A Very French Affair. Эбби Грин
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reared back. ‘What?’
‘I saw you two earlier.’
‘You saw nothing.’
‘I saw—’
‘Come on, you two. We’re all waiting to eat!’
Sorcha jerked her head round to see Val at the door, with a curious look on his face.
Romain was smooth, as if he got caught in heated dialogue every day. He gestured for Sorcha to precede him from the room, and her legs felt shaky as she did so. She avoided Val’s eye, knowing full well that there’d be a very questioning look on his face. He knew her well enough to know that she didn’t get into heated debates with gorgeous men.
Dinner provided a brief respite. Sorcha found herself seated next to Lucy, who was as chatty as ever, and Simon. He was busy explaining the logistics of how they would be shooting. She couldn’t, however, be unaware of the man on the opposite side of the huge table. Every now and then she’d feel a prickling sensation on her neck and look up, only to find that Romain would be deep in conversation with the stylist, Claire, who had grabbed a seat beside him with more haste than grace.
She couldn’t mistake the proprietorial manner in which the older woman, who was very attractive with her short blonde bob, was monopolising Romain’s attention, and Sorcha sent up silent thanks. But then a little dart of something made her acutely aware of the exact moment when Claire laid her hand on Romain’s arm and Sorcha had the bizarrest impulse to go and knock it off, feeling suddenly incensed, as if his arm was her personal property. She closed her eyes weakly.
‘Are you all right, Sorcha?’
Her eyes snapped open. Simon was looking at her with concern. She smiled quickly. ‘Fine. Absolutely fine.’ She mustered up a fake yawn. ‘Just a bit tired. It’s been a long day.’
‘Yes. And it’ll be even longer tomorrow. They want to try and get a lot done in one day.’
Back in the drawing room for after-dinner drinks a short time later, Sorcha circulated and got to know the group of about eight people. She knew that by the end of the shoot they’d all know each other much more intimately, having been thrust together for hours on end every day.
They seemed on the whole like a nice bunch, and she found to her surprise that she was looking forward to the shoot. The only person she’d avoided, apart from Romain, from whom she’d carefully made sure she was always on the opposite side of the room, had been Dominic. Contrary to what Romain might believe, Dominic had obviously set Lucy the young make-up artist in his sights, and the two had slipped away somewhere. Sorcha was quite happy, wanting to have as little to do with him as possible.
Later that night she lay in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. She’d made her excuses early and had crept away to bed.
This is a job like any other. Be cool, be calm, be professional and everything will be OK.
She kept telling herself that. She could handle anything. Anyone. Even Romain.
But as she turned over and tried to go to sleep, the only image in her brain was the one of his face as she’d left the room earlier. It had held that same intensity when she’d walked away from him in New York. As if he could see right into her soul…And that was crazy. He was the last man in the world she wanted looking anywhere near her soul…
The next day they started early. Simon wanted to get a dawn shot of Sorcha on the beach. Dressed very impractically, in a long silk diaphanous dress, she kept a parka on until the last moment, and tried not to show how cold she was in the chilly early-morning air.
All the shot called for was for her to walk along the seashore, find a bottle in the sand and pick it up. The idea was that the bottle held a message, which she would read and which would lead her to the next place…and so on.
Standing shivering, waiting for Simon and Dominic to set up, Sorcha sent up silent thanks that at least on set Dominic seemed to be professional enough not to allude to anything, as he had the day before.
‘Sorcha…’
Romain.
She’d managed to avoid looking at him, but even so she was well aware of his location at every moment, and now he was right beside her. She turned reluctantly.
‘Yes?’
Romain looked down at her and his insides contracted. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone so gorgeous, cheeks reddened by the chill wind, long hair loose and wild. Her eyes shone with a fierce, vivid blue and he almost forgot what he’d come to say. And that made him feel short-tempered. It also made him sound clipped.
‘We’ve decided to do a part of the sequence here that we were going to do in India. It’s a shot that includes Zane…your counterpart.’
Sorcha frowned. Zane was the male model/actor due to play her lover.
‘But Zane doesn’t start till we get to New York. He’s not here.’
‘I’m aware of that fact. But, as Simon pointed out, I’m similar in height and colouring, at least from behind, so I’ll stand in for him.’
Alarm bells went zinging off in Sorcha’s head, and she looked at him suspiciously, ‘What does the shot involve?’
A dark light came into Romain’s eyes, confusing Sorcha. Everything around them had faded into the background.
‘You and me…’ he drawled.
Sorcha fought to contain panic and snapped out, ‘Yes, well, even I could have deduced that—’
Just then Dominic called for her to step onto her mark. She glared at Romain, who was looking far too smug at her obvious discomfiture.
Sorcha found out more at lunchtime, and she mulled it all over in her head as she took off for a brief solitary walk afterwards. It turned out that the shot Romain had told her about had to be done at sunset, and Claire the stylist had already flown back to Dublin to get the dress required, as it was meant to be part of the wedding sequence. That had made Sorcha’s nerves go completely. She’d been too scared to ask what exactly was involved.
Would she have to kiss him?
That thought sent all sorts of shivers through her, and not all of them were of disgust…or trepidation. Was he doing this on purpose, just to mess with her?
She berated herself. Now she was just being silly.
A FEW hours later, feeling very nervous, Sorcha stood on the shoreline again, this time in a simple knee-length white broderie anglaise dress from an exclusive designer. It was meant to be a wedding dress. Her hair was up in a loose knot, and a white orchid was tucked behind her ear.
Claire the stylist was muttering as she secured the dress at the back. ‘You would not believe the pressure I was under to get back here…And this dress—it’s not even been on the catwalk yet. We weren’t meant to be shooting it for another week. It had to come from Paris with a courier and a bodyguard. And now you’re the one that gets to be held in Romain’s arms…honestly…’
Held in his arms? Sorcha’s insides froze. Surely she just meant with his arm around her shoulders as they looked out at the sunset?
And then he was there, striding towards her. He wore a white tuxedo shirt that was open at the neck, a bow tie dangling untied. His black trousers were rolled up to the knee, showing off strong, shapely calf muscles. She felt weak.
The sun was setting over the horizon, and the mood of the crew was getting more frantic, with Simon and Dominic shouting out orders as they worked simultaneously. Romain came and stood before her, slanting a look down her body, taking in her long, slim, very pale legs.
‘Very sweet—almost virginal, in fact.’
Sorcha