The Marriage Deal

‘Yes, of course,’ Sandrine responded, warming to Stephanie’s faintly wicked smile.

‘I can understand you keeping him under wraps. Where did you find him?’

‘New York. We married in Paris.’

‘Ah, the universal city for lovers.’

Sandrine felt a shiver slither its way over the surface of her skin as she experienced instant recall of the city, the ambience. The magic. Paris in the spring, when the grey skies cleared and everything came alive. As her heart had when she first met Michel.

An ache centred in the region of her diaphragm, intensifying as memories surfaced. Memories that had held such promise, so much love, she’d imagined their lives together were inviolate and forever entwined.

The stuff of which fantasies are made, she reflected wryly. With little basis in reality.

‘Tony is on his best behaviour.’

Sandrine summoned a quick smile. Something that was becoming a habit as the evening progressed. ‘The future of the film is at stake.’

‘Is it?’

The query bore a certain quizzical humour as if Stephanie had already concluded the injection of essential finance was a done deal.

It was, although Sandrine wondered what the marketing manager’s reaction would be if she discovered the reason for Michel’s investment.

‘Okay. So the rest of us get to sweat it out a little longer.’

Sandrine looked suitably enigmatic until Stephanie gave a low, throaty chuckle.

‘You can’t say I didn’t try.’ The attractive blonde spared a glance at her watch. ‘I’m going to have to leave soon.’

‘A date?’

‘With a baby-sitter who can only stay until ten,’ the marketing manager replied with a touch of cynicism.

‘Divided loyalties?’

‘No contest. My daughter wins out every time.’ She quickly scanned the room, then lowered her voice to a confidential tone. ‘Your husband has escaped from Tony and is heading this way. Impressive beast, isn’t he?’

Beast was an apt description. Although not in the context Stephanie implied. ‘Tony, or Michel?’

She met Stephanie’s direct look with equanimity, glimpsed the momentary speculation before it was quickly masked and cast her a wicked smile.

‘Surely you jest?’

Sandrine refrained from responding as Michel loomed close.

She felt her body stiffen in anticipation of his touch and she unconsciously held her breath, only releasing it when he made no attempt at physical contact.

‘Michel, you’ve met Stephanie?’ she managed smoothly.

‘Yes. We shared an interesting discussion on marketing techniques.’

‘Albeit that it was brief.’

‘Something we will correct, n’est-ce pas?’

Oh, my, he was good. The right amount of interest, the desired element of charm, with hard business acumen just visible beneath the surface.

‘It will be a pleasure,’ Stephanie accorded, then she excused herself, and Sandrine watched as she talked briefly to Tony before exiting the room.

‘She is a friend?’

The mildness of Michel’s voice didn’t deceive her. ‘Actors have little to do with the business heads.’

‘Am I to assume, then, that tonight is the first time you’ve met?’

She cast him a mocking glance. ‘Would you like me to give you a run-down on everyone at this soiree? Whom I speak to, touch?’ She paused a beat. ‘Kiss?’

‘Careful,’ Michel warned silkily. ‘You’re treading dangerous ground.’

‘In the name of one’s craft, of course,’ she added, and derived a degree of personal satisfaction at the way his eyes narrowed.

‘If I thought otherwise,’ he drawled, ‘I’d carry you kicking and screaming onto the first plane out of here.’

‘Neanderthal tactics belong to a distant civilisation.’

‘Neanderthal and civilised do not mesh, chérie. Persist in baiting me, and I’ll show you just how uncivilised I can be.’

Her chin lifted, and her eyes remained remarkably steady as they clashed with his. ‘Too late, mon amant. I’ve already been there, remember?’

‘I retain a vivid memory of a little wildcat who threw a few objects at me in temper.’

Expensive Waterford crystal. An inkwell, a paperweight and a small clock decorating the antique desk in his study.

At the time she’d been too angry to care, but afterwards she’d experienced a pang of regret for the exquisite crystal items that formed part of a desk set. And the panelled wall they’d collided with before falling to the marble floor to shatter in glittering shards when Michel deftly moved out of the line of fire.

Now, as she reviewed her explosive reaction, she felt ashamed for having displayed such a lack of control.

‘You provoked me.’

‘It was reciprocal.’

Words. His, cool and controlled, whereas hers had been the antithesis of calm. Yet equally hurtful, uttered in frustrated anger.

‘Space and time, Michel?’ Sandrine queried with a trace of bitterness. ‘In which to cool down and pretend it never happened?’

‘I imagined we’d already resolved the situation.’

The gold flecks in her eyes became more pronounced as she held on to her anger. Twin flags of colour highlighted her cheekbones as the memory of the very physical sex they’d shared immediately afterwards came vividly to mind. On top of his magnificent antique desk. Hard, no-holds-barred sex, libidinous, barbaric and totally wild. Afterwards he’d cradled her close and carried her upstairs, bathed and gently towelled her dry, then he’d taken her to bed where he made exquisite love long into the night.