The Marriage Deal(12)

'All done,' she managed evenly as she recapped the bottle, mirroring his movements as he stretched out, face down, on the towel.

Twenty minutes later she strode across the sand to the water's edge,  took a few steps, then dived into the cool blue-green sea, emerging to  the surface to cleave the waves with leisurely strokes parallel to the  shore.

There was something infinitely tranquil about the unlimited expanse of  an ocean and the sensation of being at one with nature. Quite different  from using a swimming pool, she mused as she trod water and admired the  exotic landscape with its many brightly painted, low-rise apartment  buildings and houses dotting the foreshore.

It was-how long since she'd last holidayed in Noosa? Years, she  perceived wryly. A midyear school break with her parents in the days  before divorce had torn the family in two, introduced bitterness and a  division of loyalties with the advent of step-parents and step-siblings.

Exclusive boarding schools had effectively ensured a safe haven when she  no longer fitted easily into one family or the other. There had always  been love and welcome whenever she visited. But there had also been an  awareness she was a reminder of another life, another time. An  awkwardness, she reflected, that had resulted from her own sensitivity.  Something that could have had a detrimental effect.

Instead, she had learnt to be self-sufficient, to strive and succeed on  her own merits. And she had, utilising her talent with speech and drama  by channelling it into acting, initially in school plays. Part-time  modelling with an agency resulted in her appearance in a television  commercial, and the rest, as they say, became the substance of dreams  when she was offered a character role in a long-running Australian  television series.

A modelling assignment in New York during a seasonal filming hiatus had  garnered an invitation to a party where Michel numbered one of several  guests. Two linked events that had changed her life.

'Intent on solitude?'

Sandrine's eyes widened at the sound of that familiar drawl, and she  turned to see Michel within touching distance. Wet hair and water  streaking his face did nothing to detract from the chiselled perfection  of his features or lessen the degree of power he managed to exude  without any effort at all.

'No.'

'Care to try your hand at something more adventurous?'

She was unable to read anything from his expression, and his eyes were too intently watchful for her peace of mind. 'Such as?'

'Hang-gliding, parasailing, jet-skiing?'

'Surely you jest?'

'Hiring a boat and exploring the waterways?' Michel continued as if she  hadn't spoken, and she scooped up a handful of water and splashed him  with it. 'I could retaliate,' he warned.

'I'm trembling.'

His lips formed a musing smile. 'It can wait.'

It wasn't the words but the implication that sent a shivery sensation  feathering the surface of her skin. His eyes held a warm, purposeful  gleam that did much to melt through a layer of her resolve.

Her eyes remaining locked with his, she was aware of him to a degree  that was vaguely frightening. Magnetic sensuality. She didn't want to be  held in its thrall, for it clouded logic and decimated any rationale.

Michel divined her ambivalence, successfully attributed its cause and chose to cut her a little slack. 'Race you in to shore.'

He even held back, matching his strokes to meet hers, and they emerged  from the water together. On reaching their shaded location, he caught up  his towel, blotted off the excess moisture, then wound and secured the  towel low on his hips.

'Feel like a drink?'

'After a shower and I've changed into something a little more respectable,' Sandrine parried as she copied his actions.

Michel pulled the beach umbrella from the sand and returned it to the  hire stand en route to their hotel. 'Go on up,' he directed when they  reached the entrance. 'I'll be there in ten minutes.'                       
       
           



       

She inclined her head, then crossed to Reception to collect their room  card. Inside their suite, she made straight for the shower and emerged  into the bedroom to discover Michel in the process of discarding several  glossy signature carry bags onto the bed.

'You've been shopping.'

'Something to wear to dinner,' he declared as he divided and emptied the  bags. 'Here.' He picked up a tissue-wrapped package and tossed it onto  the pillow. 'This is for you.'

This, she discovered, was a pair of black silk evening trousers,  together with a silk camisole in soft antique gold. There was also a  pair of exquisite, lacy black briefs.

'Thanks,' she murmured appreciatively, watching as he shook free a pair  of black slacks and a deep blue, short-sleeved silk shirt.

If only he'd relayed his intention to stay overnight, she could have  packed a few clothes and he'd have saved some money. Although money was  hardly an issue, she decided as she discarded the towel and quickly  donned underwear.

The evening trousers and camisole were a perfect fit, and she was in the  process of applying make-up when Michel re-entered the room.

Sandrine glanced away from the mirror and met his gleaming gaze. 'They're lovely,' she complimented.

'Merci,' he acknowledged with mocking amusement as he discarded the towel.

She returned her attention to applying eye shadow, willing her fingers to be steady as she brushed a soft gold to one upper lid.

The mirror proved her worst enemy, for it reflected heavily muscled  thighs, smooth hips and buttocks and a fleeting glimpse of male  genitalia as he stepped into briefs. The action involved in pulling on  the pair of dark trousers emphasised an impressive display of honed  muscle and sinew, and she was unable to glance away as he shrugged into  his shirt and tended to the buttons.

Get over it, she derided in silent chastisement, and determinedly  focused her attention on completing her make-up. It was something of a  relief to enter the en suite minutes later, and she activated the hair  dryer, opting to leave her hair to fall loose onto her shoulders.

'Beautiful,' Michel complimented when she reentered the bedroom. 'But there's something missing.'

She felt on edge, jittery in a way that could only be attributed to  acute sensitivity to this particular man. All her fine body hairs seemed  to stand on end, quivering like miniature antennae, and her stomach  didn't belong to her at all.

This was madness. Why did she feel as if she were being stalked by a prowling predator waiting for the right moment to pounce?

'What is that?' she managed lightly, and felt her body tremble slightly as he moved towards her.

'These.' He took hold of her left hand and slid first her wedding ring,  then the magnificent pear-shaped diamond onto the appropriate finger.

Sandrine looked down at her hand, saw the symbols of his possession and didn't know whether to laugh or cry. 'Michel-'

Anything further she might have uttered was stilled as he pressed a finger to her lips. 'Let's go have that drink, shall we?'

The hotel lounge held a mix of patrons, and Michel quirked an eyebrow when she insisted on orange juice.

'The need for a clear head?'

'Definitely!'

'Afraid, Sandrine?'

Of you? 'No,' she responded evenly. Her reaction to him was something different entirely.

His husky chuckle was almost her undoing, and she could have hit him when he raised his glass in a silent, mocking gesture.

'How is your grandmother?' A safe subject, surely, she considered as she took a sip of the refreshing juice.

Michel's eyes held hers as he settled back in his chair. 'She expressed regret that you were unable to join me.'

Not so safe, she mentally corrected. 'She's an incredible lady.'

'Who regards you with affection.'

What could she say to that? After a few seconds she settled with 'How kind.'

'I promised we'd visit her after our return to New York.'

She didn't want to think that far ahead. It was enough just to get through each day.

'Would you like another drink?'

Sandrine shook her head, then watched as he set his empty glass down on the table. 'Shall we go have dinner?'

They chose Italian, the best restaurant, they were assured, in town.  Michel ordered a smooth vintage Lambrusco to accompany a gnocchi  starter, and they both settled for veal scallopini as a main, with an  exquisite lemon tart for dessert.

The ambience was definitely European, the waiters were Italian, and the  food … perfetto. Sandrine expressed her pleasure as the waiter served them  with a liqueur coffee.                       
       
           



       

'I don't think I'll eat a thing until at least midday tomorrow,' she declared as they walked out onto the street.

One shoestring strap slipped down over her shoulder and she absently  slid it back in place. It had been a great few hours, reminding her far  too vividly of previous evenings they'd shared over good food and fine  wine.

'That was nice,' she said, offering him a warm smile. 'Thank you.'

His expression was equally warm, and those brilliant grey eyes bore a gleam she didn't care to define. 'My pleasure.'