The waiter appeared with Cait’s and Gregor’s main dishes, and Sandrine concentrated on doing her salmon justice.
‘How long will you stay in Sydney?’
Sandrine had to hand it to Cait…she was persistent. ‘I’m—’ not sure, she was going to add, except Michel intercepted.
‘Until the film wraps up and the publicity is done.’
‘And afterwards?’ Cait persisted with light coquetry.
Michel proffered a polite smile. ‘New York. Then Paris.’ He turned towards Sandrine, caught hold of her hand and lifted it to his lips.
Careful, Sandrine silently warned. This is definitely overkill.
Except there was nothing she could do to still the tide of warmth sweeping through her body. It was as if his slightest touch activated a switch, leaving her with little or no control over her emotions. Something she found difficult to bear, given the state of their relationship.
‘French is such a romantic language,’ Cait said with an envious sigh. ‘To have a lover so lost to passion in my arms he lapses into his native tongue…it drives me wild.’
‘There have been so many,’ Gregor drawled. ‘One imagines you must be multilingual.’
‘Beast.’
‘Just telling the truth as I know it, darling.’
Cait transferred her attention to Sandrine. ‘I’ve auditioned for the lead in a new Lucas film. I think I’ll get it.’ She smoothed a hand over her hair. ‘Do you have anything in mind?’
Sandrine replaced her cutlery and sipped the contents of her glass. ‘Congratulations.’
‘You didn’t answer my question.’
She was conscious of Michel’s intent interest in her response and deliberated for several seconds. ‘I don’t have any immediate plans.’
‘Coffee, chérie?’ Michel queried smoothly, and he summoned the waiter as she shook her head. ‘You’ll excuse us if we leave.’ He made it a statement. ‘I need to check some computer data, and Sandrine has to study her lines.’ He signed the credit slip, then rose to his feet. ‘Good night.’
They reached the main entrance and within minutes the concierge had summoned their car. Sandrine slid into the passenger seat and laid her head against the cushioned rest.
‘No comment?’
She turned her head slightly as Michel eased the car onto the bricked roadway and negotiated the roundabout. ‘None whatsoever,’ she offered wryly, and heard his low, husky laugh.
Within minutes Michel activated the security gate leading to the waterfront villas, and in no time at all he drew the car to a halt inside the garage.
‘Where would you prefer to study?’ he asked as they entered the lounge.
‘Here.’ She wanted to kick off her shoes and curl up in one of the cushioned chairs.
‘I’ll set my laptop up on the dining-room table.’ He shrugged off his jacket and hooked it over one shoulder. ‘Will you make coffee, or shall I?’
‘You,’ she delegated. ‘I’m going upstairs to change.’
Michel was still bent over the laptop when she reentered the bedroom a few minutes before midnight, and she fell asleep within minutes of her head hitting the pillow.
She didn’t hear him slip into bed beside her, nor was she aware of his arm drawing her close.
CHAPTER SIX
SANDRINE breathed a sigh of relief. Seven takes wasn’t bad. The scene had come together, no one had fluffed their lines, and the electric intensity had been achieved at a level even Tony could applaud.
She was tired, hot, and the boned corselet pulling her waist into an impossibly small measurement was killing her. The heavy make-up felt as if it was a mask of greasepaint about to slide off her face, and if she didn’t get rid of the elaborately coiffed wig soon, she’d scream.
Added to which, it was late, and she was impossibly thirsty and hungry. The instant she discarded the heavy period costume, she intended to drink half a litre of water, follow it with a powdered protein drink, then sink her teeth into a fresh, crisp apple.
‘You look fragile, darling,’ Gregor murmured. ‘Too many late nights catching up on time lost between the sheets?’
‘Yes.’ She was in no mood to participate in his game of verbal thrust and parry.
‘Lucky you.’
She offered him a stunning smile. ‘Aren’t I just?’
‘Our esteemed investor looks immensely physical. Tires you out, does he?’
‘Wrong, Gregor,’ she responded sweetly.
His eyes gleamed. ‘Mmm, hidden talents, darling?’
She merely smiled and crossed to join the wardrobe assistant.
Twenty minutes later she felt considerably better, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, her feet encased in heeled sandals, her hair twisted into a careless knot at her nape. All she had to do was check what time she had to report on the set the next day, then she was free to go home.
Seven was an improvement on the early hour of five, and she turned towards the exit, caught sight of Michel deep in conversation with a man whose tall frame seemed familiar.
Both men glanced up at the same time, and Sandrine’s eyes widened in surprise at his identity. What on earth was Michel’s elder brother doing here? She’d last seen Raoul Lanier three months ago in Paris. Then, he’d regarded her with warmth and affection.
Sandrine was aware of his veiled scrutiny as she crossed to where they stood.
‘Finished for the day?’ Michel queried.
‘I was just checking tomorrow’s filming schedule.’ She turned towards the man at his side. ‘Raoul,’ she greeted evenly. ‘How are you?’
‘Well. And you?’ he returned smoothly.
‘Fine.’ Such polite formality. Her smile was overbright. ‘When did you arrive?’
‘This morning.’
Ask a direct question and she might get a direct answer. ‘A social visit?’
‘Not entirely.’
‘Raoul is joining me in meetings with marketing,’ Michel informed her in a voice that held a faint sardonic edge. ‘Then he’s due in Sydney to initiate negotiations on another matter.’
‘Taking care of business,’ Sandrine mocked lightly, aware of Raoul’s level scrutiny.
‘Yes.’
‘I didn’t ask Michel to inject finance to rescue the film.’
‘I’m aware of that.’
‘You mean to ensure he’s not making a foolish investment.’ It was a statement, not a query.
‘Michel makes his own decisions.’
‘Obviously.’
Raoul’s gaze didn’t falter. ‘I understand you’ve reconciled?’
‘We’re working on it,’ Michel drawled.
‘And you, Sandrine,’ Raoul posed. ‘Are you working on your marriage to my brother?’
‘Michel is sharing my villa, and my bed.’ She’d wanted to shock him, but there wasn’t a flicker of emotion evident on those chiselled features.
‘That doesn’t answer my question.’
‘It’s as much as you’re going to get.’ She turned on her heel and walked away. One Lanier brother was enough. Two was one too many!
Sandrine was halfway to Sanctuary Cove when her mobile phone rang, and she automatically engaged it.
‘Raoul is meeting Stephanie Sommers, the film’s marketing representative, for dinner,’ Michel informed her. ‘He has invited us to join them.’
‘No.’
‘I’ll be home in an hour.’
‘No, Michel.’ The stressed negative went unheard for he’d already ended the call.
She depressed the button and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. Damn him. She cursed him again as she garaged the car and ran lightly upstairs.
An hour later she had showered, dressed, and was applying the finishing touches to her make-up when Michel walked into the bedroom.
He gave her a long, considered look, then quirked one eyebrow. ‘Dressed to do battle?’
Black did things for her. It highlighted the texture of her skin, accented the burnish
ed sheen of her sablecoloured hair and emphasised her luminous brown eyes.
Sandrine capped the mascara wand and tossed it into her make-up bag. ‘You could say that.’ She turned towards him. ‘What time and where is this momentous dinner taking place?’
‘At the Mirage Hotel, in an hour.’
She tossed a lipstick into her evening purse and snapped it shut. ‘It’ll take twenty minutes to reach Main Beach.’ She slid the long chain strap over one shoulder and walked to the door. ‘I’ll be in the lounge catching the evening news.’
She descended the stairs and moved into the lounge, switched on the television and prowled the room, too restless to sit.
Mindful that she’d eaten very little all day, she filled a glass with water and drank it, then she splashed a small quantity of excellent Chardonnay into a crystal goblet.
It was half an hour before Michel entered the lounge, and the sight of him adorned in black evening suit, crisp white shirt and dark tie made the breath catch in her throat.
He possessed an exigent sexual chemistry that melted her bones. Dear heaven. How was it possible to want something so badly with your heart, yet conversely deny it with the dictates of your brain?
With a faintly mocking gesture she lifted the goblet in a silent salute, then raised it to her lips and took a small sip. ‘This is solely for Stephanie’s benefit.’
‘The wine, or your attendance at dinner?’
A slow smile curved her generous mouth. ‘Dinner. It isn’t fair to pitch her alone among the wolves.’
‘Wolves, Sandrine?’ he queried with ill-concealed mockery. ‘Isn’t that a little extreme?’
‘No.’
His voice held a certain dryness. ‘I’m sure Stephanie can take care of herself.’
‘Against Raoul? Are you kidding?’
It would be interesting to see how Stephanie reacted to the elder Lanier brother. A single mother raising a child alone had to have more than her share of courage and perspicacity.
‘I’m sure you’ll enjoy playing the role of her protector,’ Michel mused as he crossed the room.
With one hand he extracted the goblet from her fingers and placed it on a nearby side table. At the same time he slid his other hand to cup her nape, drawing her close as his mouth fastened over her own in a kiss that tore at the restraints of his control.
He felt a slight tremor slither through her slim frame and he deepened the kiss to something that resembled possession.
It was several minutes before he slowly lessened the intensity, trailing the soft, swollen curve of her lower lip with a touch as light as a butterfly’s wing.
‘We’d better leave or we’ll be late,’ Michel murmured as he eased her to arm’s length.
Sandrine stood motionless for a few seconds, her eyes wide in a face that was pale beneath its cosmetic enhancement. Then she extracted a lip pencil from her evening purse and crossed to the ornate mirror to effect repairs to a mouth devoid of colour.
Her fingers shook slightly, and she cursed beneath her breath at the level of emotional helplessness Michel was able to achieve.
When she was done, she replaced the lip pencil in her purse and preceded him through to the garage, slipping into the passenger seat as he slid in behind the wheel.
The Sheraton Mirage resort was built on a narrow peninsula, a luxury low-rise facing the ocean. It was renowned for its innovative design, extensive use of marble, an elegant waterfall and tranquil views out over a wide pool with its island bar to the ocean beyond.
Michel relinquished the car to the valet to park, and Sandrine entered the magnificent foyer at his side. Raoul rose to his feet from one of the large cushioned sofas and moved forward to meet them. Of Stephanie there was no sign.
‘Punctuality appears not to be Ms Sommers’s forte,’ Raoul indicated dryly. ‘Shall we go into the lounge for a drink while we wait?’
‘Maybe she’s caught up in traffic.’
‘Or the baby-sitter didn’t show or the child was sick,’ Raoul added with thinly veiled mockery.
So he’d had Stephanie investigated. Undoubtedly initiated before he left Paris as part of the Lanier modus operandi, Sandrine concluded cynically.
‘I imagine if Stephanie is going to be delayed for any length of time, she’ll call,’ she felt impelled to defend.
At that moment a cell phone rang, and Raoul extracted a slim compact model from inside his dinner jacket. Two minutes and two curt words later, he cut the connection.
‘It appears Ms Sommers has been held up with a flat tyre. She’ll be another ten minutes.’
Stephanie entered the lounge one minute ahead of time, and Sandrine had to admire her cool unruffled demeanour as she crossed to where they sat.
‘I must apologise. I hope there wasn’t a problem holding the booking?’ She glanced from one man to the other and offered Sandrine a warm smile. ‘Shall we go in?’
Sandrine silently applauded Stephanie’s style. The young marketing executive had panache. What’s more, she wasn’t averse to taking control.
Something Michel would soon alter in his favour, Sandrine perceived as the maîre d’ seated them at their table and beckoned the drinks waiter. To whom Stephanie made it clear she was hostess.
Michel’s features were inscrutable, while Raoul opted for chilling politeness.
Perusing the menu and selecting a starter and main required deliberation, and when their orders were placed Michel eased back in his chair and regarded the attractive strawberry blonde seated opposite with studied ease.
‘Perhaps you’d care to relay your marketing strategy, Ms Sommers.’ He paused a beat. ‘For this film in particular.’
‘Stephanie,’ the marketing executive corrected with a faint smile. ‘When we receive the finished film from the studio, it will be viewed in a private cinema by about thirty people. We’ll then arrange meetings to discuss the target market and determine to what age group the film will have most appeal.’
Sandrine watched as Stephanie paused to lift her glass and take a measured sip of chilled water. Her hand was steady, her actions carefully controlled, and she displayed admirable poise as she replaced the glass and subjected both men to a level gaze.
‘Further discussions will follow on which segments should be selected for the trailer, the shots to appear in press releases overseas and locally, and which of these will be released to the television stations and other media, including the entertainment pages in newspapers and magazines.’
‘Worldwide?’ Michel queried, and Stephanie inclined her head in silent acquiescence.
‘Of course,’ she confirmed. ‘We’ll also push to heighten public awareness of the film by organising a fashion shoot with one of the prestige fashion magazines to ensure coverage in the major national weekly magazines.’
‘In which only the lead actors appear?’ Raoul posed.
‘Not always,’ Stephanie qualified, and Sandrine successfully hid a faint smile at the other woman’s ability to cover all the angles. ‘We can arrange to include focused shots of local actors to draw their attention to their involvement in the film. Press shots of Michel and Sandrine at a social gala would draw public attention and highlight the film.’
‘Sandrine’s involvement in professional modelling would also be of interest, would it not?’
The waiter arrived with their starters, and there was a pause as the wine steward made a production of opening a bottle of wine, which he mistakenly proffered to Raoul for tasting.
Sandrine watched with interest as Raoul deferred the sampling to Stephanie and she could only admire her very skilled acceptance. For a moment she even thought she caught a glimpse of amusement in Raoul’s gaze, only to decide it was her imagination.
‘We organise press interviews in the star’s hotel,’ Stephanie elaborated, ‘or if they’ve stipulated private leasing, we arrange a mutually agreeable venue for the interview.’
‘Simultaneously?’
‘In an intense push to raise publ
ic awareness.’
‘Impressive,’ Michel commented, and began on his starter.
‘It’s my job to impress.’
‘Tell me,’ Raoul interjected in a deceptive drawl. ‘Don’t you have family obligations that might interfere with total dedication to optimum marketing of this film?’
Sandrine wanted to kick his shin hard beneath the table. What game was he playing, for heaven’s sake?
‘I’m sure you’re already aware I’m a single mother with a three-year-old daughter,’ Stephanie responded smoothly. ‘Should there be a crisis, I’d deal with it in the best way possible.’ She fixed Raoul with a penetrating look. ‘And my daughter would always take precedence.’ Her chin lifted fractionally. ‘Does that answer your question?’
Oh, my, Sandrine breathed. It was possible to cut the air with a knife!
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’
Michel cast his brother a brief, considering glance, then returned his attention to his starter.
‘Were you able to get a baby-sitter for tonight without difficulty?’ Sandrine posed conversationally.
‘Given that I had very short notice, yes.’
‘The Lanier brothers expect instant action in response to their slightest whim.’ She was conscious of Michel’s swift glance but ignored it.
‘Really?’ Stephanie’s voice was dry. ‘And you married one of them?’
‘I thought it was a good idea at the time.’
‘Total bewitchment, followed by a reality check?’
‘Something like that,’ Sandrine said with a wicked smile. She was beginning to enjoy herself!
‘More wine, Ms Sommers?’ Raoul queried silkily.
‘Stephanie,’ the marketing executive corrected with equal smoothness. ‘And no, thank you. I get to drive home after this.’
‘Pity.’
‘For declining the wine?’
Sandrine watched as Raoul leant back in his chair. She seriously doubted any woman of his acquaintance had challenged him on any count.
‘For endeavouring to treat this as other than a business meeting.’
The Helen Bianchin Collection Page 221
