'Oh...!' Isabelle Janvier said after a whispered aside from the butler. 'The fireworks are ready. Won't you come outside?'
David's blue eyes lit up. 'Fireworks! Wow...' He followed Isabelle, naturally assuming Alicia would follow too.
'Not that way.' Jean-Marc Brissac caught her arm in a vice-like grip as she began to walk away. 'I want to speak to you privately before we watch the fireworks.'
'Go to hell!' she said through her teeth, glaring up at him.
'Such cool courtesy, Alicia!' he drawled with soft mockery. 'Where is the Snow Queen now?'
'Marshalling her forces!' she snapped.
'Have I scattered them, cherie?' he murmured.
'No, you have not!' she said angrily. 'I just didn't expect to have to fight when I arrived here! This is a romantic weekend for me!'
'Not any more,' he drawled. 'From the minute I kissed you this afternoon, it became war. Our war, Alicia. Our private war...'
Alicia stared at him, a pulse beating in her throat. Guests were moving all around them, filtering across to the french windows, the lights on the terrace illuminating the manicured gardens.
'This way,' Brissac murmured, leading her away before she could stop and think.
'Let go of my arm!' Alicia snapped, appalled as he got her to a door and pushed it open. 'What do you think you're doing?'
'Dominating you!' he drawled, pushing her forcibly into the warm dark red study and slamming the door behind them before she could get away.
Heart thudding in her mouth, she stared at him, every instinct in her clamouring to start screaming and run from him as if he were the devil. But pride and courage made her stand her ground.
'David will be worried,' she said tightly. 'He'll put two and two together.'
'An interesting English phrase,' he said calmly. 'I know another: marriage of convenience.'
She caught her breath at his insolence. 'Are you suggesting I'm not in love with my fiancé?'
'I'm not suggesting it. I'm stating it directly.'
Fuming, she snapped, 'You really are an insolent bastard!'
'It's one of my charms,' he drawled, a smile on his hard mouth as he let his grey eyes slide with implicit sexual threat over her body. 'Want me to illustrate it more forcefully?'
'No...' she said shakily, taking an instinctive step back.
He smiled and walked towards her. 'You know, it interests me that a woman of your drives and abilities could waste herself on a man who can only stand back and watch while you scale the heights to even greater ambition.'
'You know nothing about my relationship with David!' she said bitterly. 'Kindly mind your own business!'
'But it is my business, Alicia,' he said softly, backing her up against the leather-topped desk while she stared up at him, her pulses throbbing. 'This is war, remember? You're under attack—or haven't you noticed?'
Eyes stricken, she said hoarsely, 'I have no quarrel with you!'
'Liar!' he said under his breath, grey eyes gleaming. 'Do you think I can't sense your hatred? When we were at that garden party last week, I walked into the drawing-room and found you with my goddaughter's friend, and I could feel your rage crackling across the room at me like electricity.'
Dry-mouthed, she whispered, 'I don't want to talk about it!'
'You were deliberately insulting,' he said flatly. 'You snubbed me. You walked out of the room as though I were a messenger-boy, and made me feel completely irrelevant.' He gave a slow, mocking laugh. 'I was intrigued, to say the least.'
'I can assure you I had no intention of intriguing you!'
'I watched you with your fiancé,' he said coolly. 'I knew straight away who was in charge of that little relationship. I felt sorry for him. He's a very ordinary young man, isn't he? Warm, cheerful and with no real ambition. Yet he's hopelessly in love with a cold, brilliant, ambitious woman. Perhaps he doesn't want to be loved.'
'Shut up!' she said, bitter dislike in her dark eyes. 'David doesn't see me like that! He loves me!'
'He worships you,' Brissac said cuttingly. 'That isn't the same thing.'
'He does not worship me!'
'Then why is he afraid of you?' he asked softly, and she could not reply. 'He never kisses you properly, does he, Alicia?' His grey eyes slid to her red mouth. 'He wouldn't dare inflict real passion on you.' One strong hand moved to her narrow waist. 'He'd never dream, for instance, of treating you as a woman!'
'Get your filthy hands off me!' she spat, breasts rising and falling as she felt those hard thighs pressing against her.
'I liked you best when I'd finished kissing you this afternoon, cherie,' he said with soft mockery. 'When you were all woman. Your mouth bruised and your eyes wild and your body quite helpless!'
'You mean you enjoy imposing your sadistic will on me!' she broke out hoarsely, her hands flying to his broad, powerful shoulders and pushing at them uselessly.
'I love it!' he drawled mockingly, and as his hard mouth closed over hers she was already giving a hoarse cry of angry excitement, feeling his hard thighs pressing against hers forcefully, holding her captive.
She fought him, bitterly, her hands raining blows on his broad shoulders and arrogant face. He caught her hands easily, pinned them behind her back with one hand, and his other hand moved swiftly to her face, forcing her to accept his kiss.
Drowning in hot waves of pleasure, she gave a harsh cry of unwilling submission and felt her mouth open beneath that hard, driving pressure.
He thrust a hand in her glossy black hair, pulling pins out of it impatiently, making it tumble around her flushed face and tilting her head back to receive his kiss, exerting his authority over her with ease until she was breathless, dizzy, her legs shaking beneath her.
When his hands slid over the naked warmth of her spine, she moaned, eyes closed to everything but that stark masculine domination and the hard mouth that moved so forcefully over hers. Her heart was beating like a drum. Blood was singing in her ears. She felt alive, coursing with primitive emotion, her arms now tightly wound around his neck as she gave soft, helpless moans of pleasure at the feel of his strong hands moving down over her hips.
He released her suddenly, scrutinising her dazed face with narrowed eyes, and Alicia swayed with a hoarse gasp, barely able to support herself, ruined by his lovemaking, her hair a wild cloud of black silk around her flushed and passionate face.
'Yes,' he said under his breath, as though answering a question.
Alicia struggled to retain her poise, but of course it was in ruins on the floor at his feet, obliterated by the sheer impact of his powerful sexuality.
Jean-Marc Brissac stepped back, thrusting his hands into the pockets of that impeccable black evening suit, every inch the man of power and legend as he watched her through those ruthless, heavy-lidded eyes.
'I have a proposition for you,' he said coolly.
Her wild dark eyes flashed to his face. 'I can guess!'
A smile indented the hard mouth. 'Not that kind of proposition. Although I would be tempted, given your very exciting submission.'
'My God, you bastard!' she said, shaking, deeply conscious of her total vulnerability to him, standing here barely able to support herself after the impact of his kiss, her face flushed, her eyes dark pools of fire, her mouth bruised and her hair a cloud of silk around her shaking shoulders.
He laughed. 'You really are falling to pieces at my hands, aren't you? If only your fiancé could see you now!'
She glared at him, not trusting herself to speak.
'My goddaughter is getting married shortly,' he said coolly, startling her. 'I'm hosting the wedding at my chateau in the Loire. I want you to design and make her dress, all the bridesmaids' dresses, and basically give the occasion some fashionable style and gloss.'
'What?' Alicia stared at him. 'Are you completely insane? Why on earth should I do any of that?'
'Because I'll pay you to,' he said with a sardonic lift of his dark brows. 'That's why.'
H
er mouth shook, dark eyes wild with emotion. 'Don't think I can't guess what you really want me there for! You've made your dishonourable intentions only too obvious!'
'I need someone to do the job,' he said flatly, mouth hard. 'I can't possibly do it myself. I'm too busy. Besides, I have no artistic flair for that kind of thing. My goddaughter wants her wedding to be the most fashionable of the year. Not only the dresses, but in every detail, from the ballroom decor to the invitations, the band that's hired, the Press reception... everything.'
'I don't see where I fit in!' she said tightly.
He shrugged broad shoulders. 'You're at the centre of fashion, and you have a natural grasp of the spirit of the current era. What better choice could I make?'
'Another designer?' she said tautly. 'Someone you weren't at war with?'
The grey eyes flashed to hers. 'Ah... so you accept that we are at war, now?'
Hot colour flooded her face. 'No, I do not! And I most certainly don't accept that I have any motive for accepting this "job" from you!'
'Don't be stupid, Alicia,' he said flatly. 'You must know the wedding will be featured in every magazine and newspaper in the western world. Not only will you be paid handsomely for your services—you will also make a bigger name for yourself and meet a lot of important new people into the bargain.'
Temptation stretched out to her and she hesitated, staring at him through her dark lashes, knowing she was in danger not only of accepting the job but of actively wanting it. If it was handled well, it would put her name in the same elite bracket as royal designers, and that was something that only came along to the lucky few.
'You'd enjoy it,' Brissac said softly, eyes narrowed on her flushed face as he sensed weakness. 'Think of the challenge, Alicia! Designing everything to reflect the era, and adding your own inimitable style.'
Angrily, she resisted, saying, 'Find someone else! I'm not interested in having to fend you off every night!'
'It would only be for two weeks,' he said at once. 'And I assure you I would not jeopardise my goddaughter's happiness by seducing the woman she needs to make her wedding dreams come true.'
Alicia looked away at the mention of his goddaughter, then said thickly, 'Your goddaughter. .. is it Dominique Dusort?'
He inclined his dark head.
'Isn't she a little young to be getting married?'
'I think so,' he said with a lazy shrug. 'But she is eighteen and a little spoilt, both by her father and by me. We have both tried to argue her out of this step, but she is adamant—and very deeply in love.'
Alicia's dark eyes moved restlessly over his strong face. 'Is she your only goddaughter?'
'Yes.' His hard mouth crooked in a smile. 'And I am ashamed to admit I dote on her. But I have no family now, and I've spent my life in the pursuit of power. Dominique is the daughter of my oldest friend, and I am very pleased that he agreed to let me host the wedding.'
This showed a side of him she had not expected, and she was unable to prevent the rise of understanding inside her as she examined his feelings for Dominique and saw the clear parallel with herself and Lindy.
But she could not risk another display of his powerful sexuality, and her own chaotic response to it. It was blatantly obvious that he would continue to wage sexual war on her if she went to the chateau, and only a fool would deny it.
'I'm sorry,' she said flatly, irritated by the regret she felt, 'but I can't accept the job.' Pushing away from the desk, she walked towards the door, her black hair tumbling like silk down her bare back.
Jean-Marc Brissac stopped her, a hand on her arm. 'I'll pay you well,' he said flatly, and named a figure which literally took her breath away.
'That's a king's ransom!' she said breathlessly, staring.
'My goddaughter is worth it,' he said, mouth hard. 'And I will give you twenty-four hours to think it over.'
'I don't need twenty-four hours!' she said, eyes sparking with anger. 'I've given you my answer— no!'
'Alicia,' he said softly, 'I have overridden the word no with you before. I'd love to do it again!' His gaze slid insolently to her bruised mouth. 'Would you love it, too?'
Her red mouth parted at his arrogance, and she wrenched open the door, saying shakily, 'No, I damned well would not!'
'Then say yes,' he murmured, running a hand over her cheek. 'I'll want my answer tomorrow.'
Storming away from him across the now darkened drawing-room, her heart thudded at a terrific pace, and her eyes stared straight ahead, filled with the wild smoulder of a Spanish gypsy, her red mouth and loose, flowing black hair attracting startled looks of sheer sexual attraction as she walked.
The guests were clustered in the doorway, drinking champagne, and as they parted to let her through without having to measure her pace, she saw David.
'I want to leave,' she said as she reached him.
'But I was just beginning to enjoy myself!' He smiled, then a frown touched his smooth brow. 'Why is your hair loose? What's happened... ?'
'My hair...' She flushed, suddenly realising how her looks betrayed her. 'I felt a little dizzy—thought it might help if I let my hair down.' How she hated herself for those white lies! But they were close to the truth, weren't they? 'Please, David. I really want to go...'
They went into the hall and rang for a taxi. Alicia spoke excellent French—Paris was the centre of fashion, and she had spent more time here than she could remember. The taxi arrived within minutes, and she was glad to escape without seeing Brissac again.
The Ritz looked lovely under the moon. The curve of the Place Vendome was cobbled, Carrier gleamed with discreet elitism, and the statue of Napoleon looked down in haunting silence.
'It's early yet,' David said as they alighted from the taxi. 'Let's go for a walk. It'll be romantic.'
They strolled around Paris hand in hand. Alicia took her shoes off, walking barefoot alongside David, aware deep inside her that the romance was completely exterior. The moon, the Tuileries Gardens, the beautiful shops along the Rue de Rivoli. They reached the Place de la Concorde, and there was romance, lit up in classical statues of white stone, fountains spraying against a backdrop of Paris in the summer.
But inside, romance did not exist. Alicia sat on the edge of a fountain, watching David's face as he talked, and knew suddenly that she was capable of great passion—and that she would never feel it for David.
However much she hated Jean-Marc Brissac, he still brought her alive, made her feel sensations she had never experienced before. Those violent waves of passion she felt when he kissed her might not be love—but they were closer to that emotion than anything David had ever made her feel.
How could she marry David, knowing she could never give him the love he deserved to have? Kind, loving, considerate David. How could she condemn him to a slow dawning of awareness, a slow realisation that she would never respond in his arms?
I can't marry him, she thought, and was appalled.
I must not marry him.
'Let's come here on our honeymoon!' David swung to her with a broad smile, hands in his jacket pockets. 'I feel so wonderful tonight, Alicia. I want to remember this when we're married.'
Her face was pale and grave. 'David...' She reached out for his hand, her eyes filled with concern. 'Sit down beside me.'
David frowned, sinking down without a word, staring at her. Suddenly he said, 'Is something wrong?'
'I...' She didn't have the courage to tell him directly, so she decided to try and let him down gently. 'I think we ought to postpone the wedding.'
'Postpone it!' He stared at her, his eyes shocked. 'For how long?'
'Indefinitely.'
His face slowly drained of all colour.
'When I met you,' Alicia said quickly, 'I thought I was ready to marry. I liked you, enjoyed your company, and knew you would fit into my life very easily.'
'Isn't that perfect?' he asked hoarsely.
'No, David,' she said thickly, deeply ashamed. 'It's manufactured. Like
the rest of my personal life. It's --' she said unsteadily, and groped for his hand. 'David, I've made a terrible mess of my life. I don't know how, and I don't know why. But something is deeply wrong, and I've got to try and find out what it is.'
He stared at her, his eyes fierce with pain. 'You're saying I'm what's wrong?'
'David, I'm simply saying we both need a little time to think about it. Marriage is more than a big step. And much, much more than a strategic career move. It's a question of who you really are, and how you really want to live.'
'I've never seen you like this,' he said, staring. 'So serious, so emotional. Do you know we've never discussed our relationship before? I always assumed you saw it as I did. I... guess I was kidding myself.'
'Well,' she looked away, her eyes darkening, 'I guess I was kidding myself too. But we came here for a romantic weekend and I find myself unable to give it to you.'
'This is it, then?' he asked thickly. 'Our engagement is—broken?'
'Only if you want it to be,' she said gently, lifting dark brows. 'I'm prepared to let it stand if you are.'
He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. 'I want to keep it as it is. Maybe something's just got to you here in Paris, Alicia. Maybe once we're back in London you'll see things differently.'
'OK,' she said, nodding her dark head, but she knew exactly what had 'got' to her, and she knew the damage was irreversible. Jean-Marc Brissac had forced her to face the mirror of truth, and she had been compelled to look. That she wanted to scream and cry over what she saw was irrelevant. The damage was done and there was no way back.
CHAPTER FOUR
Next morning the telephone woke Alicia at seven-thirty. Eyes flashing open, she rolled over in the luxurious bed, groping for the receiver. As she picked it up with her left hand she saw her engagement ring and winced.
'Hello... ?' she said huskily, eyes closing.
'You left the party at ten o'clock,' a dark, powerful male voice said curtly, shocking her into sitting up, her heart missing a beat, 'and came back to the Ritz at three in the morning! Where were you?'
Last of the Great French Lovers Page 4
