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

She sank back onto the bed. Her heart was racing. Two weeks—two weeks of suffering under his condemning looks. Could she do it?

Lisa’s face flashed into her head. And also the outreach centre. In the last week, working intensively with the board at the centre, she’d realised that the money she’d earn from this job could go straight into that and would more than cover the first few months’ overheads. It would mean that the centre would have absolutely every possible chance to succeed and flourish…especially as she’d been planning on her involvement being pro bono.

She had no choice. She was here now. For better or worse. And she would just have to keep in mind all the people who would benefit from this when things got rough.

‘It’s a love story…the images will run together almost like a short film.’

Sorcha choked slightly, her attention suddenly and spectacularly brought back into the huge dining room where she sat with Simon, the film cameraman, Dominic, the photographer, and Romain, who sat across the table, his huge taut body lounging against a high-backed antique chair.

The moment she’d walked into the room some minutes before, all her recent rationalising had fled out of the window. Her entire focus had been taken by him—again. She’d noticed in a flash that he’d just had a shower. The clean crisp scent had hit her so strongly that she’d imagined everyone must be able to smell it. His hair was still damp, furrowed from where he’d obviously run fingers through it. And yet when she’d looked at him he’d been practically glacial, those grey eyes as cold as the nearby ocean.

She caught herself and modulated her tone. ‘I’m sorry, Simon, can you say that again?’

The cameraman was a nice guy. From London. Good looking, a little cocky, dressed in a very trendily casual way. But he didn’t come close to the class that Romain exuded so effortlessly. And she hated that she’d noticed that.

‘As Simon said, the stills will run as one campaign and the film will be shown in a series of thirty-second commercials, the sequence building up the story.’

Reluctantly she looked to Romain, who had spoken. So far the photographer hadn’t said anything. But Sorcha knew him well from years ago. He’d been on the periphery of the group she’d hung out with for that brief, yet catastrophic time, and although he hadn’t been directly involved she hadn’t mistaken the knowing, mocking glance in his eyes. She knew his type, and usually steered well clear. It seemed, however, as if she wouldn’t be able to get too far away this time.

She sighed. The weeks ahead were becoming more challenging than she could ever have imagined.

She deliberately focused her attention on Simon, the least threatening of the men in the room at that moment. ‘I’m sorry, would you mind explaining a little more?’

He smiled with an infectious grin, which she welcomed as an antidote to the tension she felt. She struggled to concentrate.

‘We follow you as you’re led on a romantic trail, of sorts, around the world. It’ll be a sumptuous, truly global love story. In each place the relationship goes to another level. We see you meet, fall in love, even get married, and it’s all going to be shot with a very moody, dreamlike feel. The last shot will show you and your lover with a family.’

Sorcha’s head spun. She couldn’t look at Romain. For some reason she felt ridiculously exposed—almost as though someone had gone into her deepest fantasies and converted them into a script. And since when had she ever seen herself with a happy family? After the devastation of lies and truths that had followed her father’s death, she’d had a cynical and somewhat jaded view of so-called happy families, distrusting anyone who professed to be part of one. As she and her brother could attest, their realities had been anything but happy.

After a few more minutes going over what they hoped to achieve at this location, Sorcha got up to leave, relieved when it didn’t look as though Romain was going to follow her. He did, however, remind her that dinner would be held in that dining room for all the crew at eight sharp that evening.

She was breathing a sigh of relief when she reached the door, but it didn’t last long when she realised that Dominic was right behind her. He came too close, crowding her as she went through the door, and she automatically stepped away. Everything about him was making some part of her crawl. He wasn’t a bad-looking man—in fact she knew that many would find his boyish looks a turn-on—but he left Sorcha feeling cold. He didn’t take her hint, and fell into step beside her. She cursed herself for heading outside and not upstairs, to the sanctuary of her room.

‘Nice to see you again, Sorch…it’s been years, hasn’t it? Although I’m sure you remember the good old days…Pity you couldn’t handle the pace…’

She deliberately kept her voice light, giving him the briefest of glances. ‘Yes, it has been years, Dominic…It’s nice to see you too. I’m going to go for a walk, so if you don’t mind…’

As she went to walk away, towards the front door, she felt her arm being taken in a none too gentle grip. She whirled around in shock. ‘What do you—?’

Dominic was smiling, but it wasn’t friendly. ‘I do remember the good old days. I remember Christian…don’t you? I saw him recently. When I told him we were working together he told me all about you.’ He looked her up and down. ‘I’m looking forward to getting to know you better—and if you’re looking for anything…anything at all…you know where to find me.’

Sorcha felt disgust and fear fill her belly. She knew exactly what he was talking about. Drugs. She refused to let him bring her back down the path of her dark memories. She pulled her arm free with effort.

‘I’d prefer it if you called me Sorcha. And I won’t be looking for anything at all. I’m here to work. Now, please—’

At that moment she caught a flash of movement in the hall behind Dominic, and saw Romain coming out of the room. She saw him take in the way she was standing so close to Dominic, and imagined that it must look intimate. Without knowing where the desire was coming from she suddenly wanted to make it very clear that it wasn’t. But what could she say or do?

That familiar glower was on his face, and he called curtly for Dominic to come back into the room. Sorcha took advantage and fled out into the sunshine, away from the dark heat of censure in his eyes.

That evening Sorcha looked at the clothes she’d laid out on the bed. Even though tonight wasn’t a formal occasion, she itched to put on something that would assert cool professionalism. Romain scrambled her brain, her senses, and she needed all the armour she could muster. She’d been lacking in control ever since she’d come face to face with him in New York, and it had to stop or she’d never get through the job.

She reached for jeans and flat ballet pumps, and a soft cashmere wraparound cardigan. It didn’t need anything underneath, but the sensual feel of the fabric—why did it suddenly have to feel sensual?—made her team it with a plain white vest top. The deep sapphire colour of the cardigan made her eyes a dark smoky blue. Pulling her hair back and up, she clipped it haphazardly. Stuck on her glasses. She looked at her image, somewhere between a sixteen-year-old cheerleader and a student.

Sticking her tongue out at herself, she ignored the two spots of bright colour on her cheeks and left the room, only to walk smack-bang into a hard, unyielding chest.

CHAPTER SIX (#u96210df4-c053-5fd1-be0c-16231f16d7ef)

THE wind was driven out of her more as a result of her reaction to coming into contact with his hard chest than because of the impact. Sorcha looked up with dazed eyes. Big hands encircled her upper arms and she could feel his body heat enveloping her. They were so close that all she’d have to do was stretch up slightly and her mouth would be close enough to—

With an almost violent movement she pulled free and jerked away, rubbing her arms. She glowered at Romain, who stuck his hands in the pockets of his dark trousers and leant against the doorjamb. A dark shirt made him look dangerous, foreign, in the gloom of the corridor. The grey of his eyes stood out.

Nervously she touched a hand to her glasses. ‘Do you always lurk outside people’s doors? Or were you just afraid I was turning my room into a den of iniquity?’

A smile quirked his mouth up at one side, making him look even more rakishly handsome. She wasn’t ready to face him—had been counting on the space, however brief, between her room and the dining room to gather herself.

‘I was merely coming to escort you downstairs. Everyone is here.’

‘I’m quite capable of walking myself down some stairs.’

He fell into step beside her. She wanted to turn away from his presence but the corridor was old and tiny.

‘Prickly, aren’t you? I hope this means you’re a morning person.’

She scowled at him briefly and preceded him down the stairs.

Romain followed with a thoughtful look on his face. His jaw tightened as his eyes were drawn to the sway of her bottom in the tight, faded jeans. The force of her cannoning into him had shocked him too. Or rather, the feel of her soft breasts crushed against his chest had shocked him—with how badly he’d wanted to walk her back into the room and shut the door behind them.

In the large drawing room everyone was gathered, drinking aperitifs. Local girls in black trousers and white shirts walked through with canapés. Sorcha was relieved to see some familiar faces—and one in particular.

‘Sorcha, you gorgeous girl, come here!’

She was grabbed around the waist and lifted high by a tall, handsome man—the hairstylist. When he finally put her down she was laughing and red-faced. ‘Val! You nearly stopped the blood supply to my middle region.’

‘How is the smartest model in the world?’ He pretended to think for a second. ‘Now, was it a first, or a second? I can’t remember…’

Sorcha punched him playfully. ‘It was Summa Cum Laude to be precise, but really it’s not that amazing, lots of people got the same mark.’

He looked mock-shocked. ‘Maybe so, but you came in the top five of your class, girlfriend. If that isn’t—’

‘What’s this?’

Sorcha’s back straightened. For a brief moment she’d forgotten Romain was right behind her. How much had he heard?

Before she could stop him, Val was fluttering his lashes in his campest mode and chattering with scant regard for discretion. ‘Our girl here has just graduated with flying colours from—’

‘Val, you never showed me your wedding ring.’

Acting on a panicked impulse, desperately counting on Val’s extreme yet lovable self-absorption, Sorcha breathed a sigh of relief when he promptly forgot about relaying her news and proceeded to show off the heavy platinum band, regaling them with stories about his recent marriage in London to his boyfriend. This was all punctuated with hot, heavy looks at Romain, who Sorcha could see was completely unfazed. She’d seen other men driven almost to violence by Val’s unwanted flirtatious attentions, but Romain was so sure of himself that he was totally at ease, bantering back and forth. It made a funny feeling lodge in her chest.