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  While Marnie fills in her details, I shuffle back to the portraits and set about studying them for a second time. I could spend all evening trying to work out what’s going on behind those strange expressions, but then I’d get no work done. And I still have that manuscript to read...

  ‘Shit!’ I realise awe and wonder have stripped me of all presence of mind.

  ‘What’s up?’ Marnie asks, dropping the pen.

  ‘I’ve left the manuscript in the car.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I need it.’

  ‘No, you don’t.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Because if I keep my head down and appear busy, nobody’s going to bother me.

  ‘Christophe’s driver isn’t going anywhere.’

  ‘He might need petrol.’ I wave a hand. ‘Or a burger.’

  Without waiting for Marnie’s reply, I race back out through the main doors. I haven’t even made it to the top of the steps when I slam into something. Vaguely aware of a crunching sound, I rebound a little, totter to one side, lose my balance and finally collapse onto my knees.

  ‘Bollocks.’ I stare at a pair of black leather boots. ‘Sorry.’

  Raking up from the boots, past a pair of leather trousers and a leather jacket, I find myself staring at a face that wouldn’t go amiss on a magazine cover. With a crop of ruffled black hair, a pair of deep brown eyes and a rugged, slightly unshaven look, there’s no doubt about it: the man I’ve just barrelled into is off-the-scale handsome...and totally out of my league. Which is why it’s totally pointless when a flood of chemicals cause heart valves to flap, my pulse to set off on a roller-coaster ride, and both lungs to suddenly halve in size.

  ‘Oh,’ I gasp, realising I’ve no idea what to say next, largely on account of the fact I’ve been hijacked by lust, and I can’t stop staring at his lips, which is hardly surprising seeing as they’re soft, sensuous, and utterly kissable.

  ‘Are you okay?’ they ask.

  I sense a tremor deep inside. Good grief. That voice. All deep and rich and husky, it could turn a woman to mush.

  ‘Er...yes.’ And I mustn’t turn to mush. ‘Fine,’ I squeak, trying to shake some sense into my head.

  He says nothing else. Instead, he locks his hands around my arms and helps me back to my feet. Within seconds, I’m staring at his chest, realising that he must be well over six feet tall, because although I’m five feet six and wearing a pair of heels, I still have to look up to find his eyes. And when I do, I’m in deeper trouble still, because they’re absolutely stunning: smooth and rich and silky, deep, dark pools criss-crossed here and there with delicate coffee swirls; tiny black spindles radiating out through chocolate irises. In an instant, I’m mesmerised...and I’m beginning to suspect the magic’s working both ways. If there were any semblance of normality, he’d let me go now, step back and apologise in the most gentlemanly of ways.

  But he doesn’t.

  ‘Do I...’ My voice cracks with nerves, and it’s nothing to do with some insane, instantaneous physical attraction. No. It’s brought on by a new notion materialising in my brain, bringing with it an unmistakable sense of unease. ‘Do I know you?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  Well, he’s certainly not a politician, and definitely not royalty. I can only suppose I’ve seen him on television, maybe in films. I’m digging through possibilities when he looks away, down to the right. I follow the direction of his gaze, spotting a motorbike helmet lounging on the gravel.

  ‘Shit.’ Well, that accounts for the crunching sound. I must have knocked it out of his hands. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  With a shrug, he releases me and descends the steps, moving in an effortlessly sexy way that threatens to whisk me into a lather. I watch him lean down to pick up the helmet, slaver over his obviously pert backside, decide his buttocks must be as hard as granite, and finally give myself a good mental slap for being a shallow, filthy-minded, lecherous pervert.

  ‘Is it okay?’ I ask.

  He straightens up, examines the helmet and brushes a hand across its surface. ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘I can pay for any damage.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’

  Totally self-possessed, he mounts the steps again. I’m fully expecting him to push straight past, but he stops right in front of me, a little too close for comfort.

  ‘Did you hurt yourself?’

  ‘Yes. I mean no.’ God, I’m babbling. ‘No. I didn’t hurt myself.’

  I’m jolted out of idiot mode by the roar of an engine. Peering past Motorbike Man, I find Christophe’s Mercedes pulling out of its parking spot. Just as I’d feared, the driver’s probably off for a sneaky burger.

  ‘Bugger!’ Temporarily forgetting the god of a man in front of me, I scurry down the steps. ‘Oi!’ I shout. ‘Don’t go! I need my bag!’

  Desperate to rescue the manuscript, I’m far too busy hurtling after the car and banging on the driver’s window to notice anything else. By the time I’ve rescued the bag and scuttled back to the steps, Motorbike Man’s disappeared, leaving me to scour the car park in disappointment. No sign of a motorbike. He must have taken me for a complete lunatic, and made a break for it.

  I’m still in a daze when I re-join Marnie in the entrance hall.

  ‘Ah, you’ve got your bag,’ Celine notes. ‘Come with me. I’ll show you both to the bar.’

  We’re shepherded through the doors to the right, straight into a vast, opulent space that stuns us both to a halt. And then, while we gawp and gasp at our surroundings, Celine makes a quiet exit.

  ‘Fuck me,’ Marnie mutters.

  ‘I wouldn’t say that too loud,’ I laugh. ‘Not here. You never know what might happen.’

  ‘But look at it.’

  ‘I am looking at it.’

  All of it.

  I’m looking at the highly polished tiles beneath my feet and an open set of floor-to-ceiling bi-folds at the far end of the room. I’m looking at the gold chandeliers above my head, and a series of risqué paintings adorning cream-coloured walls alongside gilt-framed mirrors. I’m looking at wisely chosen antique ornaments on shelves and sideboards and occasional tables, at vases brimming over with fresh white roses. I’m looking at luxury, pure and simple. And finally, I’m looking at the bar. A long, carved mahogany number stretching almost the full width of the room, it’s staffed by two immaculately dressed bar-tenders...and it’s calling to me.

  ‘Can we get a drink now?’ I ask.

  ‘In a minute. There’s Christophe.’

  While Marnie weaves a path through various gatherings of leather armchairs, I follow in her wake, nodding to a handful of fairly normal-looking people along the way, relieved to find that where I’d expected latex, leather, rubber and chains, I’m presented with nothing more than designer dresses and expensive suits. By the time we reach Christophe’s table, he’s already on his feet, greeting us with a broad grin.

  ‘I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,’ he says, giving Marnie a chaste kiss on the cheek before he turns to me. ‘Ella. So glad you could make it.’ He takes my hand and plants a firm kiss on it.

  Fighting back a grimace, I wonder – yet again – what on earth Marnie sees in him. In his mid-thirties, with charcoal hair and slate-grey eyes, he’s certainly handsome, in a rakish sort of way. And from the two previous occasions I’ve encountered him up close – once on an evening out, and once for lunch – I know he’s friendly enough, intelligent, attentive to Marnie, interested in everyone he meets. And on top of that, he speaks English almost like a native, with a French accent that’s not overly thick. Some women might find it sexy – Marnie certainly does – but it has no effect on me. In fact, in spite of all the plusses, there’s something about this man that puts me on my guard.

  ‘Please, ladies, take a seat.’

  He moves to my side, manoeuvring an armchair into place. One of his two companions stands and does the same for Marnie. As soon as we’re all seate
d, Christophe raises a hand, signals for a waitress to approach and manages a drinks order.

  And then he spots my bag. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘A bit of reading,’ I explain. ‘Work-related.’

  ‘You’ve brought work with you?’

  I glance at my companions, discovering a look of amusement on every face.

  ‘This isn’t really a place for work, Ella,’ Christophe laughs. ‘More a place for relaxation and pleasure.’

  If he thinks that’s enough to get me throwing caution to the wind and taking part in an orgy, he’s got another think coming.

  ‘Reading is enough relaxation and pleasure for me,’ I assure him.

  ‘Perhaps you’re too nervous to try?’

  ‘It just doesn’t interest me.’

  ‘Nobody’s going to force you into anything.’ He leans over and kisses Marnie’s shoulder. ‘But you shouldn’t knock it before you try it.’

  ‘It’s just not for me. I’ll be fine. I’ll probably just...’ I wave to the open windows, ‘sit out there.’

  ‘Your choice.’ He smiles, reminding me of a shark revealing its teeth. ‘Your drinks are all on my tab. Talking of which...’

  The waitress returns, placing a flute of champagne in front of Marnie and a huge glass of white wine in front of me. Immediately, I pick up the glass and slug back a mouthful: although I’ve resolved not to indulge in any sexual shenanigans tonight, I’m still in need of fortification. And while Christophe sets about presenting his two companions – the CEO of a PR company and a barrister – I take a few more sips. By the time he decides to introduce the females at the table, I’m almost half-way down the glass.

  ‘This is Marnie Little, Editorial Assistant for Children’s Books at Phillips.’

  ‘Not for much longer,’ Marnie grumbles.

  ‘Out of my control, my sweet.’ He gestures to me. ‘And Ella Fairbrother, Assistant Editor for Romance.’

  We spend the next few minutes dragging our heels through a thoroughly inane discussion of favourite books, after which conversation veers off in the general direction of club gossip. While Marnie listens intently, I slug back the rest of my wine, catch the attention of a waitress...and order another.

  ‘I see Sebastian’s got a new henchman.’ The barrister nods to the bar. ‘Whatever happened to Alex? Did you find out?’

  Christophe shrugs. ‘Some disagreement over pay. He moved abroad. Didn’t have much choice. Five years of working for Sebastian, and he couldn’t even get a reference.’

  ‘That must have been some disagreement.’

  ‘Let’s just say he caught Sebastian at a bad time.’

  ‘I heard rumours.’ The barrister lifts his drink. ‘Someone’s been chasing the dragon again.’

  Christophe tuts loudly. ‘Scurrilous rumours, my friend. You know this place has a strict policy on that sort of thing.’

  ‘Like it makes any difference,’ the barrister says. ‘So, this new one?’

  ‘Ned. Some sort of SAS reject. That’s all I know.’

  ‘How very dull,’ the CEO interjects, rising to his feet. ‘I don’t know about you, but I think it’s assignation time. I’ll see you ladies later.’

  I watch him join a couple of women at the bar. Leaning into them, he says something that makes their eyes light up.

  ‘Well, I can’t let him have both to himself,’ the barrister laughs. ‘Nice to have met you both.’

  Getting up, he follows his associate, leaving the three of us to sit in an awkward silence that’s thankfully broken by the arrival of the waitress.

  ‘Another?’ Marnie demands. ‘I didn’t see you order that.’

  ‘You were too busy singing the praises of The Famous Five.’

  ‘Don’t get drunk,’ she warns.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure Ella can handle a couple of drinks.’ Christophe finishes off his whisky. ‘Now, ma petite, shall we go and enjoy ourselves?’

  She throws me a glance that seems to say, ‘What the hell am I doing?’ I shrug in return.

  ‘Yes,’ she says, her voice suddenly small.

  ‘Then allow me to introduce you to a whole new world.’ He stands. ‘Room four. Join me when you’re ready. See you later, Ella. Enjoy your work.’

  I watch him saunter out of the bar. And then I look at my friend.

  ‘This is weird, isn’t it?’ she asks.

  ‘You’ve only just noticed?’

  We break into laughter.

  ‘Go on,’ I urge her. ‘Go and have some fun. I’ll just make believe I’m in an upmarket hotel, sit outside, drink expensive wine and read my manuscript.’

  ‘Do not get wasted,’ she warns again.

  ‘Not happening,’ I snap.

  ‘I just want to see you happy again.’

  ‘I’m alright,’ I reassure her. ‘Back on track.’

  Which is a lie. And we both know it.

  ‘Right.’ Getting up, Marnie straightens her dress and sucks in a huge, jittery breath. ‘Here we go. To infinity and beyond.’ Biting her bottom lip, she weaves an uncertain path towards the entrance hall.

  Finally left alone, I gaze through the bi-fold doors to a terrace area. It seems deserted out there, and that’s exactly what I want. Picking up my glass and bag, I make my way outside.

  Chapter Two

  As soon as I step through the doors, I falter...because the terrace isn’t deserted at all. Over to the right, out of sight of the bar, two men are deep in conversation. I’m tempted to retreat inside, but the fact that they’re fully engaged in each other’s company persuades me to stick to my guns. Heading for a table at the far end of the lit veranda, I settle in for the evening. And with the babble of conversation muted from here, I can almost forget what’s going on behind me. Slowly, very slowly, I begin to relax, resigning myself to waiting out a strange situation and silently resolving never again to land myself in a pickle like this. A waitress arrives, offering a fresh glass of wine. And then, under the mild heat of a patio heater, I dig out my iPad and dive into the manuscript. Before long, I’m oblivious to anything but the story. I have no idea how much time has passed when I’m jolted back to reality.

  ‘You okay?’

  I find myself presented with the second utterly scrumptious man of the evening – this place must be infested with them. Tall, lean and dressed in a pair of jeans and a shirt, he bears an uncanny resemblance to Motorbike Man. But I seem to have used up my lust quota for the night, because his good looks just don’t have the same effect.

  ‘Fine, thanks.’

  ‘You’re not familiar. Are you here with someone?’

  ‘My friend. She’s…erm...’ I glance back at the doors.

  ‘Left you alone?’

  ‘She’s got things to do.’ I shrug, embarrassed, because we both know exactly what sort of ‘things’ I’m referring to.

  ‘I bet she does. But I can’t have you sitting out here all on your own.’ He offers a hand. ‘Sebastian Delaney. I own this place.’

  ‘Oh.’ I reach up and shake the hand, my brain firing into life. This must be the Sebastian Christophe and his friends were talking about, the one who doesn’t give references to his staff. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  He calls to the second man. ‘Max! Over here!’

  His companion turns...and my heart stalls.

  Shit. No. It’s him. Mr Hotness himself.

  ‘Come on, Max,’ Sebastian taunts. ‘Don’t be a party-pooper! This lady’s all on her own.’

  ‘No, no, I’m fine,’ I protest, but it’s too late because Sebastian’s already taken a seat opposite me, and Max is on his feet. No longer in leathers, he’s now dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a long-sleeved jersey top.

  ‘I suppose we ought to do this formally,’ Sebastian says. ‘Allow me to introduce my big brother, Max.’

  ‘Brother?’

  Synapses fire. Connections are made...and I wince. If he’d been wearing a suit and had a shave, and if I hadn’t been caught off-guard by a surprise collisi
on, I would have stood a better chance. But now I know exactly why Mr Hotness seemed so familiar. He’s none other than Max Delaney, eldest son of Philip Delaney, owner of DelCorp: the vast monster of a media empire that recently swallowed up the publishing house I work for, the monster that’s in the process of decimating everything I love.

  ‘Nice to meet you.’ I force a nervous smile.

  While Max takes a seat to my right, I silently will the physical attraction to take a hike, but it’s another pointless exercise. As soon as he leans back in his chair and makes eye contact, I’m rendered speechless, imagining those lips firmly pressed against mine, those big hands holding my body tight; skin on skin, warmth on warmth, electric shocks coursing through every last nerve and fibre as he takes me...mercilessly. I close my eyes for a second or two, desperately trying to fight back the lust, but it isn’t easy. The trouble is, this fire was ignited before I knew who he was, and it’s not that easy to extinguish, not for me at any rate. But as for Max Delaney, not only has he changed his outfit since I last met him, he’s also apparently changed his entire attitude. The interest is gone, and now he’s studying me with what I can only describe as a cold disdain, which is more than enough to raise my hackles.

  ‘Again,’ he mutters.

  I look away, thinking back to the research I did when rumours of a take-over first leaked, wishing I’d spent less time on the father and more on the son. From the few pictures I saw on the internet, I remember thinking he was handsome, but nothing prepared me for just how stunning he is in the flesh...or how rude.

  ‘And you are?’ he demands.

  Well, at least he hasn’t recognised me. And it’s not surprising, seeing as I’m now buried away on the thirty-fifth floor of the Delaney headquarters while he’s lording it about at the top, barely showing an interest in the empire he’s in line to take over. I’m sure he wouldn’t recognise my name if he heard it, but better safe than sorry. So, what is my name? Brenda? Sharon? Edna? In a complete panic, I glance at the trellis dividing the veranda from the car park.