Compulsion

CHAPTER THREE

Chris was terse and irritable next day. When he snapped at her Lissa looked at him in anxious surprise and he turned away, his shoulders set.

'Did you play last night?' she asked hurriedly, and he gave her a furious look.

'No, I didn't. I promised, didn't I?' Relief flooded into her and she understood the reason for his mood. Chris had kept his word, but it had been a hard struggle. He was feeling cross with her for demanding that promise. At least, though, he had won his fight against himself. Against himself-and against Luc Ferrier, she thought sinkingly.

She had not slept well again. Her dreams, when she had them, had been dappled with moonlight, which wasn't so surprising, since the moon lay all night in the room and passed over her sleeping face like a caressing, curious hand. In the dream moonlight Lissa was in flight from a faceless pursuing figure, a harlequin, silent and laughing at the same time. She did not once look over her shoulder, but she could feel him there and burning panic ran in her veins.

Whenever she had had problems as a child she had taken them away from the hotel to brood over them in private far away from everyone. Her favourite bolthole had been the echoing, creeper-hung forest which crept down towards the hotel from the hills.

The edge of it was penetrable, crowded with tall palms and banana trees, locust trees among whose brandies gleamed the brilliant plumage of tropical birds. She rarely saw anyone there.

When she had left Chris sulkily at work she whistled for Fortune and walked out of the hotel grounds, cutting along the narrow dirt track road which lay close beside the forest. The dog vanished on one of his own expeditions and Lissa moved off the track into the deep green of the forest.

The grass was thick and coarse, a vivid green, with flowers sprinkled among it. A little stream ran beneath the trees down from the hills. The stony bed of it could be seen clearly through the crystal clear water. Sunlight glanced through the foliage and sparkled on tiny quartz stones on the stream bottom. Lissa was wearing a pair of her brief denim shorts. She kicked off her straw sandals and waded into the stream. The water was cool, icy when it first left the hills but warming as it ran down to the sea. A gnarled willow hung over the water, and Lissa pulled a leaf from it, the long serrated edge almost cutting her palm, and stirred the water with it like a child.

There was a movement among the trees. Startled, she looked up, and the willow leaf fell from her hand and drifted, swirling, down the stream.,

Her heart beat a rapid tattoo as the black-haired figure moved towards her.

'How old did you say you were?' Luc Ferrier asked drily, staring at her long brown legs, the stream washing softly round them. The hem of her shorts was dark with splashed water. Her hair shone golden in the sunlight glancing through the trees.

It was more than a coincidence that he was there and

Lissa knew it, her instincts prickling.

'You followed me I' she accused.

He leaned on the low branch of the willow, his long lean body as briefly clad as her own in shorts and a sleeveless black cotton top.

'Clever,' he mocked, eyeing her with amusement.

Last night he had flung her into panic and confusion, but this morning it was daylight and she did not intend to let him bother her again. She lifted her rounded chin defiantly and glared at him, the green eyes very sharp and cold.

'I don't know what's in your mind, Mr Ferrier…'

'Oh, yes, you do,' he drawled, a wicked light in his eyes.

Her flush deepened, but she obstinately went on with her little speech. 'But I'm not interested.'

'Sleep well last night?' he asked softly, and their eyes clashed before Lissa could look away. She felt the probe of his stare intensely. He slowly moved his eyes and looked at her throat. The tiny blue vein visible beneath her skin began to beat faster than ever. Lissa struggled to get a grip on herself; bewildered, deeply disturbed. She didn't even like him. He frightened her. Why was she trembling like this?

He moved, the water lapping round his bare legs, and she looked at him, eyes wide and nervous. He was a head taller, his shoulders very broad under the black cotton. The throat of it lay open, and sunlight flickered over his brown skin. Lissa looked at the powerful muscled strength of his body and her heart was in her throat.

She had never thought of herself as particularly superstitious, but she was feeling a primitive, superstitious dread now, an instinct older than time, buried deep in the back of her subconscious. Slender and dry-mouthed, she looked back at Luc Ferrier and felt a pressing urge to run, to hide. She had never in her life been so conscious of being a woman. She had grown up sheltered and protected by the men around her. Even Chris kept a strong hold over his own feelings around her. Now she felt her own femininity and, in contrast, the strong threat of this man's masculinity, and she hadn't got a clue how to deal with him except by running.

As if he understood exactly how she felt he was watching her with a strange little smile, his winged black brows rising. 'My God,' he drawled, 'you show everything, don't you?'

Her flush deepened, her eyes widened further.

'You shouldn't be allowed out on your own,' he added with a mixture of amusement and wryness. 'It's time you learnt to hide your feelings.'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' she muttered huskily, head bent.

'You know precisely what I'm talking about,' he said with a smile in his voice. 'I wouldn't be here if you didn't.'

That ambiguous remark quickened her heart and intensified her state of nervous tension. He was close, far too close, the strength of his tall body an increasing threat the closer be came. The cotton shirt rose and fell as he breathed and she watched it, staring at the muscled structure of his chest beneath it.

A flash of startling blue winged over the stream and they both glanced round as a bird vanished into the close-set trees behind them. 'Fascinating,' Luc Ferrier said. 'The colours here make the eyes ache.'

'You haven't been here before?'

He turned his head towards her, the strong brown throat catching her eye, and smiled down at her. 'No, my first time: I'm impressed, but in five years' time the place will be ruined. You can see the signs everywhere. Once tourists start flocking" in, everything changes.'

Lissa sighed. 'I'm afraid you're probably right.'

'Your fiancé’s casino has started the rot,' he informed her.

'You wouldn't be here if the casino wasn't here,’ Lissa counter-attacked sharply.

He inclined his head. 'True. That doesn't stop me seeing that the march of progress doesn't always make for happiness. The islanders are still able to enjoy life in their own way, but once foreigners flood in with more money than most of the natives have ever seen and a way of life they never dreamt about, discontent and resentment will spread like wildfire.'

Lissa had no argument with that point of view. She had seen the beginning of it already in Ville-Royale. But for some reason she bristled when Luc Ferrier said what she had thought herself. She looked at him sharply, her green eyes dagger-bright.

'It depends on their sense of values.'

'Values have to be pretty strong to stand up to a dose of modern Westernised living,' he drawled, watching the angry gleam of her eyes.

'If you disapprove of that sort of world why do you go from casino to casino gambling?' she asked contemptuously.

His blue eyes held a mixture of laughter and odd appraisal. 'That's what I am,' he shrugged, 'a gambler.

That's how I live.'

'Surely you could live some other way? It can't be a very, pleasant life. You can't win all the time.' Lissa looked at the powerful body, the compelling blue eyes, the fierce bone structure of his face, and frowned. He did not look like a man with a weakness. You could read the flaw in Chris by merely looking into his restless eyes. He couldn't hide it because it weakened the whole fibre of his nature. But Luc Ferrier betrayed no such weakness. It wasn't merely that he was physically strong-there was a lazy, certain strength in his eyes. He was aware of himself, of everything around him, and sure of his own ability to face and defeat anything that barred his path.

He was smiling slightly, a mocking twist of the lips which held a faint grimness. 'Ah, but I do,' he told her. 'I never lose. Now and then I have a temporary problem, some resistance, but in the end I always get what I want.'

She met the direct, watchful gleam of the blue eyes and her nerve ends rang wild alarm bells. Looking away hurriedly, she looked round. 'I wonder where Fortune has got to.' She called him loudly and got no answer. All was silence.

Luc Ferrier whistled on a long, high note and she heard the crashing through undergrowth of the dog making his way towards them.

Luc glanced down at her, grinning. 'He's coming.'

She sensed his amusement and her eyes grew more annoyed. 'He couldn't have heard me,' she said, because she was not going to admit that her dog had ignored her but come to that man's whistle.

The white body hurled itself through the stream, but as Lissa turned to catch him, Fortune flung himself at Luc Ferrier, barking excitedly, in welcome and recognition, his pink tongue lolling. Luc bent and picked him up, squirming. Holding him away, he said in mock sternness: 'And where have you been? You're filthy, you horrible animal!'

She saw he was right. The dog's white coat was smeared with sand and mud, his paws black.

Luc lowered the dog and deliberately immersed him in the water, rubbing his coat and paws to clean them. Fortune struggled and barked, but was helpless in the firm grip.

'Now you look better,' said Luc, releasing him.

Fortune sat down in the water, his head just above it, and scratched himself energetically.

Luc laughed. 'He's an adventurous little beast, isn't he?' His blue eyes lifted and Lissa met them. 'Unlike his owner,' he added softly.

She pretended she had not heard that. Moving away, the water gently flowing round her bare legs, she told Fortune to come along. Luc walked after her and watched her step into her straw sandals.

He moved away to get his own. Lissa hurried away, the dog running before her, hoping to get back to the hotel before Luc Ferrier had caught up with her, but he was behind her a moment later, the long strides of his brown legs covering the ground at an enormous pace.

'I haven't had a chance to see the island yet,' he told her. 'What is there to do here?'

'Very little,' she hedged.

'Where do you, go apart from the hotel?' he pressed.

'Into town,' she said.

'To do what?'

'Shop. Have you seen the old fort yet? If you're interested in that sort of thing it's worth seeing.'

'Show it to me this afternoon,' he came back at once.

Lissa stiffened, 'I'm afraid…'

'No?' He stopped her before her stammered excuse came out, shrugging with casual indifference. 'Never mind, I'll find someone else to show it to me. I thought you could fill me in on the history of the island.'

'I have to work,' Lissa said nervously, not wishing to sound rude yet wanting to make it clear to him that she was not spending any time with him. 'I'm sorry,' she added, to pretend he was merely another visitor, trying to cover from him her instinctive wariness of him.

'You don't come into the gaming rooms,' he commented, watching her. 'Don't you like gambling?'

'No.' Lissa did not enlarge on that, her small face stiff.

'Your fiancé likes it.' He said that coolly, eyes sharp.

She knew he would not miss the faint tremor that ran over her, but she could do nothing to control it. She gave him no answer, walking faster.

'He's got the bug badly,' Luc Ferrier drawled, still watchful. 'You shouldn't let him play. He hasn't got the face for it.'

'You don't: have to play with him,’ she accused in an uneven voice.

I don't have to play with anyone,’ he agreed. I choose who I play against.' He paused and added very softly, 'And why.'

She stopped in her tracks and looked round, shaken and disturbed by that voice, those words.

He met her eyes directly. He wasn't smiling and his eyes were a cool, glinting blue.

'Why do you play with Chris?' she asked huskily, hoping he couldn't see the faint dew which had sprung out on her upper lip and forehead.

'He has something I want,' Luc Ferrier said, and her stomach cramped as though clenched in agony.

Trying to breathe evenly, she asked in a shaky voice, 'What?'

She saw the slow derisive lift of his dark brows, the sardonic twist of his mouth. 'I don't have to tell you that, do I, Lissa?'

She swallowed. 'Money?' she whispered, and he laughed under his breath.

'Money? I never gamble for money.'

The answer took her breath away. She stared in total disbelief. He grinned, amused by her amazement.

'Gamblers never do-real gamblers, that is-oh, the amateurs may do it for that, but then it's the money they're interested in, not the gambling.' He had a, reckless, vital amusement in his face. 'A real gambler does it for the sheer hell of it. The kick he gets when he has a big win. The danger, the uncertainty, Acknowledge that he's walking a tightrope over an abyss without a safety net.' He paused and smiled oddly at her. 'Ask your fiancé. He doesn't gamble for money, either. He gambles for the same reason as myself-he has an urge to prove himself against other men.' His eyes glittered like strange blue stones and his skin was taut. 'He wants to flatten me'

She remembered Chris saying excitedly: 'I can take him,' and the feverish brightness of his eyes. 'Why does he want to beat you so much?' she asked Luc Ferrier with unhidden anxiety.

He shrugged wryly. 'I've got a reputation, I suppose. It gets around, and men hanker for the thrill of being able to say they beat me. It can be irritating. Every place I go to there's going to be someone itching to take me and wring me dry. Not for the money-just for the boosted ego of doing it.'

Lissa was worried and angry and she burst out furiously: 'Why do you go on living like that? Drifting around from casino to casino, winning and losing money day after day. It's degrading!'

'I only gamble in the summer,' he said with wicked amusement. 'The rest of the year I risk my life in London traffic.'

She frowned. 'What?'

He was mocking her. 'I suppose it's another form of gambling, really.'

'What are you talking about?'

'My job,' he said, and Lissa's mouth opened on a surprised intake of air.

Luc laughed again. 'Close your mouth. Are you catching flies? Out here you might catch something much nastier.'

'Job?' she repeated huskily.

'Nasty word, isn't it?' he said. 'I try to keep it quiet It only confuses people.'

'You work?'

His laughter deepened and he bent a wicked eye on her. 'Alas, yes.'

'What at?' she asked, unable to believe he meant it.

'What a narrow-minded girl you are!' he drawled. 'I work in a London office for nine months of the year, actually.'

'Doing what?' Lissa regarded him incredulously.

'Gambling,' he mocked, grinning.

Lissa's teeth set. 'I don't believe you!' He was making fun of her. She turned to go and he caught her arm, his fingers folding softly round her elbow, not hurting yet making it impossible for her to move away.

'I work with the Stock Exchange,' he explained.

'The London Stock Exchange?'

'That's right, I gamble on market fluctuations, I'm good at it, I make a lot of money. It calls for the same skills as poker. You have to have intuition, a gut feeling that some stock is about to move up or down, and the nerve to back your judgment with hard cash. In the last resort, that's what all gambling comes to-nerve and a clear head.' He paused, eyeing her. 'That's why your fiancé should stay away from it. He has the nerve and the desire to win, but he doesn't have the head for it.'

. Lissa looked at the hard, assertive face and swallowed. 'Don't play with him again!' The fear she was feeling was inexplicable. All her instincts cried out that for Chris to play against Luc Ferrier was dangerous. She couldn't say why she should feel that. It was an unconscious reaction deep inside her and her conscious mind couldn't pin down the hidden reasoning which had caused it.

Luc Ferrier's blue eyes narrowed and he watched her closely. 'We'll make a bargain,' he told her.

'What?' She looked anxiously into the blue eyes, her face shifting in uncertainty.

'Spend the afternoon with me and I promise I won't play poker with your fiancé tonight,' he drawled.

Lissa sensed at once that lie had led her into that trap deliberately. He had known she was nervous about Chris playing with him and he had played on her fears.

'Well?' he demanded.

She looked down, biting her lower lip, trying to think. It was blatant blackmail and she would need her head examined if she gave in to it. Chris had promised he wouldn't play with Luc Ferrier, hadn't he? But Chris was a gambler and Lissa knew gamblers. Chris would forget his promise to her if his passion for poker beckoned.

Luc Ferrier turned away, shrugging those wide shoulders. 'Okay, forget it. Obviously you have no objections to Brandon playing with me, after all.'

'I'll come,' she said huskily as he moved away.

He stopped and turned. The blue eyes smiled and she caught her breath at the beauty of them, set in their thick black lashes, the compelling nature of that smile irresistible.

She knew it was madness to agree to spend the afternoon with him, but if she had refused she guessed he would have persuaded Chris to play tonight and Chris would have lost again. Lissa was certain of it. Chris hadn't got a hope against Luc Ferrier.

She left Fortune at the desk with the day clerk and went to her room. She showered and changed into a plain blue shift in glazed cotton. It was sleeveless, with a low scooped neckline, quite short, exposing most of her body to the sun. Brushing her long blonde hair, she thought about the problem facing her. How was she going to spend several hours with Luc Ferrier and still keep him at a safe distance? In the past her innocence

had protected her. All the men who worked at the hotel kept their distance without her having to do anything about it. They might smile, eye her admiringly, but they had never stepped over the line they drew for themselves.

She did not need to guess that Luc Ferrier was going to be much tougher to handle; everything about him made it blazingly obvious.

She drew her hair behind her head and anchored it with a small black velvet bow. The change of hairstyle gave her face a pure outline, very young, very innocent. She regarded herself assessingly. Yes, she decided, that was better. She did not put on any make-up. Quite often in the summer she didn't bother. Her tanned skin did not need it and spending so much time in the ocean she just forgot to put make-up on except in the evenings when she was going to work.

When she joined Luc Ferrier she felt the quick, all-seeing shaft of his glance. The blue eyes were sardonic as she looked up into them. He knew she had dressed carefully and deliberately and he knew why.

'Very demure,’ he murmured softly. 'Sweet and innocent. You look like a daisy.'

She flushed, not liking the comparison.

'Shall we be on our way?' Luc asked, and she turned reluctantly to walk out with him.

Rebecca was crossing the foyer with a clipboard and sheaf of papers in her hand. Lissa felt her staring and avoided her eyes. Rebecca would tell Chris, she realised with a quiver of alarm. What would Chris say when he found out she had gone off with Luc Ferrier?

She took Luc to the best restaurant in town. It did not look much on the outside. Housed in one of the frame buildings on the front, it had a ramshackle air, leaning crazily in the wind, creaking like an old boat. Inside it was elegantly furnished and the food was superb. It was island cooking at its best-tinged with that distinct French flavour which centuries of French dominance had given the islanders. The ingredients were alien, but the cooking and serving gave the meal a classic simplicity.

'What's in this sauce?' Luc asked her, looking with pleasure at his plate.

'Local honey, spices, pineapple, vinegar,' she said.

He was eating octopus with rice and baked bananas.

His brows had risen as he read the menu, but she could see that he was enjoying the odd combination and Lissa knew from experience that it was delicious.

She herself was eating chicken sliced very thinly and served wrapped in slices of local molasses-cooked ham.

Their waiter knew her and hovered politely within earshot-she wasn't sure whether he did it out of a desire to be some sort of protection for her, or whether he was merely eager to please. Whenever she looked round she caught the white flash of his teeth as he smiled at her.

Luc saw her smiling back and glanced over his broad shoulder. He crooked a long, brown finger and the waiter sprang forward. 'Sir?'

'If we want you, we'll call you,' Luc said very softly, meeting his eyes.

The waiter bowed and silently vanished.

'They all know you, don't they?' Luc asked, and Lissa nodded, smiling faintly. 'How old were you when you first came here?'

She told him and he listened with interest. 'So you were born in England?'

She nodded, and he pushed away his plate and leaned back in his chair, his thumbs in the pockets of the waistcoat of his light blue suit. It was one of the things about him that betrayed his money-the cut of the suit had London stamped all over it. The design was modern without being aggressively in fashion and the tailoring was first class. He wasn't wearing a tie and the collar of his shirt was casually opened.

'Have you ever wanted to go back to England?' he asked, studying her coolly.

Lissa shook her head. 'Not to live-for a visit, perhaps. I think I'd find it a bit cold.'

He lowered his thick lashes. 'Not necessarily,' he answered, and she saw the edge of his mouth curl upwards in a secret little smile.

Glancing up again, he asked: 'So you've known Brandon most of your life?'

Lissa nodded. She felt his eyes probing into hers, the razor-sharp edge of his face tilted as he leaned back.

'What gave you the idea you could sing?' he asked, and she didn't like the way he phrased that, flushing.

'Chris thought…'

'Ah,' he said. 'It was his idea, was it?'

'I know I'm not the greatest singer in the world!' she flared in defensive annoyance.

'You're not even in the third league,' he drawled.

Her colour deepened. 'Thank you.'

He grinned at her stiff voice and angry face. 'But you're worth listening to,' he soothed. 'That little girl voice is rather fetching. You're such a contrast to the sort of singers you usually find in places like that.' He watched her push her own plate away, only half-touched, and asked: 'Would you like a dessert?'

She shook her head, her eyes down. Although she knew she wasn't a very exciting singer she did not much like being frankly informed of it.

'Coffee?' He didn't wait for her to answer that, but clicked his fingers. The waiter appeared and Luc ordered coffee. When their plates had been removed he asked if she would mind if he smoked and, when she shook her head, he lit a cigar.

'The song you sang the other night,' he began, studying the end of his cigar thoughtfully. 'Whose idea was that?'

' Pierre 's,' she said. 'He runs the band. He arranged the song and did the modern words.'

The dark blue eyes shot to her face. 'You weren't happy singing it, were you? You got through it okay, but you looked like someone who was in acute discomfort.'

Lissa did not answer that. The waiter arrived with their coffee and left the tall pot of coffee on the table when he vanished again to get the brandy Luc had demanded for himself.

Lissa watched the pale spirals of cream sink into her coffee. Luc watched her, but he wasn't saying anything. The brandy arrived and when the waiter had gone again Luc picked up his glass and sipped the drink in silence for a moment.

'Girls of your type have gone out of style in England,' he told her as he put his glass down on the table.

Lissa ventured a look at him and flushed at the wicked amusement in his eyes.

'What do you mean, girls of my type?' she asked crossly. 'What type am I?'

'I haven't got long enough to tell you,' he said softly, and her colour flared.

She picked up her coffee and drank it to cover her disturbed sense of threat. The way the blue eyes caressed and teased made her want to get up and bolt like a frightened rabbit.

She was very relieved when they had finished their coffee and could leave. It would be less intimate and more bearable for her when they were viewing the old fort, she decided, but when they strolled down the road and went in through the open gate they found the place empty. The young man selling tickets waved them through cheerfully. 'You know the way round, Liss,' he beamed.

The walls were broken in places, the jagged masonry worn by wind and sea mists, the ground littered with tumbled stone. Lissa showed Luc the guardrooms with their deepset chimneys, the cells beneath the fort which had once held chained prisoners, the narrow winding corridors running darkly off the steep flights of stairs. A colony of bats lived in the ruined tower at one end of the fort. Luc insisted on climbing the stairs to stare down over the town from the wide parapet. Long ago French soldiers had stood here, watching for trouble either from land or sea, but the fort had not been in use for many years.

The wind blew faintly today. In summer the town sweltered in the heat. It was only when the occasional hurricane roared over the ocean that the fort crumbled even further.

Going down the stairs with Luc in front of her in case she fell, Lissa skidded on a sharply polished stone. She tried to grab the wall, but it gave her hand no purchase. Instead she found, herself grasping Luc's shoulders while he held her by the waist, half turned towards her in a reflex movement as he heard her cry of alarm.

'Sorry,' she whispered, drawing back as she recovered her balance.

He still held her waist, his hands almost meeting around it, and as she looked into his eyes a strange, drowning excitement engulfed her. Her mind blanked out. When Luc lifted her down to the same step as himself she felt she was floating, light as air, dreamlike and somehow free of anything resembling volition.

Luc's head bent and he brushed his lips over hers. It was the lightest of caresses and it affected her like the touch of fire. She jerked back involuntarily. The cold stone of the wall, the rough edge of flint, dug into her back. She stared into his intent blue eyes and her mouth shook-

He placed both hands on the wall, leaning over her, and his mouth came down again, but now the coolness had gone, along with the gentleness. His lips were hard and hot, forcing hers to open, the pressure of them filled with a demand she helplessly obeyed. His hands suddenly gripped her wrists and raised her arms; placing them round his neck. She woke briefly then, wrenching her head away, pushing at his shoulders with flattened hands.

His palm against her check pushed her head round and before she could cry out in protest his mouth had her own captive again. Lissa tensed for a few seconds, twisting to escape. Luc shifted and she felt the whole weight of his body crushing her against the wall. She couldn't stop the moan which escaped her under his demanding mouth. Her hands slid along his shoulders and grasped his thick black hair, running through it in a trembling movement.

Luc broke off the kiss to lift his head. Her lids flicked back and her green eyes stared, glazed and incredulous.

She felt the piercing probe of those eyes with heated embarrassment and self-disgust.

Luc stepped away, smiling. 'Be more careful as we go down the rest of these stairs,' he drawled. 'You never know what may happen if you slip.'

Lissa couldn't move for a moment. Her legs were shaking under her and she was so hot she felt as though she had a fever. After a pause to drag herself back from that disturbed state of consciousness, she followed him slowly.