A Very French Affair: Bought for the Frenchman's Pleasure / Breaking the Boss's Rules / Her Secret Husband

CHAPTER TEN

SORCHA struggled to stay calm, but she felt like she wanted to get up and run—hide, go away. With every word he was saying he was getting closer, digging deeper, and soon he’d reach the very centre of everything, the place were her desire threatened to bubble out of control.

She pulled her hand back and racked her brain for some way to take the intense spotlight off her.

‘And what about you? What are your secrets, Romain?’ Her voice felt very brittle, like her control. ‘How come you’re not married?’

Where had that come from?

Romain sat back. At least she’d had the desired effect. His eyes narrowed on hers.

‘I was engaged once, actually…’

‘You were?’ Sorcha’s treacherous heart fell.

He nodded briefly, curtly. ‘Yes. A long time ago. I was eighteen.’ His mouth twisted cynically. ‘She was my first true love. But one day I walked into her bedroom and caught her in bed with my older half-brother.’

The words were said without a hint of emotion, but Sorcha could intuit the pain. God only knew, she’d become so adept at hiding her own innermost emotions that she could see it a mile away in someone else. But she knew he wouldn’t welcome sympathy.

One big shoulder shrugged with apparent insouciance. ‘She’d found out that he stood to inherit the title of Duc. While I too have inherited a title, it’s that of mere Comte. He was older, richer, more experienced—and he also stood to inherit the family château.’

He felt familiar satisfaction rush through him when he thought of how he’d bought back that château just a couple of years before. His brother had come to him, begging for aid. And yet, even though it had been a moment he’d waited for a long time, the satisfaction, while still there, hadn’t tasted as sweet as he’d thought it would. He’d somewhere along the way lost that all-consuming desire to get back at the brother who had made his life a complete misery from when he was a small child.

‘I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to bring up something so—’

Before she could say painful, and put a word to his feelings, Romain laughed harshly. ‘It was a long time ago. She was dead to me a long time ago, and since then—’ he made a very Gallic facial expression ‘—I haven’t had the inclination to repeat the experience.’

His face and demeanour said it all to Sorcha. He’d tarred every woman since then with the same brush. His treatment of her said it all too. His obvious ruthlessness in his desire to get her into bed, despite his initial misgivings, which were conveniently dropping away. Which she was allowing him, helping him to shed. God, did she want him so badly that she was contemplating letting someone so jaded take her in the most intimate way?

She couldn’t read his expression. A tense silence surrounded them and then, as if a switch had been flicked on, he smiled. Jekyll and Hyde. Sorcha shivered.

‘I think we’ve had enough questions and answers—yes?’

She nodded mutely.

‘Let’s have some dessert…’ And he called over the waiter.

Within minutes, he was fast weaving her headlong into the tapestry of desire again, making her forget all her misgivings.

On the boat on their way back to the hotel, the mood was considerably lighter. He made her laugh uncontrollably with funny stories about various fashion designers and their prima donna behaviour. And then she remembered something he had said earlier. ‘So you’re a count? What does that make you—Monsieur le Comte de Valois?’

He looked at her sharply. He hadn’t mistaken the teasing in her tone, even if her face was serious.

He nodded. ‘I never use it though. It seems a bit outdated these days.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Sorcha slid him a mischievous glance. ‘A count with, I assume, at least one château?’ she asked, looking to him for confirmation. He nodded again. ‘Well, that’s quite the package. In that case I should have curtsied when we met…’

Now she was definitely laughing at him. He couldn’t believe it. For a second he felt all the righteous anger and pride of his forebears, and then at the next moment, seeing her mouth twitch helplessly, he had to give in.

‘How refreshing—a woman who isn’t dropping at my feet with the mention of a title and a château.’

Again he had that split second sensation of thinking, she’s playing me…

She looked at him from under long black lashes. There was no make-up on her slightly freckled face, and she was so beautiful that his chest ached. But even as he looked he saw something come into her eyes, and she drew back, inwards.

They made the rest of the trip in silence. He could feel Sorcha becoming more and more tense beside him. On disembarking the boat she said a quick brusque thank you and didn’t meet his eye, then she fled.

Romain watched her go, a small predatory smile playing around his hard mouth.

A little later, after a shower, Sorcha gave up trying to have a siesta—too jittery and on edge after that lunch. She felt overloaded with sensations and desires and feelings that confused her. One in particular being that she had to admit to herself that she liked him. Really liked him. As for what he did to her body…just thinking about that made her heat up.

She decided to take a walk in the nearby streets to try and calm down.

She ducked into an ornate Hindu temple, feeling for a moment as if she were being followed, and cursed her imagination. Inside, all the different deities were painted in a profusion of bright colours. Little children danced around her, asking for ‘school pens’, and gave her incense to light. She took some pictures. Those moments, and as she walked through markets, bought herself some clothes, gave her some sense of equilibrium back.

The streets were heaving with humanity, sacred cows and eye-wateringly strong smells. She dodged the rickshaws that held beautiful and mysterious sari-clad women and thought that she was mad to be even thinking about anything to do with Romain de Valois. She was no match for him. He just didn’t realise it yet.

Returning to the hotel, she was relieved not to have bumped into anyone, but in the corridor on the way back to her room she heard a hissed, ‘Sorcha!’

It was Lucy, in the room next to hers. ‘Are you OK?’

Lucy looked up and down the corridor and gestured for Sorcha to come in.

She groaned inwardly. She really didn’t want to get all girly and chat. But when she got to the door Lucy pulled her inside, shutting the door after her.

‘Lucy, I’m really tired—’

‘I have something you might be interested in.’

The hair stood up on the back of Sorcha’s neck. The younger girl held out a small paper packet full of white powder. Sorcha’s stomach fell. She’d encountered this over the years—people mistakenly believing what they might have heard…

‘Look, Lucy, I’m really not interested in that stuff. And you shouldn’t go waving it around.’

Lucy laughed. ‘Oh, don’t be such a square. Come on—what’s the harm?’

Something hard settled in Sorcha’s chest. She made a split-second decision, and behind it was the urge to protect. She grabbed the paper out of Lucy’s hand, folding it up carefully.

‘Hey—’ The girl’s face was a picture of surprise and panic.

Sorcha quickly stuck it in the back pocket of her shorts and folded her arms.

‘Lucy, how old are you?’

‘Twenty-one.’

She looked a little shame-faced, and Sorcha was relieved to see that it didn’t look as if she’d taken any of the drug yet. She gentled her tone.

‘Look, if anyone else had caught you with this…like Romain…you’d be going home on the next plane. And you’d probably never get work again. Not to mention we’re in India. Do you have any idea what the police here would do if you were caught?’

She saw Lucy pale visibly. Sorcha grimaced inwardly. No doubt Dominic had her under his thumb. And she didn’t want to scare her.

‘I don’t care where you got it, because I know who probably gave it to you—’ The other girl went red and started to bluster. Sorcha just held up a hand. ‘Believe me, I know Dominic from a long time ago, so don’t feel you have to protect him. And, Lucy, if you’ll take some advice from me, the next time someone offers you drugs don’t be a fool and take them. The person you offer to share them with might not be so understanding or get rid of it for you…’

Sorcha left and went back to her own room next door. It felt as if the white powder was burning a hole in her pocket. She dropped her shopping bag and went straight to her bathroom. She was about to flush it down the loo, when a knock came on her door. Panicking slightly, she stuffed it again into her back pocket.

She opened the door and felt immediately dizzy. Romain stood there, larger than life. And then, without so much as a by-your-leave, he sauntered in as if he owned the place. Sorcha gripped the door handle, loath to shut the door. What was he doing here? He had to leave! She could feel herself pale. She could feel the packet, and it suddenly weighed a ton. A cold sweat broke out on her brow. Of all the times!

‘Can…can I help you?’ she asked, and her voice sounded strained to her ears.

He leant back against the door that opened out onto her patio. His eyes narrowed on her face and Sorcha felt herself flush guiltily. What was he doing here?

‘Shut the door,’ he said quietly.

Sorcha’s mind raced even as she did as he asked, not thinking to question it. Could he have seen anything? Overheard anything? He couldn’t have…This had to be unrelated. Because if it wasn’t…Her blood ran cold.

The door shut behind her, and Romain called softly from across the room. ‘Come here.’

Feeling more and more like Alice in Wonderland, slipping down a hole, Sorcha haltingly moved forward. If she could just get into the bathroom -

‘You don’t need to look like you’re about to go to your own funeral,’ he drawled, ‘It’ll be nice, I promise…’

Sorcha looked at him then, and stopped by the bed. He’d cut through the turmoil in her brain even as her insides clawed with guilt. Nice? She shook her head as if that might try and clear it. ‘I’m sorry…look…what do you want?’

He pushed himself off the door and strolled towards her with dangerous intent in his eye. Too late, Sorcha realised what his intention was only when he came so close that she couldn’t breathe.

‘I told you that next time we wouldn’t be interrupted…’

He couldn’t mean…

‘I want you.’

He did. Within a cataclysmic split second Sorcha’s world was reduced to Romain pulling her into his arms, chest to chest, and before she could say stop, or go, or even take a breath, his mouth was stealing every bit of sanity from her.

The rush of sensation and reaction made her forget everything. With shocking ease, her whole being melted into his.

The matter of fact way he’d just come in…the intent in his eyes that reached out to wrap her in a haze of desire…it scrambled her brain so much that all she was aware of was the need to have him kiss her again, to feel his arms around her. That last kiss was seared onto her memory, and now she was coming back to life in his arms.

His mouth moved over hers with insistent mastery. A flame of white-hot desire was racing along every one of Sorcha’s veins, and when her mouth opened on a little sigh, and his tongue made contact with hers, her hands reached out and tightened on his shoulders to stop herself from falling at his feet.

Sorcha’s two arms twined up around his neck. She stood on tiptoe, couldn’t stop the hitched indrawn breath against his mouth when she felt his hand on her back, reaching under her T-shirt to stroke up over the silky skin, moulding the outline of the curve of her waist. An aching wanting grew at the apex of her thighs, and when Sorcha innocently moved her hips, felt his arousal press insistently against her, her heart beat so fast she thought it would burst from her chest.

His arms around her felt so good, so strong, and when one hand moved down to cup her bottom through her shorts, moving her even closer, she couldn’t help a little mewl of acquiescence. His hand on her bottom sought to get even closer. She felt him slide it into her pocket—

Sorcha’s whole body went rigid in a second. As if ice had just been poured through every artery. His hand was right there.

She pulled back and looked up into his face. She couldn’t help the look of shock she knew must be there. At another time his reaction might have been almost comical.

He looked surprised at first. Then a small frown appeared and, with deadly, awful inevitability, his fingers closed around the small paper packet and she felt him pull it free from her back pocket. His arms slackened, and all the heat and insanity disappeared as he let her go.

Romain stepped back and a chasm opened up, like an arctic wind blowing between them. Sorcha’s eyes closed, her hands were dead weights by her side. She didn’t think she was even breathing. The situation was so horrifically awful and unfair she couldn’t take in the magnitude of what it meant.

His voice was so cold when it came that it made her flinch.

‘Open your eyes.’

She opened them, and could feel the colour drain from her face again. She was freezing.

He held the folded-up paper which had opened slightly, revealing the white powder between his forefinger and thumb, a look of complete and utter disgust on his face—much the same as hers had been only short moments before. Moments which now felt like years.

‘I…’ Her voice felt scratchy and her lips and mouth still tingled.

‘There is not one thing you can say. Not. One. Thing.’

Sorcha’s mouth shut. The total and utter immediate condemnation on his face shocked her. He hadn’t even a shred of doubt in his mind…and why would he? But it hurt. She bit the inside of her lip so hard she could feel blood. She wrapped her arms around her waist and felt shock set in, felt the shaking starting up, that awful dropping of her stomach—even though she hadn’t even done anything wrong!

But one thing she did know, and it was very clear. She could not subject Lucy to this man’s wrath. She was just a young girl, starting out in her career. And Sorcha knew she’d look even worse in Romain’s eyes if she tried to blame someone else younger, more inexperienced.

Having made the decision to take the blame, or at least protect Lucy, Sorcha felt a kind of calmness wash over her. After all, what did she really have to lose? Wasn’t this what he had expected all along?

The shaking subsided.

Romain saw her chin tilt up minutely, her shoulders straighten. A light of defiance come into her eyes. And as the awful, betraying disappointment rushed through him he felt himself get cold and hard inside. Fool, fool, fool. And yet even now, in the midst of this, he was taking in her huge blue eyes, the delicate pale column of her throat, the way her breasts pushing at the thin fabric of her T-shirt made him think of the way they had just pushed against his chest. And, much to his abject horror, his body reacted to that image, that thought.

He moved towards her, and all Sorcha’s paltry bravado disappeared. He took her arm in a harsh grip and half-dragged, half-walked her over to the bathroom.

He was curt and harsh. ‘You know what to do.’

He thrust the folded-up parcel at her as if it was contaminating him, and Sorcha felt like crying, laughing and screaming all at the same time. What would he say if she told him that this was exactly what she had been about to do before being interrupted?

With shaking hands she emptied it into the toilet, flushing the offending drug away. The sound was magnified unbearably in the tense atmosphere. With legs shaking so much that she’d fall if she didn’t sit, she sank back onto the side of the bath. She looked at the ground. She had to try something.

‘Romain—’

‘I don’t want to hear it.’

She looked up, her eyes huge, beseeching, and quailed at the coldness she saw in his face. It was nothing like she’d ever experienced.

She tried again. ‘It’s not what you—’

He laughed harshly, arms crossed against his chest. Arms that had just now held her so tight she’d never wanted him to let her go. She ached inside.

‘Think? That’s original. No wonder you were in such a hurry after lunch. Tell me…’ he said, and he relaxed back against the sink, one hip propped up. But the lines of his body screamed anything but relaxed. ‘Was the whole purpose of your little walk just now to get drugs? Is that why you were so eager to get away? Because you needed a fix? Did you have someone lined up before we even got here? I’m interested to know how this would work. Do you call ahead. Or is it—’

‘Stop it!’ Her hands gripped the edge of the bath as she tried to make sense of what he was saying, the barrage of questions. ‘I…How do you…?’

‘How do I know you took a walk?’ he asked. ‘Because I was taking a walk myself, and saw you go into the temple.’

His mouth twisted as he remembered following her. Being captivated by her.

He looked unbearably harsh. ‘Charming picture. Playing with the kids…taking photos…lighting incense.’ He shook his head. ‘Dieu…what a fool I am. You were on your way to pick up your stash. I actually thought—’

He cut himself off. His eyes were so glacial that Sorcha felt as if a layer of her skin was being peeled off slowly. But she couldn’t take her eyes from his.

‘I lost you, though…after the market where you bought that salwaar kameez. That’s obviously when you went off to find your little…contact.’

She shook her head miserably and stood, legs still shaking.

‘I promise you…it’s not what you think.’

‘Promise me? That’s rich.’ He stood upright and towered over her in the small space. ‘To think that in Dublin when you asked if I would believe you’d never touched drugs I actually thought about it…considered it…I would have believed it if I’d heard nothing but your chain of lies today. But only a mere hour after telling me breathlessly about the outreach centre, how important it is, you’re—’

A look flashed across his face, and as if he’d said too much he cursed in French and strode back out into the bedroom.

Sorcha followed him, stood at the door of the bathroom. He had his back to her, looking out of the patio doors. She didn’t know where to start, what to say. She could see exactly how he would construe events…words…and could only watch his taut, unrelenting back helplessly. And even in the midst of this the memory of how it had felt…He turned and fixed her with those cold eyes, and immediately her skin flushed guiltily. As if he could see her shameful thoughts.

‘What are you going to do?’ she asked bravely, and steeled herself.

He looked at her for a long moment. She could almost see the cogs whirring in that sharp brain. And then, as if having come to a decision, he strolled nonchalantly towards her. His face was unbearably cold, but the look in his eyes was full of desirous intent. His demeanour spelt absolute danger. Sorcha instinctively grabbed onto the wall beside her as he came close. She looked up helplessly. Ensnared.

And suddenly she thought of something.

Without passing it through the filter in her brain, she found herself blurting out, ‘Look, I know why you’re reacting like this. I know what happened with your mother…’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

HE STOPPED dead in front of her, and immediately she knew she’d made one of the biggest errors of her life. He froze. His face became a mask of non-reaction, his eyes glittering jewel-hard shards of icy grey. He spoke after what felt like aeons, and his words dripped with disdain and disgust.

‘What do you know?’

It was a question but Sorcha wasn’t foolish enough to open her mouth again.

‘Maud told you. It can only have been her. What did she tell you?’

This person before her was someone Sorcha had never seen. Even at his most dismissive, judging…this cold creature hadn’t existed. A thousand miles gaped between this man and the man who’d taken her for lunch, the man who had kissed her.

He moved closer, and Sorcha tried to move back but the wall was in her way. She wanted to apologise, wanted to tell him that he was scaring her.

‘Did Maud tell you that my mother was addicted to opium since she was a child growing up in Vietnam?’

Sorcha, horribly mesmerized by his nearness and eyes, just shook her head.

‘Did Maud tell you that she lived her whole life in a drug-fuelled haze?’

Again she shook her head, horror spreading through her. He came even closer. She could feel his body now, his chest moving up and down against hers, and to her utter self-loathing she could feel herself respond, her nipples tightening.

‘Did she tell you that she only came out of it long enough to have me and my older half-brother? To make two unhappy marriages?’

Sorcha couldn’t do anything. He was so close now that she could feel his breath. His head came close and a hand was cupping her jaw, angling her head up to his. Please, she wanted to beg. Stop.

‘Did she tell you that at the age of seventeen I found her dead body? Bloated and almost unrecognisable from an overdose?’

An ache clogged Sorcha’s throat, and her eyes stung. With his hand cupping her jaw she couldn’t move her head. She opened her mouth to try and say something, to reach him, and he took advantage, driving his mouth down on hers, full of pent-up aggression and anger.

Sorcha’s hand had come up to his, to try and take it away, but in her shock she left it there. His words were swirling in her head, but all she could feel was him, wrapping his arms around her again, his tongue dancing erotically with hers. He was relentless, a master of her senses, and she could do nothing but succumb even as she felt a tear trickle out from under one eyelid and down her cheek.

After a long, long moment Romain pulled back with a jerky, violent movement and looked down at her. He shook with reaction—to what he’d just revealed, to what he’d found on Sorcha’s person, and most of all to the way she was making him feel. To the way she held his body in her spell. He could see wetness on her cheek, where a lone tear had left its mark, but instead of inciting concern, he welcomed the hardness that settled in every bone. She was looking up at him with those big eyes. Lips trembling, plump from his kiss. And he would have her. Even though it went against every moral principle he’d held dear. Even though he’d hate himself. Because he couldn’t not.