French Resolution (Dances With Gazillionaires Book 2)

by Nora Snowdon

  “Bonjour. Jordana, is it not?”

  “Yes. Hello—” Jordana paused as if she couldn’t remember his name, given away only by the calculating glimmer in her eyes.

  “Antoine Christoff,” he supplied helpfully; this feminine artifice was more familiar to him. “We met yesterday.”

  “Yes, of course. And how was the tennis?”

  “Challenging. Helen had me running across the court without mercy.”

  “It looks like you made her run too much, as well.” Jordana gave Antoine a conspiring wink. Oui, Jordana was definitely more like the women he knew; as ruthless in their personal lives as they were in the boardrooms or on the catwalks.

  He glanced to see Helen’s lips tighten at her friend’s remark. Good. Competition between the two women could only help his cause.

  Jordana added to Helen, “I’m supposed to meet Daphne here. Have you seen her?”

  “No. Not yet.” Helen glanced around.

  “Will you not join us until your friend arrives?” Antoine offered.

  “Thank you.” Jordana turned to Helen. “If you’re sure you don’t mind?”

  “Of course not.” Helen sat back into her chair as if resigned. Had she given up on him that easily? How insulting.

  “Are you in the Bahamas for a vacation, Antoine?” Jordana made the bland question sound like a sexual invitation.

  “Yes, I shall be staying a few weeks. How about yourself?” He could play at Helen’s game of insouciance.

  “I’m just visiting my parents for Thanksgiving, but I live and work in Los Angeles.”

  “Oh? What is it that you do?” He casually touched Jordana’s arm, monitoring the narrowing of Helen’s eyes at his action.

  “I’m a lawyer for the motion picture industry.”

  “That must be fascinating. And what about you, Helen? Are you in the movie business, as well?”

  “Nothing so glamorous. I work in a restaurant in New York.”

  He waited a few seconds before realizing she wasn’t going to mention her job with the charity. Why was she downplaying her career? “Ah, you are a chef?”

  “Oh no. Merely a server.” Helen finished her lemonade and stood to go. “Well this has been lovely, but I have to get back. Thanks so much for the game, Antoine. And I’ll call you later, Jordana.”

  “Must you leave me?” Antoine rose to his feet and captured her hand. “Surely on vacation, you can spare some time for new friends.” What was wrong with this woman? She had been attracted to him, and yet now she seemed perfectly willing to concede defeat to her friend. This could not be the same competitive woman he had just faced across the tennis net.

  “I have a school writing assignment.” Her eyes darted nervously to the door.

  He slid his thumb across the back of her hand, saying nothing. She glanced at him and he raised his eyebrows.

  “I told my prof I would e-mail it, to make up for missing two classes.” She turned to include her friend, now looking decidedly piqued at not being the center of attention. “I’m sure Jordana will keep you amused.”

  “Then I will let you go now. But you must promise to let me take you to dinner tonight to make up for it. I will pick you up at seven?”

  “What? No! I mean, I already have a date.”

  “With a man? Oh, je m’excuse.” Antoine released her hand quickly, searching her eyes for clues. Was she playing hard to get? Unlikely given her earlier lack of guile. Perhaps he had scared her with too much attention. That would not help. In his haste to woo the woman, he had almost forgotten his reason for pursuing her. First and foremost, he needed to attain her shares in her father’s company. Business before pleasure.

  “No. I mean…” Helen glanced at her friend. “… Jordana and I have plans for dinner.”

  “Ah. It is no problem then.” He smiled at Jordana. “I’m sure Jordana will allow you to dine with me, n’est-ce pas?”

  Jordana shrugged. “Sure, we can go another night.”

  “Bon. I will pick you up at your house at seven.” Antoine lifted Helen’s hand and pressed his lips to the back of her fingers.

  It wasn’t until after Helen had departed that he realized he’d forgotten to ask where she was staying. Merde. The woman had rattled him. He turned his focus to Jordana. He’d have to pump her for the information he couldn’t admit having already attained via private detective.

  Jordana was eager to please him, but less than happy with his line of questioning. Only when he let her boast about the major films she’d saved through her legal prowess or complimented her on her beauty did she seem to come alive. She was however, remarkably adept at forever changing poses to best display her nubile body and cascading tresses. Why wasn’t he attracted to her? She was his usual type; willowy, blonde, with pert features, a sensational figure, and wearing just the right amount of make-up. And she knew enough to use her physical attributes to her advantage. Normally he was drawn to women who required nothing more than idle praise and expensive trinkets. They were easy to attract and equally easy to dispose of once he tired of them.

  His mind kept shifting to thoughts of Helen and how much he desired to lose himself in those enticing eyes. What would she feel like pressed to his body? Mon Dieu! Aside from her shapely legs, he had no clue as to the appearance of the rest of her body. And here he was imagining taking her to his bed. How had he gone so quickly from merely wishing to possess her shares to this ardent desire to possess the woman? But he was intrigued by the fact that he didn’t know how she’d react. She was a different species and she fascinated him.

  Well, as long as he kept track of his mission, there was no reason he should not enjoy himself. He was looking forward to dinner tonight. With luck she would find a suitable change of attire.

  Jordana fidgeted in her chair clearly annoyed with his inattention so he turned the conversation back to the movie business and allowed her to preen some more. After an appropriate length of time, he excused himself and left to plan his evening.

  *

  Feeling outmaneuvered, Helen walked out of the club in a daze. After she reached the road, it hit her that he hadn’t asked her where she was staying. But he’d said he’d pick her up at her house and not hotel? Could he have asked Tyrone at the tennis club desk? Or was he planning to ask Jordana for her address? Helen smiled. Jordana must be shocked that he’d asked me out. Hmm, but perhaps he’d only feigned interest in her to spark Jordana’s competitive spirit. Helen couldn’t imagine any other reason he would ask her out. Her friend was infinitely more suitable for a sexy playboy like Antoine.

  She went over the minimal conversations she and Antoine had exchanged over the last two days. A few words yesterday. Over tennis they’d limited themselves to comments on play. And in the club, Jordana had arrived before they’d started talking. So why was he determined to see her again? He couldn’t be attracted to someone like her.

  Maybe he had a wife at home and didn’t want to be tempted. He wore no ring and didn’t have that “married” aura, but perhaps French men were less complacent in marriage. Could he be gay? Helen dismissed that possibility. Every molecule in his body screamed heterosexual, not to mention those smoldering glances and tantalizing caresses. But why me?

  Helen was no closer to an answer as she trudged along the beach road. Edward would be annoyed that she hadn’t telephoned him for a ride, but she couldn’t justify him driving to the club and back two days in a row, when a jitney, Nassau’s equivalent to the American bus systems, would be along at any moment. Helen loved the casualness of the transit here. The vans seemed to run at random times and pick you up wherever you were along their route. In New York, you couldn’t stray five feet from the stop without the bus bypassing you.

  She hoped a jitney would be along soon, though, as she was suddenly very hot and tired. Wayward thoughts of Antoine had kept her awake most of last night so it wasn’t unexpected.

  She smiled as a jitney pulled up beside her. It was already full, but people shifted an
d she squished on, trying to ignore the various odors and loud conversations. To her disbelief, they crammed four more passengers on before people started to disembark. She hoped she’d see when they neared her stop, but luckily the jitney was down to four passengers by then. She thanked the driver and jumped out. As expected, Edward gave her an earful when he saw her. Jordana always mocked her for accepting Edward’s paternal rebukes, but Helen found it comforting that someone worried about her.

  “You know, miss,” he admonished, “your father retains me for the purpose of driving him and his guests around this island. There’s no need for you to take those smelly buses. They’re not safe.”

  “I know, Edward. I appreciate your concern and I promise if I go out alone at night, I’ll let you drive me. It’s just that in the daytime I like to go at my own pace.” She didn’t mention the exorbitant amount of gas his precious limo required. “Will you let Bettina know that I’ll be out for dinner?”

  “Certainly, miss. Bettina made some fresh hot patties, if you’d like something now. They’re cooling on the stove.”

  “Mmm. My favorite. Just one, and then I’m having a nap. Please, wake me if father calls.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  *

  Helen examined the two dresses she’d brought to Nassau. The blue halter dress was in a gorgeous, soft, flowing material, but it was low-cut and a little too revealing. Father’s model girlfriend, Camille, had insisted he buy it for Helen three years ago so it was probably still, sort of, in style. The older dress, the little black one, was from when her father dated the semi-religious woman. She felt less conspicuous in that dress. If only she had other dresses to choose from, but over the years she’d realized that if she saw her father on vacation, he always insisted on buying her new clothes. And generally, if she didn’t see him; she didn’t have to dress up. She glanced at both outfits. Then again, maybe Antoine wouldn’t even show up and it wouldn’t matter.

  CHAPTER 3

  At seven o’clock, Antoine drove up the winding driveway. A strange, hollow sensation settled in the pit of his stomach as if he were on the verge of catching something. The feeling intensified as he neared Helen’s door. Could he be nervous about tonight? Impossible. She was an unsophisticated, young girl. Seducing her would be akin to taking candy from a baby and probably as unfulfilling. He merely worried how quick he could get rid of her after he’d obtained her shares, he reassured himself.

  A confident smile in place, he rang the doorbell. Heels clattered and then the door swung open. Antoine’s smile froze, his eyes narrowing in surprise. This Helen was a revelation. Her luminous blue eyes reflected the color of her dress. Auburn curls framed her heart-shaped face and her lips shimmered with a light, pink gloss. The pale skin of her shoulders glowed with the softness of silk. His eyes slid down to her full breasts, followed the line of her dress as it hugged her tiny waist and then flared out gently at her hips. Strappy heels accentuated her exquisite legs.

  “Incroyable,” Antoine murmured, as he fought to recover his manners. “You are truly magnificent.”

  “Thank you.” She appeared taken aback by his blatant appraisal.

  “But what are you doing opening the door? Do you not have house staff?” He glanced behind her.

  “Yes. We do,” she answered indignantly. “Edward was busy, so I told him I’d answer.”

  “That is not safe. What if I were a kidnapper?”

  “Then I’d feel guilty as hell if you kidnapped Edward in my place!” she snapped back.

  The absurdity of her response caused him to snort with laughter. “Very well. I will leave him unkidnapped. But you should be more cautious. There are criminals in Nassau that target the wealthy.”

  “So I keep telling her,” Edward said, as he came to join them.

  “No fair ganging up on me,” she protested. “Antoine, may I present Edward. Edward, Antoine Christoff.”

  “Sir.” Edward nodded deferentially.

  Antoine smiled and bowed slightly in return. “Shall we?” He offering Helen his arm.

  “Have a good evening, miss. If you need anything, feel free to call.”

  “Thank you, Edward. You have a good evening, too.”

  She stumbled as she turned to navigate the steps to the car and Antoine slid his arm around her waist for support.

  “Sorry. I don’t wear high heels very often.”

  “Not at all. My pleasure.” For someone who had been so strong on the tennis court, she felt remarkably petite and feminine in his arms. At his car he turned her to him and ventured a kiss. Her lips were even more entrancing than he had imagined. She leaned into his embrace and he deepened the kiss. Only when her hand pressed against his chest did he reluctantly pull back.

  “I think we should…um,” Helen stuttered, her face instantly flushing.

  “Je m’excuse.” Antoine opened the car door and helped her into his small convertible before walking around and sliding into the driver’s seat. He lifted her hand and brushed his lips against the back. “You are si belle, I forget myself.”

  He concentrated on driving as he rethought his strategy for the night. Yes, he wanted her, but first he should concentrate on his business dealings with Miss Dunhill.

  *

  They pulled up in front of La Bohème Restaurant and Helen felt a rush of both relief and disappointment. Not that she’d expected Antoine to whisk her off to his hotel room, but his kiss had whetted her appetite, and not for food. Her hand was on the car door handle before she noticed him striding around the car to open it for her.

  She’d never gotten used to chivalrous behavior. It seemed outdated. Still, her heels added an extra dimension to emerging gracefully from the low-slung car, so she was grateful for his assistance. His hand on the small of her back, steered her into the restaurant. He probably didn’t even think about it, but the contact sent her mind racing toward more intimate thoughts. How could she have turned so quickly into a sex-crazed, hussy?

  The restaurant was elegant. Tiered candles with silver filigree adorned each table. And the dark wood of the floor, banquet, and wainscoting was warmed by the yellow cream paint and lush paintings evoking Rembrandts and Renoirs. As soon as she inhaled the delectable odors from the kitchen, her appetite returned.

  The Maître d’ approached.“Bonjour, Monsieur Christoff. Nous sommes heureux à vous voir, encore. Votre table?”

  “Merci, Jean-Marc.” Antoine motioned her to precede him. “Ma belle.”

  “I could get used to this,” Helen whispered to Antoine.

  “Pardon?”

  “This isn’t quite like being pushed to the front of a line for a burger in New York. You’re setting impossible standards for other dates to follow.” She chuckled at the appalled look on his face.

  He pulled out her chair before responding. “I do not wish to hear about these cretins.” He motioned the waiter over. “May I order for you?”

  “Please.” Hopefully he wouldn’t order anything gross.

  Antoine conversed in rapid French with the waiter and then settled back to gaze at her.

  “Now tell me about yourself. You have a fantastique mansion in Nassau and yet you are a waitress in New York?”

  “Correction. My father has a fantastic mansion. I live in a cheap Brooklyn walk-up. And, actually, my real career is with an NGO—sorry, a ‘non-governmental organization,’ a charity called Feed the Child. I’m waitressing to help my friend Miguel, who just opened the restaurant.”

  “He is your lover?”

  “Oh no. Miguel is married and I love his wife, too. They are like family.”

  “But you have family. Your father—”

  “My father cares, but we were estranged for many years. My parents had a nasty divorce.” She focused on the flickering lights spilling from the delicate wall sconces. “I love the décor here.”

  “Yes.” He stilled her fingers from fidgeting with her napkin on the table. “I am sorry. I do not mean to pry.”

  “It’s
okay.” She grinned at him. “That just means I get to pry, too. I assume you don’t live in the Bahamas?”

  “No. I have a small villa outside Paris. But I often visit Nassau for business. Ah, the champagne.” After Antoine tested it, the sommelier poured two glasses and disappeared as quietly as he had arrived. “À votre beauté.”

  “Cheers. Mmm. This is delicious. So, what do you do?”

  “I take over struggling companies and turn them into a profit.”

  “Is that what they call a corporate raider?”

  “It does not sound as nice.” He smiled ruefully.

  “Sorry. Dad always says I should learn to filter myself.” She giggled at his look of incomprehension. “I mean, I shouldn’t just blurt out things without thinking. I babble when I get nervous.” Oh damn, did I just tell him that? She clasped her hands together to keep from rolling the edges of her napkin again.

  “I appreciate a woman who speaks her mind. There is too much posturing and artifice as it is. But I presume your father is trying to protect you from those who would use your words against you.”

  “Probably.” She took another sip of her champagne. It wasn’t as sweet as she expected. She eyed Antoine over the rim of her glass. His hazel eyes seemed locked on her mouth and she self-consciously licked her lower lip as she set down her glass. Butterflies dueled in her stomach at his heated gaze.

  “You sound very busy in New York with two jobs and schooling as well? It is good you could get away to Nassau for a vacation.”

  “I have great bosses. And I finished my assignment for school.” She played with the bottom of her champagne flute feeling guilty about her earlier white lie. She’d assumed he wouldn’t remember her mentioning school. Most men couldn’t even remember her name when she stood within ten yards of Jordana. And yet he had asked her out. And he’d kissed her. Heat rose in her cheeks at the recollection.