Doubts swirled inside her head. Was she being selfish denying Samuel a family life? Could she marry Dimitri and be content with a convenient marriage? Would it be enough? Sacrifice her life for that of her son?
Dimitri had made it sound so simple, so feasible. So, independently, had Anouk.
Did she have it so wrong?
Maybe Dimitri could view the arrangement with favour…hell, why wouldn’t he? A wife in his home, his bed…not to mention full-time custody of his son and heir.
‘Dimitri.’
The feminine voice was incredibly familiar, and one Chantelle would never forget.
‘Darling, what on earth are you doing here?’
Daniella Fabrizi. Tall, incredibly svelte, her dark auburn hair loose in a flowing mass of curls, and her make-up a work of art. Attired in a cream linen suit whose skirt hemline rested several inches above her knee, and whose jacket was slashed to a low V and revealed an enviable cleavage.
The question had to be what Daniella was doing here.
Following Dimitri? Or was the actress unaware of his plans? Chance was a fine thing, but Chantelle knew Daniella left nothing to chance. So it had to be a calculated trip from her native New York.
‘Daniella.’
Dimitri’s voice was an indolent drawl, and it was impossible to detect much from his expression.
‘I flew in yesterday with Victor LaFarge,’ the actress revealed. ‘He’s thinking of shooting a movie here and wanted to check out the location, the studios.’
And you just decided to tag along? Actresses didn’t usually check out locations and studios…did they?
‘We must get together, darling.’ A slight pout of those beautifully moulded lips was a contrived gesture. ‘I rang and left a message with Andreas.’
Dimitri didn’t confirm or deny he’d received it, and Daniella’s gaze shifted to Chantelle.
‘Why, you’re here, too. I thought you’d moved abroad.’
‘Daniella,’ she acknowledged with as much politeness as she could muster.
The actress’s gaze shifted to Samuel. ‘What a cute child. Your nephew?’
‘Samuel is my son,’ she said quietly, and saw Daniella’s gaze narrow, followed by the moment comprehension dawned.
‘Well, now,’ the actress began with silken vehemence as she swung back to Chantelle. ‘Aren’t you just the cleverest little thing?’
She wanted to pick Samuel up and move away, and she almost did, except only cowards ran.
‘I didn’t realise this visit represented double-duty,’ Daniella commented, shooting Dimitri a stunning smile. ‘It won’t, of course, create an obstacle.’
What in hell was the actress talking about? Samuel’s existence wouldn’t cause an obstacle to what? Daniella’s plan to cohabit with Dimitri? Maybe even marry him? An act that would catapult Daniella into the position of part-time stepmother?
Not in this lifetime, Chantelle vowed silently. She deliberately checked her watch, then turned towards Dimitri. ‘Samuel and I will be at the Batman show. It’s due to begin soon.’ Somehow she managed a warm smile, although it failed to reach her eyes. ‘Do stay and chat with Daniella.’
‘I would hate to keep Dimitri from an obligation.’
She was a first-class witch. But what else was new?
‘Oh, please,’ Chantelle assured. ‘Dimitri is free to do whatever he wants.’ With that she took Samuel’s hand and began leading him away.
Not that she got very far before Dimitri joined her.
‘You had no need to run away.’
She spared him a dark look. ‘Correction. I was removing myself from the line of fire.’
‘Would you believe I gave her no inkling of my visit to the Coast?’
‘Doubtless your secretary organised your flight.’ What point subtlety? ‘Daniella is a very resourceful woman.’ She couldn’t help herself. ‘And very good at ego-stroking. You must be flattered.’
Dimitri wanted to shake her, then kiss her senseless. If Samuel hadn’t been present, he’d have tossed convention to one side and opted for the latter.
Instead, he did neither.
‘I don’t possess an ego,’ he drawled with musing humour. ‘Nor do I covet flattery.’ He spared her a sideways glance. ‘Unless you want to offer yours?’
‘Are you kidding?’
‘Maman,’ a small voice intercepted, ‘are you angry with Dimitri?’
You have no idea, she accorded silently. Anger doesn’t begin to cover it.
‘Look,’ she encouraged him, indicating the scene ahead. ‘Batman.’ As a distraction, it worked wonderfully well, and she didn’t even protest when Dimitri took Samuel from her and hoisted him onto his shoulders.
For the remainder of the afternoon she kept up a civil front…for Samuel’s benefit.
It was after four when they exited the gates and made their way to Dimitri’s car. Samuel was fading fast, and she knew he’d fall asleep within minutes of the car being in motion.
Chantelle didn’t offer any conversation during the drive to Sovereign Islands, and she unlatched the door as soon as Dimitri brought the car to a halt in Anouk’s driveway.
‘I’ll take Samuel,’ she said quickly. ‘He might wake.’
‘Will that be a disaster?’
‘Of course not.’ She looked askance as he crossed round to her side. ‘Dimitri—’
‘Chantelle?’ he gently mocked.
‘Don’t be facetious,’ she flung beneath her breath, and incurred a dark glance. She refused to be reduced to an undignified struggle, so she simply stood aside and let him unclip the restraints holding Samuel secure in the safety seat.
Which meant Dimitri got to carry Samuel indoors.
‘Oh, poor petit,’ Anouk murmured as she saw her grandson asleep in Dimitri’s arms. ‘Take him straight upstairs. Even if he only naps for a little while, it will be better than the short time he has already had.’
‘I’ll take him,’ Chantelle said swiftly, and sent up a silent prayer to the deity Dimitri would hand Samuel over. She didn’t want to share this indomitable man’s presence in the confines of Samuel’s bedroom, for Dimitri’s height and breadth would swamp the room.
However, the deity wasn’t listening, and she merely received a musing look as Dimitri moved past her and headed towards the stairs.
‘Maman,’ she protested, only to have Anouk direct her a telling glance.
‘Chérie, you are very tense. Has it not been an enjoyable day?’
What could she say? Nothing, at least not right now. ‘I’d better go check.’
Samuel rested silently on the bed, and Chantelle carefully tucked a cellular cotton blanket over him.
She turned and encountered Dimitri’s dark gaze, and for one electrifying minute she was unable to move.
Then his mouth widened into a slow smile, and the spell was broken as he stood aside for her to exit the room ahead of him.
Chantelle stepped quickly from the room, and all but ran down the stairs, supremely conscious that Dimitri followed close behind her.
‘How is he?’ Anouk queried. ‘He didn’t stir?’
‘He’s asleep, Maman.’
‘Good.’ Anouk turned towards Dimitri. ‘Will you join us in a drink?’
‘Thank you, but no. Another time, perhaps?’
Was he anxious to leave so he could call Daniella? She told herself she didn’t care…and knew she lied.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHANTELLE opted for a quiet day at home with Samuel instead of accompanying Anouk and Jean-Paul to a nearby shopping complex. Especially as they’d visited the day before so Samuel could see Santa with all the other children.
Parking was at a premium, the crowds many, and she didn’t want Samuel becoming over-tired.
‘Shall we bake a cake for Grandmère?’
‘A surprise.’ Samuel’s eyes lit up at the thought. ‘Chocolate, Maman.’
‘Chocolate it is.’
She set to work, and had just
popped the cake into the oven when the phone rang.
It was Anouk, sounding agitated, which was unusual. Her mother never became agitated.
‘Chérie, I’m at the hospital. Jean-Paul tripped and fell. The stupidest thing. He was avoiding a boy riding a skateboard at speed in the car park.’ She paused fractionally. ‘We are waiting on X-rays. It’s possible he has fractured his collarbone.’
‘Are you OK?’ Chantelle queried at once. ‘Do you want me to come sit with you?’
‘No, I’m fine. But I don’t know what time we’ll be home.’
Late afternoon, with Jean-Paul in obvious pain and wearing a protective sling.
He was required to rest, and the next few days were spent quietly at home. The news of his accident spread, and Dimitri called in for a visit, spent time with Samuel, and was about to leave when Anouk opened the drawer of an escritoire and retrieved two embossed tickets.
‘Jean-Paul and I were to attend a charity ball tomorrow evening.’ She handed them to Dimitri. ‘Please, take these. You and Chantelle can attend in our place.’ She turned towards her daughter. ‘I’ll mind Samuel. Six-thirty for seven. Black tie. It’s to aid the Leukaemia Foundation.’
What if I don’t want to go? Chantelle almost queried, only to be outnumbered before she had a chance to decline.
‘Please,’ Jean-Paul acceded. ‘It’s a good table, and a fund-raiser for a worthy cause. Anouk is on the committee.’
Thirty-six hours later Chantelle stood in the large lounge adjacent the hotel ballroom and glanced with interest at fellow guests assembled there.
Men attired in dark evening suits, the women in designer gowns and jewellery, real and faux.
The evening’s affair was indeed an event. Capacity attendance, she surmised as she sipped champagne and orange juice.
Dimitri was something else in a superbly tailored dinner suit, white shirt and black tie. He had the look, the stature that set him apart from other men. Add an aura of power, and the result was devastating.
He drew women’s attention like bees sensing a honey pot. Feminine interest, blatant and discreet, but apparent none the less. Four years ago she would have smiled and silently voiced ‘you can look, but I get to take him home’. Then she had known how the evening would end, with a loving that lasted through the night.
Now they’d spend the evening together as social equals, pretend they were enjoying themselves, then he’d deliver her to Anouk’s door, and they’d occupy separate beds in different houses.
Did he lie awake at night aching, as she ached for him? The long, sweet loving, the passion? So intense, like twin souls transcending reality and merging into one.
Standing close to him like this, she was aware of him to an alarming degree. The musky aroma of his cologne mingling with the clean smell of freshly laundered clothes acted like an aphrodisiac, heightening her senses, and accelerating her heartbeat.
It was crazy, but she had an urge to slip her hand into his, feel the warmth and strength apparent, and have his fingers thread through her own. To have his eyes warm with sensual heat in silent promise…for her, only for her.
Oh, dear God…get a grip.
Conversation. Chantelle reached for it like a drowning person reaching for a life-raft.
‘When do you return to New York?’
She was nervous, Dimitri observed, idly watching the throbbing pulse at the base of her throat.
‘New Year.’ He placed the palm of his hand between her shoulder blades and moved it gently in silent reassurance. An action that earned him a startled glance as his hand slipped to rest at her waist. ‘The second of January to be precise.’
A week before she was due to return to Paris with Samuel.
‘I’m surprised you were able to structure such a long break.’
‘My life isn’t entirely given over to business.’
The faintly accented drawl brought a tinge of colour to her cheeks. ‘I didn’t imagine it was.’
‘No?’
There was something going on here she didn’t know about. An elusive, almost mesmeric interaction she could only guess at.
Dammit, what game was he playing?
‘Dimitri!’
Chantelle steeled herself to present a polite façade as she turned towards Daniella and Victor LaFarge. The likelihood of this being a chance encounter was remote.
‘You should have told me you’d be here tonight.’
The actress did provocative reproach well. The faint pout, the slight tilt of her head…and a sultry gaze that exhibited blatant lust.
Overkill, definitely. But what man wouldn’t react?
‘Where are you seated?’
If Daniella suggested they occupy the same table, she’d scream. Then common sense prevailed; seating arrangements had been organised in advance.
Chantelle noticed the three sets of double doors were now open, and guests were beginning to vacate the lounge.
‘Shall we go in?’ Dimitri inclined.
Was it deliberate, or merely a courtesy? Chantelle wondered as he urged her towards the ballroom entrance.
His hand remained at her waist, and she could have sworn his fingers effected a soothing squeeze.
What was he doing, for heaven’s sake?
Efficient organisation ensured the guests were directed to their reserved seating, and Chantelle sank gracefully into a chair at a table close to the catwalk.
‘Ah, there you are.’
She could only look on with startled dismay as Daniella collected two place-names, replaced them with hers and Victor’s, then quickly transferred the place-names to the table she and Victor had been assigned.
‘That’s better.’ The actress promptly took the chair next to Dimitri.
It was? Chantelle couldn’t imagine anything worse. Whatever happened to good manners? Had Daniella no shame?
Apparently not.
‘Darling,’ Daniella purred with feline sensuality as she placed a hand on Dimitri’s arm. ‘You didn’t return my calls.’
With deliberate care he removed her hand. ‘No.’
Oh, my. He was rejecting her advances? In public?
‘It was very impolite of you, caro.’ The pout was back, and although a smile was in evidence, her eyes were green ice.
‘You think so?’
Victor seemed fascinated with their exchange, and Chantelle reached for her water glass. She needed something stronger, but the wine waiter had yet to appear at their table.
‘Victor and I’ll be on the Coast for another few days, then we fly down to Sydney to check out the studios there.’
‘Indeed?’
Mercifully the wine waiter provided a welcome distraction…one that extended several minutes as Dimitri effected a round of introductions to the four guests sharing their table.
The MC announced the purpose of the evening, noted the charity, and introduced the chairwoman, who gave a splendid speech on the Leukaemia Foundation’s goals and achievements. After which a popular singer came on and produced a stirring rendition of a familiar ballad.
Chantelle was supremely conscious of Daniella’s attempts to gain Dimitri’s attention. And his apparent disinclination to play polite.
The starter was served, and she almost died when he forked a small shrimp from his plate and offered it to her.
What was this? He was feeding her? It had been something they did whenever they’d dined together in the past. So why now? Nothing had changed…had it?
She wasn’t so sure of anything any more, especially not him.
There was a break between the starter and the main, during which time the MC showed slides of children with leukaemia and encouraged the guests to dig deep with donations and the purchase of raffle tickets.
Chantelle made a contribution, and barely contained her surprise at the high denominational bills Dimitri added to the basket being passed around their table.
‘Victor, take care of it,’ Daniella commanded languidly.
The
waiters began serving the main course, placing alternate plates of fish and chicken…the usual practice at such events.
‘Oh, please, take that away and bring me a salad,’ the actress said with disdain.
Daniella Fabrizi excelled at playing the diva. Four years ago the actress had been a new kid on the block, but fame and fortune had obviously wrought changes…none of which Chantelle considered an improvement. But then, she had every reason to be biased!
‘I imagine you hired a baby-sitter for…Sam, isn’t it?’ The actress directed the query to Chantelle.
‘Samuel,’ she corrected. ‘My mother is looking after him.’
‘How convenient for you.’ Daniella’s voice dripped barbed cynicism beneath the superficial smile.
‘Yes,’ she agreed, and watched the actress transfer her attention to Dimitri.
‘We really must get together for dinner.’ Her hand rested on his thigh, and her eyes glittered with suppressed anger as he calmly removed it. ‘The four of us, of course,’ she added quickly.
‘I don’t think so.’
Chantelle consciously held her breath for a few seconds, aware all conversation at their table had come to a sudden halt.
‘Darling, why ever not?’ Daniella pursued with a tinkling laugh. ‘We’ve been intimate friends for a long time.’
Dimitri rested his cutlery. ‘We were never intimate. Your deliberately orchestrated interference caused unutterable grief and denied me the pleasure of sharing Chantelle’s pregnancy and the first three and a half years of my son’s life.’
‘Oh, really, how can you say that when we—?’
‘Shared one date five years ago.’
The silence was electric. The muted music, the guests’ chatter…it all faded into the background.
‘Since then you’ve contrived to elicit invitations to the same functions I attend,’ Dimitri continued with dangerous silkiness. ‘Almost everywhere I turn, be it Athens, London or Rome…you manage to be there.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
She was good, Chantelle complimented silently. She did injured indignation to perfection.
‘It amounts to stalking, Daniella.’
‘How can you say that?’
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