Shelves: hurray-and-happy-i-read-it , interestingthings , emo-angst , fell-off-my-chair-laughing , amnesia , required-hp-reading , totally-whacked , cuddlesome-h , hplandia , seekrit-baby This review has been hidden because it contains spoilers. To view it, click here. Not all of the books immediately following this one will be in the exact same tone or vein. LG is still finding her writing feet in these early years, but TR is the very first LG that is the embodiment of all the elements that have made LG one of the best selling authors in HPlandia. This one starts with a prologue. Catherine, a 20 yr old orphan who is very sweet but about as sophisticated as a baby bunny, is tearfully fretting over leaving her lover of two years.
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Hurriedly she set down her coffee-cup, her courage sinking fast. She was afraid to meet his eyes. But certainly contentment had rarely featured in her responses.
From the beginning she had loved him wildly, recklessly, and with that edge of desperation which prevented her from ever standing as his equal. Over the past two years, she had swung between ecstasy and despair more times than he would ever have believed. Or cared to believe. This beautiful, luxurious apartment was her prison.
Not his. She stole a nervous glance at him. His light intonation had been deceptive. Luc was silently seething. But not at her. His ire was directed at some imaginary scapegoat, who had dared to contaminate her with ideas, quite embarrassing ideas above her station. Under the table the fingernails of her other hand grooved sharp crescents into her damp palm. Had the Santini electronics empire crashed overnight, Luc could not have looked more grim than he did now, pierced by a thorn from a normally very well-trained source.
She recoiled from the brutal candour she had invited, ashamed to discover that she had, after all, nurtured a tiny, fragile hope that deep down inside he might feel differently. Her soft blue eyes flinched from his, her head bowing. Having devastated her, he relented infinitesimally. As a lover, I imagine, I am far less demanding than I would be as a husband. A blunt, sun-browned finger languorously played over the knuckles showing white beneath the skin of her clenched hand.
Even though she was conscious that Luc was using his customary methods of distraction, the electricity of a powerful sexual chemistry tautened her every sinew and the fleeting desire to laugh away the ashes of painful disillusionment vanished. With a faint sigh, he shrugged back a pristine silk shirt cuff to consult the rapier-thin Cartier watch on his wrist and frowned.
Luc rose fluidly upright to regard her narrowly. Is there something wrong? But he had taught her the art of lies and evasions, could only blame himself when he realised what a monster he had created.
He strolled back across the room to link confident arms round her small, slim figure, easing her round to face him. And, arrogantly acquainted with that shivery weakness, Luc was satisfied and soothed. A long finger traced the tremulous fullness of her lower lip. If he did, why should he care? In probably much the same fashion he cracked the whip over key executives to keep them on their toes. He was murmuring something smooth about stocks and shares that she refused to listen to.
When are you going to find that out? While his hunger for her remained undiminished, she understood that she was safe. She took no compliment from the desire she had once na;auively believed was based on emotion.
For the several days a month which Luc allotted cool-headedly to the pursuit of light entertainment, she had every ttention. But that Luc had not even guessed that the past weeks had been unadulterated hell for her proved the shallowness of the bond on his side. She had emerged from the soap-bubble fantasy she had started building against reality two years ago.