Bought For The Frenchman's Pleasure. ABBY GREEN
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as if she was ever going to meet him again anyway…
Sorcha’s mobile was ringing as soon as she arrived at her apartment. She dumped her suitcase and fished it out of her handbag. No number was listed on the screen, but she figured it was because it was either Katie, her mother or her over-protective big brother, checking in to see if she’d landed in one piece, and they were all abroad. She smiled as she answered.
‘OK, whichever one of you it is. I’m fine, I’ve just landed, and the plane didn’t crash—although at one stage I seriously thought—’
‘Hello, Sorcha.’
Words froze on her lips. Her mouth stayed open. Her throat dried. That voice. His voice. Deep, authoritative, sensual. Disturbingly close. Her hand gripped the phone tight.
‘I’m sorry, who is this?’
A soft chuckle made her insides quiver. ‘You’re pretending to have forgotten me already?’
The conceited arrogance of the man! She knew very well who it was, and hated that he could be here, in her space, even if just on the end of a tenuous connection. She felt guilty—as though she’d conjured him up with her imaginings. She would not give him the satisfaction of letting him know that she knew it was him. Even though she burned to know what he wanted.
As if reading her every thought, he spoke with low, seductive deadliness. ‘I got your number from Maud, who informed me of your plans to go home. I know you’ve probably just arrived, but I wanted to get in touch with you as soon as possible.’
Sorcha closed her eyes for a second, knowing it would be futile to pretend ignorance of the power he had. The man was so confidently arrogant that he hadn’t even given her time to play dumb.
‘Yes, I am back in Dublin now. Thousands of miles from New York. I’m taking a well-earned break—’
‘I’ve got a job proposal to discuss with you.’
Sorcha’s mouth opened and closed, a whole host of conflicting emotions see—sawing through her at the realisation that he was determined to pursue her for this job. But it would be untenable, unthinkable—surely he could see that?
‘I’m afraid I’m not doing any jobs for the foreseeable future. I’ve been working back to back for the past year—not that it’s any business of yours—and now I’m taking time off. As I told Maud before I left, I’m sure you’ll find another model who can do whatever it is you have in mind. Thanks for the call, though. Goodbye.’
She was in the act of taking the phone away from her ear, about to switch it off, when she heard a silky,
‘Wait. You might want to hear what I have to say about the job.’
Reluctantly she brought the phone back to her ear. ‘I’ve already explained—’
‘I’m here in Dublin too, actually. I arrived yesterday. Charming city.’
Sorcha nearly dropped the phone in shock, her hand suddenly sweaty. He was here? In Dublin?
Feeling very agitated, she walked over to her fourth-floor window and looked down to the street outside—almost as if he might be standing there looking up at her. But the road surrounding her side of Merrion Square was empty, the inner-city rush hour traffic having been and gone. Her heart was pumping erratically.
Trying not to sound panicked, she said lightly, ‘That’s great. Enjoy your visit, Monsieur de Valois. There are plenty of very good modelling agencies—’
‘I had a lovely meeting this afternoon with your Irish agent Lisa. Very accommodating. I’ve given her the brief for the job, and she agrees with me that you’re perfect for what we’re looking for.’
Sorcha closed her eyes again and sank into the couch just behind her, under the window. This was exactly what Maud had warned her he might do. It was what she’d been hoping to avoid—at least until she’d booked herself some secluded time away. She hadn’t told her Irish agent that she was coming home, knowing full well that she’d have her booked to within an inch of her life before she’d even stepped off the plane. Sorcha was one of their biggest success stories and exports, and Lisa was the agent who had spotted her in the first place. She always felt duty-bound to do as much work for her as she could whenever she came home…as some sort of payback for having defected to the States.
‘So, Lisa knows I’m home…’ she said dully—as if she even needed to ask.
‘She does.’
He sounded so smug that Sorcha sat forward on her couch, anger surging through her veins at the thought that this man, in his stubborn pursuit of whatever it was he wanted, had scuppered her plans for rest and relaxation—not to mention the time she’d put aside to work on the important project that was so dear to her heart. ‘Why are you doing this? You can’t seriously mean to work with me. You’ve made your opinion abundantly clear, Monsieur de Valois, and I won’t have you watching my every move. Just because you can’t handle someone turning you down—’
‘Careful, Sorcha.’ His voice for the first time sounded hard and lethal.
She stopped despite herself.
‘All I’m suggesting is that you meet with Lisa tomorrow. She will tell you what I’m proposing. The decision as to whether or not you want to meet me to discuss the job further will be entirely up to you. No one will force you to do this.’
CHAPTER THREE
NO-ONEwill force you to do this…
They wouldn’t have to, Sorcha thought grimly as she walked the short journey from her agent’s office to Romain’s exclusive hotel the following day. Lisa had told her where he’d be for their ‘meeting’. She had to hand it to him. He must have walked into the small Irish modelling agency and laughed out loud. It would have been like taking candy from a baby.
She could picture it now: the industry’s most powerful head—a person who held the kind of authority that would make anyone dizzy, a man responsible for countless designers and their merchandise and advertising, not to mention his high profile as one of the world’s most eligible and handsome men—walked into a tiny basement agency, offered them a deal for one of their models that was in excess of six figures…Well, you wouldn’t have to be a rocket scientist to do the maths.
When Sorcha had walked in that morning the place had been buzzing, the excitement palpable. Pretty Woman was not one of the most successful agencies in Dublin, but it was friendly, the girls were lovely, and Lisa had become a good friend to Sorcha. When her career had started to take off in Dublin, and then London, Sorcha had refused to leave Lisa’s representation, despite being told it could sabotage her career. And then when the tide had turned against her Lisa had remained loyal in the face of scathing public opinion. Her debt to Lisa was much the same as her one to Katie. Never mentioned, never referred to, but there.
Sorcha was well aware that Pretty Woman wasn’t doing as well as other agencies. In fact the last time she’d been home Lisa had confided to her that if not for Sorcha the agency might have to close down. So now what was she supposed to do? Romain de Valois had just offered them a massively lucrative job—Lisa had even mentioned that they were hoping to expand their offices on the back of it! The proviso, of course, was that Sorcha had to be the model. Romain had told Lisa that he would not under any circumstances even entertain looking at anyone else.
Seething silently, she made her way through the pedestrian crush on the streets. The air was mild, and blue skies made Dublin look its best, but she barely noticed. Romain de Valois had painted her into a corner and thrown away the brush.
She crossed a busy road and the huge hotel loomed magnificent and ornate just opposite, gleaming in the sunshine. It stood overlooking the main city park, which bloomed with colour. Everything fled her mind as she approached closer and closer. And again she remonstrated with herself. How could such a brief meeting in one night have made such an impact? Why had he