Читать книгу A Taste of Sin - Maggie Cox - Страница 9
ОглавлениеROSE WAS STANDING by the window, mesmerised by the steady rain that hadn’t let up all morning, when a gleaming black Mercedes drew up in front of the antiques shop and effortlessly glided to a stop.
It was just like a scene from a movie and she was immediately riveted. Inside her chest her heart thumped hard, because she knew it was the visitor she’d nervously been anticipating... Eugene Bonnaire.
Even the name gave her chills. He was one of the country’s wealthiest restaurateurs, with an uncompromising reputation for getting what he wanted, and when Rose’s boss, Philip, had put the beautiful Thames-side antiques shop he owned up for sale the businessman had wasted no time in declaring his interest.
Not for the first time that morning she wished Philip could be there alongside her, but sadly his already failing health had deteriorated and he was now in hospital. In his absence, he had asked Rose to handle the property’s sale on his behalf.
The responsibility was a bittersweet one. Not just because he was ill, and she feared he might not recover, but because she’d nurtured a secret hope to take over the business herself one day. Having spent ten enjoyable years working with Philip, and training as a dealer, she’d honestly grown to love the place. Consequently, she wasn’t predisposed to warming to their potential buyer.
Her first glimpse of the man, after his chauffeur had opened his door and he’d stepped out into the rain, was of a pair of classy Italian brogues, followed by a flawless charcoal suit that was no less than stunningly perfect. Rose caught her breath. As soon as she saw his arrestingly sculpted features, the cut-glass jaw and crystalline blue eyes that were frequently described by the press as ‘unflinchingly piercing’, she had the disturbing sense that she was coming face to face with her greatest fear and—inexplicably—her greatest desire...
She irritably chided herself for the thought. Snapping out of the near trance she’d fallen into watching him, she smoothed her hands down her smart navy dress and made herself walk calmly to the door. It was then she saw that the businessman’s height dwarfed hers.
Lifting her head to gaze up at him, she said, ‘Eugene Bonnaire? Please come in. I’m Mr Houghton’s assistant—Rose Heathcote. I’ve been asked to conduct the meeting with you on Mr Houghton’s behalf.’
The handsome Frenchman stepped inside. Charmingly polite, he shook Rose’s hand with a slight bow of his head and she immediately sensed the reined-in strength he exuded.
‘I am delighted to meet you, Miss Heathcote. But I have to confess I was sorry to hear that your boss has been taken ill. Might I ask how he is?’
Before answering, Rose pulled the door shut behind him and adjusted the sign that hung inside the glass to read ‘closed’. She was glad of the chance to compose herself before she turned round again. Not only had his firm handshake made her far too aware of him as a man, but the deep bass timbre of his arrestingly attractive voice made her skin feel as though he’d brushed it with gossamer. She prayed that the blood that had heatedly rushed into her face didn’t too obviously reveal the fact...
‘I wish I could say he was a little better, but the doctors tell me it’s going to be a while before we see any improvement.’
‘C’est la vie. It is the way of things...but I wish him well.’
‘Thank you. I’ll tell him you said so. Anyway, would you like to come with me into the office, Mr Bonnaire, and we can start our meeting?’
‘Before we discuss anything I would like you to show me round the building, Miss Heathcote. After all, that is the reason I am here.’
Although there was a faultlessly charming smile on his lips to accompany this statement, Rose realised that here was a man who wouldn’t be diverted by small talk, however polite and concerned. Nothing would take precedence over pursuing his goals, and his goal today was clearly deciding whether he wanted to buy the antiques shop or not...
‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘It will be my pleasure.’
Rose led him upstairs to one of the three spacious rooms that, although elegantly arranged, were stacked to the rafters with a mixture of antiques and collectables. The air smelled faintly musty because there was a generous amount of furniture on display, although it was tempered somewhat by the scent of beeswax.
While the sound of the rain against the leaded windows made for a cosy ambience it was a little chilly too, and the dress she wore was sleeveless. Wishing she’d collected her cardigan from the office, she briskly rubbed her arms to warm them.
‘The rooms are generously sized, considering it’s such an old building,’ she remarked, ‘which is why we can house so many antiques. I hope you like what you see, Mr Bonnaire.’
Looking faintly amused, her visitor lifted his gaze.
Rose privately attested to spending the most electrifying few seconds of her life as her glance met his. It struck her that she could have chosen her words better. Not in a million years would she invite a man like Eugene Bonnaire to look at her. Did he think that she would? He had a reputation for liking exceptionally beautiful women, and Rose knew she was a long way from being in that particular category.
‘So far...I like what I see very much, Miss Heathcote,’ he answered, not moving his gaze.
Now she really did feel hot and bothered. ‘I’m...I’m glad. Take as much time as you want, looking over things.’
‘Trust me, I will do exactly that.’
‘Good.’
Hastily averting her glance, she crossed her arms over her chest, not wanting to draw any more attention. But it wasn’t long before she found herself surreptitiously observing him as he walked round, his keen-eyed gaze carefully examining the layout and proportions of the room, every so often dropping down into a crouch to examine the durability and condition of the timbered walls and crevices. It was fascinating to watch him stroking his large but slim hands over the wood and occasionally tapping it with his knuckles.
Whilst Rose understood that it was important the man knew what he would be getting for his investment, he didn’t give the impression that the room’s contents interested him at all, and she began to be concerned. Philip had told her it was imperative he sell the business as a going concern, because his poor health meant that he now had to retire, as well as pay for his aftercare when he left the hospital.
He had added sadly, ‘I’m afraid that pensions aren’t worth a light these days...’
The weight of the responsibility she’d taken on in agreeing to make the sale for him hit Rose even harder.
She was still frowning when the preoccupied Frenchman pivoted and remarked, ‘Forgive me, but I saw you shiver a couple of times. Are you cold? Perhaps you’d like to go and get your jacket, Rose?’
Even as he asked another small shiver ran up her spine. But it wasn’t due to the less than comfortable temperature...it was because it had sounded disturbingly intimate when he’d used her name.
Last night, ahead of her interview with him, she had looked up Eugene Bonnaire on the internet, and as well as reading about the numerous plaudits he had earned in his career thus far she had also learned that he could be quite ruthless in his dealings and had an insatiable appetite for success. He was cited as a man who went after the very best of everything, no matter what the cost, and his penchant for stunning women suggested he was quite the playboy.
Rose knew she couldn’t afford to let her guard down round him for an instant. She didn’t want to be persuaded to agree to the sale of the business against her better judgement just because he was so attractive.
Deciding that she couldn’t and wouldn’t let that happen—she knew from bitter experience the danger that men like him could pose—she unwaveringly returned his gaze and said, ‘I think I will go and get my cardigan. If you want to look at the other rooms on this floor, be my guest. I’ll be back in a minute.’
With a polite but inarguably knowing nod, Eugene Bonnaire glanced away.
A short while later she returned upstairs to find that he’d gone into the furthest room at the back. This was where the more valuable items were displayed and where jewellery was housed behind secure custom-made glass cabinets. Much to Rose’s surprise, she found Eugene staring transfixed into one of the cabinets and wondered if she’d misjudged him. Maybe he did admire some of the artefacts and maybe he would buy the business as well as the building?
She couldn’t help but smile as she stepped up beside him, curious to see what he was examining so avidly. When she saw that he was staring at the exquisite pearl and diamond ring from the nineteenth century that was the centrepiece of the display, her curiosity was even more piqued.
‘It’s pretty, isn’t it?’ she commented.
‘Yes, it is. It looks very similar to the ring my father bought my mother when their business first started to take off.’ He was lost in thought for a moment. Then, with a heartfelt sigh, he turned towards her. ‘But the pearls and the diamonds weren’t real. They were just costume jewellery... He couldn’t afford to buy her anything expensive back then.’
There was definitely a glimmer of pain in his eyes as he related this, and Rose found herself warming to him probably more than was wise, because he suddenly seemed oddly vulnerable.
‘I’m sure your mum loved the ring just as much as if it were the genuine article. Surely it’s what it represented, not how much it cost?’ When Eugene failed to comment, and turned back to examine the jewel broodingly, she said softly, ‘You might be interested to know that this ring was given to a girl who was a nurse in the Crimean War by the grateful family of a wounded soldier.’
His crystal blue gaze meandered interestedly across her features. Then he gazed deeply into her eyes. Rose’s mouth went dry as a sun-bleached plain... She was glad she was wearing her navy wool cardigan so he wouldn’t see her shiver again.
‘Every picture tells a story, so they say,’ he mused. ‘No doubt it’s the same for jewellery. But let me ask you this: do you think the nurse who was gifted it was very pretty and the wounded soldier a handsome officer?’
The roguish twinkle that accompanied his question took her by surprise and all but made Rose’s knees buckle. Flooded with heat, she congratulated herself on quickly regaining her equilibrium and not glancing away too soon. Instead, she made herself steadily hold his gaze and her lips curved in a gentle smile.
‘Whether he was handsome or not, shortly after they met he died from his wounds. It’s a terribly sad story, isn’t it? Whether the two of them had feelings for each other we can only wonder, but the giving of the ring was documented in the soldier’s family archives. That’s how we were able to trace its provenance.’
‘I am guessing that you like to imagine the couple did have feelings for each other, Rose.’ Eugene’s expression was suddenly intense.
Feeling strangely as if she was under siege, she shrugged. ‘Why not? Who could begrudge them the little bit of happiness they may have had in the midst of such a terrible situation? But the truth is we’ll never know what really happened.’
What Rose did know was that she had to engineer some space between her and Eugene. She might at one point have felt a chill, but now she was definitely warmer...too warm.
‘If you’ve finished having a look round up here we should go downstairs and have that meeting...don’t you think?’
‘I agree. Perhaps you could make us some coffee?’
‘Of course... How do you take it?’
‘How do you think I might take it, Rose? Humour me.’
If his tactic was to disarm her and lull her into a false sense of security because he’d decided to be playful, Rose couldn’t deny that on another day she might have succumbed to his charm. After all, what woman wouldn’t feel flattered by his exclusive attention? But today she wouldn’t be so easily swayed. Not when she had an important task to fulfil. She had to sell the antiques shop on her boss’s behalf and secure the very best deal she could. Nothing could distract her from that goal.
Leading the way back downstairs, in an attempt to let Eugene see that she wasn’t rattled by his friendly repartee, she breezily threw over her shoulder, ‘Okay, then. I’m guessing you probably like it strong and black. But I’m also guessing you like a couple of spoons of sugar to sweeten it. Am I right?’
‘I’m impressed. But be careful not to assume you know what I like in any other respect, Rose... You might find that you’ve bitten off a little bit more than you can chew.’
Even though she’d heard a smile in his voice, Rose didn’t doubt the comment carried a warning. No man became as successful as Eugene Bonnaire without carefully assessing anyone who might put obstacles in the way of him getting what he wanted...
* * *
When she returned to the office with the tray of coffee she’d made Eugene had his back to her, and she couldn’t help but let her gaze linger for a moment on the impressive breadth of his shoulders. In the better lit room she also saw that his hair was a rich dark brown, with dulled gold lights glinting here and there.
As if that wasn’t enough to capture her attention, the scent of his classy cologne drifted beguilingly on the air and made her insides turn over. With the tip of her tongue she moistened her suddenly dry lips and placed the tray on the gracious Victorian desk in front of him. Then she walked round to the beautifully carved chair that her boss usually occupied.
Coming face to face with Eugene’s features again was not something any woman with a pulse would soon forget... He was chisel-jawed and handsome as a Michelangelo sculpture. But she was perturbed when she saw that his dazzling blue eyes didn’t seem as warm as they had upstairs, when she’d met his gaze over the jewellery cabinet and he’d shared that touching story about the fake pearl and diamond ring his father had bought his mother.
In fact, as they swept over her they brought to mind a once sunlit ocean frozen under ice. A little alarmed, Rose sensed hot colour flooding into her cheeks. Was he assessing the way she looked?
Having never considered herself a beauty, she was painfully disconcerted at being scrutinised by the businessman so penetratingly. Friends had often remarked that her best features were her eyes and her cheekbones, but other than that she knew she was quite ordinary. Disturbed that she should waste even a second fretting over what the man’s opinion of her might be her instinct was to be doubly wary of him.
But the restaurateur’s carved lips curved in another disconcerting smile. ‘Would you like to pour the coffee for us? Then we can proceed. I have a particularly heavy schedule today, and would like to settle our business as quickly as possible.’
‘You sound as though you’ve made a decision?’
‘I have. Having seen the interior of the building, I’d like to make you an offer.’
Straight away Rose noted that he’d said ‘the building’—not the antiques business. Her stomach plunged like a stone.
‘I’d really like to tie up the sale of the property today,’ he added smoothly, bringing his hands together with his long fingers forming a steeple.
His words suggested it was a given that she would agree to the sale. Maybe he didn’t think she could possibly refuse him because she was only standing in for the owner? Perhaps he imagined his wealth and status would intimidate her?
If she was right, then his arrogance beggared belief. Biting her lip, she decided to delay commenting and garner her thoughts.
Reaching for the cafetière, she carefully poured out his coffee. ‘It’s two sugars, isn’t it?’ she checked, aware that his intense gaze was closely surveying everything she did and resenting it mightily.
‘That’s right.’
Passing him the beverage, Rose made a particular point of not meeting his gaze. After pouring her own drink she sat down, but in truth she knew any hopes she might have had of remaining calm throughout the meeting had fled as soon as her glance had encountered the Frenchman’s...
‘Can I just clarify something? You said that you wanted to tie up the sale of “the property” today?’
‘That’s correct’
‘Forgive me, but I thought my boss had made it clear that he wanted to sell the business as a going concern, Mr Bonnaire? You can’t separate it from the property and just purchase the building. Do I take it that you’re not interested in running the antiques shop at all?’
‘That’s right, Rose—but, please, call me Gene. You may or may not know, but I already run a very successful worldwide restaurant business and I’d like to install one of my most prestigious restaurants here. The location is perfect. And, although I do also have other successful businesses, to be frank with you I’m afraid that antiques don’t interest me in the slightest. I’m sure you must have learned from your boss that people just aren’t as interested in them these days as they used to be. Anyone in business wants to make money. No interest in the product, equals no profit. Isn’t that the reason why he wants to sell?’
Rose felt as if her face had suddenly been seared by an iron. She was both embarrassed and furious. ‘You don’t have to be so brutal—’
‘Business is brutal, ma chère...make no mistake about that.’
‘Well, Philip is selling because he’s ill and no longer has the energy to run the business. This antiques shop has always been his pride and joy, and if he was well I can assure you it wouldn’t be up for sale at all.’
It was Gene’s turn to sigh. ‘But I’m guessing the fact is, due to his poor health, he’s decided to take the opportunity to make as much money as he can on his asset while he is still in a position to do so. Is that not so?’
She flushed again, and twisted her hands in her lap to still their trembling. She couldn’t make a proper decision about anything if her emotions got in the way. But Gene, as he seemed to prefer being called, had guessed right. Because of his failing health Philip needed to make this sale. But she knew that he’d fervently hoped to sell the business along with the building, and if Rose didn’t manage to do that for him then she would have failed the man who was not just her boss and mentor, but who had been her father’s dearest friend...
She came to the only decision that could possibly be right. Now calmer, she met the Frenchman’s gaze across the desk. ‘It’s true that Mr Houghton needs to make this sale, Mr Bonnaire—Gene—but, since you’ve just admitted that antiques don’t interest you in the slightest, and that you’re not interested in running the business and only want the building, I’m afraid I can’t agree to sell it to you. It just wouldn’t be right. I realise it’s not the decision you hoped for, but I’m sorry. I hope you understand?’
‘No. I do not understand. I have told you that it’s the building I’m interested in and I’m willing to pay what I know to be the going rate for the property...no question. How many interested buyers has your boss seen since he put the shop up for sale?’
Gene Bonnaire’s glare was steely.
‘In the current economic climate my guess is not many... Maybe I’m the only one? If I were you, Rose, I would take my offer on your employer’s behalf and congratulate yourself. Trust me...the only regret he would have is if you should be foolish enough to turn me down. Do you really want to put yourself in such an untenable position and lose the faith and trust he has obviously accorded you?’
As a helpless tide of defensive anger surged through her Rose set her eyes on the man she now considered to be not quite so charming. He might not be as heartless as she’d first thought—the story about the fake pearl and diamond ring his father had bought his mother demonstrated that he had the capacity to feel things deeply—but she knew that he was determined to secure the desirable Thames-side building at all costs. And he was plainly willing to risk Rose not liking him if he became too insistent.
‘I think you’ve said quite enough, Mr Bonnaire. I’ve given you my decision and you’re just going to have to accept it.’
‘Is that so? Do you imagine that any businessman or woman worth their salt who is determined to seal a deal should give up so easily merely because you tell them that they should?’
His tone was sardonic, and Gene’s glance swept over Rose as if she was a foolish little girl.
Swallowing down her fury that anybody could be so reprehensible, she stiffly folded her arms. ‘I wouldn’t dream of advising anyone what’s best for them, because I clearly don’t know. I’m not a businesswoman...I’m an antiques dealer. However, I do know my boss Philip, and how much this antiques business means to him. He’s impressed upon me more than once that he wants to sell it as a going concern, so I would be failing in my duty if I didn’t adhere to that. On his behalf, I thank you for your interest but our meeting is over. I’ll see you to the door.’
‘Not so fast.’
As he rose immediately to his feet it wasn’t hard for Rose to detect that Gene Bonnaire was more than a little thrown off balance by her refusal to sell. He was holding on to his temper by a thread.
The expensive cologne he wore again stirred the air, reminding her that the moneyed and elite world he inhabited was light years away from hers and that he hadn’t expected an argument. But on this occasion, Rose was determined to stand her ground...
‘Look, I didn’t come here to waste my time or yours,’ he went on. ‘I came here for one reason and one reason only: to purchase a listed building that I understood was up for sale. If you won’t sell the premises to me then perhaps you’d reconsider your decision if I agree to purchase the antiques as well? I don’t doubt some of them might be valuable to an ardent collector.’
The comment was hardly encouraging. He might just as well have referred to the collector as misguided rather than ardent. Rose didn’t have to guess how appalled Philip would be if he knew that Gene didn’t want to purchase the antiques for their beauty and historical significance, or even because he might be considering continuing the business after all, but only because he was thinking about their monetary worth.
‘Indeed, some of them are extremely valuable,’ she confirmed. ‘But unfortunately your remark illustrates to me exactly what you asserted earlier...you have no interest whatsoever in antiques. That being the case, I’m not inclined to consider your offer any further, Mr Bonnaire.’
Extracting a leather wallet from the inside pocket of the impeccably tailored jacket he wore, the businessman took out a card and threw it down onto the desk. The blue eyes that Rose had noted could be icy had turned even more glacial.
‘When you’ve had some time to think things over—meaning when you can make a far less emotional decision about the matter, Rose—I don’t doubt you’ll want to get in touch with me to discuss a sale. In the meantime, I’ll say au revoir.’
As he spoke Rose found herself yet again uncomfortably captured by his mocking glance, and she thanked her lucky stars that the man was going. Yet as her gaze followed him to the door in truth she didn’t know whether or not to be pleased she’d stood her ground—whether the decision she’d made was the right one or not...
* * *
Back in his Mayfair office, after the tedious round of meetings he’d chaired that afternoon, Gene asked his secretary to get him some coffee and sank down into his high-backed leather chair to mull over the day’s events. He didn’t think he had ever felt more irritable and out of sorts, and it was all down to his offer being refused on that damn property.
He’d admired the architecture of the Thames-side building for years, and had often thought it would make the most fantastic restaurant should he buy it. He didn’t envisage it as an addition to the more commercial restaurants he already owned, but saw it as the kind of exclusive place that the glitterati liked to frequent. Just like the two esteemed establishments he owned in New York and Paris.
Recalling his meeting with Rose Heathcote, Gene mused that it was beyond his understanding how she couldn’t see what a gold-edged opportunity to capitalise on his assets he had given her boss. Most people would have ripped his arm off to take it. But one thing had become eminently clear to him... Just as she had said, Rose was no businesswoman. Her attitude had really irked him. Especially when he’d seen that she wasn’t going to be easily influenced by any amount of charm he might utilise. Yet part of him admired the brunette for her determination to stand firm even though he knew she was wrong.
And there was something else about her that had caught his attention. She had the most startlingly beautiful violet eyes. Her glossy black hair and ivory-coloured skin made them even more captivating. The passion he’d seen in their mesmerising depths had intrigued him and made him want to get to know her, even though she’d denied him the chance to purchase the property. But, as was his modus operandi when faced with situations or outcomes he didn’t like, Gene knew he would immediately work to turn it to his advantage.
Yes...he would step right back into the breach and make his purchase of the building a foregone conclusion. He wouldn’t be satisfied until it was his. Rose could take a couple of days’ sober reflection on what a mistake she’d made in turning him down, then Gene would get back to her with an offer that he knew her boss simply couldn’t refuse.
If he could have some more time with her and assure her that he was respectful of the gracious building’s admirable history, had always admired it and only sought to elevate it by housing his restaurant there, he didn’t doubt he could persuade her to convince Philip Houghton that selling the building to one of the country’s richest entrepreneurs wasn’t just a good idea...it was the only one that would take it off his hands and make him enough money to see him right for the rest of his life.
But just then, somewhere deep inside him, Gene couldn’t help feeling disturbed that he’d so easily dismissed the other man’s welfare in the belief that money was the answer to his problems. Even his parents had counselled him on that once.
‘Son, you can’t always fix someone’s pain by throwing money at the problem. No amount of money or good fortune made it any easier for us to endure the devastation of your sister’s death. Don’t forget that.’
The memory jolted him, and for a few disturbing seconds he felt as if a grenade had been thrown into the room. But now wasn’t the time to reflect on how much his sister’s death had nearly broken him...
He squared his shoulders. He and his parents saw life very differently. Gene saw practical solutions to adversity while they succumbed to their emotions and allowed their feelings to dictate how they responded... The idea of behaving in the same way was anathema to him. He’d heard his parents’ stories about their poor upbringings, how their own parents and siblings had suffered terribly when there hadn’t been the means to put food on the table or to have adequate heat and light, and how many nights they had gone to bed hungry... From a tender age he’d intuited how essential it was to have money, and as he’d grown older, having discovered that he had a talent for making it with ease, he wasn’t about to relinquish it—not for anyone.
Pleased that he’d come up with a plan to help him win the beautiful old property—a plan he was convinced would work because he never, never entertained the possibility of failure—Gene got to his feet, straightened his tie and strode out through the door.
Stopping at the desk of his blonde, statuesque secretary, Simone, whose cousin was an up-and-coming Parisian designer—and frankly that was why he’d given her the job...because it always paid to utilise his assets—he flashed her a warmer smile than usual and said, ‘Forget the coffee, ma chère, and book me a table for dinner at my club for eight o’clock.’
‘Will you be taking a guest with you, Mr Bonnaire?’
‘No, Simone. Not tonight.’
‘Then I will ring the maître d’ straight away and arrange for you to have your favourite table.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You are most welcome. It always makes me glad when I can do something to please you and make your life a little easier.’
The woman’s glossy pink lips curved in a smile that was definitely inviting.
Gene’s fleetingly good mood instantly vanished. Scowling, he said, ‘In that case you won’t mind doing some overtime tonight, will you? I’ve left a “to do” list on my desk for you. Goodnight, Simone. I will see you in the morning.’
He was more irritated than usual with the blonde’s obsequious manner. She hadn’t been working for him for very long, but he didn’t need to be a genius to know that she was only too aware of how to use her best assets...especially as she clearly thought it was only a matter of time before he would bed her... Just yesterday he had overheard her stating the fact, not very discreetly, to someone on her mobile.
Waiting impatiently for the elevator to arrive, he muttered savagely beneath his breath, ‘God save me from predatory women!’
