'You didn't fit in with his life,' Susannah remarked, studying her oddly. 'You tend not to fit in, don't you, Alicia? You were always different from the rest of the family. Even your looks are a throwback.'
She gave a wry smile. 'I was a cuckoo.'
'Mummy always said the gypsies left you...' Susannah laughed.
Alicia flew to Paris the following night, thinking about that conversation with her sister. David's decision to go back to Eileen was obviously the right one. She hoped he would be happy. No doubt he would marry the girl and settle down in Richmond—something Alicia could never have been happy doing. She needed excitement, action, power and the bright busy world of fashion. If she had married a man like David and tried to settle in Richmond, she would have turned into Hedda Gabler and destroyed everything she touched with her frustration and resentment.
The prospect was an unpleasant one, and she shuddered, looking out of the limousine window as the car sped out of Paris and on to the motorway leading to the Loire.
She thought about Susannah's remarks about not fitting in. It was true. Her mother had been a short, plump, homely woman. Her father had been average height, thick-built and blond. And Susannah had inherited their looks, with her dark brown hair and lazy, cheerful outlook on life.
But Alicia? Alicia was tall, slender, fine-boned and her energy levels were at odds with the rest of her rather laid-back family. In fact, everything about her was different, she realised with a frown. Not just her looks and energy, but her whole personality, including her love of beauty and fine art, of fashion and theatre and travel—and, most of all, her ambition.
Is that why I got engaged to David? she wondered with a shock. Precisely because he was completely at odds with my true self? As though, by marrying a man who regarded me as a creature from another planet, I would feel at home, as I did with the family who never understood me.
The gates of Chateau Brissac swung open with a powerful electronic buzz. The limousine purred through, and Alicia's heart began to beat faster as she saw the aristocratic turrets of the chateau pierce the moonlit sky.
'Bonsoir, mademoiselle.' The butler showed her in again, his distinguished face lined with age. 'Monsieur Brissac has arranged a light supper for ten o'clock. Please meet him in the dining-room then.'
How easily I swing back into French, she thought, going upstairs followed by the impeccably dressed chauffeur, who was becoming as familiar to her as the butler.
Alicia had brought two suitcases this time. One contained clothes, cosmetics and so on, the other all her sketches, swatches of material, photographs of pearl detail designs, and various other essential ingredients, including some back copies of Vogue and Tatler detailing other very fashionable weddings.
At ten, she found the dining-room, and went in. The room was silent, panelled with dark wood, and very elegant. A silver candelabrum lit the long mahogany table. Silver cutlery gleamed in the flickering light.
Alicia frowned, then saw Jean-Marc, asleep.
Her face softened. Silently, she closed the door and tiptoed over the deep red carpet. Sinking down on the long dark brown sofa, she stared at him.
His breathing was even and deep. He had taken his evening jacket off, slung it over the back of a chair, and loosened his black tie. The top two buttons of his shirt were open. His black hair was tousled, his chiselled features made vulnerable by sleep.
Alicia ran her fingers over his shoulder, lightly, so as not to wake him, then over his chest. She encountered a heartbeat. Human, then, she thought with a faint smile.
His steel-grey eyes opened.
Her heart stopped beating.
For a second, they just looked into each other's eyes.
'Was I asleep?' Jean-Marc asked deeply.
'Yes.' Her voice was husky. 'I woke you. I'm sorry.'
'I've had an exhausting week.' His hard mouth was so attractive. 'I only just had time to shower and dress before you arrived.'
Her black lashes flickered. 'Problems at work?'
A sardonic smile lit his grey eyes. 'Comme toujours!'
'Your offices are in Paris, aren't they?' She frowned a little.
He inclined his dark head, lying still, his powerful body relaxed.
'Surely you need the limousine, then?' Alicia said. 'How did you get back tonight?'
'Helicopter,' he said coolly. 'It's quicker. I generally take it. And I have an apartment on the Faubourg, just in case I need to stay overnight.'
'An apartment? Then why were you staying at the Ritz... ?' Alicia stared into his tough face and suddenly caught her breath at the grim look in his grey eyes. 'My God! You planned it!' She tried to stand up.
'Wait!' He caught her wrist like a shot, pulled her back down beside him, laughing sardonically. 'I didn't plan it. It just happened.'
Anger shot through her. 'You deliberately booked into the Ritz with the specific intention of destroying my engagement!'
'Not true,' he said flatly, holding her when she struggled. 'Alicia, don't lose that famous temper of yours!' He laughed, one powerful arm going around her and holding her close to his chest as he drawled against her hair, 'Look—I was at the Ritz for a business lunch. It wound up at three, and as I came out of the restaurant I saw you checking in.'
'You devious, manipulative --' Alicia was so angry that she could barely speak, her voice muffled against his chest.
'I decided to book a room myself and see what happened.' His hard voice overrode hers. 'You'd already caught my attention at that party, Alicia.'
She pushed at his shoulders, sitting up in his powerful arms. 'You lied to me!'
'Did I?' His dark brows rose mockingly. 'I don't recall ever telling you I did not have an apartment in Paris.'
Furious, she said, 'That's not the point! You made it seem as though it was just coincidence you happened to be staying at the Ritz when --'
'It was coincidence,' he said flatly. 'In fact, it felt like fate.'
She fell silent, staring at his tough, arrogant face. He was so attractive to her that she hated herself for the way she found herself looking at him, at his hard mouth and broad shoulders and the tanned column of his throat.
'I believe in fate,' Jean-Marc said softly, watching her through heavy-lidded eyes. 'Do you?'
'Sometimes,' she said, her pulses picking up a different beat.
'Yes.' His strong hand lifted to her face, touched her high cheek. 'I'd thought about you all week, you see. I remembered you vividly from that party. When I saw you in Paris I felt fate hit us both.'
Alicia stared, her breathing quickening.
'You have to trust your instincts,' Jean-Marc said softly, and suddenly his strong hands were on her slim shoulders, pulling her down slowly, very slowly towards him.
Her eyes darkened with sudden fierce passion.
Jean-Marc caught the flare of fire in her eyes. With a rough sound of excitement, he pulled her into his arms, her body against his on the couch, and they kissed with slow sensuality, exploring each other's mouths as his strong hands curved on her slim hips and hers threaded helplessly through his thick black hair. It felt so good to be in his arms, to feel his heart thudding against her full breasts, to taste that hard mouth again and feel the warm, drugging sensuality of his kiss reach a new intimacy that was so deeply pleasurable that she found her heart racing as his mouth moved over hers again and again. Their eyes were closed and the intoxicating sweetness was flooding their veins as they clung together and she felt his hands move up to frame her face, making her feel deeply wanted.
When he drew his dark head back, he was breathing fast and he was darkly flushed as he looked down at her, eyes narrowing on her aroused face.
'You're not fighting,' he said under his breath. 'But that's not my fault. And I don't want you to walk out now that our agreement has been broken.'
Alicia flushed, angry with herself. 'I was caught off guard!' She slid out of his embrace, sitting up, her dark head bent, deeply aware that she had wanted that kiss
very badly and been helpless to resist when he pulled her into his arms. 'And our agreement isn't broken. Just slightly damaged. And... it won't happen again.'
He studied her in silence for a moment, then said deeply, 'Alicia—would you do something for me?'
'That depends on what it is,' she said huskily, avoiding his eyes, deeply aware of her complicity in that brief, passionate kiss and of his immediate recognition of that. It must have been the sudden dark emotion in her eyes...
'Wear your hair loose,' he said softly, 'while you are here.'
Turning, she stared at him. 'Loose...!'
He gave a slow, sardonic smile. 'I like it loose. Would you mind? Just while you are here. Whenever you're at this chateau. Wear it loose.' His grey eyes met hers intently as he added, 'For me.'
Her heart skipped several beats at the look in his eyes, and the deeply romantic request. For a second, she couldn't speak, then she found her hands moving slowly to her black hair, taking the pins out in silence until the long straight silk of her hair tumbled in feminine glory around her slender shoulders.
'Thank you,' Jean-Marc said softly, and then sat up, slid a hand over hers, and got to his feet.
Shocked, Alicia stared up at him, deeply vulnerable. She had expected him to kiss her again, start to make love to her, say something, do something...
'I'll ring for dinner.' Jean-Marc was standing, hands thrust in black trouser pockets, watching her with an odd expression in his eyes. 'And tomorrow I will show you the office I have had converted for your use. Is that OK?'
Slowly, she nodded, and wondered why he was letting her off so lightly. Had he wanted to, he could have made love to her just then. She had wanted that kiss from the moment she saw him, lying here asleep on the sofa, and Jean-Marc had sensed that deep undercurrent of helpless desire from the moment he woke up and saw her...
CHAPTER SEVEN
Next morning, Alicia was woken bright and early by a tap on her bedroom door. Rolling over in the vast four-poster bed, her black hair sliding sensuously over her bare shoulders, she called sleepily, 'Come in... I mean, entrez!'
The door opened, and her heart skipped beats as Jean-Marc appeared, looking gorgeous in black riding clothes, a smile on his hard mouth as he strolled arrogantly towards the bed and put Dominique's riding outfit down for her.
'Fifteen minutes?' he asked softly.
Alicia nodded, breathless.
He turned and strode coolly out, closing the door behind him.
They rode the same horses they had last time. Alicia's mount was an elegant black mare with highbred anklebones and a glossy black mane. Of course, Jean-Marc rode a full blooded Arab stallion, and as they thundered across the rolling parkland of the Brissac estate Alicia secretly cast admiring, excited, proud looks at him through her lashes.
They got back in time for breakfast. Both sweating and exhilarated, they were laughing as they strode through the kitchens, their faces alive with the powerful blood beat of hard exercise and the fresh morning air.
'I'm ravenous!' Jean-Marc told her as he opened the dining-room door for her. 'And ready for a busy day!'
Alicia laughed, excited by his presence and his personality as she walked past him, sexy in her long black boots. 'Is Dominique still staying here?'
'Mais bien sur!' Dominique called, grinning at her from the dining-room table. 'I'm staying here until the wedding.'
'You're lazy and spoilt and I adore you!' Jean-Marc drawled, bending to drop a kiss on her dark head and ruffle her long curls, and Alicia watched, noticing again how fond he was of the girl.
After breakfast, she went up to her room to shower and change. Dressing in a white wool dress, she looked intensely feminine, especially with her dark hair left loose. Left loose for Jean-Marc.. .the phrase made her heart beat faster. She suddenly felt so beautiful.
Her office was at the end of the west wing. It was a beautiful high-ceilinged room with mahogany desk, a smart filing cabinet, telephones, a fax machine, and a vast stack of drawing materials flown in by helicopter, he told her, from a top designer in Paris.
'You should have everything you need,' Jean-Marc told her flatly, impeccably dressed in a grey business suit, dark red silk tie, and gold watch chain across his taut stomach. 'A friend of mine in the fashion industry organised it all for you, at my request.'
'I'm impressed,' Alicia said with a wry smile. 'This is exactly what I have in my London headquarters.'
He smiled, grey eyes flickering over her. 'Headquarters ...' he murmured, as though it pleased him.
'But I'll need somewhere to make up the garments.' Alicia frowned, glancing around.
'I've arranged for you to have unlimited use of the facilities at Ballatria in Paris,' he said coolly.
Her eyes widened. Ballatria was in the upper echelons of French fashion, and their reputation was as exclusive as their prices. Those hallowed portals admitted the most famous and beautiful women in the world, and Alicia knew their cutters, fitters, all facilities would be superb.
'If that's too far for minor alterations,' Jean-Marc strode to a connecting door, 'there are facilities here.'
Alicia walked through and caught her breath, staring at the streamlined equipment he had obviously gone to a great deal of trouble and expense to have brought here and fitted.
'Jean-Marc...!' She stared up into his tough face. 'I know you're very wealthy, but surely --'
'It cost me nothing, cherie,' he cut in with a sardonic smile. 'It was an exchange. A business deal, shall we say? I have a lot of friends, and they help me out sometimes, just as I help them.'
Looking around the rooms with a dazed expression, she itched to get to work. The view from this window was superb, the offices comfortable, and the work ahead growing more exciting with each moment.
'You remembered,' Jean-Marc said softly, touching her hair.
Startled, she looked at him, touching her hair self-consciously. 'Oh, yes... my hair.'
'You look quite lovely,' he said, and then his eyes darkened, lowering suddenly to her mouth.
Her heart raced. An involuntary quiver shot through her. She felt the rush of sweet desire, and Jean-Marc saw it flash like fire in her dark eyes.
He made a rough sound under his breath and pulled her into his arms. Her mouth opened beneath his, and suddenly his hands were hard on her hips, holding her soft, pliant body against his and they kissed deeply, both drowning in a moment of heart-racing freedom as the blood soared through their veins and their bodies seemed to melt into each other.
Without warning, he drew back, his grey eyes opaque with desire. 'If you wanted to stop me, you would—wouldn't you, Alicia?'
She felt helpless, staring into his grey eyes, her body weak with burning desire.
'But you don't stop me,' he said softly. 'So either you're beginning to accept what is between us—or you're getting ready to surrender.'
'Neither!' she flashed with sudden defiance. 'I just find your brand of sex appeal difficult to resist. It means nothing, though, does it, Jean-Marc? It's just another drug on the market!'
His mouth hardened. 'If I put you under attack right now, you wouldn't be able to defend yourself and you know it.'
'That has more to do with you than with me!' she said hotly.
He watched her grimly. 'Don't lie to yourself, Alicia. It's not worthy of you. You want me as much as I want you, and sooner or later you're going to admit it.'
Hot colour flooded her face and she pulled away from him, her mouth tight with bitter self-loathing. He was implying that her passion matched his. She hated him for forcing her to face it.
'Don't drive yourself crazy over it!' he drawled with soft mockery. 'That's my job.'
Bitterly, she looked at him. 'Is this the way you always operate, Jean-Marc? Using underhand methods, trickery, torment and even physical force?'
He looked at her oddly. 'No, Alicia. Only since I met you.'
Her heart skipped a beat as she stared at him in shocked silence.
Alicia watched him walk out of the room. As the door closed, her fingers went to her mouth, fingering the taste of his passion, and she realised that her own passion was growing with each moment she spent in his company.
Forcing herself to settle down, the discipline of years flooded to her rescue to stop her dwelling on Jean-Marc Brissac's mind, a subject she was beginning to realise was as complex as it was fascinating. Dominique arrived a few minutes later, and they spent three very busy and enjoyable hours working before the printer arrived and took their format away, promising the invitations by Monday morning. Dominique gasped over Alicia's designs for the bridal gown and bridesmaids' dresses. She also made one or two suggestions that Alicia thought showed great flair.
'I've often thought of going into the fashion industry,' Dominique confessed when Alicia praised her ideas. 'Jean-Marc's very encouraging, too. He said he'd get me a job in one of the major houses.'
'But you want to get married first?' Alicia asked, smiling.
Dominique laughed. 'Of course! You're not a woman unless you've got a man you really love!'
Alicia studied her, confusion in her dark Byes. Was she right? Or was it just because she was eighteen, in love and planning her wedding?
'There's a saying,' Dominique warmed to her subject, 'which goes: "to love is nothing, to be loved is something, to love and be loved is everything".'
Alicia's dark lashes flickered, then she said lightly, 'There's another saying: "to thine own self be true".' Her dark eyes rested gently on the girl's beautiful face. 'We all have different needs, Dominique. And we must fulfil them as best we can.'
But the girl's words stayed in her mind, and she frowned as she worked on through the day, breaking for coffee every hour on the hour. Was she fulfilled? Her own needs had been syphoned into work for so long that she had forgotten the deep well of passion she possessed until Jean-Marc came along. If that was a real need, a valid part of her—surely it must find expression and fulfilment?
Last of the Great French Lovers Page 9
