One To Watch(66)

“No,” she stammered, trying to figure out the right thing to say and what she actually wanted in the same breath. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. Um, I need to go to sleep soon, but one glass of wine would be okay? I guess?”

“You are certain?” He looked unsure. “The last thing I want is to give you troubles.”

“It’s okay.” Bea smiled, heartened that he seemed nervous too. “Please, come in.”

She turned on more lamps in the room as he slipped inside and shut the door behind him. She pulled a robe out of her wardrobe to throw on over her PJs.

“No,” Luc said with a smile, “but I love you in this T-shirt.”

“Really?” Bea laughed. “Maybe I should have worn it on our date today.”

Luc produced a small wine key from his pocket and began opening the bottle, a deep Moroccan red.

“Perhaps I am wrong,” he said, “but when I see you in your fashions, your makeup, your hair all done, I think this is like your armor, your uniform for war.”

“Love is a battlefield?” Bea raised an eyebrow.

“Non, Ms. Benatar.” He smiled. “There is something about these fashions that feel like—a challenge, I think is the right word. Like you are telling the world the way you want them to see you.”

“Doesn’t everyone do that?” she asked, feeling a bit self-conscious that this man who seemed so self-involved had seen her so clearly.

“Yes, but not for a living.” He grabbed two glasses from a sideboard and poured the wine, then brought them over to the little settee where Bea was sitting. “Now, like this, you are soft. Unguarded. I prefer it.”

They clinked glasses and drank; the wine was dark and fruity.

“So.” Bea tried for a flirtatious tone, but she was afraid it came out more pointed. “Do you want to tell me what you’re really doing here?”

“Here in your room? Whatever you like.”

“No.” Bea flushed. “Here on this show.”

Luc cocked his head. “What do you mean by this?”

“Well,” Bea explained, “tonight, for example. When you were telling me about your restaurant, and how you want to own your places. Being famous would help with that, right? Make it easier to get investors?”

Luc looked puzzled. “Yes, of course.”

“I mean, that’s why you came on this show, isn’t it? To raise your profile, to become a celebrity? To help your career?”

“Certainly,” Luc admitted. “Is this a problem?”

“No, but—” Bea paused, unsure how to articulate her concern. “I guess I thought that that’s why you wanted to spend time with me. Not that we weren’t having fun, but just that—I don’t know. If we weren’t here, on this show, you would never give me a second glance. That’s why I don’t understand why you’re here in my room now, when there aren’t any cameras.”

Luc put down his wine, his expression darker now. “You are saying you do not have interest in me.”

“Luc, come on. I was sure you had no interest in me.”

“But why? Why would you assume this?”

“Look at you!” Bea spluttered. “The longer I keep you here, the more fame you get. And if I pick you in the end, it means magazine covers, and TV specials, and interviews, and …” Bea felt like an idiot. Of course he was here to increase his own chances of winning, especially now that she was getting closer with Asher and Sam. Of course. “I just answered my own question, didn’t I?”

Luc frowned. “I do not understand.”

“It’s fine, Luc. I like you, and we have a good time together. I won’t send you home unless there’s a reason to, okay? I’m not trying to get in the way of your goals.”

She stood and walked toward the door, assuming this was the assurance he wanted, but he looked even more upset as he came to follow her.

“You think I am a liar.”

“What? I didn’t say that!”

“This is what you are saying right now!” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “You think I am using you for my own gain, that my enjoyment of you is false. Is this really what you think of me? That I would be so cruel?”

“Luc, you have to understand where I’m coming from here.”

“Why did you agree to do this show?” he demanded. “You work in an industry where publicity is valuable, like mine—was this a factor in your decision?”

“Of course it was.” She exhaled. There was no use in lying to him, even if she did feel like a hypocrite.

“So?” he pressed. “What am I to think? Are you leading me on, pretending to fall in love with me so your audience will fall in love with you?”

“That’s not the same!” Bea protested.

“What is different? You think I would pretend to have feelings for you because I am some kind of liar, but you would never do the same to me?”

“I had twenty-five men here, Luc. Why would I single you out and pretend to be interested in you?”

“Perhaps because, for our first week together, I was the only one showing interest in you.”

The remark hit Bea in the gut—that awful first night, the catastrophic afternoon on the boat, and Luc, out of everyone, taking time to make her feel beautiful. She didn’t feel beautiful now.