In the silence, he studied her passionate face, from the bruised red mouth to the flush on her cheeks and the fevered darkness of her eyes. Of course, she didn't understand why he had stopped, and just gazed at him helplessly, trembling in the grip of her hunger.
The knock came again.
'Your fiancé, I imagine,' Jean-Marc said with a wry smile, 'Come to see if you've got time for him yet.'
Alicia stared at him, appalled, struggling to think as the mist of desire faded and reality punched a hole through the veil, making her give a hoarse cry, sitting up, shaking as she struggled to button up her black jacket.
Jean-Marc watched her with a sardonic grin. 'Modesty! A little late for my benefit, don't you think?'
She shot him a look of pure hatred. 'You did this deliberately... came here deliberately...you want to ruin my engagement to David!'
'I think that's taking things a little too far, Alicia,' he said flatly. 'I think it also shows a trace of displaced hostility. You're angry because you lost your head. Don't take it out on me.'
'Who else am I supposed to take it out on?' she hissed, standing up, her shaking hands struggling to repair her chignon into its customary severity. 'You could destroy what little trust David now has in me!'
'If your engagement is on the rocks, Alicia,' he said coolly, 'it's because something is wrong between you and that boy. My presence here won't save it or destroy it.'
The knock came again. 'Alicia?' David's voice said in the corridor.
She froze, staring in horror at Jean-Marc. 'What am I going to do?'
'I don't know,' he replied calmly, lounging on the sofa, his red silk tie loosened, black hair tousled from her caresses, lipstick on his tanned cheek. 'What do you want to do?'
'Don't be so insensitive!' she said hoarsely. 'He's my fiancé and I love him! How can I let him in here with you... lying there like that?' The reality of what had happened sank in and she covered her face with her hands, shaking.
Outside, the sound of David's retreating footsteps made the decision for her. She listened, her hands gradually leaving her face. Then she looked down at Jean-Marc Brissac with a bitter expression.
'Get out!' she said, and her voice was raw with emotion, her dark eyes blazing with it, her legs shaking beneath her. In just a few short minutes, this man had knocked her off balance in every area, leaving her feeling almost naked with vulnerability.
He smiled, swung his long legs off the chaise-longue, straightening with a ripple of muscle beneath the formal black suit that made her mouth go dry.
'As you wish,' he drawled, grey eyes mocking as he towered over her. 'But thank you for such an interesting revelation. You're quite a woman underneath that cold, aristocratic exterior. I wish I had more time to completely obliterate your considerable defences. Unfortunately, I have an appointment, too.' He ran one long finger to her trembling mouth. 'Perhaps some other time?'
'Get out!' she spat, shaking, and he strode coolly to the door, closing it behind him with a quiet click that only underlined his complete masculine self-assurance.
Only when he had gone did she realise her legs were shaking too much to enable her to stand. Stumbling into her bedroom, she sank on to the bed, staring at her hands, appalled by the seemingly unstoppable tremor in them.
David would be waiting for her in the bar. She couldn't just sit here forever, cursing Jean-Marc Brissac. He had blown a hole in her defences, and she remembered her helpless passion in his arms with bitter self-loathing.
But she mustn't think about that now! Forcing herself to stand, she went to the dressing-table, sank down in front of it, and began to repair her makeup.
Minutes later, she walked into the bar, the picture of cold aristocratic elegance, her black hair pulled back into its severe chignon, black suit drawing admiring glances from men as she looked around the room for David's reassuring blond head.
'Darling!' He got to his feet as he saw her, greeted her with a kiss on her high, slanting cheekbone, and offered her the opposite seat. 'What can I get you? The barman, Michel, assures me that his champagne fraise is the best in all Paris!'
Alicia smiled, sinking down into the comfortable dark armchair. 'That sounds lovely. Our first day in Paris...'
'Yes, what shall we do this afternoon?' He glanced at his watch. 'It's almost four. I thought a horse and carriage ride would be romantic. And it's very sunny out there.'
'Why not?' She was keen to join David in romantic pastimes now, feeling shaky as a person, a fiancée, and especially as a woman. 'And we can talk as we go, can't we? We need to talk more, David.' Her hand somehow found its way to close over his in an affectionate touch. 'You're right. Our romance has been postponed for too long.'.
Astonished, he stared, then smiled, saying, 'Darling, I can't tell you how overjoyed I am to hear you say that! It's been --'
'Good afternoon,' drawled a terrifyingly familiar voice behind her. 'I'm not intruding, am I?'
Turning her dark head, she stared with stricken eyes into Jean-Marc Brissac's hard face and felt her heart plummet as though in a lift shaft, her legs instantly beginning to tremble.
'Not at all,' David was saying in his best accent, 'we're just having a drink before going out. Won't you join us? What will you have?'
'Thank you.' A sardonic smile touched his hard mouth as he glanced at Alicia through those heavy lids. 'A whisky. On the rocks.'
As he sank down beside Alicia, he was smiling faintly, mockery in his steel-grey eyes, and she avoided his glance, hating him with the most overpowering wave of rage she had ever felt in her life. How dared he intrude like this? He knew perfectly well he was butting in to a private conversation.
'Interesting that we should run into each other again so swiftly,' Jean-Marc drawled coolly.
'Yes, isn't it?' David was beckoning the barman and giving the order. 'When was that party, Alicia?'
'Last weekend,' she said stiffly.
'I enjoy my interests in the fashion world.' Brissac flicked his cool grey gaze to Alicia and added softly, 'I like to keep my finger on the pulse—particularly when it starts to throb.'
She tightened her mouth and looked away, a hot tide of colour sweeping up her neck and face.
'Of course,' Brissac said, 'it's an industry like any other. There's a lot of money in it. But for me, it is a self-indulgence. A multi-million-dollar enterprise filled with beautiful women.' He smiled, his grey eyes mocking as they ran coolly over Alicia's tense body. 'And your fiancée is without doubt one of the most beautiful. I've seen her work. Passionate and intensely feminine.'
Alicia stared at her glass of champagne fraise.
'So surprising,' he added softly, 'given her very cool facade.'
'You just don't know Alicia,' David assured him with a friendly smile. 'She channels all her energies into her work—don't you, darling?'
She could have killed him for saying that, her dark eyes flashing up to his face in brief warning, and the look of hurt surprise he gave her made her feel worse.
'Really?' Jean-Marc Brissac studied her bent head with sardonic amusement. 'You don't feel you ought to strike a balance, then, Mademoiselle Alicia?'
She gave him a look of intense hatred. 'I feel I ought to strike something!'
'I quite agree,' he said softly, 'and I have the perfect solution.' Reaching into his black-silk-lined inside jacket pocket, he produced a card. 'A friend of mine is having a party tonight. It's at a private house in the Bois de Boulogne. Here is the address.' He put the card on the marble-topped table and pushed it coolly, with one finger, towards her. 'I would be delighted if you would both attend.'
She stared at the card as though it were a hot snake.
'That's very kind of you!' David reached for the card. 'Impressive address! We'd be honoured to attend—wouldn't we, darling?'
Her stricken expression amused Brissac as she struggled not to betray her chaotic emotions, her dark eyes almost pleading as she said thickly, 'David --'
'Nine o'cl
ock, then?' Brissac interrupted her coolly.
'Yes, we'll be there,' David said, throwing a frowning look at Alicia. 'Although we won't be able to stay long. We are, after all, here for a romantic weekend.'
Her cheeks burned like fire at that.
'A romantic weekend?' Brissac enquired with a lift of sardonic brows. 'Roses, moonlight and a fast-beating heart!'
'That's the kind of thing!' David laughed.
'Well, we in France approve of love and lovers,' Brissac said with soft threat implicit in his ruthless eyes. 'And if you attend this party, mademoiselle, I shall personally see to it that your heart beats very fast indeed!'
David barely heard, sipping his drink, and Alicia stared at Brissac with rage smouldering in her dark eyes.
Brissac got to his feet, leaving his whisky untouched. 'Until tonight, then. Au revoir a toute a l'heure.' Turning, he strode with lazy arrogance away from their table and out of the bar.
'Why did you accept that invitation?' Alicia asked tightly, chaotic emotion running riot in her. 'Why did you do it?'
CHAPTER THREE
David was genuinely hurt, and Alicia was consumed with guilt. He had no idea of the ordeal Jean-Marc Brissac had put her through, or of her intense hatred for him: a hatred which seemed to rage out of control whenever she thought of his mocking, arrogant, ruthless face.
They went for their carriage ride in the sunlit afternoon. Paris was idyllic, filled with beautiful women dressed in floaty summer dresses, the Seine a tree-lined mirage of blue-gold dappled water as the horses clip-clopped beside it and David held her hand in the comfortable seat of the polished wooden carriage.
'I honestly didn't realise you disliked him that much,' he said again, frowning. 'If I'd known, I would have politely refused.'
Alicia sighed, eyes flickering with concern over his face. 'I know. And I'm sorry I reacted so badly. It was just because I didn't feel able to say anything ... not in front of him.'
He laughed. 'But you're usually so formidable! Why did you feel bound by courtesy?'
'Because of what he did to Lindy!' Alicia explained hotly, desperate to believe her own lie. 'I believed it when she first told me—and I believe it even more now that I've met him properly.'
'Oh, come on!' David said with his customary bluntness. 'From the very biased details of Lindy's story, it was just a simple case of infatuation that ended in tears.'
'She was very badly hurt!' Alicia protested.
'She'll get over it.' He sighed and shook his blond head as the carriage rolled with stately slowness into the cobbled courtyard of the Louvre. 'Darling, let's just forget Brissac and enjoy Paris. Look at all this... it's so beautiful.'
'Must we go to this party, then?'
'Well, we can't deliberately not turn up.' He lifted blond brows. 'It would be a gratuitous insult. Jean-Marc Brissac may or may not be an absolute bastard where women are concerned, but he is most certainly a very powerful man. You mustn't make an enemy of him.'
'I wouldn't give a damn!' Alicia broke out hotly, dark eyes smouldering.
'Of course you would.' David frowned. 'Darling, this isn't like you. You're a stickler for not letting something personal intrude on business. Brissac could do you a lot of harm just by lifting a finger and pointing it at you. Don't insult the man. Don't risk getting annihilated just because your niece got hurt.'
Alicia suddenly felt alarmed, because she knew he was right. This wasn't like her. Jean-Marc Brissac's ruthless skill as a lover had completely thrown her off balance. That she now believed every word of Lindy's story went without saying. Just imagining what he had put her poor, innocent niece through made her angry. Knowing what he had just put her through—well, it made smoke come out of her ears.
'All right,' she said quietly, struggling to remain sane where Brissac was concerned. 'We'll go to the party.'
'That's my girl!' David said with a smile, and pulled her into his arms, kissing her mouth, his eyes dancing. 'We'll go along, leave after an hour, and never see him again.'
They spent the rest of the afternoon shopping lazily. Alicia was able gradually to forget her rage with Brissac, and the shaking incident in her hotel room. She bought a beautiful porcelain doll for Lindy, taking care to ensure it was not a childish one, but as she carried it back along the hot, beautiful cobbled street to the Ritz, she knew it had been the wrong present.
'I don't think I'll give this to Lindy,' she said quietly to David as they strolled hand in hand past Cartier.
'Why not?' He took the package, studied the exquisite black-haired porcelain doll. 'It's ravishing. And you always bring presents back for her when you travel.'
'Yes...' Alicia's dark eyes reflected hurt. 'But she told me off the other day for calling her baby. I don't see that a doll would be --'
'Did she?' David nodded, kissed her cheek. 'Well, she's seventeen now, darling. And she's not your daughter: just your niece.'
Alicia lowered her lashes and changed the subject, but she felt a deep sense of loss at the thought of not being able to indulge Lindy any more. A door was being closed, one that might never open again, and it made her see how much she had needed Lindy.
As they went into the hotel, her heart gave a jolt when she saw Jean-Marc Brissac standing in the foyer talking to a stunning blonde, his grey eyes sardonically inspecting her mouth as she pouted and laughed, throwing him adoring looks.
Jealous rage shot through Alicia, and her eyes clashed with his as he turned to look at her. Deliberately, she flicked him a look of haughty contempt and walked past him with her head held high.
In the lift, she jabbed the button, saying tightly, 'He really is the Last of the Great French Lovers, isn't he? Did you see that woman throwing herself at him?'
David laughed. 'Yes! Lucky swine! Mind you— he really has got it, hasn't he? Money, power, good looks and sex appeal in lethal doses! Who gave him that title, though? Wasn't it Life magazine? About ten years ago?'
'I don't know and I don't care!' Alicia snapped, pulses thudding with a renewal of rage. 'I just want to get this party over and done with and never have to see his arrogant face again.'
Later, as she got dressed in her room, she prayed it would be that easy.
They drove out to the Bois in an air-conditioned Citroen taxi. Alicia had taken great care with her clothes and make-up. The stark white shift dress she wore was the most stunning in her wardrobe. Made of silk, it clung to every curve, covered in an identical piece of white chiffon sewn in scattered patterns with tiny silver sequins. The neck was high, but the back was low, and her slender spine was revealed in sensual elegance, as were her long slender legs, silver evening shoes completing the outfit.
'You're quite breathtaking, Alicia,' David said softly in the back of the taxi, staring at her beautiful face. 'I'm so proud to be engaged to you. I can't believe you'll one day be my wife! It's just a dream come true...'
Alicia smiled, and when he kissed her in the dark interior of the taxi she felt a stab of anxiety, because her body was unresponsive to his touch. No pulses leapt, no fire burned and no emotion other than warm affection filled her.
She had always known David loved her more than she loved him. But she had never realised there was anything wrong with that. She intended to marry him, she felt a deep affection for him, and she did not want any drama or excitement in her personal life.
She certainly did not want a man like Brissac to show her so forcefully that she was capable of feeling it.
The Bois was deliciously elegant, scattered with moonlight and lush trees, lakes and parks, and curving rows of big, elegant houses. The house the party was held in was exceptionally beautiful, and the row of luxury cars outside it signified the calibre of the guests.
'God, this is fantastic!' David stared up at the place, shaking his head. 'Like something out of a film.'
Alicia nodded vaguely, walking up the path, saying, 'Hmm...' Inside, she was filled with tense apprehension at the thought of seeing Brissac.
; The front door was opened by a butler in uniform, who showed them in to the elegant house and led them to the sound of music and voices in the luxurious drawing-room.
'Oh, my God!' David caught his breath, staring, whispering, 'It's Isabelle Janvier...!'
Alicia's dark eyes were darting around in search of Brissac.
Isabelle Janvier, the French film star, turned her cool blonde head and regarded them with ice-cold blue eyes, her white skin translucent and perfect as porcelain.
'Monsieur Balham,' intoned the butler to Isabelle Janvier, 'et Mademoiselle Holt.'
Those famous crystalline eyes flickered blankly over their faces. 'Je ne suis pas sure qui --'
'My guests,' cut in a cool, heart-stopping male voice. 'Je m'excuse, Isabelle. I did tell you they would arrive.'
Alicia gave him a dark, smouldering look of hatred, her head held high with haughty contempt as she met his gun-metal-grey eyes and felt the physical impact of his presence like a blow to the solar plexus.
He introduced them to their hostess, who gave one of her famous cool smiles and beckoned a waiter to bring them champagne.
'Alicia is a fashion designer,' Jean-Marc Brissac told his mistress. 'You have one or two of her designs in your wardrobe.'
'Ah, oui.' Isabelle smiled with cool interest. 'A red silk dress and a silver blouse. I like your work. It is chic, feminine, sexy... are you in Paris on business?'
'Pleasure,' Jean-Marc Brissac drawled sardonically before she could answer. 'She wants to lose her head in the city of lovers!'
Her eyes flashed at him. 'My fiancé and I wanted to spend some time alone together,' she told Isabelle. 'He thinks I work too hard.'
David was silent at her side, agog with admiration for Isabelle.
'I work too hard,' Brissac said coolly, grey eyes flickering over Alicia's slender shape in the dazzling dress and invoking shivers of angry response as his eyes stripped her with slow insolent mockery. 'But I know how to play hard, too, and this is the key to fulfilment. We all need to find fulfilment— don't we, Alicia?'
Alicia burnt with rage at the provocative double-talk, only too well aware of his true meaning. But even though she gave him hostile, icy looks of aristocratic hauteur, the mocking look in his eyes dissolved her weapons with stark penetration.
Last of the Great French Lovers Page 3
