The Frenchman's Love-Child

slower pace. ‘We have to talk this out,’ he drawled with cool determination.

Two high spots of colour burning over her cheekbones, Tabby shot him a splintering glance. ‘No, I don’t want to talk to a guy who thinks of me as being something less than he is!’

‘You have no grounds to accuse me of that.’

‘Oh, haven’t I?’ A rather shrill laugh fell from her lips. ‘You just tried to bribe me…you just tried to buy me!’

‘It wasn’t a bribe. In no way is that house I showed you intended as a bribe. But if I’m asking you to rethink your plans and relocate purely for my benefit, I must offer some form of compensation to make the inconvenience seem worth your while,’ Christien proclaimed without hesitation.

‘You are so smooth! How is it that you manage to make even the unacceptable sound acceptable?’ Tabby demanded with furious resentment.

‘I doubt that you would be reacting like this if I had not shared your bed last night. That has clouded the real issue at stake here.’ Wide, sensual mouth compressing, Christien dealt her a brooding masculine scrutiny.

‘You’re right…that was a very big mistake.’ Tabby slammed the front door loudly shut in his startled face and leant back against it in a tempest of angry, hurting tears.

‘Tabby!’

As he rapped on the door she sucked in a steadying breath, but silent, stinging tears trekked down her quivering cheeks. In letting him stay the night she had regressed to the impulsive, reckless teenage years. She had forgotten all caution and common sense and flung her heart back at his feet. Did she never learn? Why was she so downright stupid around him?

Sean called her on her mobile phone at seven. The day before he had mentioned knowing the Englishwoman who owned the local art gallery and her daughter, who was a potter.

‘Alice has asked us over for drinks. There’ll be a crowd, there always is. You’re sure to meet a few other creative types,’ Sean told her cheerfully.

Tabby felt that company would distract her troubled thoughts from Christien and, although she went out with no expectation of enjoyment, she had an interesting evening. She met several artists living in the area, exchanged phone numbers and garnered useful information about where to buy art supplies. It was two in the morning when Sean brought her home. Only when she saw the lights flick on did she realise that Christien’s Ferrari was parked at the side of the cottage. He climbed out, his long, powerful stride carrying him towards her at speed.

Tabby was very tense but determined to save what face she could and she moved forward with as easy and meaningless a smile as she could contrive. ‘Christien…sorry I’m so late back-’

‘Zut alors…I’m not!’ he bit out, lean, dark handsome features taut with a scorching fury that took her aback. ‘You almost had me convinced that I had misjudged you, but I’ve caught you in the act again. Where have you been all evening? In his bed? First one man, then another. You sleep with me and-’

‘Regret it,’ Tabby slotted in between angrily clenched teeth. ‘Oh, boy, do I regret sleeping with you!’

Appreciating that he had been totally overlooked in the excitement, Sean peered out of his car, which was still parked by the roadside. ‘Do you want me to stay, Tabby?’ he called anxiously.

‘See how you embarrass me!’ Tabby snapped at Christien before she stalked back down the path to urge Sean to go on home and not worry about her.

Christien spread lean hands and swore in fast, furious French, demonstrating all the lack of tolerance typical of a male who had never in his whole charmed life been accused of causing anyone embarrassment.

Tabby unlocked the front door with a trembling hand. ‘I don’t ever want to see you again-’

‘Why did you refuse to let me in when I brought you back from viewing the house earlier? You must have known that I would return here.’ Christien stepped past her and then swung round to treat her to a fierce look of condemnation. ‘Were you scared you might want to spend two nights with the same guy?’

In the moonlight, Tabby shivered with outrage. ‘How can you talk to me as if I’m some slapper who goes with a load of different men?’

‘When I’m around there’s always another guy panting at your heels!’

‘Just to think that your friend, Veronique, once told me that you liked competition!’ Tabby recalled with bitter amusement. ‘I guess that piece of misinformation was advanced with the same self- serving venom as all the other helpful advice she offered me.’

Christien had fallen very still. ‘Ca alors! Veronique would never have said such a nonsensical thing-’

‘Oh, wouldn’t she? Your childhood playmate probably dug out her calculator in that cradle beside yours, worked out what a catch you were and decided right there and then that only she was going to profit. Who knows…who cares?’ Tabby was mortified that she had let that petty bitterness out and paraded it for him to see. ‘Obviously she knew you had a jealous streak a mile wide and guessed that nothing would kill our relationship faster-’

Febrile colour lying along his superb cheekbones, Christien threw back his broad shoulders and studied her with grim disfavour. ‘It shames me to lose my temper as I just have and throw allegations that I cannot substantiate but I don’t trust you-’

Tabby tilted her chin. ‘And I won’t stand for you accusing me of carrying on with other blokes.’

Eyes glittering gold with anger, Christien vented a harsh laugh. ‘What do you expect me to think when you stay out this late and show up with another man in tow?’

‘It amazes me that you can even ask me that when I’m the one who has never, ever had the luxury of knowing where I stand with you…yet you are so good at criticising my behaviour,’ Tabby condemned with a slow, wondering shake of her head. ‘Four years ago, you had another woman in your life called Eloise and you never once mentioned her existence to me. You got away with it too, because I was too scared to ask awkward questions-’

His lean, strong face was rigid. ‘The minute I saw you it was over with Eloise and it was only a casual thing with her. I ended it soon after I met you. I don’t know how you found out about her, but you only had to ask me. Unlike you, I would have been honest-’

Savaged by that reminder of her past dishonesty, Tabby twisted away from him and switched on the light. ‘So I lied about my age and you know why, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be trusted-’

‘No?’

‘No…any more than it excuses you for implying that I’m a tart,’ Tabby told him with spirit.

‘Where were you until this hour?’

‘I’m not telling you, I’m not answering your questions-’

‘Zut alors…’ Christien growled, raking long, lean, impatient fingers through the black silk luxuriance of his hair. ‘What do you expect from me?’

Tabby was amazed that in spite of all she had already said he still had no idea whatsoever. ‘Respect.’

Christien threw up his expressive hands, studied her with fulminating dark golden eyes, but, while he looked as though he could hardly wait to exercise his sardonic tongue on that ambitious request of hers, he stayed silent.

‘Respect,’ Tabby repeated doggedly. ‘You made a mistake when you decided that I was cheating on you with that boy, Pete, that summer and you owe me an apology.’

‘I…do?’ Burnished dark eyes flared down into hers and she could literally feel the hum of his fierce pride threatening to blow the lid back off his temper again.

‘Particularly for the way you treated me at the accident enquiry…I deserved better. You think about that-’

‘Tu parles…the hell I will!’ Christien raked at her and then, as though as disconcerted by that raw outburst as she was, he swung away.

‘So that’s respect and an apology,’ Tabby listed in reminder, deciding to go for gold in the demand stakes. ‘But if you want houseroom in my life, I want other stuff too…and I’m not sure if you could make the grade.’

Involuntarily, Christien almost grinned, wondering if she thought she could train him with her version of ‘the carrot and the stick’ routine. ‘I score very high between the sheets, ma belle,’ he breathed with husky insolence.

‘But unfortunately an awful lot of life takes place outside the bedroom door and offering me a millionaire’s residence in place of a tiny cottage was the last straw. Even though I’ve told you how I feel, you can’t respect your great-aunt’s wishes or my right to live where I choose,’ Tabby spelt out, a great weariness enfolding her, for the