neckline be lower?’
She took hold as though to pull it down but he seized her hands in his own. Instinctively her fingers tightened on his, drawing them against her skin, so that she felt him next to the swell of her breasts just before they vanished into the neckline.
He stood for a moment as though fighting to move but unable to find the strength. There was murder in his eyes.
‘Damn you!’ he said softly. ‘Damn you, Cassie!’
He wrenched his hands free and stormed off without waiting for her to reply. She clutched the wall, her chest rising and falling as conflicting emotions raced through her. The signals coming from him had been of violence and hostility but, far from fearing him, she was full of triumph.
He recognised her. He’d admitted it.
He’d blurted it out against his better judgement and they both knew it. Whatever the future held, thus far the battle was hers.
As she turned the corner she saw that he was still there, standing by the door through which they must go. He offered her his arm without meeting her eyes, and together they went on their way.
The others were waiting for them just inside the restaurant, agog with curiosity, but their polite smiles acted as masks and curiosity went unsatisfied. Monsieur Lenoir pulled out a chair, indicating for her to sit beside him, and Henri nimbly seized the place on her other side. For a moment she thought Marcel would say something, but Brigitte touched his cheek and he hastened to smile at her.
Cassie looked about her, fascinated. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, golden ornaments hung from the walls. The glasses were of the finest crystal, just as the champagne being poured into them was also the finest.
She wasn’t usually impressed by luxury, having seen much of it in earlier years, but there was an elegance about this place that appealed to her. She sipped the champagne appreciatively, then took a notebook from her bag and began to scribble.
‘What are you doing?’ Henri murmured in a tone that suggested conspiracy.
‘Observing,’ she said briskly. ‘That’s what I’m here for.’
‘Surely not,’ he murmured. ‘You’re here to have a wonderful time with a man who admires you more than any other woman in the world.’
‘No, I’m here to do a job,’ she said severely. ‘Monsieur Falcon has employed me for my efficiency—’
‘Ah, but efficiency at what?’ His eyes, raking her shape left no doubt of his meaning.
‘At business matters,’ she informed him in her best ‘prison-wardress’ voice.
‘But there’s business and business,’ he pointed out. ‘It’s not just facts and figures he wants from you, I’ll bet.’
‘Monsieur Lenoir!’ she exclaimed.
‘Henri, please. I already feel that we know each other well.’
‘Henri, I’m shocked!’
‘And I’ll bet you don’t shock easily. Do go on.’
‘You cannot know me well if you think that of me.’
‘Think what of you?’ he asked with an innocence that would have fooled anyone not forewarned. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I’m sure you do.’
‘Well, perhaps. I can’t imagine Marcel wasting you on business efficiency when you have so many other lavish talents. He’s known as a man with an eye for the ladies.’
He inclined his head slightly to where Marcel was sitting. Cassie waited for him to glance across at her, disapproving of Henri’s attention, but he didn’t. He seemed engrossed by Brigitte, sitting beside him, his eyes fixed on her as though nothing else existed in the world. Suddenly he smiled into her eyes and Cassie had to check a gasp. Surely no man smiled at a woman like that unless he meant it with all his heart?
There was a welcome distraction in choosing the food, which was of the high standard she’d expected. While they ate Henri surprised her by talking sensibly. Her questions about Paris received knowledgeable answers and she was able to listen with such genuine interest that when Marcel spoke to her across the table she failed to hear him.
‘I’m sorry … what …?’ she stammered.
‘I was merely recommending the wine,’ he said. ‘It’s a rare vintage and a speciality of this hotel.’
‘Of course, yes. Thank you.’
‘Never mind him,’ Henri said. ‘Let me finish telling you—’
‘You’ve had your turn,’ Monsieur Lenoir objected. ‘I may be an old man, but I’m not too old to appreciate a beautiful woman.’ He gave a rich chuckle. Liking him, Cassie gave him her most gracious smile and they were soon deep in conversation. On the surface he was more civilised and restrained than his son, but his observations about Paris tended to linger on the shadowy romantic places. Clearly Henri wasn’t her only admirer.
At last an orchestra struck up and dancers took to the floor. Monsieur Lenoir extended his hand and she followed him cheerfully.
He was a reasonably good dancer for his age and weight, but what he really wanted, as she soon discovered, was to flaunt his sexy young companion, enjoying envious gazes from other men. She laughed and indulged him, careful not to go too far, and they finally left the floor, laughing together in perfect accord.
Henri was waiting for them, looking theatrically forlorn.
‘I’m all alone,’ he mourned. ‘You’ve got my father. Marcel and Brigitte look like they’re set up for the night.’
‘Yes, they do, don’t they,’ Cassie said, observing them from a distance, dancing with eyes only for each other.
‘So when will it be my turn?’ Henri wanted to know.
‘Right now,’ she said firmly. ‘Do you mind my leaving you alone?’ This was to Monsieur Lenoir.
‘No, you two young things go and enjoy yourself. I’m puffed.’
Before she knew it she was spinning around the floor. Henri was a good dancer. So was she, she suddenly remembered. How long had it been since she’d had the chance to let go and really enjoy herself?
For a little while she gave herself up to the thrill of moving fast. Her mind seemed to be linked to Henri, so that when he waggled his hips she instinctively did the same, and heard cheers and applause from the rest of the floor. The world was spinning by in a series of visions. They came and went in her consciousness, but the one that was always there was Marcel, watching her with narrowed, furious eyes. No matter how often she turned, he always seemed to be directly in front of her. She blinked and he vanished. And yet he was still there, because he was always there.
As the dance ended there was a mini riot, with Henri indicating that he wanted to partner her again, and at least three other men prepared to challenge for the privilege. But they all backed off when they saw Marcel, with murder in his eyes, stretching out his hand to her.
‘My dance, I think,’ he said.
His voice was soft but dangerous, and tonight danger had an edge that she relished.
‘I don’t think so,’ she said with a challenging glance at her other suitors. ‘I think you have to wait your turn.’
It was a crazy thing to say but she couldn’t have stopped herself for anything in the world. Suddenly she felt herself yanked fiercely against him, his arm so tight about her that she was breathless.
‘I wait for no man,’ he said. Then, in a voice even softer and more menacing than before, he added, ‘And no woman.’
‘Then I guess I have no choice,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’
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