A Very French Affair. Эбби Грин

      It hadn’t been hard to seek her out in the crowd. From her pictures alone she would have been easy to find, apart from the fact that she stood out effortlessly—a pale foil of beauty next to so much artifice and expensively acquired tan.

      He watched the interplay between the two women covertly. He’d heard their laughter before he’d caught sight of her, and had been surprised to find that it had come from his quarry. It had floated across the room and wound its way around his senses. The sparkling smile was still on her face as she talked to her friend. He hated to admit it, but they weren’t like the other models, fawning over the men in the crowd. They looked…like two children in the corner, playing truant. Bizarrely, because he wasn’t given to such whims, it made him want to be a part of it…

      She stood out in every possible way, with long wavy jet-black hair falling below her bare shoulders. In a strapless, high-waisted dress, the pale swell of her bosom hinted at a voluptuousness that was not usual for a top model, and her poise and grace screamed years of practice. The bluest of blue eyes were ringed by dark lashes, and he could see from across the room skin so pale he imagined that up close it would look translucent.

      That niggle of dissatisfaction was coming back even stronger. Not usually given to any kind of introspection, Romain ruthlessly crushed it. Still watching the woman, he found his interest piqued beyond what he’d expected to be purely a quick professional once-over to confirm his own opinion…and even more so because she wasn’t trying to capture his attention. His mouth compressed. That in itself was unusual.

      He’d already decided he didn’t want to use her…especially in light of her past notoriety…but, watching her now, he had to admit that on the face of it she would actually be perfect for what they were looking for. His instincts, honed over many years in the business, told him that in a second. Whether she’d contrived it or not, the smiling, sparkling animation on Sorcha Murphy’s face effortlessly held his regard. Usually within these circles models were always so careful to put on some kind of front that any real expression had long been suppressed—either behaviourally or surgically.

      He felt an almost overwhelming impulse to see her up close, and before he could control himself it had generated a throb of desire that wasn’t usually prompted so arbitrarily. It was a response he couldn’t control and which took him by surprise—again. It had been the last thing he’d expected to feel when faced with her.

      ‘Beautiful, aren’t they? I see that you’ve found her.’

      He started at the low, husky voice that came from his right and was a little shocked at how enthralled he’d become. Had he been that obvious? He quickly schooled his face, but the woman beside him wasn’t fooled, and he was thankful that he knew her well—that it was only she who had noticed his momentarily unguarded few seconds. His mouth quirked before he gave her a kiss on both cheeks, and she mock-fluttered her lashes.

      ‘If I was still capable of blushing, my dear Romain, then I’d be red as a beetroot.’

      ‘I’m sure,’ he quipped dryly. She was at supreme ease in these gilded surroundings, and he couldn’t imagine this veritable woman of steel blushing for anyone or anything.

      ‘So…how are you, ma chére tante?’

      She patted his cheek with her fan—a trademark eccentric accessory—and smiled affectionately. ‘Very well, thank you. We are honoured to have a man of your calibre here. I’m so glad that for once our work interests have dovetailed so neatly as I never see you any more—although I don’t imagine that the promise of a room full of beautiful women would have been any incentive?’

      Romain tutted. ‘First you flatter me, then you show what a low opinion you really have…’

      ‘Hmm,’ she said dryly. ‘With pictures of you in numerous magazines courting what would appear to be every single model in Europe, I can see why you might want to seek out new pastures.’

      He was used to this affectionate, teasing banter, though he would not have tolerated it in a million years from anyone else. He looked absently around the room. His aunt’s words had hit their mark, and he had to curb a defensive desire to tell her exactly how long it had been since he had taken a lover. It didn’t sit well with him to admit that even that area of his life seemed to be suffering.

      Yet Sorcha Murphy stayed in his peripheral vision. It unnerved him, forcing him to say lightly, ‘Now, you of all people should know that you can’t believe everything you read in the press.’

      ‘I don’t know how you keep managing to generate all those billions of yours when you hardly seem to have the time. Always wining and dining—’

      ‘Maud…’ he said warningly, but in a completely unconscious gesture his eyes flicked away briefly to seek out Sorcha again. His aunt couldn’t fail to notice.

      ‘Ah, yes…So, what do you think?’

      He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I’m still not sure…’

      Sometimes the older woman was far too shrewd for her own good. And she knew him too well.

      She continued blithely, ‘Her blonde companion is Kate Lancaster, an old schoolfriend. She’s also one of the highest paid models working in the US—originally from London via Dublin.’

      Romain kept his expression bland with little effort. Years of controlling his emotions, of never allowing anyone to see inside his head came like second nature and dictated his actions. Affecting acute boredom, he ran his eyes over the friend.

      The blonde was indeed exquisite—stunning. A sensual invitation of honeyed, lissome beauty. And…Nothing. No reaction. He had to remind himself his goal wasn’t to pursue personal pleasure tonight. Even if catching his first sight of Sorcha Murphy had driven that thought from his mind and body.

      He flicked his eyes back to Sorcha and felt his entire insides jolt…again…as though given an electric shock. He shrugged negligently, his hooded eyes hiding his reaction.

      His aunt, apparently unaware of his efforts to appear blasé, saw his gaze resting on her. ‘So…does she live up to her portfolio?’

      ‘Of course. I wouldn’t expect anything less from one of your models, Maud.’

      He could feel his aunt preen beside him. She was nothing if not the best in the business for a reason.

      ‘The question remains, however,’ he drawled lightly, ‘if she’s got what it takes for a gruelling campaign, and whether she has in fact reformed from her wild ways…’ He could sense his aunt bristle, and looked down into her flashing eyes. If he cast aspersions on one of her girls, then he cast aspersions on her.

      ‘Romain, I won’t tell you again. That was a long time ago. Not everyone is like your—’

      ‘Maud…’