The Highest Price to Pay (6 page)

She had wanted, so badly, to lean in and touch him. To press her lips to his. To make him feel what she was feeling.

She blinked. “Great. About the same as it was when you left this afternoon. Karen had already seen a sketch and was pleased with it, so I’m feeling confident. As confident as I can feel over something so huge.”

He shrugged and she noticed he hadn’t taken a drink of his champagne. “Every step you take is another step. I treat every business deal with equal importance. That way, I never let anything slip.”

“Hmm.” She tapped on the side of the glass. “And it keeps you from getting too nervous over something big, I guess.”

“I don’t get nervous.”

“Never?”

“No. I make a decision and I act on it. I don’t do nerves. I don’t do regret.”

The tone of the conversation shifted, Blaise’s voice getting darker, his tone hard. She wondered if that was true. If he moved through life with no regrets. If he had truly stolen the love of his brother’s life, then discarded her, with no regret at all.

Part of her, the physical part, that was looking into his eyes, that could see the uncompromising set of his jaw, the tightly clenched fist at his side, that part could believe it. But something inside her didn’t. Couldn’t. She didn’t know why because she was pretty sure that in this case, she should believe her eyes and not her silly, fantasy-prone heart.

“That must be…freeing.”

She could see how it would be. She regretted a lot of things. Things she’d never had the ability to control. Things she’d never made a decision on, but that simply were. Things that twined around her, ensnared her like a rabbit in a trap.

“Interesting choice of words,” he said, managing to sound coolly disinterested even now.

“Not really. It must be nice to have so much confidence in everything you do.”

“You never seem short on confidence, Ella,” he said, his tongue all but caressing her name, his accent making it sound exotic in a way she’d never noticed before.

He leaned in slightly and she lowered her eyes, desperate to avoid his gaze. But she just ended up fixated on his fingers as they stroked the stem of the champagne flute, the motion making her think of his hands on her skin, stroking, caressing.

“Although,” he said, “sometimes your cheeks get a little bit pink. Like now.”

She took a step back. “It’s hot in here.”

“Would you like to step outside for a moment?”

She nodded, heading for the balcony, away from him. Except that he was coming with her, which totally defeated the purpose.

“I’m fine,” she said, welcoming the cool night air, waiting for it to penetrate her heated flesh, to knock a little bit of common sense into her, and some of the clouding arousal out of her.

“It is bad form for a man to leave his date.”

“Again with the chivalry?”

“I am just ever conscious of my glowing reputation.” His voice was tinged with sarcasm, and a hint of bitterness that made her think that, although he really wanted her to believe he lived with no regrets, it probably wasn’t completely true.

“Or at least of what the caption might read beneath our names in tomorrow’s news,” she said, hoping to lighten the mood a little bit.

She leaned back against the balcony’s railing and looked at the glowing white lights, woven between the overhanging lattice that was also draped with grapevines. If she could only focus on that instead of the man standing near her, she might be okay.

“It will be interesting to see, that’s for certain.”

“Especially since we’ve now disappeared onto the very private balcony for what can only be described as a tête-à-tête.”

He laughed, the sound shocking in the quiet night, shocking because it had been so silent, and because it had come from Blaise. “You should work for the media.”

“I don’t have the stomach for it,” she said.

Strains of music from the ballroom filtered through the open doors and Ella closed her eyes, enjoying the soft, subtle sounds.

“You like it?” he asked.

“Yes. Club music isn’t really my thing, to be honest.”

“But promotional opportunities are?”

“I’ve met a lot of people, a lot of clients, by spending time at the right nightclubs. But I very much consider it business and not pleasure.”

He reached out and took the glass of champagne from her hand, setting it, along with his, on the stone railing behind her. He touched her hand, a soft touch that sent heat feathering through her, gentle and pleasant.

Then he took her hand in his and drew her to him, slowly. And her feet moved to him, her body leaning in, far before her brain had a chance to catch up.

He looped his arm around her waist, pulled her to him.

She knew the expression on her face was quite possibly one of dumb shock, but actually having him touch her, being in full contact with his body, was a shock to her senses. Her breasts were pressed against his very hard chest, the delicious pressure working to ease some of the ache that had been building in her.

“I thought you deserved a chance to dance, as you enjoy the music so much,” he said, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered the words. She shivered, goose bumps breaking out over her arms.

“Oh,” she said, heart hammering so hard she was certain he must be able to feel it against his chest.

She didn’t know why she didn’t pull away. Why she didn’t say no.

No, she did know. It was because it felt good. And she had felt so much pain in her life it just felt…it felt so foreign and amazing to just let herself feel good.

To revel in the warm weight of his hand on her lower back, the feeling of his other large hand enveloping her much smaller one. Swaying with him, moving in one accord with him instead of just fighting him. Instead of fighting herself.

“Temptation,” he whispered, his cheek against the curve if her neck, his words a whispered enticement. “Such a fitting choice of costume.”

He released her hand then, placing his on the curve of her hip, moving it to the indent of her waist, stopping just beneath the swell of her breast. She had imagined his touch earlier, felt the slide of his fingers as he’d moved it over the gown she was making.

But that had been fantasy, just like it always was for her. But this was real. His hands on her body, the thin red lace the only barrier between his flesh and hers.

The rhythm of the music seemed to fade and they made their own, his movements so slow and sensual, seductive on a level she could have never imagined. And when he moved nearer to her, she felt that he was as aroused as she was, the hard length of him pressed against her a proof that couldn’t be denied.

He moved his head, hot breath tracing a line from just beneath her ear, over her scar and to her shoulder. His lips never touched her skin, only hovered there, making her body tighten with need, making her want to pull him to her so she could feel the press of his mouth on her.

She wanted it. So much. So much that it scared her, made her feel hollow and nervous and like she might fold in on herself if she couldn’t have more of him, more of his touch. His hands on her skin, without the dress in the way, his lips, not just the impression of them.

She swayed slightly in his arms, her breasts brushing against his chest, sensation pouring through her, drowning her senses in desire. Being in his arms, just held by him, so close, was beyond anything she’d ever experienced, anything she’d ever imagined.

She tilted her head to the side, exposing more of her neck to him. Warm breath continued to tease her, the tip of his nose skating lightly over the delicate skin.

He pulled away, looked at her, then gently tilted her head the other way, repeating the action with the other side of her neck. She stiffened when she could no longer feel his heat, when she lost the sense of the slow glide of his touch. She put her hand to the back of his head, felt that he was still there, touching her. But she couldn’t feel it.

There could be pain or pleasure, heat or chill, and she wouldn’t know. The scar that distorted her skin was an outward sign of the damage that lay beneath. Nerves lost that would never be recovered, feeling she could never regain.

She released her hold on him, jerked back, stumbling slightly. “I’m sorry,” she said, helpless to say anything else. It wasn’t really an apology, not to him. She was just sorry. More of those regrets. “We should see about that dinner, maybe?”

His was an unreadable mask, his body stiff. “Are you hungry?”

She was sick. Her stomach felt as though it had been filled with leaden weight, her entire body shaking. “It’s late. And anyway, it really should be spectacular, gold dusted chocolate cake or something.” He still didn’t move, didn’t speak. “Thanks for the dance,” she said, because there really was no way to ignore it. All she could do was try to make light of it. Try to pretend her whole world hadn’t just been shaken. It seemed like she’d been trying to pretend that ever since Blaise had stormed into her life.

He nodded and offered her his hand. She clenched her teeth, tight, trying to hold back frustrated tears. She couldn’t touch him now. If she did, she might crumble.

But she wasn’t weak. She never let anyone see her cry, and she wasn’t going to start now.

“I think I can manage to find my way back into the ballroom,” she said stiffly, keeping her hands at her sides.

A small smile curved one side of his mouth. “Of course.”

At least now there would be a physical barrier between them, a table, and maybe some wealthy society people to create a buffer.

Although, now it all just felt like too little too late.

Chevalier Romance Heats Up!

The press had done their job admirably. They hadn’t missed the chance to snap photos of a very rare event: Blaise Chevalier with the same woman twice.

Not for the first time, he felt a small stab of disgust over the interest the media had with the salacious details of his life. Over the fact that there were so many salacious details. He was not a saint, not by any stretch of the imagination, and the press didn’t have to tweak too many truths in order to write stories about him.

But he used his reputation to his advantage, no reason not to. He made money. It was what he knew how to do. It allowed him to set up foundations in Malawi in his mother’s memory. Support causes that had meant so much to her.

The money that he made, the success he had achieved in business, was the one thing that kept his father from writing him off entirely. Not that he truly sought out redemption, not from him. Their relationship was strained at the best of times, his father still harboring anger at Blaise’s eight-year-old self for choosing to leave with the woman who had betrayed him.

Then there was Luc. That Luc had offered forgiveness so freely for what had happened with Marie was still something that didn’t settle well with Blaise.

It would have been better, in so many ways, if his brother had demanded a pound of flesh for the betrayal, if he had worked to extract pain and revenge. But he had not. And there were times when Blaise felt there was still penance to be paid.

Although, that implied that he was seeking absolution. He was not. Such a thing was beyond men like him. He accepted it. Owned it. Used it, as he did all things.

Just as he knew he and Ella could use the press to their advantage in the building of her business.

Ella. Temptation.

She was, much more than he had envisioned. Women, in his mind, were women. Sex was sex. Looking at it any other way had drastic consequences. But Ella, her smell, the feel of her skin, the temptation of those full, brightly painted lips of hers, turned him on faster than any woman in his memory.

Even Marie. And the control he had allowed Marie to exert over him had been nothing short of shameful.

He knew the man he was when he allowed emotion to lead. Knew what he was capable of when he let his desires take charge, when he abandoned decency in the pursuit of his own satisfaction. He had no intention of ever being that man again. Which was why his control was his own now, why he never allowed it to be shaken.

He put the paper down on his desk, allowing his gaze to linger on the photograph of Ella and himself out on the balcony. His face was tilted down, close to the curve of her neck.

Her head was tilted back, her face in profile. Red lips parted, eyes closed, long lashes fanning over her high cheekbones. She was a beautiful woman, no question about it. But there were many beautiful women. Women who didn’t come with so many strings attached. Women who didn’t test the edges of his tightly leashed control.

His mobile phone rang, the name
Karen Carson
flashing on the screen. “Chevalier.”

“Hello, Blaise,” she said, her voice tinged with a little bit of flirtation. Invitation.

He’d met Karen on a few occasions, but their meetings had been strictly platonic. From the sound of things, she wouldn’t mind a change.

He entertained the thought for a full second, toying with the idea of using her to take his mind off Ella. He’d done it before. There had been countless women after Marie, each one used to try to wash away the impression the only woman he’d ever cared for had left on his body.

The thought of doing that now filled him with disgust, and he wasn’t sure why.

“Is there something wrong with the sketches Ella sent you?”

“No, I quite liked them,” she said, taking a cue from him, her voice hardening into a more businesslike tone, the flirtatiousness evaporating.

“Then all will go ahead as planned? The cover and the ad?”

“A cover now, too,” she said, not sounding terribly surprised.

“Ella is very talented. I want to see that talent rewarded.”

Karen cleared her throat. “Ah, yes, well as I’ve seen in the news recently there is speculation that you know a great deal about her talents.”

The note of jealousy in her voice made him tighten his jaw out of annoyance. Ella had talent; he believed that now with a decent level of conviction. He wasn’t about to have this opportunity dangled before her, only to have her lose it because of a woman mourning the loss of a night of sex that he’d never had any intention of having with her.

“I am only a man,” he said, “but I am also a businessman. If I didn’t think this would be a good move, for your magazine and for her, I wouldn’t suggest it.”

Karen cleared her throat. “Actually I was so impressed with the sketches I was thinking of including some more Ella Stanton pieces in a spread we’re doing. There will be several designers represented. It will be very good exposure for her. We’re thinking a beach shoot in formalwear. Very dramatic.”

“Dramatic indeed. Have you scouted locations?”

“We were thinking Hawaii.”

“Boring,” he said. “Overdone.”

“And you have a better idea?”

“Naturally.”

“Do you have enough staff to cover a week away?”

Ella jumped slightly, gripping the edge of the counter to keep from losing balance on her three inch heels. “You really like the whole unannounced entrance thing, don’t you?”

“I couldn’t reach you by phone.”

“The boutique has a phone,” Ella said, jabbing the old-fashioned rotary phone with her finger.

“Charming. Does it work?”

She narrowed her eyes, hoping to capitalize on the annoyance that was currently flooding her. It was easier than dealing with the wild galloping of her heart.

“Of course it works. But you wouldn’t know, because you decided just walking in her would be better.”

“It’s a public place, isn’t that what most people do?” he asked.

She clenched her teeth. “Yeah. Anyway, why didn’t you call my cell?”

“I did. It went straight to your voice mail.”

“Oh.” She crouched down behind the counter and fished around in her magenta leather bag, finding her phone buried at the bottom. Either she’d switched it off or the battery had died. Great. Very professional. “Sorry,” she said, putting it on the counter.

She flashed back to what he’d said when he’d first walked in, registering the words for the first time rather than just that voice that sent her heart rate into overdrive.

“You asked if I could go away for a week?”

“Karen would like you to consult on the photo shoot. She wants your gown for the cover and the billboard ad.”

Excitement tugged at her stomach, excitement that had nothing to do with Blaise for once, and everything to do with the achievement. This was so big. It was a key, to bigger and better. To worldwide exposure. To runway shows she couldn’t even afford to buy tickets to now.

“She wants me to consult? She wants my opinion?”

“She’d also like for you to bring some additional looks, for a spread they’re doing in the same issue that has your cover. She wants formal gowns. On the beach. I’ve been told this is very high fashion.”

“It is,” she said. “I think…I think I’m going to hyperventilate.”

“
Non, belle,
don’t do that,” he said, brushing his knuckles lightly over her cheek.

She pulled back, decided not to acknowledge the touch, or the lightning fast pulse of pleasure it sent streaking through her. “Yeah, um…so when do we leave?”

“Tomorrow. Can you have everything covered here?”

“I should be able to work that out. Yes, I will work it out.” She started mentally rebuilding the boutique schedule in her mind. Because she was going to grab this opportunity with both hands, no question.

“Good.”

“Are you…I mean, how am I getting there?”

A slow, sexy smile curved his lips. “We will be taking my private jet.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “That’s extravagant.”

“Not really, it’s a small jet.”

“And you’re coming, too?”

“Of course.” He said it as though it should have been a foregone conclusion, and it really should have been. Still, a slug of surprise hit her stomach, followed by a tight curling of pleasure, similar to the kind that had assaulted her the night she’d gotten to be his date for the ball.

“We’re doing the shoot in Malawi,” he said. “It’s a very tropical setting, the lake has water so clear you can see all of the fish swimming beneath the surface. It is the most beautiful place in the world.”

There was a distance to his voice, a strange detachment. He said it was beautiful, and she believed him, but she also thought there was sadness there. Sad memories maybe. She thought again of him as a boy, leaving Paris, leaving everything he knew, his father, to go to a new country. A very different country. What had it been like? Had he been scared?

She couldn’t imagine it now. Even in his well-cut suit he looked like a battle-hardened warrior. He didn’t look like a man who had any concept of fear, or failure or any of the things that mere mortals seemed to struggle with.

He was a man apart. She envied him for it. She also wished she could come into his world, just a little bit. And it was so not the right thing to wish for.

“I’m…I’m looking forward to seeing it.” She almost said she was looking forward to sharing it with him. But that was the wrong thing to say, the wrong way to look at it. Blaise wasn’t going to share with her.

Those words, those thoughts, didn’t even have a place in her mind. Neither did the ache that was spreading from physical body parts and beginning to lodge itself in her heart. She didn’t know what to do with it. There was nothing to do with it, and yet she couldn’t seem to shake it off.

But then, she was currently enduring steady doses of Blaise exposure, so that wasn’t helping.

“Bring clothing suited to very warm weather,” he said, the heat in those honey-gold eyes only reinforcing the demand.

“Okay,” she said.

If only there was a way to cool down the warmth that Blaise brought with him whenever he was within ten feet of her. If only there was a way to forget how he’d touched her the night of the Heart’s Ball.

But she couldn’t. She was marked by him. And she knew that some marks didn’t fade easily. And some of them lasted forever.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow then?” she asked, anxious to get him out and away from her so she could have a little time to herself before she embarked on a week filled with his presence.

“Where would you like to be picked up?”

“My studio…it’s below my apartment so that will be easiest.” And then he wouldn’t have to come up to her apartment and be in her space. Because if that happened, the impression of him would officially be embedded in every aspect of her life, and she just didn’t want that. Not even a little bit.

“Then I will see you tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, see you then.”

Sleep wasn’t going to come easy tonight.

Ella could definitely get used to luxury travel. None of the nonexistent legroom or intimate acquaintance with the shoulder of the person next to you. Not to mention the fabulous perk of being able to bypass airport security.

Blaise’s “small jet” had turned out to be a heavenly travel experience. Complete with silken leather seats that reclined all the way and champagne with strawberries.

The only drawback had been the fact that, even though he sat on the opposite side of the cabin, it was a lot of Blaise in an enclosed space. It gave her ample chance to really get tuned into his smell, his movements, short noises he made in his throat when he was thinking. And all of it made her stomach twist just a little more each time.

It was an effort to keep from squirming in her seat after an hour of travel. Being alone with him. Being so near him. The futility of the desire, that was the worst part. She was burning with need for him, and she knew that she could never arouse the same kind of desire in him. He was masculine perfection, the kind of man who could entice women to trade in their favorite pair of shoes in exchange for a night of pleasure in his arms. There was no way he would ever want her.

When they landed on the island of Likoma, she practically kissed the ground, so thankful to be out in the open, to detox from her Blaise overload. To try to regain some of her sanity.

A sleek black car, heavy and old-fashioned, but in pristine condition, met them at the tiny airport and she was whisked from the burning heat back into an air-conditioned environment.

Ella settled in the backseat, her relief at exiting the plane dipping sharply when the door to the car closed and she found herself getting cozy with Blaise again.

“It is beautiful here,” she said, looking at the shoreline of the vibrant lake as they passed, the green trees and the shocking blue of the lake blending together.

It wasn’t what Ella thought of when she pictured a lake. Waves crashed against the sandy shore, children splashing in the vibrant, crystal-clear water.

She smiled, watching them laugh as the cold water washed over them. She wondered if she’d ever been so happy as a child. Maybe she had been before the fire, but she couldn’t remember. Her family had had everything. Money, status in the community. It hadn’t protected them. And it hadn’t offered her any comfort when she’d needed it most.

“In my opinion, the natural beauty you find here is unmatched. But there is much to be done as far as helping the people with the quality of life. It is better now,” he said. “I’ve been working to improve the infrastructure, the roadways, trying to make things more accessible, that’s been another challenge. Health care facilities, hospitals, clean water systems. And yet, there is always more.” He sounded tired. She didn’t think she’d ever heard him sound tired.

“You…you’ve done all of that?”

He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the subject. “I have done small things. It is what anyone would do.”

Except it wasn’t. It wasn’t something anyone would do, and it wasn’t small. And the media had never once said anything about Blaise’s charitable efforts. The only time his heritage was mentioned was in a derogatory fashion.