Last of the Great French Lovers Read online

  'So clever, Jean-Marc!' she said bitterly. 'Do you want to make me despise myself?'

  'For being afraid to fall in love?' He gave an ironic laugh. 'I've made a life's work of it.'

  'I didn't know I was afraid,' she said, her face paling as she looked away, 'I thought I loved David. I intended to marry him. I just... hadn't really thought about whether or not we were suited.'

  'And now you know he was always just a friend,' he said deeply.

  Alicia hesitated, then gave a stiff nod, her face averted.

  He was silent for a moment, then bent his dark head and kissed her high slanting cheekbone. Before she could react, her heart leaping, he had stepped away, watching her with a hard smile on his mouth, saying, 'I have to go back downstairs now. Attend to my guests. You will, of course, join us as soon as you can.'

  'Guests?' She stiffened involuntarily. 'What guests? You didn't mention about --'

  'Dominique is here with her young man,' he said, dark brows lifting. 'And my closest friend—Pierre Dusort—is also here. A small, casual gathering of friends. Nothing more. You need not feel pressurised.'

  'I don't feel pressurised,' she said with cool hauteur, lifting her dark brows and folding her arms. 'I simply don't see why you've brought me here.'

  'To design Dominique's wedding,' he murmured, mouth indenting with humour. 'A subject we shall discuss when you come downstairs.'

  'It's pointless,' she said angrily. 'I won't be taking the job. I shouldn't have come here, I can't stay, I'll be leaving in the morning!'

  'No,' he said, sliding his grey eyes to her mouth and making her heart skip beats. 'You won't be leaving until this is settled.' He turned and strode with cool authority to the door, opening it, his strong hand familiar with the carved bronze doorhandle and every inch of breathtaking grandeur in this magnificent chateau.

  Alicia burnt to ask him what he meant about leaving when this was settled. But of course she knew exactly what he meant. And her body was pulsing with deep response as he closed the door behind him, that implicit yet veiled sexual threat hanging in the air.

  Quickly, she picked up the torn black silk nightdress. She had made a fool of herself by doing that, and Jean-Marc's sardonic smile of mockery as he watched her had made her want to kill him.

  When she went downstairs, she felt lost in the vast hallway, and even more lost when she found herself with a choice of so many doors.

  'This way, mademoiselle.' The butler appeared from nowhere, startling her, and she murmured polite thanks in French as she followed him to the drawing-room.

  Conversation halted as she entered. Jean-Marc Brissac stood by the elegant carved wood fireplace, hands thrust in black trouser pockets, his stance one of lazy masculine authority.

  Alicia's dark gaze swung rapidly from face to face. Two teenagers were sprawled on the sofa, elegant and fresh-faced. An attractive man in his late thirties sat in an armchair, smiling at her.

  'Alicia,' Jean-Marc strolled coolly towards her, speaking in a French drawl, 'won't you come in? I'd like to present you to my oldest friend: Pierre Dusort.'

  He guided her, one possessive hand at the small of her back, over to the distinguished man with dark hair who was rising to his feet.

  'Enchante, mademoiselle.' Pierre Dusort gallantly kissed her hand, his dark eyes warm. 'Jean-Marc told me you were beautiful. I see he did not exaggerate.'

  Alicia flushed, shooting a cool look at Jean-Marc through her lashes. 'Thank you.' She gave Pierre a smile. 'I'm very pleased to meet you.'

  Jean-Marc turned her, guided her to the teenagers on the sofa. 'And my goddaughter, Dominique Dusort...'

  'I'm very pleased to meet you,' Alicia said, smiling at the very beautiful young woman with long dark hair, dark eyes and a bright green silk dress on her slender body. 'Jean-Marc has told me so much about you.'

  'Jean-Marc told you about me?' Dominique's dark eyes swivelled in teasing adoration to his hard face. 'What did he say? Tell, tell!'

  'I said you were a spoilt brat!' Jean-Marc drawled with wry indulgence, continuing smoothly, 'And this young man is her fiancé, Olivier.'

  'Enchanted.' Olivier's charm as he deftly kissed Alicia's hand was rather sweet, and she could see why young Dominique wanted to marry him.

  Conversation began once she was settled in a deeply luxurious dark red antique chair. Alicia grappled with her French, flexing muscles as she forced herself to simply use the old trick of never translating, but instead just thinking in French, and by the time Jean-Marc had poured her a second glass of red wine, she was laughing at something Pierre Dusort had said and feeling half-French herself, speaking the language with ease, her accent superb.

  'Are you hungry?' Jean-Marc had drawn his chair close to hers from the beginning, and leaned forward as the others talked, his deep voice intimate. 'I forgot to ask earlier, but --'

  'I ate on the plane,' she said, her gaze meeting his with irony. 'Your stewardesses waited on me hand and foot.'

  'Yes, they're good at that,' he drawled, with a sardonic smile. 'But you can take that look off your face, Alicia. I don't make a habit of seducing my staff—however attractive they are.'

  'Does that mean you won't seduce me if I join the hallowed ranks?'

  The grey eyes slid to her red mouth. 'Do you want my word of honour?'

  'No,' she said. 'You have no honour.'

  'Do I not?' he drawled, amused, then his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. 'Is this going to be a problem, Alicia? In taking this job? Dominique will be hurt if you refuse. I don't wish to spoil her wedding --'

  Dominique suddenly called impishly in French, 'Hey! Stop seducing my designer, Jean-Marc! I need her brains unscrambled!'

  Alicia went scarlet, mortified.

  'Guard your tongue, Dominique!' Jean-Marc said at once, sharply.

  Dominique flushed, mumbling, 'I'm sorry, Jean-Marc, I didn't mean --'

  'Give your apologies to Mademoiselle Holt,' he said curtly.

  The girl looked at Alicia and said huskily, 'I'm terribly sorry, Mademoiselle Holt. That was very rude of me. Please forgive me.' Her eyes pleaded with Alicia, and she felt deep compassion at once, realising how important Jean-Marc really was to this girl.

  'That's quite all right, Dominique.' Alicia's French accent was husky, and she smiled at the girl reassuringly.

  Jean-Marc was instantly charming as he said lazily to his goddaughter, 'Would you like to show Mademoiselle Holt the ballroom now? She'll need to see it if she is to take the job.'

  'You show her, Jean-Marc!' Dominique's dark eyes lit up. 'I'll go and get my magazine cuttings, so she' can see exactly what I have in mind.'

  Alicia was taken along a myriad corridors, until finally they reached the ballroom, and she caught her breath at the sight of it, for it was vast, palatial, with a fifty-foot ceiling and a series of vast crystal chandeliers suspended high above her head.

  'We expect around two hundred guests for the wedding itself,' Jean-Marc said briskly, striding in, hands thrust in black trouser pockets. 'Building to a final eight hundred for the evening reception.'

  'That's a lot of guests!' Alicia said, brows lifting.

  He shot her a cool smile. 'You see why it will need such close organisational direction.'

  'Yes.' Alicia looked around the sweeping room. It was like a vast cavernous film set, mirrors gilding the endless walls, the floor a polished gold oak. 'But I'm not experienced enough. I'm a designer— not a party organiser.'

  'Your design skills are all we require,' he said coolly. 'The ballroom must be completely revamped. But not permanently.' He gave a dry smile. 'I am not particularly fashion-conscious. I prefer classicism.' His grey eyes ran over her with sexual appraisal. 'It is one thing to admire female fashion such as your beautiful clothes, Alicia, but quite another to have my home turned into a trend-nightmare.'

  'But you want this ballroom revamped?'

  'I think "dressed" would be a better word,' he drawled, his deep voice echoing. 'Once the wedding is over�
��I want it exactly as it is now.' His eyes traced the room with deep love. 'Elegant and classical.'

  Alicia smiled against her will, eyes flashing over his powerful body so impeccably classical in that black suit. She agreed with him. Fashion was one thing; total era-consciousness was another.

  He turned his dark head, caught her admiring gaze, and moved towards her, a smile on his hard mouth. 'You will take the job?'

  Alicia tried to freeze him with a haughty glance. 'You know I can't.'

  He caught her by the waist with one powerful arm, pulling her against his hard body, ignoring her angry gasp. 'You must! I can't think of anyone else I would want to do it.'

  'Then want,' she said angrily, struggling, 'must be your master!'

  'No,' he said deeply, looking down into her flushed face. 'I will be your master, Alicia, and you will be my --'

  'Mistress?' she asked bitterly, hands pushing at his broad shoulders. 'Yes, I know exactly what you have in mind, Monsieur Brissac! I don't know why I was stupid enough to come here!'

  'But you did,' he said, and she met his grey gaze with acute awareness that, no matter what she said or did or how she tried to explain it to herself, he was right. She had come, and there was really nothing more to say.

  Looking away, she said huskily, 'I don't know why I came! I was a fool!'

  'You came because of what lies between us,' he said, watching her face.

  'There's nothing between us!'

  'Then why are you here?'

  Stung, she lifted her head, dark eyes blazing, 'If you must know, I came to slap your face! I knew you'd try to seduce me, and I wanted to have the satisfaction of wiping that arrogant look off your face!'

  He laughed under his breath, grey eyes flashing. 'How passionate you are, Alicia!'

  'I'm not passionate! Well, I wasn't until I met you!' she snapped, hating him, and then realised what she had said with a gasp, 'Oh...!' and tried to hide her face in his powerful chest as her cheeks burned betraying scarlet.

  'Alicia...!' Jean-Marc's laughter made her furious. He slid one strong hand below her chin and lifted her face to look at him, his grey eyes darkening as he said deeply, 'Don't fight me! You know it's useless.'

  'You want to control me!' she said bitterly.

  'No,' he said thickly, 'I want to stop you controlling yourself!'

  Her eyes widened at his words; she was stricken, as though he had shot an arrow straight into her heart, bypassing all her defences, leaving her pierced to the core, her face white and her mouth quivering.

  'And I will, Alicia.' He ran one finger over her high slanting cheekbone to her mouth. 'If I have to unleash all my power on you and force surrender, I will do it.'

  'If that's really the way you feel,' she said bitterly, breaking out of his embrace, her eyes blazing,

  'I can't stay here!' Stepping away from him, she said angrily, 'Thank you so much for the enlightening evening, Monsieur Brissac! But I'm afraid I must refuse the job, and your kind invitation to stay!' Her gaze raked him with contempt. 'I shall leave immediately and spend the night in a hotel!'

  Turning on her heel, she strode to the door, furious with herself for being stupid enough to come here in the first place.

  He followed her, caught her arm, his eyes intense. 'You can't go!'

  She stared at him, astonished by the urgency in his voice.

  'After all,' he drawled with a sudden lazy smile, 'you haven't slapped my face yet!'

  Angrily, she raised her hand, eyes blazing at his mockery. He caught it easily, laughing under his breath.

  'Another time, perhaps,' he murmured, 'when I deserve it a little more!'

  'There won't be another time, Jean-Marc!' she said tightly. 'I'm leaving and I'm never coming back!'

  'You're so tempestuous, darling!' he drawled.

  Fury shot through her. 'Don't laugh at me!'

  'I'm not!'

  'And don't call me darling!' she said, face filled with hot colour.

  'I'm trying to defuse your temper.' His voice hardened. 'You'll waste a rare opportunity, Alicia, if you walk out on this job. And you're more than capable of doing it.'

  'So are plenty of other designers.'

  'I want you,' he said flatly. 'I think you're exactly what we've been looking for. You're young enough to understand Dominique, but mature enough to keep a cool eye on her. She's inclined to go over the top, and that would spoil everything. Fashion becomes absurd unless there's a classical influence somewhere, and you have a strong streak of classicism, Alicia.'

  She drew a level breath. 'You're not listening to me. I don't want the job. Not under these circumstances. Not if you're going to spend your time trying to seduce me.'

  'But it will give you the chance to slap my face!' he drawled, grey eyes rakish. 'Surely that's an opportunity not to be wasted!'

  She smiled against her will, lowering her lashes, her heart skipping a beat at the charm in his tough face.

  'Take it,' he pressed, eyes narrowing calculatingly. 'It will break Dominique's heart if you don't. Surely you noticed she is wearing one of your own designs?'

  Alicia's brows lifted. Yes, she had noticed. The green silk dress had been one of her favourites from this year's spring collection, and it suited Dominique's dark colouring superbly.

  'All right,' she said flatly, eyes warring with him. 'I might consider taking the job. But only on one condition: you give me your word that you won't try to seduce me while I'm here.'

  'You have it,' he said at once, and they both knew he was lying.

  Alicia smiled sardonically. 'Jean-Marc, you'll have to mean it.'

  He gave a grim smile. 'I do mean it—though God knows why. Take the job, Alicia. Give Dominique the wedding she wants.'

  A deep sigh wrenched her. He was blackmailing her into it with Dominique, and it was a blackmail she found difficult to resist. The young girl was so charming, and so like Lindy, that Alicia could not help wanting to make the wedding a young girl's fairy-tale. Already, her designer's mind was flicking through the last year of fashion, picking out the possibilities of decor, food, wine, cars, flowers— and, of course, the dress itself, and all the bridesmaids' dresses.

  If the wedding was featured in all the magazines, she knew it would make her a household name. The dress she designed for Dominique would have to be the masterpiece of her career, and her heart beat with a strong excitement at the thought of it. What an exciting achievement...

  Jean-Marc was watching the emotions playing across her face, and he said suddenly, 'Come back to the drawing-room. Let Dominique show you some of her ideas.'

  Alicia shot him an angry look. 'You're pushing me into this!'

  'I'll never push you anywhere you don't want to go,' he said softly, and opened the door.

  With a feeling of excitement and foreboding, Alicia went back to the drawing-room and sat beside Dominique, listening to her enthusiastic chatter and studying her photographs and clippings. The young girl had a strong mind and a strong will. She also had a lot of very good ideas, and Alicia grew more interested in the whole idea than ever.

  It would be like organising a whirlwind; but what a show-stopper!

  As she sat with Dominique, talking, Jean-Marc refilled her wine glass, watching her with a cool smile. Deeply aware of him, she refused to glance in his direction, prickling.

  He had promised not to try and seduce her while she was here, but, of course, she knew deep inside that that promise would prove impossible for him.

  I'll just have to slap his face if he tries anything, Alicia thought coolly, and a smile touched her full mouth as she remembered him saying what a wasted opportunity it would be if she left without delivering that slap. Quite so! she thought.

  'Well?' Jean-Marc asked close to midnight, when all the clippings were strewn all over the floor at Alicia's feet. 'Have you reached your decision?'

  Feeling cornered, Alicia said flatly, 'Not yet.'

  Dominique looked hurt. 'Oh, but...' She bit her lip, flicking he
r dark eyes to her godfather. 'Jean-Marc, tu m'as dit que --'

  'I didn't say I wouldn't take the job,' Alicia said with a smile to Dominique. 'I just need to think about it a little more. It's quite a task. I'd need to leave my assistant in charge of my London offices for at least a month.'

  'I can fly you back at a moment's notice,' Jean-Marc said firmly.

  'Oh...' Alicia frowned. 'I'd also need premises here to make up the dresses, do alterations...'

  'That can be arranged,' he said coolly. 'Anything else?'

  Her brows rose. 'A couture house in Paris to handle all the clothes.' She was trying to make it impossible, challenging him to refuse her very necessary demands. 'A top couture house, Jean-Marc! With skilled cutters, fitters --'

  'I can arrange it,' he cut in coolly.

  'Well—I'd need a rough estimate of how much you're prepared to spend. This is an expensive task, and it may be more than --'

  He named a sum that took her breath away.

  'Oh...' She looked at his tough, clever face and lifted her brows. 'Well, it seems you've thought of everything, Jean-Marc!'

  'Then you'll take the job?'

  Her mouth compressed. She looked at the clippings on the floor. She looked at Dominique.

  She was definitely cornered. It was a fantastic opportunity, a beautiful temporary workplace, a charming young bride and an astonishing sum of money, both as a salary and as a sum to play with.

  She would have to be mad to refuse.

  But she would also have to be mad to accept, because Jean-Marc Brissac wanted her, had made it clear that he would stop at nothing to get her, and the promise he had given her was irrelevant.

  'Alicia?' Jean-Marc queried softly, grey eyes intent on her face.

  'All right,' she said in a moment of folly, 'I'll take it.'

  Dominique gave a cry of joy, clapped her hands and ran over to her fiancé Olivier to embrace him wildly. Pierre Dusort got to his feet, smiling, and came over to embrace Alicia.

  'Thank you, mademoiselle,' he said, kissing her on each cheek. 'You've made my daughter very happy.'