No Mistaking Love

CHAPTER SEVEN

KATE barely had time to say goodnight before Luke had taken her arm and practically dragged her down the street while she was still trying to wave to Xavier.

`The taxi rank's the other way,' she protested.

`We're walking back. I could do with some air, and you certainly need to clear your head.'

`I feel fine,' Kate said bravely.

`You won't tomorrow, and, despite the fact that it's obviously the least of your concerns, you're here to work for me. I shall need you in the morning, and you won't be any use to me with a crashing hangover!'

Buoyed up by wine and admiration, Kate was unrepentant. `I shan't have one. I haven't had that much to drink.'

`That's what you think! I thought I made it clear earlier on that this was a business dinner?' 'Perfectly clear, thank you.'

`Then why didn't you behave as if it was?' Luke demanded furiously. `Instead of tarting yourself up like a dog's dinner and leaning all over Xavier so he could get a good look at your cleavage?

„

Anyone watching you would have known that business was the last thing on your mind!'

`If we have to walk,' Kate interrupted him, `you'll have to slow down. I can't run in high heels!'

Infuriated by her insouciant attitude, Luke ignored her and strode on. `That dress is downright indecent!'

`You wouldn't have objected if Helen had been wearing it!'

`Helen is not my secretary,' Luke said icily. `You are. I think you should remember who pays your very generous salary occasionally!'

`I can hardly forget with you reminding me every five minutes!' Kate snapped. `And my dress is not indecent. It's smart and discreet.'

`What's discreet about a bloody great slit down your cleavage? Xavier could hardly take his eyes off it!'

`It might be a little revealing when I lean forward,' Kate allowed, `but I didn't do that very often.'

`We all got an eyeful every time you picked up your glass,' Luke said brutally. `And, since you seemed intent on drinking us all under the table, that was more than often!'

`Oh, rubbish!' Kate said crossly. She shook her arm free and stopped under an ornate streetlight.

`Look, can we please sit down? I've got a stitch already.'

Luke circled her in frustration. `I don't know what's got into you, Kate. You used to be so quiet and businesslike, but since you've been in Paris you've become some kind of femme fatale!

'And whose fault is that?' Kate retorted. `Who made me cut my hair? Who made me change my clothes? I think you ought to make up your mind what you want, Luke. You insisted I try to look sophisticated. Don't I do that?'

Luke hunched a shoulder. `Yes.' `So what's the problem?'

His jaw worked furiously as he glared at her, bent under the street-light, rubbing her calves.

`I don't like it,' he admitted grudgingly at last. `Every time I see you you've turned into someone different.'

Kate straightened slowly. Luke looked cross and baffled, and quite suddenly all her anger and bravado fell away from her. All at once everything seemed very clear and distinct, as if a fog of swirling emotions had lifted. Luke stood tensely in the pool of light, watching her. He seemed overwhelmingly solid and well-defined against the blurred darkness of the street behind him.

`It's skin-deep,' she assured him gently. `I might look a bit different, but underneath I'm still the same plain, boring secretary!'

The angry set of his shoulders relaxed. `You were never plain, Kate, and you were certainly never boring.' He smiled slightly. `But I hope that you are still the same.'

The strained, angry atmosphere that had smouldered between them since Luke had kissed her had dissolved suddenly, to be replaced by one that was sweeter but infinitely more dangerous.

`Well, I am,' Kate said in a no-nonsense tone as she struggled not to respond to the tug of his smile.

`That sounds more like the Kate we know and-' there was an infinitesimal pause before he completed the cliche `-and love.'

His last word hung in the air between them, and Kate's heart began to thud slowly, painfully, as he looked at her across the pool of light.

She rubbed her arms. `It's cold,' she said to break the silence. `Shall we keep moving?'

`We can get a taxi if you'd like. Those shoes do wonders for your legs, but probably not your feet!'

'No, I'd like to walk,' Kate said. `I'll be all right.'

It was a clear moonlit night, and the air was cool against her cheeks as they walked in silence down to the Seine and across the Pont St-Michel to the Ile de la Cite. They stood on the bridge for a while and watched the lights shimmering on the river.

People passed them silently, as if on the backdrop to a film in which Kate and Luke were the only characters. Kate stared at the awe-inspiring lines of Notre-Dame, illuminated against the night-sky, and was aware only of Luke beside her, not touching her, his profile absorbed.

`I'm sorry if I lost my temper,' Luke said gruffly to the still, oily waters below.

It was so unexpected that Kate caught her breath. `I'm sorry if I behaved badly,' she apologised to the cathedral in a small voice.

There was a pause. She glanced sideways to find him watching her. It was too dark to see the colour of his eyes, but they gleamed in the reflected light. He smiled at her and, filled with wordless happiness, she smiled back.

`Come on,' he said, taking her arm. `Let's get back to the hotel.'

They walked slowly past the Louvre and through the back streets. Kate felt as if they were alone in Paris; there was only Luke's hand beneath her arm and his reassuring strength at her side. They didn't talk much, but the silence between them was an easy one.

Once they stopped in front of a fromagerie to admire the mouth-watering array of cheeses displayed in the windows. There were huge Roqueforts and creamy Bries, great rubberylooking chunks of Gruyere and jars of little goats' cheeses stacked in herbed oil, homely cheeses and eye-catching cheeses in every shape and size.

Luke was pointing at a Chevre, but Kate hardly heard what he said. She was watching his hand, remembering how it had slid to the nape of her neck, warm and strong. Her eyes skittered up to his mouth and she wondered how it would feel if he kissed the sensitive skin just below her earlobe, where her jaw met the long line of her throat. It quivered at the thought, and a wrench of desire twisted her so unexpectedly that she took a quick indrawn breath, dragging her eyes back to the window. She stared blindly ahead, fighting down the desire to lean against the man so close beside her, to slide her hands over his broad chest, to press her lips against the pulse beating in his throat, to pull his head down for her kiss.

`Are you all right, Kate?' Luke looked down at her with concern.

`Yes,' she said in a strangled voice, stepping away from the bright light of the window so that he couldn't see her face clearly, but inwardly she despaired as appalled realisation washed over her.

She was in love with Luke.

As Luke had promised, Kate woke the next morning feeling distinctly seedy. The night before was a blur, interspersed with vivid flashes of memory: the restaurant, Notre-Dame illuminated, the fromagerie and the appalled realisation of how hopelessly in love she had fallen.

Or had she been in love with him all along?

Kate splashed cold water on her face and then stared at herself in the bathroom mirror as she patted her skin with a towel. Droplets of water clung to her lashes, and her eyes looked dark and anguished, reflecting the pounding in her head and the ache in her heart.

It had been madness to tangle with Luke again. She should have just walked away. There would have been other jobs. She knew what he was like.