The Parisian Playboy. Helen Brooks

      She didn’t know what to say and so she said nothing.

      ‘This was a…novelty at first. Perhaps even satisfying, I am ashamed to admit, in the early days.’

      He didn’t look ashamed, Holly thought, and she had no doubt he loved every moment of the power he was able to command so effortlessly, especially where the fairer sex was concerned. She had seen men like him before, men who considered themselves nothing less than demi-gods with the ability to direct and control other people’s lives. Admittedly none of the others had looked as good as Jacques Querruel, but that would have to have made him more puffed up in anything.

      She became aware he was waiting for her to speak. She pulled herself together and said evenly, ‘So it isn’t satisfying now, Mr Querruel?’

      He looked at her for a moment without speaking and she wondered if she had gone too far, even though her tone hadn’t been openly acidic. And then he grinned. ‘Occasionally,’ he admitted softly. ‘Yes, occasionally it serves a purpose.’

      Oh, wow! Oh, wow, oh, wow, oh, wow. Where had all the natural arrogance gone? If the other girls thought he was dynamite normally he had just moved up to nuclear-missile potential.

      Holly cleared her throat, thinking that if she had known this morning she was going to have such an amazing, one-in-a-million day she would have worn her new suit and given more attention to her hair and make-up. And then she suddenly realised where her thoughts were going and checked herself firmly. It wouldn’t make any difference if she was covered from head to foot in Dior and diamonds. Jacques Querruel was as far removed from her orbit as the man in the moon! Not only that, he was a heartless so-and-so.

      ‘Margaret tells me your work is more than acceptable,’ Jacques continued after a moment. ‘In fact, “excellent” is the word she used.’

      Good old Margaret!

      ‘How old are you, Miss Stanton?’ he asked with a directness that took her by surprise.

      ‘Twenty-five.’ She frowned. ‘Why?’

      He liked that in this young woman, the candidness, but she was something of a paradox and he did not like that. He did not trust what he did not understand, and one of his strengths was that he could sum people up very swiftly. She appeared to be strong and determined, one could almost say aggressively so, and yet several times now he had seen something else behind those great blue eyes. She intrigued him, and it had been a long time since that had happened.

      ‘Why?’ He repeated the word and then didn’t answer her question, saying instead, ‘Have you ever considered working abroad, Miss Stanton, or are you bound to home shores by family or maybe a boyfriend?’

      Holly blinked. What had that got to do with anything? She stared at him, wondering how they had arrived at this from his initial reading of her statement. He was watching her coolly and she envied his detachment as her nerve-ends began to prickle. Her wary expression seemed to amuse him. His amber eyes glinted and a faint cynical smile twisted his lips. ‘Well?’ he prompted lazily.

      ‘I…I wouldn’t be averse to travelling in the future,’ she said carefully, hating the little stutter at the beginning of her words and warning herself to show no weakness before this man.

      ‘And family commitment? Love commitments?’

      His French accent gave the last two words a sexy intonation an English voice couldn’t hope to compete with. Holly hoped the heat which had surged in her blood wasn’t reflected in her face, but she had the nasty feeling she was a definite shade of pink. ‘I live alone in rented accommodation, Mr Querruel,’ she answered primly, ‘and I have some good friends but not a special man-friend if that’s what you mean.’

      He surveyed her for a second more as he straightened and then he said quietly, ‘Mr Roberts has already left the premises so you can relax. I have some business to deal with but I would like to see you again before you leave tonight, Miss Stanton. You will not forget this?’

      She wanted to ask why. He had her statement, and there was nothing she was prepared to add or delete from it. But, in view of the way he had successfully deflected any unwanted questions to date, she didn’t bother, inclining her head as she said, ‘Of course not, Mr Querruel. In Mr Roberts’s office?’

      ‘Just so.’

      And with that he was gone.