Last of the Great French Lovers Page 2

  He tensed, sensing her gaze, and flashed his narrowed steel-grey eyes up to her face, but Alicia did not attempt to look away; she met that gaze power for power, and saw his black eyebrows rise sharply at the expression on her face.

  David came up to her in the doorway. 'Darling, poor Lindy is --'

  'Don't do that!' Alicia said huskily, pushing his embrace away. 'Just go and bring the car round! I want to get her out of here!'

  'Darling, I know you're upset,' David touched her pale cheek, 'but Lindy will recover. We all do.'

  'I want to leave,' Alicia said thickly, because of course she knew that wasn't true. We don't all recover, she thought, looking across the lawns at Jean-Marc Brissac.

  Some of us never recover. Some of us are simply too vulnerable.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The following week felt disrupted. Normally cool and efficient, Alicia found herself staring angrily at the designs on her desk, remembering Jean-Marc Brissac's ruthless face and the cold way he had dismissed poor Lindy once she had served her purpose. The days limped by, she found herself hurrying to match her usual pace and was almost completely left behind by Friday.

  Her offices were in Kensington. Inheriting the building from her father at seventeen, she had known immediately that the small men's shirt manufacturer's business could be far more efficient and profitable as a fashionable women's boutique.

  Alicia had always been artistic. When she lost her family and her capacity to believe in love it became her major outlet, and she became a fashion designer. She rose rapidly from a minor high-street boutique to a major force in fashion. Last year, at twenty-five, she had won the coveted award of Most Promising Newcomer to European Fashion.

  The award stood in her office, on the black stone art deco mantelpiece, and, above it, a photograph of herself accepting it from Allie Makrett, the top designer in Europe.

  On Friday afternoon, she found herself staring at that award and the photograph above it, remembering Lindy's words: 'Too beautiful to touch, too cold to marry, because you look after a career instead of love, marriage and children.'

  Alicia shivered. The black and white checked Nicole Farhi mini-suit she wore was featured in this month's Vogue, and she looked devastatingly beautiful in it. But too beautiful to touch...?

  When David arrived at six to pick her up, he said, 'Are you all right, darling? You seem rather preoccupied.'

  'A hard day.' She slid into the front seat, a frown on her brow. 'David—do you think I'm too beautiful to touch?'

  He laughed and started the engine. 'I certainly do not! Why do you ask?'

  Her lashes flickered. 'Just something Lindy said to me.' She suddenly could no longer contain the feeling of restless dissatisfaction that had been eating at her all week. 'Darling—I want to get out of this city.'

  He grinned. 'Is that an invitation for a dirty weekend?'

  'Don't be ridiculous,' she said, lifting her brows coolly.

  'Why is it ridiculous?' He gave a harsh sigh. 'We're engaged to be married, Alicia!'

  'And will remain platonic until after the wedding.' Alicia shot him an uncertain look through her black lashes. 'I thought we'd agreed on that. I thought you understood.'

  'I do, but...' He sighed. 'I just get so frustrated sometimes, darling. I feel as though I can't break through your reserve, no matter what I do.'

  'My reserve... ?' she queried.

  He took her hand and kissed it. 'Your cold beauty, my darling. It really is quite awe-inspiring.'

  She stared at him. 'But you've asked me to marry you and I've said yes! How can you consider me awe-inspiring?'

  He shrugged, carried on driving. 'I feel I understand you. I feel I know why you're so—unapproachable. You're very ambitious, and you can't allow anything to get in the way of that. Certainly not love.'

  Horrified, unable to continue the conversation in case he said anything even more damning than he had already said, Alicia changed the subject.

  'Well, darling,' she said with a light smile, 'in that case, my idea of a short bleak away from work should be just what we need.'

  He laughed. 'This really is an invitation for a dirty weekend!'

  'No, it's not, David,' she said with affection, patting his hand. 'But it is an invitation to romance.'

  'Sounds good to me!' David laughed. 'Where shall we go?'

  'Paris,' Alicia said at once, and suddenly realised she had known that was where she wanted to go all along. She wondered why, but there was no answer. It was just a sudden deep yearning for the city of lovers...

  They flew to Paris the next day. Arriving in the afternoon, they checked into the Paris Ritz, the chic palace on the Place Vendome, surrounded by the legend of Cartier and the ghosts of Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Coco Chanel. They each had a suite, and Alicia didn't bat an eyelid as she gave the details of her gold Am-Ex card at the desk before taking both keys.

  'I'll meet you in the bar for a drink,' she told David, 'in one hour. I'd like time to unpack and take a bath first.'

  David followed her to the lift. 'I'd rather have drinks in my suite with you. Surely that's the point of this trip? A lot of luxury and a little romance... ?'

  Alicia pressed the call button with a polished nail. 'Darling, you know being alone together in either suite would be dangerous, and not at all suitable.'

  'Romantic weekends,' said David with a frown, 'are supposed to be dangerous and unsuitable.'

  'Not in my book!' Alicia frowned at him and stepped into the lift.

  David pulled her back, his hand around her wrist. 'Alicia, for God's sake! You can't seriously expect me to keep my hands off you under these circumstances!'

  Alicia prickled from head to foot, appalled at the scene he was on the point of creating in the luxurious foyer. 'David, please!'

  'No,' he said firmly under his breath, 'I won't let you go! Not unless you agree to let me come to your suite!'

  Alicia drew a level breath. Her face was flushed. She was acutely aware that people were watching and listening. Her dislike of public scenes was blackmail enough, and David knew it.

  'Very well,' she said with a sigh, 'come to my room in one hour.' And she told him her suite number.

  Turning on her impeccable Charles Jourdan heels, she walked into the lift and rode up to the seventh floor, frowning over his behaviour. Who would have thought David capable of creating a scene just to get his own way? He'd always been so sensitive and understanding.

  When she entered the cool, calm luxury of her suite she threw her key down on the chaise-longue and went straight to the bathroom to switch on the bathtaps. The toiletries were arrayed in a wicker basket like an exclusive perfume counter. Alicia tipped designer bubble-bath into the rushing water, studied the expensive soap with indifference.

  The porter delivered her Louis Vuitton suitcase. Alicia opened it, unpacked efficiently, then stripped off her clothes and walked nude to the bathroom.

  David wouldn't arrive for at least another forty minutes. She sank into the scented water, closed her eyes, and came to terms with her folly in coming here.

  That conversation with Lindy about Jean-Marc Brissac had upset her. Of that there was no longer any doubt. She'd felt troubled all week, haunted by her young niece's words, and, in a crazy bid to prove to herself that Lindy was wrong, she had asked David to come to Paris...

  It was rapidly, however, becoming clear that she did not want romance with David. But why was she marrying him in that case? To have children? It had never occurred to her before that she might want children this badly. And if she did—how could she contemplate having them with a man she could not face making love with?

  She had never pretended to be passionate. Certainly not with David. She had always made it clear, in the year they had been together, that she was first and foremost a businesswoman, in that most feminine of arenas—fashion. David had been head over heels in love with her, though, and his warmth and charm had eventually persuaded her that they had a chance of making a marria
ge work.

  Without romance, though? Without physical affection? Alicia frowned and, at that second, the doorbell of the suite rang. Surely that couldn't be David!

  Annoyed, Alicia got out of the bath, padded naked to the door and took the bath-robe, slipping into it, her face clean-scrubbed, her hair wet, the fluffy robe far too big for her.

  As she wrenched open the door, her dark eyes flashed. 'David, if you think this is --' She broke off, gasping as she met a pair of steel-grey eyes that stopped her heart, took her breath away.

  'Well, well, well,' Jean-Marc Brissac drawled softly, a mocking smile on his hard mouth as he ran his gaze over her with insolent sexual appraisal. 'The Snow Queen is human, after all!'

  He was tall. At least six foot six, and the breadth of his shoulders was formidable. He wore a black suit, impeccably cut, and his grey eyes were making her heart thud faster and her face flush.

  'You look distinctly deshabillee, cherie!' He smiled lazily. 'Are you expecting someone?'

  Alicia tried to shut the door in his face, but he prevented her from doing so by putting one strong tanned hand on the panels and holding it steady as though he were a tank.

  'Your boyish fiancé, perhaps?' he drawled. 'I heard you giving him his instructions in the foyer. He seemed most accommodating. Does he always do as he is told?' His grey eyes slid insolently to the neck of her robe as he added mockingly, 'Or perhaps he is your employee—not your lover?'

  She could barely breathe, conscious of her dishevelled appearance and the stark sense of vulnerability she felt but, most of all, conscious of the way this man made the hair on the back of her neck prickle with a hostility she had never felt before.

  'Get away from this door!' she said in breathless rage. 'Before I call security!'

  'There is no need for security,' he said softly, watching her. 'I merely wanted to see what you would look like without your armour.'

  He moved away from the door just as Alicia slammed it. Heart thudding violently, she just stood there, shaking like a leaf.

  His insults rang in her ears. She struggled for coherent thought, reminding herself that he was ruthless, calculating, and would use any trick at his disposal to get what he wanted.

  Breathing erratically, Alicia went into her bedroom to dress. Jean-Marc Brissac had obviously felt insulted by her behaviour towards him at the garden party.

  She stared at her hands. She was still shaking.

  Dressing in a formal black skirt suit, Alicia deliberately made herself look as coolly elegant as possible. If David was coming here with seduction on his mind, an exterior of aristocratic reserve was the safest device she could use to defuse his desire. Coiling her glossy black hair into a severe chignon, she applied red lipstick to her mouth, black liner to her wide dark eyes, and pearl earrings to her lobes.

  When the doorbell rang at ten past three, she was ready, strolling immaculately dressed to the door, tall and strikingly beautiful in her high black heels.

  Jean-Marc Brissac.

  Her eyes widened in shock and she tried to slam the door, but he pushed it open, shouldering in, a mocking smile on his hard mouth, to close the door behind him and lean against it.

  Waves of angry panic engulfed her. She was staring at him, lips parted, barely able to breathe.

  'Your fiancé is downstairs in the bar,' Jean-Marc Brissac drawled softly, watching her through heavy eyelids. 'I gave him your message.'

  'What message?' she asked, her voice shaking with alarm.

  'That a business problem had arisen,' he drawled sardonically. 'And that you were unavoidably detained until four o'clock.'

  She stared, dark eyes blazing. 'You told him that!'

  'He was surprised, of course,' he murmured, unsmiling, 'but he understood, and had a polite conversation with me about my financial interests. I bought him a drink, and left him in the bar.'

  'I don't believe you!' she said through taut lips.

  'Yes, you do,' he said with a lift of arrogant brows. 'That's why you're so angry.' He smiled, straightening suddenly, and walking coolly towards her. 'And so afraid.'

  'I'm not afraid!' she denied hotly, and backed from him, her sense of panic making her breathe erratically, staring up at him with eyes that were stretched wide, her mouth reflecting her acute tension.

  'He's a charming boy,' Jean-Marc Brissac commented, allowing his grey gaze to slide coolly over her body. 'But he's no match for you. Is he, Alicia?'

  She lifted her head. 'My relationship with David is none of your business!'

  'Apparently none of his business, either,' he drawled softly, sliding his hands into the pockets of his beautifully cut black trousers, his jacket apart, drawing her eye helplessly to the powerful male chest in the tight black waistcoat, and the sheer stark masculinity of his stance. 'I've never been so amused by a couple before.' You strode into the hotel with that boy, paid for the rooms, gave him his orders, and then dismissed him.'

  'How dare you?' she burst out, and suddenly knew she wanted to slap his hard arrogant face, because what he had said was so unacceptable to her, but, at the same time, so horribly close to the truth.

  'How long have you been engaged to him?' he asked, dark brows rising in commanding enquiry.

  'Six months!' she snapped hotly. 'Not that it's any of your --'

  'A beautiful woman like you?' he cut in, eyes narrowed. 'Is that really the best you could do?'

  'My God,' she breathed, shaking with rage, 'you insolent swine! How date you come here and lecture me on my private life?'

  'Perhaps I think it's time someone did,' he said softly, letting his grey eyes drift over her slender hipbones to the long, toned lines of her legs encased in sheer black tights. 'Perhaps I think it's time someone taught you what love between a man and a woman should be.'

  Hot colour flooded her neck and face in a tidal wave, ruining her aristocratic reserve, making her heart hammer as she saw the cool smile on his hard mouth as he noted the intensely female reaction.

  'Certainly,' he said, moving towards her, 'your obedient boyfriend won't be the one to teach you!'

  She took a backward step, came into contact with the pale green couch, and was forced to stand her ground, but her heart was hammering and the alarm she felt went right to the deepest level of her.

  'Come a step closer,' she whispered, 'and I'll scream!'

  Eyes insolent, he stepped closer, a smile on his hard mouth, a look of mocking intent in his grey eyes as he gauged correctly the chaos he was invoking in her. He laughed sardonically. 'Never make a threat unless you can carry it through, Alicia.' His strong hands slid slowly on to her narrow waist.

  'Get your hands off me!' she choked out.

  'Men and women are such different creatures,' he drawled lazily. 'Man is the hunter. Woman the prey. Any other way simply does not work, cherie. Reverse the roles at your peril.'

  'This is the late twentieth century,' she said hoarsely, struggling to retain some wit and dignity, 'not the neanderthal era!'

  'Some things,' he said mockingly, 'never change.' He pulled her against his hard body until she could feel every inch of it, her pulses beating so fast that she was incapable of speech, just staring at his hard face and feeling the blood pulsate through her body.

  He was watching her face, his eyes ruthless, and she started to struggle, at last, fear driving her to break out of her own armour as she fought him, gasping hotly, her face scarlet and her dark eyes filled with stark terror.

  Forcing her struggling body down on to the couch, he was unstoppable, his face hard as he imposed his powerful body and sheer male strength at will, and the panic throbbed in her veins as she twisted beneath him, breath coming in hoarse gasps as he held her pinned and his eyes focused on her trembling mouth.

  'Please...' she whispered shakingly, and he looked so different from this angle, his black hair falling across his tanned forehead, his tough face filled with a sexual impact that made her whole body tremble in violent response.

  As his h
ard mouth closed over hers Alicia renewed her struggles, and he reasserted his superiority by clamping her in position, his hands firm on her wrists, pinning them either side of her head. Her breasts rose and fell with panic as the sensations filled her, sensations she had never before experienced as he forced her to accept the brutal, savage domination of his kiss.

  'Stop fighting me!' he bit out coldly against her mouth. 'Or I'll lose my temper.'

  Her breath caught at the implicit threat, and she felt the fight go out of her, her mouth opening helplessly beneath his as his domination of her became complete.

  Mindless, boneless, she was incapable of stopping him, her eyes closed and her mouth bruised with passion as she received his kisses, heart thudding at the feel of those hard thighs pressing inexorably against her and that powerful chest covering hers so completely.

  When his strong hand slid up over her body to slowly cup her breast she moaned hoarsely, more helpless than ever, feeling his mouth come softly away from hers as he studied her with narrowed eyes for a second, then stroked her breast slowly, watching her as she stared helplessly into his tough face, her heart pounding like a violent drum beneath his long fingers, lost in the hot whirlpool of sensual excitement he had inflicted so forcefully on her.

  Suddenly, his mouth was sliding over her throat and she felt his strong hands unbuttoning with slow, expert skill the front of her black suit, sliding the crisp, elegant jacket apart while she kissed his hard mouth, her hands moving up with unconscious submission to his broad shoulders, and then his neck, and then pushing into his black hair.

  He stroked her bare stomach lightly with his fingers and she felt her head begin to reel as she gasped helplessly beneath him, feeling those fingers move up to her breast, caressing it through the black lace bra that now seemed so exciting, so erotic, so feminine to her...

  The knock at the door made no impact on Alicia. She was lost to reality, submerged in a tide of primitive response to his brutal male strength, and when he lifted his dark head from hers she was shocked, felt deprived, opening her wild dark eyes with a wrench.