by CC MacKenzie
"In my experience," he said, a flash of white teeth. "When a woman says those words, it usually means she is anything but fine."
Danni smiled.
A strictly polite and all business smile, well aware it didn't reach her eyes.
"Since you've had plenty of experience, you should know."
As far as Danni was now concerned, as she stared into those amazing eyes, Pascal Wolfe was nothing more than a man-whore. The white smile did not for a moment falter, although the grey eyes might have flashed for a second with, was that hurt? It happened so fast she wondered if she'd imagined it.
He slapped a hand to his heart, patted it.
"Ouch. Direct hit."
Then those grey eyes went watchful, stayed on hers.
"I might add that since I am not married, engaged, or in a relationship, I can do whatever and with whomever I like." Now he frowned. "What is the matter, petite chat?
Little cat.
Cursing the heat flooding her neck, her face (that was the trouble with being a fair-skinned red-head) she dragged her eyes from his and gripped her phone.
"Personal stuff," she said and immediately regretted it when he shifted and sort of curved his big body towards her. He crossed his legs as his arm slid over the back of her chair.
"A man?" he asked in a possessive tone that had her eyes lift to meet the too intense look in his.
"No. Family stuff."
He opened his mouth, then closed it again when the music started, along with an over-excited compère introducing the newest line from next winter's accessories collection.
Danni, moving forward in her seat, was immediately in the zone.
With a steady hand she took pictures of the models showcasing butter-soft leather shoes, bags, typed notes on her tablet. And desperately tried to ignore the presence of the man on her right who always seemed to crowd her at the wrong time.
No wonder he was crowding her, his shoulders were at least twice the width of her own.
He leaned in, spoke into her ear. "You are incredibly talented."
It cost her, but she stubbornly ignored the way her belly flipped when his breath stroked her cheek. "I love my job. I'm living the dream."
Now his hand lifted, slid up her back before resting on her nape.
A possessive, dominant move.
Immediately, she froze, fear racing down her spine to ball in her gut.
Panic made her heart go crazy in her chest.
"Don't," she whispered, shifting further forward until she was right on the edge of the chair.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Under his hand, she'd gone utterly still.
It wasn't the first time Danni had jerked like that when he'd touched her. Once-upon-a-time Pascal had been foolish enough (make that stupid enough) to believe her reaction to him was an acknowledgement of an overwhelming sexual chemistry. Now it appeared his touch made her go sheet-white. Her full mouth now trembled with every hectic breath as perspiration beaded on her top lip.
Pascal was well used to how women reacted when he had his hands on them. He knew most wanted one night with an ex-sport's star or one night with a very wealthy man. These days, he could spot a fortune-hunter at fifty paces. So while he knew he was young(ish), super-fit, reasonably good-looking, and never had trouble finding a warm and willing woman to share his bed, he'd never thought of himself as a stud. He'd never thought of himself as a selfish bastard in bed either. He was a great believer in giving pleasure before receiving it. Basically, he regarded himself as one of the good guys.
Except Danni Pebbles seemed determined to disagree with the latter. She was so petite, so delicately made in an utterly sexy and sensual way. She appealed to him on so many different levels. But every single time he tried to get close to her, she shied away, as if... he scared her?
The very idea made him blink.
Now he thought of her reactions to him in the past, he studied her reaction to him now even more closely.
And that was when the truth hit him hard.
She was frightened?
Of him?
The idea was not only preposterous to his pride, it annoyed him. It annoyed him a lot. Hell, it fucking infuriated him because he'd never dreamed of hurting a woman in his life.
Scowling, he moved out of her personal space, heard a big sigh of relief that made him grit his teeth.
Well, their first meeting of the week hadn't gone well, or according plan.
Now what?
His hands were too big and too strong.
It had mattered before, and it mattered even more now.
The show had finished, people were beginning to mingle.
"Do I scare you, Danni?"
Her head came up so fast she nearly clipped him on the chin.
"Of course not," she lied, and immediately knew by the way his grey eyes narrowed she'd made a fatal mistake. Lying didn't come naturally to her, which meant her cheeks burned and her eyes slid away from his.
"Tsk. Tsk. I am beginning to think you do not like me."
Again her eyes flew to his, the words spilling from her lips before her brain engaged.
"I do like you. In fact, I..." think you're gorgeous, she nearly said.
Bloody hell, shut-up, Danni.
After five seconds where she just stared at his face, eyes lingering too long on his amazing mouth, that mouth curved.
"Ah, I understand now," he drawled in a deep voice. The tone, along with the French accent nearly brought her to her knees. Jeez, the man was lethal. "You are attracted to me and finding it difficult to handle."
His supreme arrogance made her jaw drop.
And she was eternally grateful that annoyance stiffened her spine.
"I am sure if I give it a little time, the strange appeal will pass."
By the way his eyes went warm, it appeared her icy tone was like water off a duck's back.
"Why don't we try an experiment? Hmm?" His dark brow lifted as he stared down into her face. "We're in a public place, surrounded by people. If I only taste your mouth, it cannot go further than that, and perhaps you can figure out why I unnerve you."
When he pulled her to her feet, she found she couldn't resist.
For a moment she just closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of man. A male in his prime, his cologne mingling with a light citrus soap warmed by his body. It was so familiar, and just like the last time her body responded with an arousal that seemed to electrify her whole system. When he drew her closer, she stiffened, unable to help herself.
"Afraid?"
"No," she whispered into his mouth. And because she'd readied herself for this, she almost believed the lie.
"I am not the kind of man who goes around scaring women."
Since she was waiting, just waiting, with bated breath for his kiss, it took a couple of seconds for his words to sink into her scattered brain.
Her eyes opened.
The way he was watching her, the intensity in those grey eyes, made her take a careful breath. Then he nodded and the grey eyes warmed.
"This will not hurt, not even a little," he murmured.
And still he waited.
She decided he wouldn't have the upper hand, not this time, she told herself. She refused to allow it. By choice she lifted her arms and wound them around his neck. And when he hesitated, she pressed her trembling lips to his.
Pascal could have sworn the ground shook under his feet. He was almost certain the sound of people talking around them grew in volume until their voices filled the air until all he could hear was a cacophony of sound. He'd intended to be the one in ultimate control during this little experiment. But discovered his intentions changed as mouth sampled mouth. She tasted sweet. She tasted warm, delicious and wet. He had a sudden and very desperate need to take more, taste more. Before either of them were truly ready for more, he leaped into the kiss and swept her away with him.
Too fast. Her brain screamed the thought as her mind reeled. Too much. But her whole
body dismissed the alarm and pressed against the hard length of his. She needed, and the need was so bright, so acute and more intense than any other need had ever been. She wanted, and the want went bone deep and cut straight through fear. As those sensations, and more, raced through her, her fingers curled into the silky hair at his neck and fisted. Hunger for him thrilled her so fast, she moaned with the sheer joy of it. This couldn't be real, couldn't be right. Yet, the feelings that swept her away told her it was just right.
"Get a room!"
The sound of people laughing shattered the moment, but they were in no hurry to break a kiss that could have gone on forever.
When finally they drew apart, Danni took a careful step back. With distance came the stark reality that too many eyes were upon them, watching. Then a strange and very sudden chill in the air made gooseflesh rise on her arms, but she welcomed the chill after the scorching heat of lust. Without a word, she turned away and his hand was on her again.
"Come with me."
Her cheeks were hot, her heart racing too fast, but she had to look at him.
Desire, barely restrained, made those grey eyes dark. Need, edged with seduction cracked his voice. And she felt... overwhelmed. If she went with him now, she might give him too much of herself.
"I don't think so." Her voice wobbled, let her down when she needed to be strong. "I don't want this, Pascal."
"Do you think I do?" He backed away, and she felt the loss of his body heat. She should have been relieved, instead she felt... bereft. And all the while those grey eyes never left her face. "Not that it's going to make any difference what either of us want," he muttered under his breath.
Her brow creased.
"We have control over ourselves, our lives." She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and kept her gaze steady on his. "I know what I can cope with and what I can't handle."
His smile flashed as his eyes warmed.
And that smile did lethal things to her heart.
If she thought he was gorgeous before, it was nothing compared to how he looked at her now.
"You find me too much to handle?"
"Not at all," she shot back. A little voice called her a liar. Then she wondered why she was arguing with him, with herself. "It's just that I'm not ready for a relationship."
"Well, that's just too bad because whether you think you are ready or not, you are in a relationship... with me. And on two levels. One, a business relationship. Two, a soon-to-be-taken-to-the-next-level personal relationship. So you'd better get used to it."
His clipped tone told her he was more than a little annoyed.
Well, his continued arrogance was annoying her, too.
Temper made her lift her chin as her eyes burned into his. "I've no intention of getting used to it."
"You want to stand there and argue with me about this, in front of witnesses?"
Again her cheeks burned as her gaze slid around the room to find too many people with their eyes upon them, too many whispering, laughing.
It was all too much.
No one, except those who knew Danni well, understood the extent of a shyness that went bone-deep. She was used to seeing that shyness as a handicap, rather than realizing it was due to her perceived weakness that she'd managed to connect on her blog with millions like her all around the world.
"You agreed to have dinner with me," he reminded her now, his tone no more than a throaty growl that did amazing things to the parts of her other men had never reached. But along with arousal the fear was back. Why she felt both on such a visceral level with Pascal she'd no idea. The man might be determined but he'd never once threatened her verbally or physically, so why the paralysis?
"In a restaurant?" she asked, just to clarify the situation and make sure their dinner date wasn't in his infamous penthouse overlooking the Champs Elysées. She focused on collecting her belongings rather than looking at him, it was easier that way.
"Oui, of course."
But she'd heard the unspoken question in his answer.
Now her eyes lifted to meet his, and it felt like she was falling, falling, into a silver pool.
"I'm not looking to see your latest designs up close and personal," she said, quoting verbatim a statement from a negative article she'd read about him online.
By the way those grey eyes went cool, and she saw he received her message loud and clear to back off.
"You should not believe everything you read, Danni. Always try to regard the source of a rumour, the motivation behind it, and what the person who wrote the piece, has to gain."
The piece she knew he referred to had been a hatchet-job on his reputation and his business, written by a contributor to the financial press. A woman. A woman with a very sharp axe to grind.
"And what was her motivation?" she asked now.
"We had a short-lived affair. She was a woman scorned. A woman out for revenge, and a woman who lied."
"To lie about you in that way seems like a risky move to me."
"More like a desperate one," came the response in a bitter tone that made her blink. "She lost her job. Her family disowned her. For a while things became so bad I have a restraining order against her. In this country that means instant prison if she breaks the order."
Whoa.
Danni knew all about restraining orders.
And how was his personal life any business of hers?
None.
So she held her tongue.
"Just dinner?" she asked, determined to set her own rules right from the start.
He smiled, this time it didn't reach his eyes.
"Just dinner. I will send a car for you at eight-thirty."
And with that he turned and walked away.
As he strode away, Pascal decided that when Danni wasn't acting as if he was going to jump her, she was an intriguing and gorgeous woman. Not his usual type. Normally, he went for women with more obvious charms. Danni's style was understated, undeniably classy. Underneath all that there was, he realized now, an innate shyness, an unbelievably sensual sexuality he found unbearably erotic. Plus, she was the only woman of his acquaintance who hated being the center of attention. She was self-motivated, hard-working and loyal to her family and friends.
Above all else, he valued loyalty both in the workplace and in his personal life.
Added to the above, Pascal was incredibly attracted to Daniella Pebbles.
Even as he schmoozed with dozens of his suppliers and received back-slaps of congratulations for his company's new collection of shoes and bags of finest leather, Danni was never far from his mind.
Abruptly, it occurred to him that perhaps her fear of him wasn't personal. From the little he'd been able to ascertain about her past, she might be stunning but she hadn't had a serious boyfriend. And now he began to ask himself why. He'd need to plan carefully to overcome her fear of him. Something, or someone, had hurt her. Well, bad things happen every day in life. It was part of the natural order of things.
But now he frowned, now he wondered what bad thing had happened to Danni.
He was so busy pressing the flesh and planning the careful seduction of the woman he was having dinner with this evening, Pascal didn't notice another woman standing on her own in the corner of the room. She stood utterly still. Behind dark glasses unblinking wild eyes were fixed upon him. He didn't notice her lifting her cell to take pictures of him. And he didn't notice her turning to narrow her eyes as she studied Danni for a long moment, before taking pictures of her, too.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Fleur Lezark was a pneumatic brunette of twenty-one who'd over-dosed on fake tan and cheap scent. And she had a screech of a laugh that could shatter glass. The condition of her hair was not as it should be, as the beautician given the job to make her rat's nest into a sleek and shiny waterfall was protesting loud and long. Probably too many late nights living it up in one of Paris's notorious nightclubs. Fleur was over-confident in her own sexuality and had, as Anastacia was witnessing herself,
the morals of an alley-cat in heat.
Unfortunately for Fleur, Olivier Conti was not only not interested in her bounteous and plentiful wares, he was repelled.
Easy sympathy rose in Anastacia's breast for the plight of her significant other.
Poor thing.
But Fleur was a woman on a mission to snag herself a millionaire footballer and a woman not to be deterred by something as basic as a reluctant and unwilling suitor.
At the moment she was nestled on Olivier's lap, her arms flung around his neck and her spectacular rack pressed against his chest. He looked as if he was being swallowed whole by double G octopus.
"Fleur!" yelled Anastacia, channelling the tone and volume from her step-mother, Maria. Standing feet apart with her fists on her hips, she beaned the model with a look that would melt steel. The response was not as fast or everything Anastacia had hoped for.
With a reluctance that tested Anastacia to the limit, Fleur peeled herself from Olivier, feet first, which meant her breasts were in his face as she rose. With a quick flick of fingers through his hair as a parting shot, she turned turbo-lashed smoky eyes on Anastacia.
"He is too incredible, too gorgeous, and so polite. I just love this gig."
One look at Olivier's stony face told Anastacia they had a problem.
A big one.
"That's enough for today, Fleur. See you tomorrow."
When the model pouted and stood firm, Anastacia simply showed her teeth.
With a quick flick of her now smooth and shiny blonde hair, Fleur gave Olivier one final eye-fuck, picked up her bag and sashayed from the room.
Not taking her eyes off a footballer who looked as if he'd gone five rounds with Wladimir Klitschko, Anastacia spoke to Linda out of the side of her mouth. "I don't care what you have to do, get rid of Fleur and get me someone who looks Parisian and find out what the hell happened to our model."
"I've already got calls out there, but no joy. It's charity fashion week, everyone's booked. I might need to reach out to Del Garda Enterprises, they're expensive but they're the best for a reason."