Bought For The Frenchman's Pleasure Part 14

Unaccustomed to receiving gifts from men, Sorcha didn't know what to do or say, so she took the box and opened it. A huge ruby glowed up at her from velvet folds like a living, breathing thing. Before she could articulate a word Romain had lifted it out and deftly fastened it. It hung on a long chain around her neck. Bare of any other jewellery, with her hair smoothed back behind her ears and falling down her back in a sleek black curtain, she did look perfect.

'Romain, I can't wear this. It must have cost a fortune.'

'Cost doesn't matter,' he dismissed arrogantly. 'Wear it for me. Please?'

She felt torn, all her instincts shouting at her to take it off. But she just gave a small nod.

He took her hand in his and led her from the room. She grabbed a small black bag and wrap as she went.

When they stood in the lift as it made its descent, Romain's eyes couldn't stray from Sorcha. He'd never seen her look more stunning. Her simple black silk dress had a deep vee halter neck, and was completely backless, showing off her pale skin, unblemished and silky smooth. It fell in soft swirling folds to her knees, and deep red, almost scarlet high heels added a splash of colour. But wasn't that her? She always surprised-never did the completely conventional thing. The ruby glowed and shone as it swayed with the movement of the lift, nestled between the firm globes of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

The trip to the venue for the party-a very well-known hotel right beside the Place de la Concorde-was made largely in silence. The air that surrounded Sorcha seemed to hum with some indefinable energy. She was aware of Romain on the seat beside her, and his every minute movement seemed a thousand times bigger, more momentous. At one stage he reached across and took her hand. Pressed a kiss to the inside of her palm. It was the third time he'd kissed her like that, taking her breath away. To look into his eyes so deeply was torture, and yet she couldn't look away.

The car slid to a smooth halt and they got out, Romain helping her with a firm hand. Suddenly Sorcha was blinded by the sudden flas.h.i.+ng of a thousand cameras. Shouts and incoherent questions were hurled their way.

'Romain-Romain!'

He hurried her through the crush and into the foyer, and when they got in she couldn't stop the uncontrollable shaking that had taken over her body. Those few seconds of flas.h.i.+ng cameras had taken her back in time as if it was yesterday.

Romain made a gesture to someone that Sorcha didn't see, and led her over to a quiet corner. He sat her down on a seat and bent down on his haunches before her, looking up into her too pale face.

'Are you OK?'

She half nodded and shrugged, feeling his strength wrap itself around her. His two hands held hers and the heat was beginning to seep through, the chill leaving her body. She nodded again, more forcefully this time.

'I'm sorry. I just got a fright. I'm not used to that kind of reception-or at least I haven't been since...'

Romain looked grim. 'I'm sorry, I should have warned you. Come on, let's go inside. I'll get you a brandy.'

He pulled her up and, keeping a firm hold on her, walked her to the closed doors that led inside. For a second he stopped and looked down at her, to check if she was OK, and when he did she looked up at him. She gave a small smile and squeezed his hand gently, telling him what he needed to know with her eyes, and the sense of deja vu that washed through him made stars dance in front of his eyes. This was the moment-this was what he'd been imagining in New York...

Sorcha, thinking he was waiting for her, tugged at his hand, and they went inside to a huge room which was already thronged with what looked like all of Paris. She wasn't aware of the slightly sh.e.l.l shocked look that had crossed Romain's face. She was fighting against the urge she had to sink into his side, clutch his hand for ever. She'd never had this level of protection before, and it felt far too seductive and irresistible. She had to remember that after tonight she wouldn't have it any more.

In the lavish ballroom, Romain didn't let Sorcha out of his protective sight. She chatted and joked with the crew, and other people she knew who'd been involved in the campaign, but her heart felt as heavy as a stone.

Some hours after arriving, close to the end of the evening, Romain grabbed her hand in a fierce grip. She stifled a gasp and looked up to his face. He was ashen, and looking at something, or someone, she couldn't see.

'What is it?'

He didn't even seem to be aware that he was crus.h.i.+ng her hand in his.

He muttered something unintelligible, and Sorcha asked again, 'Romain, what is it?'

'My brother,' he said, so faintly that she had to strain to hear him. 'My brother is here.'

Now she understood. She recalled what he had told her. Before Sorcha could speak again, or ask any questions, he muttered something, let her hand go and strode off into the throng.

Left alone for a moment, telling herself it was silly to feel so bereft, Sorcha went to the bar to get some water.

They had shown a rough cut of the commercial and Sorcha had to admit that it wasn't like anything out at the moment. It was whimsical and dreamy, and the shots from India looked fantastically exotic.

Sipping at the water, Sorcha turned when she felt a tap on her shoulder. A very beautiful blonde woman stood there, as tall as Sorcha, in a red gown which plunged daringly low, showing a more than generous cleavage. Sorcha could see immediately that she'd had work done-her face looked a little too perfect. Her eyes were blue, and glittered with a hard light. Her red lips curved in an unfriendly smile, and Sorcha's own immediate smile faltered.

'You are Sorcha? The latest woman in Romain's life?'

Sorcha flushed deeply at the woman's rudeness, at the nerve she'd struck. She knew without doubt that she meant nothing good.

'I really don't see that that's any of your business.'

The other woman looked her up and down. 'Ah, but you see it is. Because if it wasn't for me you wouldn't be here tonight with him.'

Sorcha made a move to get away. Feeling as vulnerable as she did, the last thing she wanted was to deal with some ex-lover of Romain's.

The other woman stopped her by planting herself straight in front of Sorcha. Hemmed in by someone at her back, she couldn't move.

'Please excuse me.'

The woman arched a brow. 'You're not even curious as to who I might be?'

'Not really,' Sorcha answered, her eyes searching for and finding Romain. She found him easily enough. He was with a smaller man. They looked quite similar, and she realized that the man must be his brother. The other woman's face came close, and Sorcha could smell spirits on her breath. She shrank back.

'That man that he's with. That's his brother. My husband.'

Sorcha looked again, despite herself. The other man's face was fleshy and mottled. She could see that from across the room. And middle age hadn't been kind to him. He had a definite paunch, and his hair was thinning on top.

'Not as handsome as Romain, is he?'

Sorcha flushed again, and tried to move.

'The ironic thing is, you see, I chose Marc over Romain. All those years ago Marc was the handsome one, the one with the prospects. As I'm sure you know, they had different fathers, so my full t.i.tle is d.u.c.h.esse de Courcy. Romain could only have offered me the t.i.tle of Comtesse, and I was greedy...'

Sorcha went very still. The woman looked at Sorcha again, and utter hatred was in her eyes. Years of bitterness. Anger. Sorcha could see it a mile away-and she had an awful feeling she now knew exactly who she was.

'You...you were Romain's fiancee, weren't you?'

The woman laughed. 'He told you about me? How sweet. Did he tell you how heartbroken he was? How when he came in and found me on top of his brother he went white and proceeded to get blind drunk for a whole week?'

Sorcha was beginning to feel sick. But the woman was relentless.

'I ruined him for anyone else. Me. I may never have him now, but at least no one else will either-'

'Martine. Your husband is looking for you. I think it's time to leave.'

Romain materialised out of thin air and practically frog-marched Martine over to his brother. Someone escorted them out of the room.

On legs that felt none too steady, Sorcha went to find her bag and wrap. Two hands encircled her waist, bringing her back into contact with a hard, familiar body. She twisted around in his arms and looked up at him accusingly.

'You told me she was dead.' Hurt made her voice husky.

He shook his head. 'I said she was dead to me. I had no idea they would be here. But my brother heard about it on the grapevine and needed another hand-out...'

'That woman is poisonous, Romain. How could you have ever-?'

'Believe me, I ask myself that question every time I see her.' His face was carved from stone.

Sorcha felt cold inside. 'Your whole life, Romain...You do this...pursue beautiful women...it's all to get back at her, isn't it? Some sort of petty revenge?'

'Don't be crazy.'

Sorcha shook her head. Her insides were crumbling. 'It's not crazy. She said that because she'd rejected you, you wouldn't let anyone else have you-and it's true.'

Sorcha could feel the tension in his frame as he held her. His mouth was a slash of a line.

'Don't try to psychoa.n.a.lyse me, Sorcha. And you're completely wrong. I look at that woman now and she fills me with disgust.'

'Yes, perhaps. But that doesn't stop how you allow her to keep affecting your behaviour.'

Her words hung in the air between them. They cut close to the bone. But Romain didn't want to poison the air with thoughts of Martine now. He pulled Sorcha close-close enough so that she could feel his arousal press against her.

Like a well trained mechanism, her body leapt into joyful response, totally going against the will her head was trying to impose on it.

One more night...that's all you have and then he'll move on. But for tonight he's yours...

Fighting an internal battle so strong that for one brief moment she thought she did have the strength to walk away, Sorcha quickly knew that her weak side had won out. The weak side that wanted, above all else, one more night with this man. So she allowed him to pull her even closer. And stared up into his eyes.

'Let's get out of here.'

The following morning, very early, Sorcha slid from the bed. Behind her, amongst the rumpled sheets, lay the languid and relaxed form of Romain's body. A sheet strategically hid the powerful centre of his manhood. His face looked younger in repose. Relaxed. Lashes curling darkly onto dark cheeks.

Sorcha's heart twisted so much in her chest that she almost made a sound. He s.h.i.+fted slightly and she held her breath. And then, when he didn't wake, stealthily she picked up her things and crept from his room back to her own, down the corridor...

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

Two Weeks Later 'AND it's with great pleasure that I now declare this Dublin Youth Outreach Centre...' Sorcha bent and cut the blue ribbon over the door with a flourish '...open!'

It was amazing, really, she marvelled, how the human body and mind could conceal pain from everyone around them. Everyone was clapping and cheering, party poppers were going off, flashbulbs were flas.h.i.+ng, TV cameras were whirring. This was a moment of great personal joy. She had done this single-handedly, with no help from anyone except herself-not even a penny from Tiarnan-so why was it all she could think about was the lonely ache in her heart?

'Sorcha, well done! You've done such a brilliant thing...and what a coup, getting the Prime Minister to launch it with you!'

Sorcha smiled as people filed past her into the centre, where the champagne was already flowing, giving their congratulations along the way. She'd got a call from Tiarnan that morning, to say good luck and that he was sorry he wouldn't be able to make it. Sorcha hadn't been surprised, but still it hurt that she had no one here to share this with her. Even Katie had had to cancel her flight at the last minute, as Maud had begged her to take on a job which, with her usual dramatics, had meant life or death.

She greeted the last person to go in. The news crews were packing up gear to bring it inside. So what if she was alone again?

Something across the road snagged her gaze...Sorcha's breath stopped right there in her throat as she watched a tall, dark man uncoil his body from a parked car across the road.

She had to be imagining things...Was she so distraught that she was hallucinating?

But as she blinked and watched it was unmistakably, without a doubt, Romain de Valois crossing the road. And the first thing that happened was that a huge lump in came to her throat. Of all her loved ones she'd want here, it had to be her unrequited love who came.

By the time he had crossed the road she had herself under some kind of control. When he stopped in front of her, she looked up and couldn't read his face. It was expressionless, and his eyes were hidden behind dark gla.s.ses, making him look even more mysterious, handsome. A dark suit and blue s.h.i.+rt made him look austere, formal. Her heart hammered like a piston.

He gestured with his head, as if he were looking her up and down behind those shades. 'Very demure...for a woman who leaves a man in the middle of the night without even a note.'

His voice and that accent caused such an immediate reaction in her blood that she almost swayed. He must be referring to her outfit. She'd dressed relatively conservatively today, knowing that some elements of the press would be out to get her. In a grey pencil skirt, white high-necked blouse, her hair tied back in a ponytail and her gla.s.ses on, her only concession to fas.h.i.+on or frivolity were the black fishnet tights and eye-wateringly high black heels.

Her chin tipped up, her eyes clear, belying the whirlpool her stomach had become. 'It was the morning, actually, and I thought you'd prefer a clean break.'

One brow arched up. 'Oh, did you, now? How considerate.'

He took the gla.s.ses off and finally she could see his eyes. But they too were cool, expressionless. Even so, joy at seeing him again ripped through her and held her captive. She hoped the extra make-up she'd had to put on covered the shadows under her eyes. She was so pale she couldn't get away with anything.

'Now is not the time or place to discuss your leaving. I believe you have a speech to give?'

Her speech!

She'd forgotten everything-where she was, what she was doing.

Romain took her lightly under the elbow and led her into the centre, where everyone was chatting loudly. The TV crews had set up and were indeed waiting patiently for her to speak. Nerves threatened to attack her, and for a brief moment Romain wasn't the centre of her universe. But knowing that he was there emboldened her. She didn't care about how or why he was there-just drew on his strength because she needed someone.

When she stood up, her voice faltered at first. But then she saw Romain at the back of the room. He nodded at her, telling her without words that she was OK, that she could do this. And she did. She made a very impa.s.sioned speech, telling a little of her own history, how lost she'd felt as a young person. There was a long moment of silence when she finished, and then huge, raucous applause.

For some time afterwards she was swept into interviews and photos and conversations. And every time she looked for Romain she saw him chatting to someone different. He wasn't brooding in a corner, as she might have expected. At one point she looked over and he was throwing his head back, laughing at something someone had said. It made her heart swell and soar.

And she had to be very careful. Because if he had come just to pick up their physical relations.h.i.+p, then she wasn't interested. And she was quite sure he wasn't interested in anything else.

'So. What are you doing here?'

They were walking out of the centre. It had turned dark outside. Sorcha's heels sounded loud in the quiet of the empty city street.

He didn't answer. 'I'll give you a lift home.'

'You don't know where I live.'

'You should know by now that I know everything.'

Sorcha gave in wearily. His arrogance was by now wholly usual. He led her to his car and, much to her chagrin, he did know exactly where she lived. He drove there as if he knew the city better than herself. When she got out, he got out too, and followed her to her door. She turned as she slid the key in the lock.

'Look, if you've come here just to-'

'I've come here to talk to you.'