Chapter Seven
FOR ADAM, the period following that party in Nice was fraught with frustration.
Not because there were problems with the takeover. That progressed smoothly. Partly because he’d insisted on Gisèle’s presence at every meeting. He’d done it to keep her close. But there’d been benefits as he grew to know her better.
Far from being the society darling who flitted between high-profile social events, or a mere mouthpiece for the House of Fontaine, his fiancée was something else.
Her understanding of the company was solid. She could answer most questions and, if not, always knew where to go for an answer.
The ethical sustainability unit which he’d viewed as one of the jewels in the company’s crown was forward-focused and innovative. He understood now that some of that drive came from her.
He was impressed. But every attempt, no matter how mild, to acknowledge her skills was met with stony silence and narrow-eyed suspicion.
Whatever had happened that night had set their relationship back to ground zero.
Relationship! You should be so lucky. She looks at you like you’re a snake in the grass. And who can blame her when you’re forcing her into marriage?
But Adam refused to heed his conscience. He was in too deep. Both with the takeover and with her, the woman who kept him awake at night.
Sadly not because they shared a bed, but because they didn’t. Adam rubbed his jaw, hearing the sandpaper scratch of stubble.
Is that why she recoiled from him? Because she thought him uncouth? He looked in the bathroom mirror, the sight of his broken nose eliciting a grunt of amusement. Prince Charming he’d never be, despite the perfectly tailored dinner jacket and handmade shoes.
Probably she preferred men with a cultured air.
Or at least men who didn’t blackmail her into marriage.
It would take more than shaving to become the sort of man she was accustomed to.
He ground his molars. That brought him back to his reason for acquiring Fontaine’s. To prove Adam Wilde had made it to the very top. That there were no doors closed to him now. No exclusive club that wouldn’t accept him.
After a lifetime proving himself against the petty prejudices of those who saw him as a brash upstart and did all they could to keep him down, it was satisfying to have the world at his feet.
Except Gisèle. Not that he wanted her at his feet.
Though, considering it, the idea conjured possibilities. Inevitably his body hardened. He was constantly on the edge of sexual arousal these days.
Very soon they’d marry. He should be pleased. Instead he had the sinking sensation that, despite his plans, things spiralled out of control. His plan to seduce her had gone haywire when he’d stepped back from her that night and something, maybe his conscience, maybe her rigid control, made him hold back.
Adam had no taste for an unwilling lover. He wanted Gisèle to come to him.
He’d tried to discover what had gone wrong at the party but she’d frozen him out. That, he could cope with. But looking into drowned, haunted eyes, as she accused him of fake concern for the camera, had flattened him.
The Gisèle he knew didn’t do self-pity. To see her so lost made him feel useless. He’d wanted to make things right. But his concern had been like petrol to flame, only making her more emotional.
The world would laugh at the idea of Adam Wilde as sensitive. But he’d been raised by a single mother, his only sibling a sister. He knew when he’d pushed a woman too far.
Why had he thought Gisèle Fontaine didn’t have a breaking point? Because he got his kicks from her feisty responses? Because he saw them as a substitute for the physical passion they had yet to give in to?
What a piece of work he was.
He turned from the mirror rather than face its reflection.
Yet you’re going to hold her to the deal, aren’t you?
Of course. He’d gone to immense trouble to acquire the company, and Gisèle. He was determined to win through. He couldn’t imagine walking away from her. And that had nothing to do with the takeover.
Minutes later Adam stood before her adjoining hotel suite.
He could have obtained a private house for their stay in Paris, especially as they’d spend time in the French capital in future. But he liked sweeping through the best hotel in the city with Gisèle on his arm.
Not because he wanted to show her off to the public. To his surprise, his instinct was to keep her to himself. Instead he wanted to impress her.
Adam’s raised arm stilled and he watched his fingers form a fist. The realisation stunned him.
You want her to admire you for your wealth, when you hate avaricious women?
No, what you really want is for her to like you. To want you. To have her eyes light up when she sees you.
Fat chance. Unless she acquires Stockholm syndrome and falls for her captor.
His lips twisted against the bitterness filling his mouth and he rapped on the door.
He needed noise, people, distractions. The exclusive charity event promised that and suddenly he looked forward to it as an escape from his thoughts.
The door opened and his hand fell. His sharp hiss lodged in constricted lungs. His semi-aroused groin became a hard-on before he had time to blink.
Gisèle had adopted a new look since the Cannes party. Her clothes still concealed more than they revealed, but she’d abandoned the sedate suits and muted colours.
If he didn’t know better he’d think her aim was to seduce him. Or drive him crazy with lust.
Tonight she’d outdone herself.
Adam’s gaze locked on the glossy crimson of her lips before dropping to the dark red of her full-length dress. By current standards it was demure, covering her from shoulder to floor. The neckline ran straight across from below the tip of one shoulder to the other. There was no cleavage on show but a wide expanse of pale golden skin that he wanted to lean in and taste. The lustrous fabric cupped her breasts close. Not just her breasts but her narrow waist and the gentle flare of her hips.
She shifted and he caught a flash of pale thigh. His pulse rocketed as he realised the dress was slit over one leg. She moved again and the slit disappeared.
But he knew it was there, felt it with every urgent, masculine impulse he possessed.
‘I...’ Adam cleared his throat and dragged his attention back up her delicious body. Something flared in her eyes. Triumph? Pity? Excitement?
He wasn’t accustomed to being on the back foot. He was always in charge. Now it was all he could do to breathe steadily and not gawk like a fourteen-year-old.
‘You look magnificent.’ At least now his voice sounded normal. ‘New dress?’
Gisèle shrugged and he watched the rise of bare shoulders above lustrous satin. What kept the dress up? What would happen if he caught the edge of it and tugged? Did she wear a bra? Or would her breasts spring free into his palms?
There was a buzzing in his ears and he swallowed jerkily, barely resisting the need to check his bowtie hadn’t suddenly tightened.
‘New enough. Don’t worry, I haven’t worn it before. It will still make a statement at the gala.’
Statement! It would make headlines!
‘Good. Excellent.’
He didn’t care if she’d worn it before. He just wondered how he’d get through the evening without hauling her close and breaking their no-touching rule. Or roughing up the men who were bound to undress her with their eyes when she sashayed into the grand gala.
‘You’re ready to go?’ she asked.
Go? The idea appalled him. He wanted to stay here.
With her blonde hair loose around her shoulders in a fall of glossy waves, and those red, red lips, she looked like a vintage Hollywood star. All gleaming sex appeal and sophistication that made his heart hammer and his blood simmer possessively. He didn’t want any other man to see Gisèle like this.
Except those blue-grey eyes surveyed him assessingly.
Would she see his visceral reaction as a tool to use against him? He’d promised not to touch her without invitation, and staying here, alone with her, would make that impossible.
He gestured for her to precede him. ‘Shall we?’
Adam didn’t take her arm as they left the hotel, or as he ushered her into the grand building that was the venue for the gala.
Gisèle didn’t mind. She felt fabulous. The red satin turned her into a woman she’d never before dared to be. Not completely.
Even better, she’d seen the masculine appreciation in Adam’s stare. The way his jaw slackened as his gaze locked on her crimson lips. His survey of her full-length dress had made her skin tingle into sizzling life.
It was the perfect salve to her bruised ego. As were the admiring looks and compliments she received as they entered the exclusive event.
It infuriated her that, at her age, after all the work she’d put in to becoming a successful, self-confident woman, Adam’s banter with his billionaire mate had reignited that old feeling of not being good enough.
Maybe because he was also cold-bloodedly acquiring her as a business asset. He didn’t see her as a woman in her own right.
Both facts were cruelly designed to undermine someone who’d once battled confidence and body image problems.
Adam had put Gisèle on her mettle and made her want to step out of her self-imposed limits. To attempt something more than the classic elegance she’d strived for for so long.
She’d begun wearing new, bolder outfits for their dates. All, she hoped, with a feminine allure that proved her to be desirable as well as competent.
Until tonight she hadn’t been sure she’d succeeded. But Adam’s expression whenever a handsome man spoke to her proved she had. He’d move in close, eyes intimidating narrow slits and jaw set. If the man lingered, a pulse would tick at Adam’s temple and he’d take her elbow, guiding her away to meet someone else.
Once, to her amazement, she’d introduced him to a European prince he’d wanted to meet, only to have Adam cut short the conversation after the greetings and lead her away. She’d been stunned. Adam was always eager to build contacts with the old established elite.
His murmured explanation was that he had second thoughts about pursuing business opportunities with a man who ogled her so outrageously.
It was only the dress and makeup that had changed. She was the same Gisèle. But she was human enough to exalt in the ego boost, especially among this horde of beautiful people.
There was one problem. She didn’t simply get an ego boost from Adam’s response.
It excited her. Meeting that glittering stare, feeling the warmth of his tall frame engulf her as they stood together, even the touch of his hand on her arm, made her minutely conscious of him physically. Even more when he looked at her with something in his eyes that made her blood heat.
You’re playing a dangerous game, Gisèle.
But for tonight at least, she had no intention of stopping. There would be time for common sense tomorrow.
‘Are you ready to go, Gisèle? It’s late.’
‘Late?’
She looked around the still-crowded room with its rich furnishings and even more richly attired guests. Previously Adam had always been happy to stay late, networking and apparently enjoying the social functions they attended.
His gaze shifted. ‘We’ve an early start tomorrow.’
Of course. Work. Her buoyant mood dipped. She was tempted to say she’d stay and make her own way back. But suddenly the chatter and gaiety seemed claustrophobic rather than invigorating.
‘Of course. We need to be fresh for that.’
Tomorrow there was yet another meeting between Adam’s team and key staff in Fontaine’s Paris office.
She was turning towards the nearby exit when his hand captured hers. Immediately she stilled. In the weeks since Nice, as the press conjectured about a liaison between them, Adam hadn’t once held her hand. He only touched her arm.
This felt momentous. She held her breath.
‘Gisèle.’
His deep voice was soft, almost lost beneath the conversations and laughter. Yet she heard the cadence like a thrum in her blood.
His fingers threaded through hers as she turned to meet his searing gaze.
There it was. That pulse. That throb in the air. The sound of the crowd was muted and she felt cocooned in a bubble with Adam.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I know I’ve asked a lot and you’ve been...magnificent.’
With his sombre expression and serious eyes he wasn’t just talking about tonight, she realised. Was this his apology for the devil’s bargain he’d foisted on her?
Gisèle stared. Was it possible? Or did she read too much into simple thanks?
‘Because I don’t look like a nun any more?’
His eyes widened. ‘Ah, you heard that. I’d hoped you hadn’t. Blake was completely out of line, that’s why we left so quickly. It was either that or deck him for his insults.’
She blinked. ‘You thought him insulting? But you said...’
‘I said you looked sophisticated, and you do. Marvellously so. You’ve got more class in your fingertip than all the other women at his party put together. And, for the record,’ his voice dropped to a marrow-deep rumble, ‘I like your severe suits almost as much as I enjoy you wearing something blatantly sexy like tonight.’
Then, to her astonishment, Adam lifted her hand and bent his head, kissing her knuckles, the brush of his lips surprisingly soft. She’d never have guessed any part of him could feel so soft. It belied his appearance of tough masculinity.
The caress left a fiery trail in its wake and she gasped, fingers clenching into his for support.
The world stood still as, mouth still hot against her hand, he looked up under slashing straight brows and their eyes locked.
She’d never seen a more charismatic man. Never felt such insistent drumming need. Her nipples tightened to thrusting points. Her breath was a silent sigh. Deep inside there was a loosening, a softening that told its own story about her desires.
Despair laced her wonder. At how potent his appeal. He invested a few words and a simple gesture with such irresistible allure that he undid her completely. He hadn’t even needed privacy to do it.
A gleam of silver caught her eye, drawing her attention to a woman in a rhinestone dress, raising her phone in their direction.
The unspoken rule of this very exclusive event was no unsolicited photos inside. There were enough on the red carpet at the entrance.
The woman paused when she realised she’d been seen.
Gisèle leaned into Adam. ‘Kiss me,’ she whispered.
Because they were due to marry in a quiet ‘elopement’ wedding in a week and Julien still didn’t buy their romance. A photo of them kissing would surely convince him.
That was the sane explanation for her invitation.
It was an excuse, because in that moment she finally surrendered. She wanted, needed Adam’s lips on hers.
Instead of accepting the invitation, Adam lifted his head, frowning. ‘What—?’
‘You said you wouldn’t touch me without an invitation. This is your invitation.’
Adam was known for decisiveness, yet now he questioned! She leaned in, breasts brushing his arm and making her shiver at the delicious contact. ‘There’s a woman sneaking a photo. It’s the perfect moment for a public kiss.’
But instead of complying, Adam straightened to his full height, leaving her stunned and bereft. She’d wanted, needed his mouth on hers. She swayed a little on her heels as he turned his head to look at the woman in silver, his features set like chiselled stone.
Gisèle saw the woman wilt under his scathing stare, before slipping her phone into her purse and scurrying away.
‘I think not.’ Adam’s voice was a deep thread of disapproval that jerked Gisèle back to reality.
Had she got it wrong? Was his possessive behaviour merely fodder for the gossips? Cracks splintered her shiny triumph.
She tugged her hand, needing space. But his fingers closed around hers, refusing to release her. Far from stepping away he bent towards her so his murmured words feathered her flushed face.
‘When we kiss, Gisèle, I’m damned if it will be for the cameras. It will be for us alone.’
He looked grim, with that shadowed marauder’s jaw anvil-hard and new grooves carved deep around his mouth. The pulse at his temple thrummed. But his eyes glowed with a green fire that wasn’t anger. It was like looking into a mirror of her own feelings. The excitement, the need, the anticipation were all there.
‘Do you agree?’
His tone had lost that brandy-laced caramel smoothness. It was almost as ragged as her choppy breathing.
Gisèle’s mouth dried and she slicked her lips, swallowing convulsively as Adam’s stare followed the movement and his pulse quickened even further. She shivered and he closed his other hand around hers, cupping it gently as if it were exquisitely precious.
Words wouldn’t come, not in the face of the hunger of his emerald-green eyes. She nodded. She’d fought to resist him for so long but no more.
A tremor passed through him. As if he’d withstood a mighty force and was suddenly released from the pressure. His tight mouth curved up in a slow-breaking smile that undid her.
‘Good. Because when we kiss, Gisèle, it won’t end there. Believe me, we’ll want privacy and plenty of time for what I have in mind.’
She should have been shocked. Instead jubilation blared through her. Jubilation and excitement.
Their business deal didn’t matter. Nor did the media or the crowd pressing close. Only the zap and spark of mutual desire that quenched all caution.
Dazzled, she said nothing as he tucked her arm through his. Moments later they walked into a barrage of light and sound as the remaining paparazzi crowded the red carpet. For once in her life, Gisèle barely noticed them.
The trip to the hotel passed in silence, but a different sort of silence, one loaded with anticipation. Adam held her hand the whole way and insisted that he, not the chauffeur, help her from the car.
She waited for doubts to creep in. The familiar warning that intimacy was dangerous. That it would leave her vulnerable. That he wasn’t a man to be trusted.
But as Adam cradled her hand in his, the warning voice was silent.
Long dormant instinct—because she’d given up trusting herself where men were concerned—told her Adam was as desperate as she.
It was there when they stepped into the lift and, with a grimace, he wrenched his bowtie and top button loose, sighing with relief. It was there in the desire-drenched green of his eyes, more compelling, more beautiful than anything she’d ever seen. And in the tiny, almost indistinguishable tremor of his long fingers around hers that belied the formidable power of his tall frame.
Gisèle had no recollection of entering her suite. All her attention was focused on the man beside her and the changes taking place in her own body.
Gentle fingers pried her clutch purse from her grip and placed it beside the long, velvet-covered sofa.
‘Gisèle.’
Her name on his lips was pure invitation. Still he didn’t move, just stood, hands flexing as if resisting the urge to reach for her.
He looked as strong and invincible as ever. Except for those restless hands and something in his expression she’d never seen before. Something that made her feel wanted. Safe. Powerful.
An instant later she was on her toes reaching up to cradle the back of his head.
Warmth enveloped her as he wrapped his arms around her and she sighed her delight. Aroused as they both were—for there was no mistaking the formidable erection pressing against her abdomen—he didn’t rush her. It felt like they had all the time in the world.
His spicy, sexy fragrance tantalised but she didn’t give a thought to its component scents. It was enough to inhale deeply, drawing it in to her lungs—hot, aroused male.
His fingers curled under her chin, thumb pressing on her lower lip. ‘I love that red lipstick,’ he growled. ‘Your mouth is the sexiest I’ve ever seen. All night I’ve imagined the taste of it. You’ve been driving me crazy.’
Heat spun in her belly, circling faster and faster.
She told herself they were just words. The sort of thing said as a precursor to sex. But even that didn’t rob them of magic.
Her fingertips scraped his scalp through his hair and he shuddered. ‘Stop talking, Adam. You promised to kiss me.’
His nostrils flared and she saw the devil in his eyes as he surveyed her like a pirate about to claim plunder. Then he fitted his mouth to hers and there was nothing else in the world but his kiss.
Gisèle had expected excitement. She got perfection.
Their mouths fitted as if made for each other. They brushed and clung in a dance of exploration and recognition. As if it wasn’t their first kiss, but a long-awaited reunion, each knowing instinctively what pleased the other.
He didn’t try to dominate. This was mutual. Pleasure racked her when he delved inside, making her lean into him, hands clutching. And when she gently bit his lower lip, his intake of breath and the increased pressure of his erection told of his delight.
Questing hands explored as their bodies melded. Distance of any sort was unbearable as their tongues caressed and passion built.
Gisèle had never been kissed like this. There’d been men on dates who were experienced lovers. But none who read her needs and met them as if it were the easiest thing in the world. As if she were all that mattered.
Each touch stoked the fire burning brighter inside, making her want as she’d never wanted in her life.
She was so caught up in wonder and growing urgency that she barely noticed he’d lowered her to the sofa. But when Adam joined her, lying half on his side, half above her, she rejoiced.
This was what she wanted. She arched, silently demanding more contact as she sucked his tongue hard into her mouth. She shivered, senses overloading as she swallowed the low growl emerging from the back of his throat. Her nipples were so hard they ached and the hollow feeling between her legs made her shift restlessly.
A callused hand found the slit in her skirt, smoothing over bare skin. Arousal notched up to frantic.
‘Adam!’
He’d lifted his head to watch his hand in the opening of her skirt. The tendons stood proud in his neck and his features were taut. He looked bold, untamed and gorgeous. Now his eyes met hers in a gaze saturated with desire.
‘I want—’ The jarring ring of a phone interrupted, making him scowl. ‘Sorry. I thought it was off.’
He moved to one side, fished out his phone and thumbed it, silencing the call. Then he leaned away and put the phone on the coffee table.
Gisèle watched him turn back to her, eyes ablaze and eager. His hand went straight back to the slit in her skirt, pushing all the way up to her silk panties, wet with arousal. One touch and she couldn’t help but jerk her pelvis high in response. It was what she wanted. What she’d craved so long.
Yet it felt different. Her body was still a hundred percent willing but her mind was elsewhere.
Drawn by a compulsion she couldn’t withstand, Gisèle turned her head. He’d put his phone down but instead of lying flat on the table, it was leaning upright against a box of handmade chocolate truffles, facing them.
Cold washed over her and the swirling heat in her belly turned into a nauseating churn. She went rigid, blood congealing as her fingers clawed his shoulders.
His voice came from far away. ‘Gisèle? What’s wrong?’