A Business Engagement

by Jessica Steele

  He stopped her and turned her, and Ashlyn came the closest she had come yet to hitting him. ‘Let go of me!’ she ordered angrily.

  As she might have expected, he ignored her order. ‘So what did I do?’ he demanded. There was a look of determination to get to the bottom of this on his face.

  ‘You know what you did!’ she erupted.

  ‘I took you to dine with some friends. Up until fifteen minutes ago I’d have said you enjoyed it,’ he answered toughly.

  ‘It’s never pleasant to be taken for a fool!’ she spat.

  ‘Who took you for a fool?’

  ‘Let go of my wrist!’

  ‘Answer me!’ Carter insisted sharply.

  ‘You understand and speak French fluently!’ she charged.

  ‘When did I say that I couldn’t?’ he counter-charged.

  That stopped her dead. Oh, how she wished that she could remember. ‘You intimated—’ She broke off when his right eyebrow rose a fraction. ‘Well, you led me to believe...’

  ‘I did nothing of the kind!’ he retorted. ‘If your imagination has taken over, there’s nothing I can do about it. My memory of our conversation is that I asked you if you could speak French, you said you could, and I asked you to come to Paris with me.’

  Given that her memory of the conversation was hazy, she was positive there had been no asking about it. The arrogant swine had ordered her to go with him.

  ‘Why?’ she asked bluntly. ‘Since I’ve heard for myself that you can speak the language every bit as well as me, why? Why me?’ That had him, she was sure of it! He certainly looked at her askance—as if surprised she should take issue over it.

  ‘You’ve one hell of a nerve, Miss Ainsworth,’ he told her coolly, his dark eyes fixed on her. ‘But, given that I’m unused to explaining myself to anyone...’ oh; grief, she was in for another put-down, she could tell! ‘...permit me to tell you that, your fluency in the French language apart, I needed a board member with me on this trip. And you, believe it or not,’ he added silkily, ‘are the only member of the board who isn’t up to his ears in work.’

  One of these days she was going to take the greatest delight in boxing his ears, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he was treating her like one of the men again.

  ‘Nice to know I have my uses!’ she flared. ‘So why take me with you tonight? That wasn’t business.’

  ‘You’d deny me the pleasure of dining with friends?’

  ‘No—but...’ Those dark eyes didn’t seem so cold now. They were disconcerting, off-putting, ‘But you didn’t have to take me with you,’ she managed to finish.

  ‘Would you have my friend Luc have the opinion that only French women are beautiful?’ Carter charmed the heart out of her.

  Was he saying that he thought her beautiful? It was almost enough to go to bed on. ‘You’re—er—um—still holding...’ Her voice was suddenly too husky to be heard. Ashlyn gave a small cough, and her voice was a little stronger when she asked, ‘C-can I have my wrist back, please?’

  ‘Of course,’ he murmured, but instead of letting go he brought her hand up, bent his head, and kissed the back of it. Her legs went like jelly. ‘Forgive me?’ he asked softly, his look suddenly warm.

  ‘Of course,’ she borrowed his words, too far gone now to remember what, if anything, she had to forgive him for. But, just to show she really did forgive, she somehow felt compelled to stretch up on tiptoe and, as he had to her earlier that evening, lean forward and kiss his cheek. Immediately her lips came into contact with his skin, however, she drew back. ‘I’m sorry...’ her colour flared ‘... I shouldn’t have d—’

  ‘Oh, but I’m glad you did,’ he smiled, and, purely to make her feel better about what she had done, she was sure, he bent down, and lightly placed his mouth over her own.

  It was meant to be a light kiss, Ashlyn knew that, and she was sure that Carter knew that as well. But, having made a minuscule movement towards him, she felt too paralysed to move away. His mouth, his sensational mouth, was over hers, and it was wonderful.

  Her hands went to his waist, perhaps to steady herself—she was never afterwards sure. But she guessed that Carter must have read her action as encouragement, for he did not back away, but gently took her in his arms. That light kiss gave way to a warm embrace.

  It was sheer and perfect heaven to be in his arms. Ashlyn wrapped herself around him and held on tightly. The pressure of his lips against hers increased, and she was learning, being teased, her mouth tormented.

  Somehow, hardly aware that either of them had moved, she felt his body hard up against her own, and felt an insane desire to be closer still to him. It had never happened before.

  Carter kissed her again, and the fire that had begun in her started to bum brightly. She kissed him back, instinctively moulding her body against his.

  She heard a sound leave him. Did he desire her? She knew she was going out of control. Yet she loved him, loved him. Did it matter?

  Their lips met again; she wanted more. She felt his wonderful sensitive fingers in her hair. Suddenly felt her long, red-gold tresses fall about her shoulders as Carter released them from their pins.

  ‘Even more beautiful than I imagined,’ he breathed, standing back, looking at her. And a moment later he was burying his head in the clouds of her sweet-smelling hair.

  Then he was kissing her again, the tempo of his kisses suddenly changing. The next time he moulded her to him, she knew that she was losing all sense of reality. Losing all sense...

  But she did not care. And yet... Quickly, while she still could, she jerked back, her breath catching in her throat. ‘You’re nervous?’ he asked, his tone gentle, not demanding.

  She swallowed, but told him honestly, ‘I like kissing you. Only...’ She faltered, almost told him about this fire of awareness that had flickered into life in her and was now starting to scorch her. This dangerous fire of awareness that made it a nonsense for her to be jerking away when she wanted to be closer, even closer...

  ‘Only?’ he teased, planting the tenderest of kisses on one corner of her mouth.

  ‘Only I think I’m getting a little out of my depth,’ she answered, and stretched up to kiss a corner of his mouth. She wanted, wanted oh, so badly, to move her mouth along until their lips met again. But from somewhere she found the strength to pull all the way out of his arms. ‘And,’ she said on a gulp of breath, and with the lightest laugh she could manage, aware that she wanted him, aware that Carter desired her, ‘I’m not sure that I want to do more than paddle in the shallows.’

  With that, she left him. She went to her room. She went quickly. Went before she gave in to her love, and her need to be held, caressed and made love to by the man she loved.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IT TOOK Ashlyn an age to get to sleep that night. Half of her was still regretting that she had pulled back from Carter the way she had, while the other half was certain that she had done the right thing.

  Would Carter have made her his, though? Things had been heading that way, and it hadn’t been him who had backed away, had it? Uncertain if she had been right to come to her room when she had, Ashlyn knew it would be wonderful to be made love to by Carter. But what happened then? Where did one go from there? Back to Landon—and forget it?

  She remembered the lovely and, yes, worldly women she had seen him photographed with. They would accept that. They knew the rules. But she—she did not. And, had they lain together, the thought of going back to the way they had been once they were back in London was one she doubted she could have coped with.

  Ashlyn got up early next morning, realising that, on balance, perhaps it was better that she had not been any more intimate with Carter. But once she was showered, dressed, and with her hair fixed in a neat chignon, she went into the sitting room, and a mixture of emotions took her, so that a tide of pink warmed her skin.

  Carter was there, up, dressed, reading a French newspaper. ‘Good morning,’ she offered as he got to his f
eet. She had been kissed by that wonderful mouth, had kissed back, clung to him pressed close to him ...

  Like a douche of cold water, his cool ‘Good morning’ told her that he had already filed what had been momentous for her under ‘pleasant while it lasted’ and placed it in the ‘dead’ drawer. He checked his watch; a minute ago hers had said seven-fifteen. ‘Your presence isn’t strictly necessary at this morning’s negotiations. If you want to shop...’ With that sentence, he put her firmly in her place.

  ‘Oh, good,’ she beamed, tilting her chin upwards, hating him, hating him. How dared he treat her like some feather-brained shopaholic? He went over and picked up his briefcase—he didn’t have to be at Luc’s hotel until eight! She knew that for a fact. ‘See you later, then,’ she said offhandedly, already heading for the kitchen. She had a feeling she was going to howl and no dastardly male had the right to make a woman feel that way.

  Carter’s voice, however, stopped her mid-flight. ‘You’ll definitely be needed at lunch,’ he stated. She halted, refusing to turn, refusing to look at him, and he went on to tell her where to meet him and at what time.

  ‘I’ll be there,’ she confirmed, hating him some more because he didn’t want her with him that morning, but considered her all right to have lunch with. ‘Hope your negotiations go well,’ she offered, and went on kitchenwards.

  She was still in the kitchen when she heard the outer door close. But she no longer felt like crying. She felt angry. So she’d kissed him—but he’d kissed her first! To the devil with him!

  She took a cup of coffee with her back to the sitting room and, taking a seat by a small table, saw that Carter had left her what must be a key to the apartment. Nice of him to tell her about it. What was he afraid of—that he’d get contaminated if their hands accidentally touched as he passed the key over? Oh, Carter, she sighed—and her anger was gone.

  Ashlyn had not the slightest intention of going shopping. Then, at eight-fifteen, the phone rang. Her heart somersaulted; she was convinced that it was Carter. He had reached Luc’s hotel and had remembered something.

  She strove hard for a cool note when she picked up the phone and said, ‘Hello,’ but her voice was impervious to her brain’s instructions.

  But, in any case, it was not Carter who was on the phone, though the call did come from Luc’s hotel. It was Luc’s wife, Solène. Ashlyn had learned last night that Solène was having a few days’ holiday from her work to be in Paris with her husband. ‘Carter has just said that you are going shopping. I so seldom get to Paris,’ Solène revealed, ‘I wonder if I may come with you?’

  ‘I’d love your company!’ Ashlyn exclaimed, adaptable and not seeing why she should stay moping in the apartment because of him. Love was making a nonsense of her.

  Solène was a charming companion and knew exactly where to shop. Ashlyn spotted a suit that screamed out ‘Take me home’, and could not resist it.

  By eleven-fifteen they had both purchased a suit. Ashlyn knew by then that Solene would be at lunch with them too, and that it would be quite a big affair.

  ‘Shall we wear our new clothes?’ Solène suggested.

  ‘Why not?’ Ashlyn fell in with her. ‘I’ll need to go back to the apartment...’

  ‘And I’ll need to go back to my hotel...’

  Simultaneously they hailed taxis, and parted. Ashlyn was aware that Carter would expect her on the dot of twelve-thirty and knew that she had not a moment to lose.

  At twelve twenty-eight precisely, another taxi dropped an immaculately turned out red-headed woman outside a Paris hotel. She wore a light pure wool suit of pastel green. The straight skirt came to just above her comely knees. The jacket had short sleeves and a high stand-up collar which stood away from her neck and showed off the slender, elegant white column of her throat to perfection.

  Ashlyn went towards the hotel doors, the thought of seeing Carter causing her insides to churn and making her entirely unaware of the admiring looks she was receiving. A smartly uniformed doorman held the door open for her at once.

  She thanked him kindly. Going through the lobby, she searched about for the room where the private lunch party was being held. She found it and went and stood at the entrance, but could not see Carter.

  ‘If I said before that you’re beautiful, it was an understatement,’ a voice she would know anywhere commented into her left ear.

  ‘Carter!’ She turned, smiling, all her earlier enmity forgotten.

  ‘You look stunning,’ he stated softly, and she knew that if he kept this up she was going to melt.

  ‘You know that salary you spoke of?’ she queried, desperately trying to remind herself that Carter’s manners were such that he wouldn’t make her look small in public, and that she mustn’t get carried away by his compliments. ‘Well, I think I’m going to need it. I—er—bought this suit this morning.’

  He smiled, and her legs went like water. He looked into her eyes, and time seemed suspended. She knew her imagination had a lot to answer for when Carter took a step to the side and, placing a hand beneath her elbow, suggested easily, ‘I’d better take you around and introduce you before some of these Frenchmen start to stampede over here.’

  It was flattering being introduced to so many males who complimented her with their eyes. But her interest was only for the man she was with. Though, because she’d realised from Carter’s ‘You’ll definitely be needed at lunch’ that her role had to be in her PR capacity, she was friendly with everyone she came into contact with— and that included a thirtyish, fresh sort of man who ogled more than he complimented.

  She saw Carter frown, and she tried to cover his displeasure by being extra friendly. They were there to negotiate business but, given that she hadn’t a clue what that business was, it seemed to her there was more chance of a favourable outcome if she was friendly to the opposition.

  So she smiled and chatted, and somehow got separated from Carter. She saw Solène, waved, and thought Solène looked absolutely superb in her new outfit. She saw from the sign Solène made that Solène thought the same about her and her new outfit. Then Ashlyn greeted Luc—and spotted Carter in conversation with an animated beauty; she was then able to recognise that peculiar sensation she had last felt in her stomach ages ago for what it was. She was jealous.

  ‘You will sit by me, Ashlyn, for your lunch, yes?’ enquired the one man whom she wasn’t too keen on.

  She looked to Carter; he was hanging on the animated beauty’s every word. ‘I’d love to,’ she smiled at Mr Ogle-eyes, fully aware that if Carter wanted her nearer he would do something about it.

  But quite clearly Carter had no need of her. In no time she was seated with Mr Ogle-eyes on one side and a rather pleasant man who reminded her of her cousin Teddy on the other.

  Ashlyn strove desperately hard to keep her eyes away from that part of the table where Carter Hamilton was sitting. He was entirely oblivious to the woman he had earlier thought ‘stunning’—fickle swine! She passed her lunchtime trying to make it appear as if she was deeply interested in what the men on either side of her had to say.

  She had been introduced to so many people by then that although she usually had a good memory for names her ‘name bank’ was fast being used up. She was in luck, though: both the man on her right and the one on the left were called Matthieu. Sometimes life was made easier—and Carter was still talking to that woman!

  ‘You are in Paris for long?’

  Ashlyn tuned in to realise that Matthieu Ogle-eyes had asked her a question. ‘Regretfully only for a few days,’ she replied.

  ‘Perhaps I may show you a little of Paris this evening?’ That came from Matthieu on her other side.

  ‘That was what I was going to ask!’ Matthieu Ogle-eyes protested, clearly put out.

  Ashlyn laughed, and it seemed to cool the situation. She looked to see what Carter was doing, and saw that he was looking—no, not looking, but glowering—at her. Now what had she done?

  Feeling unnerved, she tu
rned back to her two companions. ‘May I?’ the nice Matthieu persisted—and somehow she remembered he had asked her out that evening.

  ‘It’s very kind of you to ask me, but I’m here with Mr Hamilton, and I’m not sure what our itinerary is for this evening.’

  ‘Shall I have your phone number?’ Matthieu Ogle-eyes asked. Not a hope! ‘I will ring you later, and we can arrange—’

  ‘I’m so sorry, I don’t know what our number is,’ she replied, and just didn’t believe it when both of them dived into their wallets and extracted their personal cards.

  ‘Perhaps you’ll ring me if you are free,’ the nice Matthieu said.

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ she responded diplomatically, turning from one Matthieu to the other, and slipping their cards into the tiny pocket of her jacket. ‘Have both of you always lived in Paris?’ she asked, and the remainder of lunch was spent hearing a great deal about what was best to see in the city.

  That lunch seemed to be the longest Ashlyn had ever lived through, so that she wasn’t at all surprised, when the party started to break up, to see that it was getting on for five.

  Carter was at last on his own—put the flags out! Or, at least, she wasn’t there. He was standing in conversation with Luc and Solene. He looked over to her—and she felt frost in the air!

  He made no move to come over, so clearly he expected her to go to him. She was of the opinion that he could go take a running jump—then looked down at her suit. Ultimately he paid her salary—she wasn’t sure how she felt about being ‘employed’—and the nasty Matthieu Ogle-eyes was starting to be a little tedious.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she smiled, shaking hands with both Matthieus.

  ‘I shall look forward to your phone call, Ashlyn.’

  ‘And I.’

  ‘Au revoir,’ she bade them, and, determined not to hurry, she went sedately over to where Carter was just saying goodbye to his friends.

  She joined them, saying her goodbyes too. Then she and Carter were outside, getting into a taxi, and he was snarling, ‘I take it you enjoyed your lunch?’