Free Desperate Measures by Sara Craven Page B

acknowledged
    glumly. It might almost have been preferable if there had been a few
    rows. In fact there were times when she found herself deliberately
    provoking Alain— trying to get a reaction. But all to no avail.
    No, Alain was invariably courteous to her, even charming in an
    aloof way, and his behaviour didn't alter one iota on the rare
    occasions he came to her bedroom.
    She felt her face warm. She didn't really want to contemplate
    those brief, embarrassing encounters in the darkness. Those swift,
    almost clinical couplings which were all she was called on to endure.
    She supposed she should be thankful for the consideration he
    invariably showed her. At least there were no more troublous attempts to seduce her. But gratitude, she had discovered, was not always the
    uppermost emotion in her mind, as she lay, tense and trembling, in his arms. She was aware of a strange restiveness when he left her, an
    aching void deep inside her.
    She told herself it was resentment. He might have a legal right
    to use her body, but that didn't mean she had to like it. Besides,
    resentment—endurance, also represented safety. They enabled her to
    retreat from
    Alain emotionally behind the barrier they offered— to resist the
    temptation of his physical attraction which still tormented her. Because she couldn't afford to relax her guard against him, even for a moment.
    The strange hunger in her body told her that, and she was disgusted
    at her own weakness.
    And what part Marie-Laure de Somerville-Resnais still played in
    his life, she could only guess. Certainly there were nights when he did not return to the apartment. He offered no explanation, and she
    certainly never asked for one. He knew the risks implicit in such a
    relationship, after all, she told herself stonily.
    The threat of the emergency board meeting, with its attendant
    vote of censure, had been withdrawn, at least temporarily. Louis de
    Courcy had been forced to acknowledge that his campaign to
    overthrow his nephew as chairman had been weakened by his new
    respectability as a married man. But that did not mean he wouldn't
    still be watching and waiting for Alain to make some mistake, some
    slight slip. And a resumption of his affair, however discreet, with the beautiful Baronne would be exactly the excuse that his uncle was
    looking for, Philippa thought, biting her lip. As for herself, her own feelings on the subject—well, that side of Alain's life was none of her business, was it?
    The irony of it all was the overt envy she sensed from most of
    the women she met. They clearly imagined she lived a life, not just of luxury, but also of blissful fulfilment.
    If they only knew, she thought, with a little sigh as she emerged
    into the late afternoon sunlight.
    The men seemed to come from nowhere—two of them, scrawny
    and greasy-haired, dressed in denims. One of them pushed her,
    sending her flying to the pavement, while the other one grabbed at
    her shoulder-bag.
    Philippa screamed, clutching at the strap, and heard,
    somewhere near at hand, another male voice answer.
    Suddenly the grip on her bag was released, as the two muggers
    took to their heels and vanished around the corner.
    'Are you hurt, mademoiselle ? Hands helped Philippa gently to
    her feet, then set about retrieving her coin purse, compact and other belongings which had become strewn across the pavement in the
    struggle.
    'No, I'm fine.' The knees of her jeans were torn, and her skin was
    grazed. She would have bruises tomorrow, she thought, as she leaned
    against the wall, trying to recover her breath, and taking her first look at her rescuer.
    He was young, dark-haired and undeniably attractive. He was
    smiling, but his face was concerned as he handed over her bag.
    'But you have had a shock, yes? There is a little bar in the next
    street. You must have some coffee— a cognac. Yes, I insist.'
    She was glad to take the arm he offered. When she tried to
    move, she found her legs had turned to jelly.