The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (240 page)

‘Not returning my calls is becoming a habit of yours,' Raoul's voice drawled close to her ear.

Her pulse rate picked up and quickened to a faster beat. ‘It's been quite a day.'

‘I'll pick you up at seven.'

‘Please don't,' she responded quickly, aware of the need to be at the hotel early.

‘Stephanie.' His voice acquired a warning edge she chose to ignore.

‘Once we're seated, I'm off the hook,' she relayed succinctly. ‘Prior to that, I'll be working the job. You'll be superfluous.'

‘What time do you have to be there?' His slightly accented voice sent a shiver feathering down her spine.

The sound of a car horn distorted audible clarity, and she put a hand over one ear. ‘I have to go,' she indicated.

‘Six-fifteen?'

She would have argued, endorsing her decision to meet him at the hotel, except she didn't have the time to conduct a verbal sparring match. ‘Fine.'

The afternoon was fraught, and by five even the television camera crew were relieved to dismantle equipment and head for their vehicle.

Consequently it was five-thirty by the time Stephanie reached Mermaid Beach, and home. Forty-five minutes in which to shower, wash and dry her hair, apply makeup and dress didn't present an enviable time frame.

With speed and efficiency she managed it…just. The doorbell pealed as she was in the process of attaching ear studs, and she quickly slid her feet into stiletto-heeled pumps, spritzed perfume to a few pulse points, then she caught up her evening purse and headed for the front door.

The breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. It wasn't the dark evening suit, nor the snowy white pin-tucked shirt, but the man himself and the significant aura of power he exuded. There was a sense of strength, an innate quality that had little to do with his muscular frame or chiseled facial features.

‘We really should leave,' Stephanie said coolly.

The gown did wonderful things for her, it was precisely the reason she'd seriously challenged the limit on her credit card. Her job called for what she termed “a working wardrobe,” yet the motivation for the purchase of this particular acquisition had been personal rather than professional.

‘Beautiful,' Raoul accorded gently, and glimpsed pleasure appeared briefly before she masked it.

‘Thank you,' she returned solemnly. He made her nervous, and she hoped it didn't show.

No other man had the power to arouse such a complexity of emotions. Why
this
man? she asked silently as they traveled the northbound highway toward Main Beach.

It was a question that increasingly haunted her with each passing day.
What are you going to do about it?
an elusive imp persisted.
Have an affair?
One week of heaven, followed by a lifetime of attempting to deal with it?

A silent bubble of hysterical laughter died in her throat. Never had she been so prey to such a range of ambivalent feelings, swinging like a pendulum from
go for it and to hell with the consequences
to
don't do this to yourself.

‘You're very quiet,' Raoul observed, shooting her a discerning glance as they neared their destination.

‘Just a hectic day,' Stephanie revealed evenly. She was still angry with him, but mostly she was angry with Ghislaine.

‘Fragile egos, interrupted schedules that went way over time?'

And that only accounted for the
day.
She offered him a rueful smile. ‘How did you guess?'

Six-thirty For Seven on the invitations meant there were guests already mingling in the lounge area outside the hotel ballroom.

The prestigious yearly event in aid of charity en
sured attendance by the social glitterati, and the very reason why Stephanie had seized the marketing opportunity to have key members of the cast attend. The publicity potential was too good to miss.

Four leading European fashion houses with boutiques in the upmarket Mirage shopping complex had compiled a fashion parade with models displaying the new season's releases.

However, it was the fragile egos that had her running a personal check of the table seatings. The charity organizers had arranged their own tables, but the few set aside for important guests and dignitaries required personal attention.

Stephanie located the tables up front, ran a check on place names, made one change, then returned to the lounge, caught sight of Alex Stanford and crossed to confer with him about the shots she wanted.

‘Where are our exalted stars?' Alex queried. ‘Bent on making an entrance?'

‘Michel and Sandrine have just arrived,' she indicated. ‘There they are talking to Michel's brother.' And Ghislaine.

Now why didn't that surprise her?

At that moment the main doors opened and the guests began entering the ballroom. Women wearing designer gowns and sufficient jewelry to warrant security measures, while the men observed the formal evening wear, black tie dress code.

Michel and Sandrine drew near, closely followed by Raoul and Ghislaine.

‘You are joining us?'

Stephanie met Raoul's enigmatic gaze and held it. ‘Soon. I need to have a word with the photographer.'

Ghislaine slipped an arm through Raoul's and cast Stephanie a brilliant smile.
Mine,
the gesture stated.

The Frenchwoman looked stunning, her gown a strapless, backless masterpiece that shrieked European couturier. A single strand diamond necklace looked expensive, and was matched with a bracelet and ear studs.

Stephanie greeted Michel and Sandrine, acknowledged Ghislaine, then she excused herself and went in search of Alex Stanford.

Five minutes later she entered the ballroom and began weaving her way toward their designated table. There was still no sign of Cait Lynden or Gregor Anders, she saw at a glance. However, Tony the film's director was seated at an adjacent table with the producer, two of the Warner Brothers Movieworld executives and their wives. And Ghislaine.

Whose influence had Ghislaine used to secure a seat at one of the main tables? Raoul? Possibly Michel? Stephanie assured herself she didn't want to know.

She slid into her seat just as the lights flickered indicating the opening speech was about to begin, and suddenly there was Cait Lynden and Gregor Anders, their progress to the head of the room spotlighted and captured by a clutch of professional photographers.

It was almost amusing, Stephanie alluded wryly,
if only one could manage to see the humour in the situation. Michel was under siege from the expressive attention of the lead actress, who, it appeared, was intent on displaying subtle designs on Sandrine's husband.

Whereas on the adjacent table, Ghislaine was doing her very best to garner Raoul's attention.

The charity chairwoman gave an introductory speech, followed by a word from the mayor, then the waiters emerged bearing trays containing the starters.

The food was attractively presented, but Stephanie merely forked a few morsels, and barely did justice to the main course.

‘Some more water?'

Stephanie cast Raoul a polite glance. ‘Thank you.'

His eyes darkened fractionally, and he restrained the desire to rattle her composure.

The announcement the fashion parade was about to begin precluded the need for silence, and Stephanie was grateful as the room lighting dimmed and spotlights highlighted the catwalk.

Beautiful clothes in several categories, although emphasis was placed on after-five and evening wear, specifically aimed, Stephanie conceded, for the society women in attendance. Expertly choreographed and commentated, the parade provided forty minutes of glitz and glamour.

There was a time lag before the serving of dessert and coffee. It was then the photographers sought to capture their shots, and she employed diplomacy when Cait Lynden instructed a photo be taken with
Michel, who had given prior instructions that any photo taken of him must also include his wife.

‘Both Lanier brothers?' Alex Stanford suggested, motioning for Raoul to join Michel and Sandrine.

‘Why not include the marketing manager?' Raoul countered smoothly as he stood to his feet. He held out a hand. ‘Stephanie?'

‘Alex has been instructed to involve me in a group shot with Tony, the producer and the Warner Brothers Movieworld executives.'

Raoul was too skilled in psychological manipulation to condone defeat. ‘I imagine Alex is not limited to the number of film rolls he is able to use?'

Alex, sensing a display of wills and mildly amused by its possibilities, merely endorsed Raoul's suggestion by motioning her into position. ‘Let's do it, Stephanie.'

To refuse would seem churlish, and she slid to her feet and stood where Alex positioned her, between Sandrine and Raoul with Michel at his wife's side.

Raoul slipped an arm along the back of her waist, and she stood completely still as all her senses kicked into vibrant life.

She was suddenly conscious of every breath she took, and consciously regulated each and every one of them in a bid to reduce the rapid beating of her heart. She could feel the thud of it reflected in the pulse at the base of her throat, her wrists, and the warmth it generated deep inside.

Even her skin seemed acutely sensitized, and she
was willing to swear heat whispered through every vein in her body.

Stephanie almost jumped as his fingers caressed the base of her spine, then moved to the back of her waist in a slow, soothing pattern. Was he aware of the effect he had on her? She hoped not.

‘One more,' Alex called, and the flashbulb caused a second's blindness.

‘Not so difficult,
oui?
' Raoul murmured musingly as they moved back to their table.

‘Do you always get your own way?'

‘Yes.'

Guests were moving between tables, socializing briefly with friends and acquaintances before the evening wound down to a conclusion.

Stephanie placed a hand over her glass as he lifted a bottle of wine. ‘No, thanks.'

Raoul's smile held sensual warmth. ‘The need for a clear head?'

‘I rarely drink,' she said quietly, frozen into immobility as he lifted a hand to her cheek and trailed his fingers down to the edge of her mouth. Her eyes widened, their depths darkening as the pupils dilated, and she barely controlled an involuntary shiver as he traced the sensitive chord of her neck and rested briefly in the hollow there.

‘Stephanie, I need you to be part of the executive group shot,' Alex Stanford intruded, and the mesmeric spell was broken.

Thankfully, she assured silently as she followed the photographer. It wasn't easy to slip away, for the
film director and producer were in a gregarious mood, so too were the Warner Brothers' executives, and almost fifteen minutes passed before she was able to leave.

Sandrine was not in evidence, nor were the two dignitaries who comprised part of the table seating. Raoul and Michel were engrossed in conversation, and seated in an empty chair…
her
chair…was Ghislaine.

It would have been polite for the Frenchwoman to move, but Ghislaine obviously had no intention of observing conventional good manners.

Stephanie collected her glass, and crossed to another table where two of her associates were seated. If Ghislaine wanted to command Raoul's attention, she could have the figurative floor all to herself.

It didn't help that Samuel Stone occupied a chair next to the one empty seat at the table. Nor that he'd generously imbibed of the wine, and had moved on to spirits. Maybe if she ignored him, he wouldn't even notice her presence.

Fat chance, Stephanie accorded within seconds. She'd merely exchanged one awkward situation at one table for a worse situation of a different kind at another table.

‘Darling Stephanie.' Samuel leaned close, much too close, and lifted his glass. ‘I salute you.'

‘Thank you.' She wasn't quite sure what he was saluting her for, but it seemed prudent to agree with him.

‘You're good,' he continued. ‘Very, very good,
darling.' He curved an arm over her shoulders. ‘Why don't you come work for me?'

Wouldn't that be a move in the wrong direction, she derided silently.

Instinct caused her to glance toward Raoul. He looked completely at ease, his posture relaxed, his features portraying studied interest. Yet almost as if he could sense her attention his gaze shifted, and his gaze locked with hers.

She saw him say something to Michel and Sandrine, then he rose to his feet and moved toward her.

S
TEPHANIE
indicated her intention to leave. ‘If you'll excuse me?'

If Raoul thought she'd calmly return to their designated table and watch Ghislaine continue her
clinging vine
performance, he was sadly mistaken!

She'd only taken two steps when he drew level.

His eyes were dark. Too dark, she discerned.

‘We've been invited, together with Michel and Sandrine, to party on at the hotel's nightclub. I understand the cast, studio marketing and advertising executives intend to transfer there.'

She looked at him carefully. ‘And Ghislaine?'

Something moved in those dark depths, and a muscle tensed at the edge of his jaw. ‘She's free to do as she pleases.'

‘As I am,' Stephanie responded quietly. ‘Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to freshen up.'

‘Damn.' The curse fell from his lips with restrained anger. ‘Why would I choose to spend time with her, when I prefer to be with you?'

‘She's French, gorgeous, eminently suitable and she adores you,' she responded flippantly.

‘And if I do not adore her?'

The mere thought of him adoring another woman made her feel slightly ill. Yet some irrepressible imp
goaded her to offer, ‘Consider the amalgamation of two family fortunes.'

‘Go freshen up, Stephanie,' he drawled. ‘Before I say something regrettable.'

Without a further word she turned and made her way toward one of the exit doors.

‘Mind if I join you?'

Stephanie caught the faintly wry tone, glimpsed an edge of exasperation evident and offered Sandrine a wicked smile.

‘On an escape mission?'

‘You've got it in one.'

A queue in the powder room meant they were in for a short wait.

‘Now that filming is over, I imagine you'll be returning to New York,' she began in an attempt at conversation.

‘We're flying down to Sydney tomorrow for a few days before heading home on Tuesday…sans Cait Lynden,' she concluded quizzically.

A faint chuckle emerged from Stephanie's throat. ‘Like that, huh?'

‘Oh, yes.'

Even an unsuspecting bystander couldn't have misinterpreted the lead actress's marked play for Michel's attention. Although having witnessed the occasional exchanged look between Michel and his wife, she doubted Sandrine had anything to worry about.

‘For what it's worth, Ghislaine has been on the scene for several years,' Sandrine offered gently.
‘The Lanier men don't waste time going after what they want. If Raoul wanted Ghislaine, he would have had a ring on her finger by now.'

‘It really doesn't interest me.'

‘Doesn't it?'

Was Sandrine especially intuitive? Or was she merely attempting to elicit an indication of Stephanie's feelings?

Somehow the latter didn't ring true. She was spared a response as a stall became empty and the actress moved forward to occupy it.

Minutes later they took time for makeup repairs, then together they emerged to find Raoul and Michel examining the picturesque waterfall adjoining the lounge area. Cait, Gregor and Ghislaine stood close by.

‘Into battle,' Sandrine murmured, and Stephanie successfully hid a faint smile.
Battle
could very well be the operative word if Cait Lynden continued to monopolize Michel's attention.

The hotel nightclub was situated on the next floor, and the exclusive club was alive with people. Funky music emitted from strategically placed speakers, and subdued lighting added to the overall ambience.

Stephanie hadn't frequented a nightclub since she broke up with Ben, and she was quite content to observe rather than participate.

Cait and Ghislaine made a good pair, she determined as she observed each young woman's attempt to encourage Raoul and Michel onto the dance floor.

‘Do you want to escape the performance?'

There were any number of females present who would have drooled at the chance to dance with Gregor Anders. Stephanie wasn't one of them.

‘Your bête noire has just entered the milieu,' Gregor intoned cynically. ‘Do you really want to have to fend him off?'

A surreptitious glance confirmed Samuel Stone's presence, and if she had to choose between the two, Gregor got her vote.

‘This really isn't my scene,' she assured as he drew her onto the crowded floor.

‘So…treat you gently?'

Her faint laugh was genuine. ‘No fancy flamboyant moves,' she warned.

‘We could try for up close and personal.'

‘Considering the beat of the music, that might not be wise.'

‘Where's your sense of adventure?' He pulled her close, and expertly led her through a set of basic steps. ‘Well, well,' he murmured close to her ear. ‘An update in the manhunting stakes sees Cait cast aside by Michel, who has very wisely made it clear he prefers his wife. And there,' he revealed with theatrical timing. ‘We have Raoul giving Ghislaine the flick.' He executed a sweeping turn. ‘Now we see the elder Lanier brother beating a path toward us.
You,
my dear, appear to be his target.'

‘You're mistaken.'

‘Want me to play the shining knight?'

‘And have those good looks marred?' she countered, and saw him wince.

‘I agree. He's a formidable quarry, in more ways than one. Prepare yourself for takeover.'

Stephanie sensed Raoul's presence a few seconds before he drew level, and her whole circulatory system immediately went into overdrive.

She was willing to swear the blood traveled faster through her veins, and her pulse seemed to jump to an accelerated beat. Even her skin's surface prickled with awareness.

‘Do you mind, Gregor?' The voice was a deep drawl that held an edge of steel.

Gregor didn't mind at all. He didn't even feign reluctance. So much for the shining knight offer!

‘Be my guest.' The words scarcely left his lips than he faded away between the milling patrons.

The music changed from fast and funky to a soulful ballad, and Raoul drew her close against him.

She should object, and pull back a little, but although the mind dictated, her body chose not to obey. She fit perfectly, and there was a part of her that wanted to lean in and just drift.

For a few minutes she did just that, succumbing to an insidious sensuality that intensified with every passing second. Treacherous, primal,
raw.

The music changed, and she told herself she was glad. Sexual passion in any form wasn't on her agenda. Especially with a man who lived on the other side of the world, and to whom she was merely a passing fancy. Someone to be his social partner and occupy his bed for a limited time.

Even the thought of engaging in sex with him
turned her bones to liquid. Instinct warned that this man would not take his pleasure without thought for hers, and just thinking how he could pleasure her was sufficient to set her pulse racing into overdrive.

Dangerous. Infinitely dangerous, she perceived, unwilling to admit even to herself that with each passing day her resistance was gradually ebbing away.

Was he aware of it? Probably, she conceded, for he was far too attuned to her psyche. Having someone anticipate her thoughts, her actions, made her feel uncomfortable. And guarded.

‘We're leaving,' Michel indicated, then he turned toward his brother. ‘I'll ring you early Monday morning.'

Raoul inclined his head, and Sandrine leaned forward to touch her cheek to Stephanie's, murmuring ‘good luck' as she did so, then drawing away she offered Stephanie a warm smile. ‘I hope we get to meet again.'

Words, sincerely meant, but expressing a desire for something that would probably not eventuate. Nevertheless, Stephanie returned the words in kind.

‘Stephanie!'

Oh Lord, Samuel Stone, more than a little the worse for wear and on a mission, from his determined expression.

‘Dance with me.'

‘We were about to leave,' Raoul drawled. ‘Perhaps another time?'

Not if she could avoid it. ‘Sorry, Samuel.'

‘C'mon, Stephanie.' He reached out and caught her arm in a viselike grip. ‘Let's give it a whirl.'

‘I think not, my friend.' Raoul's voice was deceptively quiet, like steel encased in silk.

Samuel's expression assumed alcohol-induced belligerence. ‘Staked a claim, have you?'

Raoul didn't move an inch, but the air suddenly seemed charged with threatening promise. ‘Yes,' he acceded with hard inflexibility.

For a heart-stopping few seconds Stephanie froze, unaware of the room, the people, the noise. There was only Raoul, and the indomitable power he portrayed.

Then Samuel released her arm and spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. ‘Your round, ice princess,' he conceded with deliberate mockery, and melted through the crowd.

‘Trouble, darling?' Ghislaine arched delicately.

Lose one, gain one, Stephanie accorded silently. ‘Nothing to be concerned about,' she said with an edge of mockery.

‘Raoul is very good at defending a woman's honor.' Ghislaine cast him a sultry look. ‘Aren't you,
mon ami?
'

‘Good night,' Stephanie issued when Raoul didn't answer.

‘Oh really, darling?' The pout had been practiced to perfection. ‘You're leaving so soon? It's early.'

‘For you, possibly,' Stephanie remarked steadily. ‘But my day began at dawn this morning.'

‘Why interrupt Raoul's enjoyment? I am sure you can take a taxi home.'

‘No,' he said with chilling softness. ‘That isn't an option.'

‘Aren't you taking chivalry a little too far?' Ghislaine queried with a hint of disdain.

Raoul placed an arm along the back of Stephanie's waist. ‘
Bon nuit,
Ghislaine.'

His tone held indolence and the smoothness of silk.

‘I'm impressed,' Stephanie declared as he propelled her toward the entrance. ‘Do you do this often?'

‘Do what, precisely?'

They exited the nightclub and made their way to the lift that would take them down to the car park.

‘Defend one woman and destroy another, both at the same time.'

‘You have a way with words,' he alluded cynically, and she cast him a dazzling smile.

‘It's one of my talents,' she assured.

‘I have to fly down to Sydney tomorrow,' Raoul informed as they rode the lift. ‘I had a call this afternoon to say the deal has been finalized and the contract will be ready for my signature on Monday.'

Her heart plummeted. Finalizing the deal meant there was no reason for him to stay.

‘Will you take a direct flight from Sydney to Paris?'

He cast her a sharp glance, saw the carefully composed features, and noted the visible pulse beat at the
base of her throat. Not so composed, he conceded with satisfaction.

‘I intend returning to the coast Monday evening.'

She wasn't aware she'd been holding her breath, and she released it slowly, evenly. ‘I see.'

They reached the car, and Raoul freed the lock. ‘Do you?'

Now, there was a question. How did she answer it without incriminating herself? Best not to even try, she bade silently as she slid into the passenger seat.

He fired the engine and eased the car toward the main exit, then gained the divided road that led to the main southbound highway.

‘No answer?'

‘There isn't one,' she said simply.

Brightly colored neon detailed shops and cafés as they passed through the heart of Surfers Paradise.

Motels lined both sides of the highway. It was a vibrant colorful city, geared for the tourist dollar, and offered a multitude of entertainment services.

The flow of traffic at this hour of the night was smooth, and it seemed only minutes before they drove through Broadbeach and entered the fringes of Mermaid Beach.

Raoul brought the car to a smooth halt in her driveway, and cut the lights and the engine.

She released her seat belt, then undid the door clasp and slid out, aware he was duplicating her actions.

‘There's no need for you to come in.'

He crossed around and held his hand out for her keys. ‘Yes, there is.'

At that precise moment she was prepared to agree with Ghislaine. There was a limit to chivalry.

‘I'll be fine,' she assured as he unlocked the door and switched on the lights.

‘Are you afraid of me,
cherie?
'

Confrontation was admirable, but right now she wasn't sure she cared for it. ‘No,' she answered honestly.

It was herself she was afraid of. Afraid that if he kissed her, she might not be able to control her emotions. And if she relinquished that control, she knew precisely where it would lead.

To experience his lovemaking would be…incredible, she qualified. To take him to her bed, and wake to his touch… Dare she?

She looked at him, saw the strength evident, the heat carefully banked, and felt her body leap with answering warmth.

Stephanie made her way through to the lounge, aware he followed close behind. Her composure was rapidly falling into shreds, and she mentally chastised herself. Nerves were hell and damnation. Raoul was just a man, like any other.

A lot you know, she silently derided. It's four years since I was intimate with a man, and I feel gauche, awkward…dammit,
scared
in a way that has nothing to do with
fear.

This could, he cautioned, disintegrate in a second. She was a complex mix that comprised integrity and
honesty, with a well of passion a man could drown in if he wasn't careful. Yet there was also deep-seated pain and distrust.

‘Go make some coffee,' he said quietly.

So he wasn't about to seduce her…at least, not right now. She should have felt relieved, but instead there was a sense of delaying the inevitable, and that in itself only worsened the state of her nerves.