Chapter Four
CELEbrATING WITH HIM was the last thing Gisèle wanted.
Adam knew it from the way she stilled and the wide pupils darkening her eyes. That hint of fragility snagged his conscience, until he reminded himself she could walk away from the deal if it really bothered her. She wouldn’t be a pauper even if the family company folded.
Apart from those tiny signs, her sangfroid was impeccable.
A lesser woman would have found an excuse to be alone. Gisèle did no such thing. She inclined her head, her expression one of calm confidence. ‘As you wish.’
As if she bestowed a favour. As if it were she, not he, who’d direct what happened next.
He recalled the articles calling her Ice Queen, partly because she kept her sex life so private the media could find no evidence of a long-term lover. But more often, Adam suspected, because of her self-possession.
No matter what fate or bossy tycoons threw at her, she remained unperturbed.
Except Adam sensed the emotions she reined in. A dispassionate, uncaring woman wouldn’t have pleaded for her workforce or her brother.
Not so much icy, he decided, as queenly.
He could imagine Gisèle in an earlier time with a sparkling diadem on her blonde head, her slender neck rising proudly from a jewel-studded gown of rich velvet. Courtiers would bow as she entered her throne room.
Adam’s mouth firmed as he blanked the image. He was the last man in the world to indulge in bizarre fantasies. He’d spent his life facing the gritty realities of this world.
Yet the image of his bride-to-be as a medieval queen lingered.
He blamed Angela and the thick historical paperback she’d pressed on him before he left Sydney. ‘Take time out,’ she’d said. ‘Unwind.’ To please the little sister who fretted about his work-life balance, he’d spent several hours on the flight reading it.
Anger stirred. At himself for letting his mind drift into useless imaginings when he had significant issues to finalise. And at Gisèle for her ability to distract him.
‘Excellent.’ He stood. ‘Let’s go, shall we?’
The trip to the harbour was completed in silence in the back of a limo since her high heels weren’t meant for walking any distance. Adam used the time to shoot off messages to his minions. By the time they walked onto the marina his brief bad humour had lifted.
Because he was close to wrapping this up.
He assured himself it had nothing to do with the blaze of admiration in his companion’s eyes as she took in the large, classic yacht before them. He didn’t need anyone’s approval. In fact, he’d built his success in the face of closed ranks from the establishment who’d seen him as an outsider, never one of them.
‘You enjoy sailing?’ He paused on the boardwalk, heat skirling low in his abdomen as he watched her mouth soften.
What other woman had ever distracted him so easily?
He shoved the disturbing thought aside. His desire for Gisèle, and the sexual relationship he anticipated with her, were welcome bonuses. But he’d never allow anyone to deflect him from his purpose. His single-minded focus remained one of the reasons for his phenomenal success.
‘I do enjoy it. Julien and I used to go out when we were young. Some of our friends have yachts. How about you?’
Adam shook his head. ‘I didn’t set foot on one until I’d made my first few million. I didn’t have the time.’
Misty blue eyes locked on his. ‘You were too busy wheeling and dealing to take time off?’
Her tone was light but there was an undercurrent he couldn’t identify. Disapproval?
Adam shrugged. ‘It takes a lot of wheeling and dealing to build success from nothing.’ He wasn’t ashamed of his work ethic. ‘Not everyone has a family legacy to help them on their way.’
Not like the Fontaines.
She didn’t flinch. ‘Julien and I were extremely lucky.’
He liked that she didn’t apologise for that luck.
‘Plus I had no opportunity to go yachting in the early days.’
A furrow appeared between her eyebrows. ‘Yet Sydney is home to the famous Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race.’
Adam inclined his head, pleased that her research on him, like his on her, had gaps. ‘I wasn’t born in Sydney. I grew up in a smaller, inland town.’
‘Ah, no yachts there.’
‘No, though some of the boys at the exclusive boarding school down the road came from families who owned yachts. They could afford overseas skiing holidays too, and other things beyond the means of us working-class kids.’
Bright eyes surveyed him. ‘You resented that.’ She made it a statement, not a question. As if she knew him.
His nape tightened. She thought she could read him so easily?
‘Actually, no. I played weekend football with some of them. I suspect a few would have given up all the expensive treats for a decent home life.’
The sort of home life he’d had. His family had been poor but there’d been plenty of affection and support. He wasn’t shallow enough to disregard that.
‘I’ve never resented anyone for having something I don’t.’ Adam wasn’t in the habit of explaining himself but this was the woman he intended to marry. Not that he expected her to become his confidante, but things would go easier if they understood each other better. ‘What I can’t abide are people who think they’re better because they’re rich or were born to privilege.’
Gisèle’s jaw angled up. ‘Yet you want to marry me.’
Adam stepped closer, watching her swallow as her gaze held his. She didn’t retreat, just lifted those proud eyebrows higher.
Queenly. Proud. Challenging.
Desire threaded his body, arrowing low. His fingers flexed and he shoved them into his trouser pockets.
‘You’re saying I’ve made a mistake about you, Gisèle? That you’re a secret snob? That wasn’t my assessment and I saw no evidence of it in the investigators’ report.’
It had sounded as if she were as much at home with the farmers who grew the flowers used in the family perfume distillery as among the wealthy.
Now she reacted.
‘You had me investigated?’ Her voice rose and the tendons in her neck turned rigid as a flush climbed her throat. Then she blinked and shook her head. ‘Of course you did. I should have realised.’
Her beautiful mouth was no longer soft and inviting but dragged down at the corners. Her shoulders rose, hunching under her impeccable jacket.
Adam wished he’d let sleeping dogs lie.
He lived in a world where due diligence often included the use of private investigators to ferret out weaknesses and secrets. It seemed Gisèle, despite her privileged upbringing, wasn’t so sanguine about such practices.
He frowned, annoyed that he’d pushed the point. Was he being deliberately crass, hoping to provoke an emotional response?
He felt like a blundering fool who’d told a child Santa Claus didn’t exist.
Except Gisèle was no child. Already she stood straighter, that small, perfect smile that didn’t reach her eyes curving her lips.
‘Well,’ she murmured in a composed voice with just a hint of huskiness. ‘That will save a lot of getting-to-know-you conversation.’
Maybe he was losing his edge, for he hated that dismissive smile. As he disliked her insouciant response, as if she didn’t care that he’d invaded her privacy. He’d rather she argued or objected as she had before, fighting her corner for Fontaine’s employees.
How was it that he felt wrong-footed when twenty minutes earlier he’d been congratulating himself on his success?
Adam tucked away his disgruntlement. He couldn’t fault her for being annoyed or wanting to keep her distance. He’d pushed her into a situation she still barely accepted. It was up to him to show her that, despite her misgivings, she’d find plenty of benefits in their marriage.
Which meant reining in the ruthless corporate shark.
And, what? Charming her into compliance? You’re out of practice, mate. Can you even remember how?
Since his successes became widely reported he’d barely had to exert himself to win any woman. They tended to offer themselves.
But Gisèle’s not impressed by your success, is she?
Acquiring, and pleasing, a wife was going to be more of a challenge than he’d anticipated.
The trip to Adam’s rented villa at Cap Ferrat was one of the strangest Gisèle had experienced.
She didn’t like this man on principle. His marriage demand was preposterous. Provoking. Insulting!
Adam Wilde believed she and Julien took their family legacy for granted. As if they hadn’t worked all their lives to contribute to it!
Yet, despite her determination to loathe the Australian’s swaggering confidence, his prejudices and assumption he’d get his own way, she found herself relaxing and forgetting, for short periods, to be incensed.
It had started when, searching for an uncontentious topic so the trip along the coast didn’t pass in stultifying silence, she’d asked about the yacht. He’d admitted he hadn’t a clue about sailing. He’d hired the yacht, like the villa to which they were heading. Then he’d asked one of the crisply uniformed crew to take them on a tour.
Remembering his desire to celebrate their so-called engagement, Gisèle had instead expected him to insist on opening champagne and spend the time discussing plans for their farce of a marriage.
It was a relief to find herself inspecting the large yacht, even if Adam insisted on accompanying her.
She should have found his presence claustrophobic. Yet his curiosity about the vessel was...engaging.
She’d assumed that like many people who believed themselves important, Adam Wilde wouldn’t admit to ignorance on any subject. Instead he peppered the crew member with questions that showed he might be ignorant about sailing, but had an enquiring mind and a genuine interest in discovering more.
It didn’t absolve him from being a manipulative bully but it was hard to stay furious, especially when an admission of an intermittent problem with the motor led to him and their guide, peering at the engine, bonding over mechanics.
Adam had caught her stare and the corner of his mouth lifted, eyes amused as he shrugged. ‘Men and engines, eh? It’s a cliché but in my case it’s true. I spent so many hours coaxing clapped out old motors to work that along the way I found I enjoy it.’
Gisèle had been going to ask him about that when he straightened. She was too slow, disarmed by the warmth of that half-smile that made his eyes crinkle charmingly at the corners and turned him into another man altogether.
Before she could ask her question he apologised for keeping her waiting, thanked the crew member, and suggested they head up to enjoy the view of the coast.
Where was the dangerous corporate raider who’d turned her world inside out? She felt discombobulated.
No wonder he’s a force to be reckoned with in the commercial world.
If he kept all his competitors trying and failing to second-guess his moods and intentions, he’d have a natural advantage.
The realisation was a timely reminder as the vessel approached a green finger of land pointing south into the Mediterranean. Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat. One of the most exclusive pieces of real estate in the world.
Gisèle had attended a couple of parties here, most recently at the invitation of a tech billionaire who wanted the House of Fontaine to create a new line of cosmetics and personalised perfume for his wife. The first time she’d been a child, arriving with her uber-glamorous parents.
She remembered that day with piercing clarity. The sunlight glittering on an infinity pool looking over the deep blue sea, the tang of fresh mango juice, and inevitable cluster of people around her mother. There’d been a sweet Scandinavian nanny to mind the guests’ children. The young woman’s eyes had shone with awed excitement when Gisèle’s father thanked her for looking after his kids.
Her father had led Gisèle and Julien back to their car, he and their mother laughing as they drove away on that cloudless afternoon.
It was her last memory of her father. He’d died two days later in a car race, the reassuring grasp of his hand around hers, his twinkling smile, gone for ever.
‘Gisèle? Is something wrong?’
A gravelled voice broke her thoughts. She blinked and discovered she held the railing in a white-knuckled grip.
‘Not at all.’
She turned to find Adam close. Those severe black eyebrows crammed down in a frown and fathomless eyes narrowed on her in a way that made her breath catch.
Because his gaze wasn’t just probing. It felt...sympathetic. As if, despite everything, they weren’t opponents but were linked by a deeper understanding.
She stared back, transfixed by a feeling this man wasn’t the enemy he seemed.
He looked concerned. As if sensing the deep-seated trauma at the loss of her father that she’d never managed to put fully behind her. Because after that, her world had fallen apart.
But Adam Wilde didn’t know that. The one skill that had come out of her loss—and it had taken years of painful practice—was the ability to hide emotion. To appear soignée and confident in any situation.
She prayed that ability would allow her to keep the truth about this business deal marriage from her brother.
‘You’re not seasick?’ Adam wasn’t convinced.
‘On this calm sea?’ She gave a huff of laughter as if she hadn’t a care in the world. ‘Truly, I’m okay. I was just thinking.’
She looked past his shoulder as if taking in the view, noticing a speedboat approaching. Sunlight glinted on its windscreen as it changed direction.
Adam Wilde didn’t know her, despite his precious investigators’ report. To him she was an asset to acquire then discard when the time was right.
The only way she could disturb him was if she wasn’t conveniently at his side as the token Fontaine while he turned her beloved company into something of his own design. But the only way out that she could see was via an inconvenient fatal accident.
A broken laugh that was part silent sob shuddered through her.
She might be desperate, but not that desperate.
She understood the permanency of death and the anguish it created. As if the loss of her parents wasn’t enough, her fear for Julien’s health compounded that hard-won lesson.
Gisèle pretended to focus on the spectacular view.
They’d stopped opposite a two-storey villa of pale peach. It had a terracotta roof and a white colonnade behind which huge arched windows faced the sea. It looked inviting, secluded in vast gardens, out of sight of other properties. A pool filled the space between the mansion and the sea.
That Adam rented this exquisite place for a short stay, and this superb yacht for occasional use—travelling the twenty kilometres from Nice because he had a whim to sail—reinforced the man’s extraordinary wealth.
‘What a lovely location,’ Gisèle said brightly, collecting her shoes. She’d removed them in consideration for the immaculate wooden deck. Now, at the prospect of putting them on to go ashore with him, her brief delight in the cruise faded.
‘I’m glad you approve.’ He stepped so close she felt the warmth of his big frame as he moved into her space. She stiffened. ‘We could spend time here together.’
‘I can’t see that’s necessary.’ She didn’t want to be alone with him. Give her crowded squares and busy offices any day. Something about him got under her skin in a way no business rival should.
‘But we have a lot to discuss. I want you to fill me in on the company. Plus you want us to give the impression we’ve fallen for each other. We can only do that by being together.’
He was too close. She took a deep breath and found herself inhaling that elusive scent of his, intriguing and inviting. Immediately her body softened in response. Cedarwood and some deep note. Tonka bean? No, she couldn’t place it. Yet the drift of it—warm, masculine and as enticing as fresh honey—sank into her sense receptors.
She’d like to employ whoever made that cologne.
Stop trying to distract yourself! It’s not his cologne you’re interested in. It’s him.
How can that be? He’s a brutal, bullying billionaire who doesn’t give a toss for anyone but himself.
Yet your body responds when he gets close.
The thought horrified. But there was no denying the zap of tingling energy suffusing her. Threads of heat wove through her limbs, around her breasts and down to tangle in her pelvis.
Gisèle stepped away and found herself against the railing. She swallowed a constriction in her throat.
After a miserable disaster in her teens, she’d decided sexual desire wasn’t one of her weaknesses. She was almost impervious to attractive men. Yet standing close to Adam Wilde made her feel hot and heavy in a way that was disturbingly unfamiliar.
‘We need to spend time together in public. The point is for people to see us together.’
‘Precisely.’ His voice was a low throb that sounded suspiciously like a purr of satisfaction. Instead of moving back he stepped in, his hand on her upper arm, turning her so they faced each other, side on to the shore. ‘That’s what we’re doing now.’
‘If you mean the crew, I don’t think—’
‘Not the crew. The photographer on the speedboat out to my right. Don’t look!’
His breath feathered her hair like a caress and though his hold on her arm was light, she felt its imprint through her jacket.
She didn’t look at the speedboat, because strange ripples coursed under her skin, radiating from where he touched her. Her heart did an unfamiliar tumble turn, knocking hard at her ribs.
How could she worry about a photographer when every instinct told her Adam Wilde was far more dangerous to her well-being?
Fear at her unheralded reactions made her voice harsh. ‘I’ve already seen the boat. How do you know there’s a photographer? No one knows we’re here. In Nice we mingled in the crowd. The chances of a photographer being here as we arrive are slim.’
‘It didn’t just happen.’ His mouth was flat. ‘You didn’t see the paparazzo at the marina? He was staking out the yacht and didn’t make much effort to hide the fact he was taking pictures of us.’
Gisèle opened her mouth to protest that he was paranoid, then stopped. She caught another glint of sunlight on glass. The speedboat had pulled up nearby, closer than seemed normal.
Adam Wilde was a phenomenally powerful businessman. His every move was fodder for the press, both in the business and the social pages. Naturally the media wanted to discover why he was in Europe.
Her heart sank. Had they argued on the marina? What had been their body language?
The last thing she needed was for Julien to see images of them arguing. It would make their supposed romance even harder to explain. Already she dreaded lying about it.
‘You didn’t think to warn me?’ She spoke through gritted teeth.
‘Would that have helped?’ The lift of one supercilious eyebrow was sheer provocation. ‘I can feel the tension in you now. The last thing I needed was for the photographer to pick up on that at close range.’
‘Hence this show of solicitude.’ She nodded towards his hand, still on her arm.
Now she remembered the conversation on the dock. She’d been surprised at how open he’d been about himself. His admission that he’d never been sailing until adulthood. The detail about growing up in a small town. And the revelation that he despised rich people who thought their money made them special. That had obviously been a hot button for him, which made her wonder more than ever about his reasons for pursuing this marriage.
Had he been pandering to her curiosity, hoping any photographs would show her absorbed in his words?
She felt used. He’d duped her. Then she recalled her reaction when he’d admitted to having had her investigated. If the paparazzo had been photographing them there, he couldn’t have missed her outrage.
She was torn. Pride made her long to make Adam’s takeover of her business and her life as difficult as possible. But love for her brother demanded she play a woman gullible enough to fall for this man, so Julien would believe in their sham marriage.
‘What’s the matter, Adam? Are you worried any photos taken in Nice might reveal things you’d rather the press didn’t see?’
His eyes glittered and his smile acquired a hungry edge that made Gisèle still.
It wasn’t the look of a businessman but a hunter, and it stirred something that might have been fear but equally could have been excitement.
‘No. As far as the press is concerned it’s early days in our relationship. We’re getting to know each other. But it would be helpful—to both of us—if they saw something that hinted at the direction our relationship is heading.’
‘What?’ She tilted her jaw, determined to show she wasn’t afraid, despite her dry throat and the fretful rhythm of her pulse. ‘Like me signing a fifty-page prenup? I’m sure they’d find that romantic.’
His laugh, a mellow, dark chocolate chuckle, surprised her. She stared at the strong column of his throat and the angle of his jaw as his head tilted back and his amusement spilled around her.
Why couldn’t he have a hyena’s laugh? Or an ugly honking guffaw?
Why did the sound fall gently around her, inviting her to join his amusement? For, she realised as their gazes locked, he wasn’t laughing at her but himself.
No, no, no! A single positive characteristic didn’t outweigh all the negative. Just because he had a sense of humour...
‘I like you, Gisèle. You’ve got gumption.’
Gumption? What she had was a huge problem. Because she was transfixed by the look in his eyes. Liking it far too much.
‘Thank you. I think. But it’s probably time we went—’
‘In a moment. This is a golden opportunity to start our campaign.’
‘Campaign?’ Gisèle feigned confusion because suddenly her heart was pounding.
‘To convince the world we’re attracted.’
Then, damn him, his eyes danced, as if he read her breathlessness.
As if now his amusement was at her, not himself.
‘We only met yesterday. No one would believe—’
‘We’re the only ones who know that for sure. Besides, people believe what they want to believe, especially when it’s right before their eyes. A man falling for a beautiful woman.’
Every muscle in Gisèle’s body stiffened at the offhand compliment while something in the pit of her stomach curdled.
Did he actually believe she’d fall for that?
She’d grown up with true beauty. She’d had it hammered into her from adolescence that she’d never meet those high standards. As a result she’d spent years striving to acquire the poise and confidence to present herself as stylish and sophisticated, despite the press and the self-appointed experts so eager to point out her defects.
She opened her mouth to respond when she realised he’d moved, leaning closer.
His fingers brushed her cheek then settled at the back of her neck, warm and heavy. His face closed in on hers and her thoughts frayed.