Exposed: Misbehaving with the Magnate (8 page)

She could. She did. And she hated seeing it laid out so clearly, every fault line and crevasse exposed. ‘I don’t even know how we came to be arguing about this,’ she muttered. ‘It’s just…I see Simone so careful with her questions about my life in Australia, with her feelings still so raw, even after all these years. I see Rafe who can’t even bring himself to speak her name, and all I want to do is make their pain go away.’

‘You can’t,’ said Luc gently. ‘Only they can do that, and only when they’re ready. It’s the way of love, and of life.’

‘When did you get so wise?’ she asked, shooting him a half-hearted glare.

‘I’ve always been wise,’ he countered. ‘You just never noticed.’

A tiny smile escaped her. ‘I was probably too busy noticing other things about you. Sixteen-year-old girls don’t necessarily look for wisdom in a beau.’

‘No?’ He looked intrigued. ‘What did you look for?’

‘Beauty,’ she said. ‘Which you had in spades. Mystery, which you had as well, never mind that I’d
known you all my life. Danger, which I could always sense in you but never saw in action. Sexuality. I trust I’m not the only woman to ever tell you that you have that one covered. And weakness. I looked for that too.’

‘And did you find any?’

‘You were chivalrous. Protective to a fault and I played on that. Used it to make you notice me. I called it weakness back then and I planned my seduction of you around it.’

‘Brat,’ he said without heat.

‘I know,’ she admitted readily enough. ‘And foolish with it. I would not necessarily call a man’s protective streak a weakness
now
.’

‘No?’ The cheese platter came and Luc thanked the waiter in acknowledgement. ‘What would you call it?’

To a woman who could have done with a whole lot more love and protection as a child? She perused the cheeses. ‘Practically irresistible.’

His smile came slow and sweet, with only a hint of the sexual wattage she knew Luc was capable of. Such charming restraint. Such exemplary behaviour. He’d promised her as much, she’d demanded nothing less of him. The problem was that deep down inside she didn’t want Luc the civil and well-behaved suitor. No, she wanted the other Luc. The one who could not, and would not, be tamed. She knew he was in there. And, as dangerous as that Luc was to her well-being, that small reckless voice inside her wanted him to come out and play.

‘You’re looking very thoughtful,’ he murmured.

‘Am I?’ She was feeling very wanton. ‘I’m just rethinking my plans for the afternoon. I’ve a couple of tasks to see to before dinner.’

‘I’ll return you to the village after we’ve finished up here,’ he told her. ‘Will that give you enough time to see to them?’

‘I think so.’ She’d never preplanned wanton behaviour before but surely it wouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.

Luc turned the wattage up on that lazy smile. ‘Have I been manageable enough for you this morning?’

‘Yes, indeed. Your meekness and self restraint have been a wonder to behold.’

‘I know.’ His smile was anything but meek and Gabrielle gloried in it. ‘Are we still on for dinner?’

‘Yes.’ Madness notwithstanding, she’d made her decision. She would join Luc for dinner and dress to please a man and see if she could put a dint in all that iron self-control. ‘Yes, we are.’

‘I’ve formulated a plan,’ Gabrielle told Simone later that afternoon over a glass of wine at Simone’s favourite café.

‘What kind of plan?’ asked Simone, looking sun-spelled and feline-lazy.

‘A plan for exploring my physical attraction to Luc. I’m figuring to encourage that particular aspect of our relationship along somewhat. Get it over and done with, so to speak, so that I can stop
thinking
about it so much and get back to concentrating on my work.’

Simone turned her head and looked at Gabrielle from over the rim of her sunglasses. ‘Hnh,’ she said finally.

‘The thing is, I’m a little nervous about heading out to dinner with a man whose mind I intend to mess with.’

‘So you should be,’ said Simone.

‘Looking for a little support here,’ murmured
Gabrielle. ‘Possibly a little help. I need to know what a woman should do when she wants to drive a man insane with lust.’

‘She should
not
ask the man’s sister how to go about it,’ said Simone dryly. ‘There are some things a sister simply can’t, or won’t, help you with.’

‘You’re right. My apologies. That was thoughtless of me.’ Gabrielle drummed her fingers on the café table top. ‘Suppose I were to ask you for more generic advice about heading out to dinner with a man I wanted to seduce. Advice not targeted towards any one individual in particular. Would you have any suggestions on how to go about it then?’

‘But of course,’ said Simone. ‘That’s a different request altogether.’

‘Excellent. So where does one begin?’

‘You’ll need a dress.’

‘I have a dress.’

‘I never doubted it for a moment,’ said Simone. ‘You’ll also need a coat to go over this dress. The reveal is very important.’

True, so very true. ‘When would you say was the best time for this reveal to happen?’

‘Somewhere public. Somewhere where many eyes will be drawn to you. I’m very fond of making a man feel possessive. Of course, I should warn you that if we were talking about Lucien I would encourage you to skip that step altogether. He’s always been possessive of you and needs no further encouragement in that direction.’

‘What about a bunch of little reveals throughout the evening, just to keep his attention? A wrist here, a hint of perfume there.’

‘Perfect.’

‘Then what?’

‘Banter.’

‘Sexual?’

‘Sophisticated.’ Simone shook her head. ‘I swear, Australia has had an unforgivable influence on you. Where’s your sense of subtlety?’

‘Okay, sophisticated and subtly sexual banter.’

‘No, no, no!’ said Simone. ‘A woman intent on driving a man mad with lust does not talk of sex at all! All she need do is imagine the sex.’

‘I’m not sure that particular piece of advice is going to work for me.’ Imagining sex with Luc tended to fry her brain. Attempting sophisticated non-sexual banter while frying her brain could prove quite a stretch.

‘No one said this was going to be
easy
,’ said Simone dryly. ‘Seduction is an art, and like any form of art it requires commitment, constant practice, and skill.’

‘Okay, I’ll use my imagination. Then what?’

‘Pheromones,’ said Simone sagely. ‘Do not underestimate them.’

‘Pheromones. Right. Good to know. I’m not even going to ask you how you know this stuff. Anything else?’

‘Yes. Seduction isn’t a game so never, ever treat it as one. Seduction is war.’

‘War,’ echoed Gabrielle. ‘Not an art form?’

‘So much to learn,’ said Simone on a pitying sigh. ‘So little time.’

‘I’m a little uncomfortable with seduction as war,’ argued Gabrielle. ‘Couldn’t seduction be a duel instead?’

‘All right, seduction is a duel,’ said Simone with an
airy wave of her hand. ‘You’ll be wanting the points on the blades removed next.’

‘I
do
want them removed,’ she said earnestly. ‘I don’t want to hurt anyone, Simone. Especially not the person I intend to seduce. That’s not part of the plan.’

‘I’m relieved to hear it, all things considered, but the fact remains that I’ve just armed you with a blade. The traditional use of any blade is to force the acquisition of something that would not otherwise be freely given. The traditional response to such a weapon is surrender, but not always. Sometimes the wielder of the blade gets more than they bargained for.’

Gabrielle contemplated Simone’s words. ‘I’ll be careful,’ she said finally.

‘I hope so.’ Simone studied her pensively. ‘I started out in this conversation feeling protective of Luc. Now I’m sitting here wondering how on earth I’m going to protect
you
. You’re out of your depth, Gabrielle. Luc knows how to fascinate women. I believe he knows obsession. He’s felt the sting of it before. For you. I doubt he’ll play at seduction with a blunted blade the way you intend to. Are you
really
ready for this?’

Gabrielle gave the question the attention it deserved. ‘I’ll be
very
careful,’ she said finally.

Simone sighed heavily. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Gabrielle, because I don’t want to lose you again.’ She looked broodingly at her near-empty wine glass. ‘Either of you.’

Lucien dressed carefully for his dinner date that evening. Not a suit, no, a suit was too formal, but a pair of suede trousers and a favoured casual shirt, soft to the
touch and tailored to his physique. His watch had an antique gold face and a brown leather band and was also one of his favourites. A person had to know watches to know that it was Cartier. The cufflinks with the Duvalier crest he was undecided about. On the one hand, this was who he was. On the other hand, Gabrielle’s relationship with Caverness and the House of Duvalier was somewhat stormy.

He needed advice. Female advice.

‘What do you think?’ he asked when he cornered Simone in the television room. He held up the cufflinks. ‘Yes or no?’

‘More information required,’ said Simone. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Out for a meal. A casual, informal, getting to know you meal.’

‘With a woman?’

‘Yes.’

‘A woman you wish to impress?’

‘Not exactly
impress
,’ he said. ‘This woman knows me already. She’s probably not all that impressable.’

‘Don’t wear them, then,’ said Simone. ‘Give the House of Duvalier the night off. That is, unless you’d rather wear them and feel secure in the knowledge that your shirt won’t be coming off in a hurry.’

‘My shirt isn’t going to come off at all,’ said Luc darkly, and set to threading the cufflinks through his cuffs. ‘Tonight isn’t about seduction. Tonight is all about showing restraint.’

‘Pardon?’ said Simone.

An incredulous pardon if ever he’d heard one. ‘Restraint,’ he said again.

‘Hnh,’ said Simone, but by the time he looked up from fastening his cuffs she’d turned back to her book. Luc sighed at her impressively short attention span and decidedly unsisterly concern for his needs.

‘So, let’s say I did want to make sure that the evening was a pleasant non-sexual one for all concerned. What do I do?’

Simone lowered her book with a sigh. ‘What do you usually do?’

‘Pleasantly non sexual isn’t exactly in my repertoire,’ he confided. ‘Hence the need for advice.’

‘Is Gabrielle the woman you’re intending to have this pleasantly platonic evening with?’

‘Possibly,’ said Luc. ‘Probably. Although there’s no need for your advice to be specifically tailored to Gabrielle. Generic advice will do. You never know when a few pleasant platonics will come in handy.’

‘You have no idea how underprepared I am for this conversation,’ said Simone darkly.

‘Well, if you don’t know, just say so,’ he began, but stopped when she held up her hand.

‘I’m thinking…’ she said. ‘Just give me a moment.’

He gave her two. ‘Well?’

‘Well…since you asked so nicely and waited so patiently for me to collect my thoughts, I’ll share a few ideas I have on the subject.’

‘Appreciated,’ he said.

Amusement slid through Simone’s gleaming gaze. ‘I recommend ignoring outright any moves laden with subtly sexual overtones.’

‘Ignore them,’ said Luc with a puzzled frown. ‘As in…
ignore
them? Really?’

‘Completely,’ said Simone. ‘Act as if they never happened. If a woman greets you in a dress designed to destroy a man, smile in an easy and open fashion, comment on the suitability of the weather, and ask her if she likes puppies.’

‘Puppies?’ echoed Luc.

‘Puppies,’ she said firmly. ‘Not kittens. Stay away from the kitten talk—you never know where that one might lead. Keep the conversation grounded. Nothing too sophisticated. Something casual and feel-good without being threatening. Puppies are perfect.’ She eyed him speculatively. ‘It’s a pity you didn’t come to me earlier with this. I could have arranged for you to borrow one.’

Borrow a puppy? Four bounding legs, sweeping tail, floppy ears, liquid eyes, and a wet, inquisitive nose? His sister had gone insane. ‘Thank you, but no.’

‘You also need to do a little something with your hair.’

‘My hair? What’s wrong with my hair?’

‘Well, it’s falling all over your face and needs cutting for starters, but apart from that a woman’s going to take one look at it and want to run her fingers through it. Tie it back. Like a soccer star or a scorpion king. Trust me, your features won’t suffer for it.’

‘
What?
’ He really wasn’t keeping up with the gist of this conversation at all.

‘I’ll lend you a black leather band. Very manly.’

‘Won’t pulling my hair back make a woman want to rearrange it?’ Luc didn’t know a lot about how a man’s hair affected a woman’s fingers but he knew enough about his own reaction to a woman’s tresses to
know that whenever they put it up, he rarely rested until he’d taken every last pin and hairband
out
.

‘Not at all,’ said Simone blithely. ‘Where’s your coat?’

‘Do I need a coat?’

‘But of course you need a coat. A coat makes you look solid and dependable. You should keep it on. You should probably make your companion keep hers on too. Just a nice platonic dinner between two people wearing coats and talking puppies. Not a lot to get excited about there.’

No, thought Luc with the first faint stirrings of unease. There wasn’t. ‘Anything else?’

‘Isn’t that enough?’

She was probably right. ‘Well, thanks for the advice.’

‘You know me.’ Simone favoured him with a sisterly smile. ‘Always happy to help.’

L
UC’S
dinner date with Gabrielle started well. He wore a coat. She met him at the door to her apartment and, lo, she happened to be wearing a coat also. A severe black leather three-quarter-length, double-breasted coat cinched tightly at the waist with a wide black belt. Her black leather purse had a severe Prada look about it, and her hair had been scraped off her face into a no-nonsense schoolmarm bun with not a wayward tendril in sight. Luc’s fingers began to itch, but he shoved them in his coat pocket and thought of puppies. He stepped back to let her by as she shut the door and brushed past him towards the narrow garden path. He glanced downwards to make sure she was minding her step on the uneven cobbles and all coherent thought fled. Gabrielle’s shoes were black like the rest of her attire, but there the resemblance to the rest of her attire ended. The elegant four-inch stilettos owed nothing to practicality, severity, or plainness. These shoes had one purpose and one purpose only.

To bring a man to his knees.

‘St Bernards,’ he muttered.

‘What?’

‘Puppies. St Bernard puppies. I saw some today. I’m thinking of getting one.’

‘You?’ she said sceptically. ‘And a puppy.’

‘Yes.’

‘At Caverness.’

‘Yes.’

‘Josien will be pleased,’ said Gabrielle dryly.

‘For company,’ he said, suddenly inspired. ‘He could sit at my feet on those long winter nights, in front of the fire while I…’ While he what?

‘Rest?’ supplied Gabrielle.

‘Yes, rest, and maybe do a spot of reading. The Napoleonic Wars, The Battle of Waterloo, that sort of thing.’ Did that sound platonic and non-sexual enough? ‘The Joy of Shoes.’

‘The what?’

‘The Joy of Choux. It’s about pastry. You haven’t read it?’ Pastry…Puppies…Whatever. He figured they were interchangeable.

Gabrielle sent him a very steady stare. ‘Have you been drinking?’

‘Not yet.’ Although those shoes could doubtless drive a man to it.

‘And what happened to your hair?’

‘What do you mean?’ He narrowly resisted putting his hand to his recently curtailed locks.

‘Where is it?’

As far as he
knew
, the hair that usually fell around his face was currently tied high on the back of his head, Soccer Striker or Scorpion King style. Not that he was either. ‘Simone tells me it takes a man of pure courage to wear his hair like this.’

‘I’m sure she did,’ murmured Gabrielle. ‘Did she tell you it takes a man of outstanding beauty to carry it off?’

She hadn’t.

‘Fortunately, you’ve got that one covered as well,’ she said next with somewhat grudging appreciation. ‘Tell her I approve. My fantasy life may never be the same.’

Was that sexual innuendo? It could have been. Luc decided to ignore it anyway, just to be on the safe side. They’d been doing so well. Right up until her shoes and his hair.

‘Tell you what,’ he offered. ‘You take your hair down and I’ll do the same with mine.’

‘Have you any idea how long it took the hairdresser to put my hair
up
?’ said Gabrielle eyeing him narrowly.

‘Two minutes?’ Not according to the look on her face. ‘Five minutes?’ His fingers really itched. ‘Okay, ten. But I swear I could turn it loose for you in no time at all.’

‘Luc…’ She raised a stern yet delightfully elegant hand in his direction. ‘Don’t touch.’

‘Good idea.’
Good
idea. He was in desperate need of more platonic conversation. ‘You know, a puppy would have a field day with your shoes.’

Gabrielle looked down at her shoes and did that thing women did with their bodies when trying on clothes, or in this case shoes. The tiny turns and twists while they studied the item in question from every conceivable angle. ‘What’s wrong with my shoes?’

Oh, nothing a black lace corset and matching
panties wouldn’t fix. ‘All those skinny little straps. All that space in between.’ Crimson toenails. He’d never before paid particular attention to the colour of a woman’s toenails but he seemed to be spending a great deal of time studying these ones. ‘They seem a bit insubstantial, that’s all.’

‘Not for a restaurant, surely,’ she countered sweetly as she straightened and smoothed her coat back into place with similarly crimson-tipped hands. ‘It’s not as if we’re going to be mountain climbing.’ Her smile was just this side of wicked. ‘A man like you will be no doubt thinking of saving that particular joy for your mountain-loving puppy.’

She swept past him with another blinding smile and her chin held high, the rest of her swathed in punishment black. A waft of something floral and French teased at his nostrils, one of the newer, younger fragrances that snuck up on a man and wrapped around him when he least expected it. Or maybe that was just Gabrielle.

They made it to the car, to the restaurant, to the door of the restaurant without catastrophe. They stepped inside and warmth and the aroma of good food chased away the elusive scent of the woman at his side. The restaurant wasn’t a large one, it seated thirty perhaps, but Luc knew from experience that every table would be filled before the night was through and that it wasn’t unusual for the wait staff to book both early and late sittings for the same table space.

The room was small and narrow, a red leather bench seat ran the length of one wall, allowing closely placed tables for two or four to slot in next. Plain cushioned res
taurant chairs had been placed on the other side of the tables. A narrow pathway down the middle of the room served as the food highway, and a scattering of slightly more private tables graced the other side of the room. The bar stood to the back of the room, the kitchen was situated behind that. A coat rack stood by the door. Gabrielle hesitated and her hands went to the belt at her waist.

‘It’s warm in here,’ she murmured.

Yes, it was. Luc’s hands went automatically to her shoulders to help with the removal of her coat before he remembered Simone’s suggestion about keeping coats on. ‘It’ll be cooler by the window,’ he said. ‘You don’t want to take a seat and see if you’re more comfortable with your coat on?’

‘No.’ But she looked undecided. ‘No one else is wearing their coats in here.’

True. The coat rack was currently groaning beneath the weight of discarded outerwear. One of Gabrielle’s shoulders appeared, and then another. Two shoulders and an expanse of smooth and creamy skin. Luc swallowed hard. What
was
she almost wearing?

Something strapless, obviously. Strapless and crimson—a deep blood-wine red—Gabrielle’s dress clung lovingly to every perfect inch of her hourglass figure and finished somewhere around mid-thigh.

‘Rottweilers,’ he whimpered.

‘What about them?’ Gabrielle turned and slanted him a look through eyes that knew only too well the effect such a dress was likely to have on a man.

‘Could be useful protection for the chateau,’ he said, dragging his gaze away from the curve of her neck and
the pins in her hair before restless fingers got the better of him. He parked her coat on the rack and followed it up with his own.

‘Mmm,’ said Gabrielle. ‘They could keep your St Bernard company.’

Luc didn’t even attempt an answer. He was too busy staring down the myriad admiring glances coming Gabrielle’s way. ‘I swear, if I’d known what you were wearing before we left your apartment we wouldn’t have been going anywhere,’ he muttered darkly, scowling at a local brewery owner who’d shown the bad sense to stare at Gabrielle in open appreciation. The man nodded to him in recognition, his grin widening. Luc put his hand to the small of Gabrielle’s back. Mine, said the gesture, and he didn’t care who knew it. ‘Shall we be seated or would you care for a drink at the bar first?’

Gabrielle looked at the barstools while Luc pondered the elasticity of that perfectly fitted dress. Clearly there would be no sitting on a barstool for Gabrielle. Not unless she wanted to be dragged from the restaurant and plastered against the wall of the nearest dark alleyway while he slaked his thirst and made sure those endless legs were wrapped around him. They might make it to the alleyway, he thought grimly. If they were lucky.

‘A table, I think,’ she said with a smile.

‘
Good
call.’ He was a man on the edge, and everyone in the restaurant but Gabrielle seemed to know it. The people he knew smiled and nodded and looked away fast, as if sensing the unpredictability of his next move.

The elderly, slightly built dark-haired waiter headed their way fast as well. There was a ripple in the fabric of the atmosphere of his room and he wanted it smoothed.

‘Monsieur Duvalier, always a pleasure. A table by the window for yourself and the
mademoiselle
?’ The waiter was eyeing Gabrielle with a careful smile and a forehead full of frownlines. ‘Mademoiselle Gabrielle?’

‘Paolo?’

‘
Oui!
’ Paolo beamed. ‘You remembered.’

‘Of course I remembered.’ Gabrielle’s smile was conspiratorial. ‘Saturdays, Sundays, and Mondays. The bread run. You delivered the baguettes from a basket on your pushbike.’

‘I tried.’ Paolo glanced at Luc. ‘Not that I ever made it to the kitchen door. Always her mother would send her tearing down the laneway to meet me. I missed you once you left,
chica
. There was no one left to save my poor legs the climb.’

Gabrielle smiled. ‘Do you still have the bread run?’

‘But no. The bread run bought this business. My son, he became a chef and does the cooking, and
his
sons work as kitchen hands. This old man is content to wait tables. With good word of mouth and excellent patronage, old Paolo’s family prospers.’

‘Bravo,’ said Gabrielle softly as Paolo seated them at a table by the window and disappeared, returning shortly thereafter with a jug of iced water, a tiny bowl of olives dipped in herb oil and a basket of fresh and crusty bread.

‘It is fortunate you chose this evening to dine with
us,’ Paolo told Luc as he draped first Gabrielle’s napkin across her lap and then Luc’s across his. ‘A case of the 1976 Saracenne Reserve Brut arrived this morning and has spent the entire day being lovingly lowered in temperature to exactly four degrees. Of course, I had to promise my firstborn great-grandson in order to take delivery of this miracle of champagnery, but I’m confident it will be worth it. Can I tempt you with a bottle?’

‘What say you?’ Luc asked Gabrielle. ‘Shall we devote the evening to marvelling at the competition?’

‘I think we should.’

Paolo rattled off the daily specials before indicating the blackboard menu on the wall and leaving them alone to make their selections.

Gabrielle sat back, and looked around Paolo’s restaurant with wide approving eyes.

She smiled and that relaxed Luc. The murmur of contented voices and the aroma of good cooking soothed the beast inside him. The flickering candlelight settled him. The breaking of bread redirected Luc’s hunger enough that he could look at Gabrielle without his body screaming for release. She’d turned off the courtesan for the moment and only the real Gabrielle shone through. The one who approved of an old bread vendor aiming high and reaching his goals. The one who’d treated Paolo with the same courtesy and respect one would afford a statesman and had probably never treated him any differently.

Luc had known many beautiful women but he’d never known one with less awareness of her beauty than Gabrielle. Granted, she’d been surrounded by remarkable good looks, what with Rafe for a brother and
Josien for a mother, but she’d never seemed to find beauty within herself, never mind that her resemblance to her mother was remarkable.

She didn’t see it, thought Luc as he sat back the better to study her face in the candlelight. She just didn’t see it.

‘What?’ she asked him warily. ‘I hope you didn’t mind me talking to Paolo. He always had a kind word for me. Always.’

‘I don’t mind you talking to Paolo.’

‘Then what is it?’

‘Nothing.’

‘I’m not seeing nothing.’

Funny that. Because she was probably blind enough. He wondered where a compliment might fit into the grand scheme of things. Simone hadn’t said anything about limiting compliments. Besides, he’d done a great deal of talking about puppies already. He was fresh out of pup talk. ‘You’re beautiful.’

Gabrielle hadn’t known exactly how much she’d missed France until she sat in Paolo’s tiny crowded restaurant on a Saturday night with Luc. Lulled into relaxation by champagne neither she nor Luc could find fault with, she sat back and set about getting to know the man Luc had become.

He was a sensualist—it showed in the pleasure he took from his food and his surroundings. An intimidating man, she thought, studying his face in the candlelight and finding no softness there. The softness was in her memories of him as a child. They might have called him Night but he hadn’t been all brooding and
restless darkness. He’d been her knight at times—champion of the underdog. Where had his restlessness gone? she wondered. The recklessness she remembered? Did he still dream of conquering new frontiers or had the challenges that came with being the head of the House of Duvalier been enough for him?

No, they hadn’t, she realised with blinding clarity. That was what his fascination with the Hammerschmidt vineyard was all about. He didn’t need a crumbling manoir surrounded by a couple of hundred acres of worthless grapevines, no matter how closely located to Caverness they were. He needed a challenge. Beneath all that seemingly effortlessly acquired wealth and charm, a panther paced the cage. Bound by birthright. Fettered by society’s expectations. He’d been as trapped by Caverness as she’d been.

He was still trapped. Pacing. Pacing.

That was what drew her to this man so completely. The bone-deep knowledge that when it came to making love with him the panther would escape his cage and be exactly what he was meant to be. As dark as night. As fierce as the devil. And free.

She wanted to be alone with him, wanted it with a fierce and urgent intensity.

He looked at her and he knew her thoughts. No words required.

Never underestimate the power of pheromones.