I care what other people think?'
'I don't like being stared at,' she muttered.
'You'll have to get used to it,' Chris told her with a twist of the lips. 'With a body like yours you're going to be stared at whatever you do.'
She could not control the burning blush rising in her face and Chris watched the colour with half-impatient amusement.
'You've got the sexiest body I've ever seen,' he murmured into her ear, his breathing quickening again. 'Didn't you know that? When you move every man in sight goes crazy and that wide-eyed stare of yours makes you all the more exciting.' He laughed thickly. 'God, Liss, when you do wake up you're going to be something. You're going to be as sexy as hell one day.' She felt his hand sliding up and down her body, his fingers gripping her, and over his shoulder she met Luc's narrowed, flintlike eyes and could not hold them.
Max came over to tap Chris on the shoulder and whisper. Chris turned his head, listening, made a wry face. 'Okay, I'm coming.' He released Lissa and gave her a quick smile. 'Sorry, angel. I'll be back in ten minutes. Don't go away.'
He left her at their table and vanished with his men treading behind him like dogs on his heels. Lissa stared after them all and her face was cold and hard. Oh, she saw it now. She must have been blind not to see it long ago. Chris hid his nature under his charm, but she should have seen the real man in the way all those toughs from the back alleys of Ville-Royale took his orders, leapt to the soft sound of his voice, prowled at his heels.
A figure moved on the periphery of her vision. She turned and Luc leaned there casually, watching her, his features tight and cold.
'Enjoying the evening?' he asked. 'You and Brandon dance well together. 'I'm sure there are going to be other things you do well together very soon.'
The deliberate, slashing insult made her stiffen and glare at him. Luc ran his icy eyes down her body. 'I don't blame him. In that dress you're a walking invitation. You've decided to stick with the devil you know, have you?'
'I haven't decided anything,' Lissa threw back fiercely. 'It's none of your business-but then that wouldn't bother you, would it? You think you've got some God-given right to interfere and criticise and do as you please!'
His dark blue eyes held a spark of angry amusement. 'Stop spitting like a ruffled cat and dance with me,' he said, taking hold of her wrist and jerking her to her feet as though she were a child.
'No,' she refused, shaking her head.
She said it again as Luc drew her into the intimate crowd of other dancers. 'I don't want to dance,' she hissed, and he took her wrists and placed her arms round his neck.
His own arms went round her and drew her so close she felt the lithe hardness of his body against her own and a slow shiver of pleasure ran through her. Luc looked down into her eyes and Lissa knew he had felt her physical reflex reaction.
'Why did you challenge Chris?' she flung angrily. 'Are you mad?'
'No,' he drawled. 'Very sane, in fact. It distracted him.'
'Can't you see how dangerous it would be?'
'I can take him,' said Luc, and she remembered Chris saying that and her green eyes were as fierce as a cat's, angry and frightened and anxious.
'Don't!'
'Don't take him?' Luc raised his dark brows in sardonic query.
'Don't say that,' she muttered. 'That's what Chris says. I hate those words.' She looked at him bitterly. 'And he thinks he can beat you too.'
'Of course he does,' Luc shrugged indifferently, his face casual and uncertain. 'But he can't.'
'How can you know that?' she flared in anger.
He smiled at her, his lips crooked. 'Sweetheart, you can be sure of that. I know. Brandon couldn't win against me even if he had the devil's own luck.' His eyes mocked her. 'And he hasn't got that, has he? I have. Don't you know what they say about me? The devil gives me the cards, and I know bow to play them.'
'It isn't funny,' Lissa said huskily. 'Don't talk like that.' Lucifer, she thought, watching the saturnine harshness of his face as he stared unsmilingly at her. Yes, it was a very apt nickname. The winged darkness of his brows, the stark bones beneath the smooth brown flesh, the tight cold mouth as he watched her, all gave the nickname the ring of absolute truth.
Luc looked dangerous when he did not smile. He looked tough and icy and immovable.
'You're a funny sort of stockbroker,' she said with anger and pain.
He laughed under his breath, his face altering. 'I learnt it at my father's knee,' he told her.
'Was he a stockbroker?'
Luc's eyes danced. 'Not quite. He dealt in stocks and shares, all right, but I don't think you could call him a stockbroker. You couldn't call me one, either. Not strictly speaking.'
'You said…'
'You misunderstood me,' Luc drawled. 'I said in passing that I dealt in the stock market in London. I buy and sell shares. It's all a question of knowing when to do it.'
'You don't have an English name,' she realised.
'That's because I'm not English,' he agreed. 'French by descent, anyway. I was born in England, actually, but my father was born and brought up in Paris.'
'If you're not a stockbroker, what are you?'
He threw her a dry glance. 'A rose by any other name,' he said, and she felt a surge of rage at the evasive nature of the answer.
'Don't tell me if you don't want to,' she snapped.
'I never do anything I don't want to,' he agreed softly.
'I don't believe you've got a job at all!'
He laughed shortly. 'Don't you?'
'You were just filling my head with fairy stories,'
'Don't confuse me with Brandon,' Luc drawled.
'I won't,' she said with a raging huskiness that made him stare at her intently.
She looked away because the sudden sharpness in his eyes disturbed her; Her anger and deep sense of attraction had made her voice far too betraying.
Staring over his wide shoulder, she kept her eyes on the band and saw Pierre watching them. As Luc slid her smoothly across the floor she felt the back of her neck prickle with the feeling of being watched. But it was not Pierre 's eyes that were sending that quiver of disturbance through her. It was Chris whose stare was-making her feel nervous and uptight.
The music came swirling to a stop. She suspected Pierre had got a nod from Chris to halt. Luc's arms dropped from her and they moved off the floor.