Читать книгу A Very French Affair - Эбби Грин - Страница 13

THE wind was driven out of her more as a result of her reaction to coming into contact with his hard chest than because of the impact. Sorcha looked up with dazed eyes. Big hands encircled her upper arms and she could feel his body heat enveloping her. They were so close that all she’d have to do was stretch up slightly and her mouth would be close enough to—

With an almost violent movement she pulled free and jerked away, rubbing her arms. She glowered at Romain, who stuck his hands in the pockets of his dark trousers and leant against the doorjamb. A dark shirt made him look dangerous, foreign, in the gloom of the corridor. The grey of his eyes stood out.

Nervously she touched a hand to her glasses. ‘Do you always lurk outside people’s doors? Or were you just afraid I was turning my room into a den of iniquity?’

A smile quirked his mouth up at one side, making him look even more rakishly handsome. She wasn’t ready to face him—had been counting on the space, however brief, between her room and the dining room to gather herself.

‘I was merely coming to escort you downstairs. Everyone is here.’

‘I’m quite capable of walking myself down some stairs.’

He fell into step beside her. She wanted to turn away from his presence but the corridor was old and tiny.

‘Prickly, aren’t you? I hope this means you’re a morning person.’

She scowled at him briefly and preceded him down the stairs.

Romain followed with a thoughtful look on his face. His jaw tightened as his eyes were drawn to the sway of her bottom in the tight, faded jeans. The force of her cannoning into him had shocked him too. Or rather, the feel of her soft breasts crushed against his chest had shocked him—with how badly he’d wanted to walk her back into the room and shut the door behind them.

In the large drawing room everyone was gathered, drinking aperitifs. Local girls in black trousers and white shirts walked through with canapés. Sorcha was relieved to see some familiar faces—and one in particular.

‘Sorcha, you gorgeous girl, come here!’

She was grabbed around the waist and lifted high by a tall, handsome man—the hairstylist. When he finally put her down she was laughing and red-faced. ‘Val! You nearly stopped the blood supply to my middle region.’

‘How is the smartest model in the world?’ He pretended to think for a second. ‘Now, was it a first, or a second? I can’t remember…’

Sorcha punched him playfully. ‘It was Summa Cum Laude to be precise, but really it’s not that amazing, lots of people got the same mark.’

He looked mock-shocked. ‘Maybe so, but you came in the top five of your class, girlfriend. If that isn’t—’

‘What’s this?’

Sorcha’s back straightened. For a brief moment she’d forgotten Romain was right behind her. How much had he heard?

Before she could stop him, Val was fluttering his lashes in his campest mode and chattering with scant regard for discretion. ‘Our girl here has just graduated with flying colours from—’

‘Val, you never showed me your wedding ring.’

Acting on a panicked impulse, desperately counting on Val’s extreme yet lovable self-absorption, Sorcha breathed a sigh of relief when he promptly forgot about relaying her news and proceeded to show off the heavy platinum band, regaling them with stories about his recent marriage in London to his boyfriend. This was all punctuated with hot, heavy looks at Romain, who Sorcha could see was completely unfazed. She’d seen other men driven almost to violence by Val’s unwanted flirtatious attentions, but Romain was so sure of himself that he was totally at ease, bantering back and forth. It made a funny feeling lodge in her chest.

Val got distracted by someone and walked away just as a bell sounded for dinner. Sorcha already felt wrung out. She made to move, but was blocked by Romain’s tall body.

‘What did you stop Val telling me?’

She should have known he wouldn’t let it go—and she had diverted Val with all the subtlety of a brick. Hemmed in between a chair and Romain, she could see everyone filing out to the dining room across the hall and looked after them wistfully.

‘Nothing.’ She sounded evasive.

‘What was he talking about, and why did you distract him from telling me?’

Why was she feeling so self-protective? It wouldn’t mean anything if she told him…if anything it might make him respect her more. She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. She didn’t want to tell him because she didn’t want him to know anything about her. And if he knew this…well, it might make him curious about other things. She needed to keep him at a distance. And then she remembered his scathing response to her involvement with the outreach centre.

She looked up and held her gaze to his, even though it wasn’t easy. That intense grey seemed to enmesh her every sense. The room was silent. Everyone was gone, and again it was just the two of them. She willed ice into her eyes and into her veins, which seemed to be far too heated of late.

‘He was talking about something that would be of no interest to you. It was personal and private, and he’d forgotten that I’d asked him not to mention it to anyone, that’s all. Anyway, how could you possibly be interested in anything about me?’

‘Oh, but I am, Sorcha—very interested. You’re mine for the next two weeks. And you’re an expensive commodity.’

Her eyes blazed with sudden fury, and she hated the frisson that had skittered down her spine at the way he’d said ‘very interested’.

‘That does not give you the right to pry. I told you before—stay out of my private life.’

His face came close to hers. ‘The hell I will—especially if you’re thinking of getting cosy with Dominic…’

She 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.