The Marriage Deal(14)

It had been a pleasant break, and she said so as they entered the Sanctuary Cove villa just after six.

'All of it?' Michel drawled with a distinctly wicked smile.

'Most of it,' Sandrine qualified, and heard his faint laugh.

'Let's change and eat out.'

'I could make something,' she prevaricated, mentally assessing the  contents of the refrigerator. It held steak, sufficient greens to make a  salad, and fresh fruit.

'I'll book a table at the Hyatt,' Michel determined firmly.

'I have lines to study,' Sandrine warned as he placed the heel of his  hand at the back of her waist and propelled her towards the stairs.

'We'll be home by nine. You can curl up in a chair and go through them then.'

Sandrine chose a casually elegant cream pant suit, dressed it up with  gold, stiletto-heeled sandals, then fixed a long, matching cream fringed  scarf at her neck so that half its length trailed down her back.

The Hyatt was well patronised, and the maître d' escorted them to a  table close to a window with a pleasant view out over the river.

Michel ordered wine, then they selected their starter and main course, but deferred dessert.

Sandrine was enjoying her prawn starter when she heard a familiar light  voice exude an affectionate greeting, and there was Cait Lynden, a  veritable feminine siren dressed in black, looking like a model who'd  just stepped out of Vogue, hair and make-up the picture of perfection.  With Gregor at her side.

'Darling,' Cait effused, proffering an air kiss to one cheek. 'Fancy seeing you here.'

Sandrine spared Gregor a quick glance, glimpsed the slight roll of his  eyes and deduced that Cait was on a mission. A mission named 'snaring  Michel'.

'The long arm of coincidence,' Sandrine agreed, and sent Michel a mocking glance beneath partly veiled eyelashes.

'You won't mind if we join you?' Cait slipped into a chair without waiting for an answer.

Oh, great. This held the promise of turning into quite an evening.

'I'll order another bottle of wine,' Gregor insisted as the wine steward  and the waiter hovered attentively while Cait and Gregor perused the  menu and gave their order.

Cait turned towards Sandrine. 'Are you not feeling well, darling?' False  concern coloured her voice, and Sandrine silently applauded Cait's  acting ability. 'You look a little pale.'

Sandrine summoned a sweet smile. 'Do you think so?'

'Gregor is hosting a party Saturday night. You must both come.'

'Unfortunately we'll be in Sydney,' Michel drawled, and lifted his glass to take an appreciative sip.

Really? Sandrine queried silently. She certainly intended to visit her  family there, but she hadn't given a thought to whether Michel would  join her.

Cait hid her disappointment well. 'What a shame.'

The waiter removed their plates and returned in minutes with Cait's and Gregor's starters.

'It should be an interesting shoot tomorrow.' Sandrine could almost  sense Cait's sharpening figurative claws as she sought to scratch.  'Sandrine has this intimate scene.' She paused, then went for the kill.  'Knowing she's with other men must be difficult for you to handle.'

'I don't have a problem with it.' Michel's smile was deadly, his voice  dangerously soft. 'Considering I'm the one who gets to take her to bed.'

Sandrine watched with fascination as Cait fluttered her lashes. 'I adore a proprietorial male.'

'Really, darling?' Gregor interposed. 'You surprise me. I had you pegged as calling the shots in a relationship.'

If looks could kill, Gregor would be dead and Cait would be up on a murder charge, Sandrine mused.

Well versed in the subtle games some women felt compelled to play, on  one level she found Cait's behaviour amusing. On another, she wanted to  scratch her eyes out! Jealousy, she reflected wryly, was not an enviable  trait.

She spared Michel a quick glance and caught the faint gleam evident in  those grey eyes. Was she that transparent? He had acquired the ability  to read her mind with remarkable accuracy almost from the beginning,  whereas his was mostly a closed book. As a poker player, he would be  superb.

The waiter appeared with Cait's and Gregor's main dishes, and Sandrine concentrated on doing her salmon justice.                       
       
           



       

'How long will you stay in Sydney?'

Sandrine had to hand it to Cait … she was persistent. 'I'm-' not sure, she was going to add, except Michel intercepted.

'Until the film wraps up and the publicity is done.'

'And afterwards?' Cait persisted with light coquetry.

Michel proffered a polite smile. 'New York. Then Paris.' He turned  towards Sandrine, caught hold of her hand and lifted it to his lips.

Careful, Sandrine silently warned. This is definitely overkill.

Except there was nothing she could do to still the tide of warmth  sweeping through her body. It was as if his slightest touch activated a  switch, leaving her with little or no control over her emotions.  Something she found difficult to bear, given the state of their  relationship.

'French is such a romantic language,' Cait said with an envious sigh.  'To have a lover so lost to passion in my arms he lapses into his native  tongue … it drives me wild.'

'There have been so many,' Gregor drawled. 'One imagines you must be multilingual.'

'Beast.'

'Just telling the truth as I know it, darling.'

Cait transferred her attention to Sandrine. 'I've auditioned for the  lead in a new Lucas film. I think I'll get it.' She smoothed a hand over  her hair. 'Do you have anything in mind?'

Sandrine replaced her cutlery and sipped the contents of her glass. 'Congratulations.'

'You didn't answer my question.'

She was conscious of Michel's intent interest in her response and  deliberated for several seconds. 'I don't have any immediate plans.'

'Coffee, chérie?' Michel queried smoothly, and he summoned the waiter as  she shook her head. 'You'll excuse us if we leave.' He made it a  statement. 'I need to check some computer data, and Sandrine has to  study her lines.' He signed the credit slip, then rose to his feet.  'Good night.'

They reached the main entrance and within minutes the concierge had  summoned their car. Sandrine slid into the passenger seat and laid her  head against the cushioned rest.

'No comment?'

She turned her head slightly as Michel eased the car onto the bricked  roadway and negotiated the roundabout. 'None whatsoever,' she offered  wryly, and heard his low, husky laugh.

Within minutes Michel activated the security gate leading to the  waterfront villas, and in no time at all he drew the car to a halt  inside the garage.

'Where would you prefer to study?' he asked as they entered the lounge.

'Here.' She wanted to kick off her shoes and curl up in one of the cushioned chairs.

'I'll set my laptop up on the dining-room table.' He shrugged off his  jacket and hooked it over one shoulder. 'Will you make coffee, or shall  I?'

'You,' she delegated. 'I'm going upstairs to change.'

Michel was still bent over the laptop when she reentered the bedroom a  few minutes before midnight, and she fell asleep within minutes of her  head hitting the pillow.

She didn't hear him slip into bed beside her, nor was she aware of his arm drawing her close.





CHAPTER SIX


SANDRINE breathed a sigh of relief. Seven takes wasn't bad. The scene  had come together, no one had fluffed their lines, and the electric  intensity had been achieved at a level even Tony could applaud.

She was tired, hot, and the boned corselet pulling her waist into an  impossibly small measurement was killing her. The heavy make-up felt as  if it was a mask of greasepaint about to slide off her face, and if she  didn't get rid of the elaborately coiffed wig soon, she'd scream.

Added to which, it was late, and she was impossibly thirsty and hungry.  The instant she discarded the heavy period costume, she intended to  drink half a litre of water, follow it with a powdered protein drink,  then sink her teeth into a fresh, crisp apple.

'You look fragile, darling,' Gregor murmured. 'Too many late nights catching up on time lost between the sheets?'

'Yes.' She was in no mood to participate in his game of verbal thrust and parry.

'Lucky you.'

She offered him a stunning smile. 'Aren't I just?'

'Our esteemed investor looks immensely physical. Tires you out, does he?'

'Wrong, Gregor,' she responded sweetly.

His eyes gleamed. 'Mmm, hidden talents, darling?'

She merely smiled and crossed to join the wardrobe assistant.

Twenty minutes later she felt considerably better, dressed in jeans and a  T-shirt, her feet encased in heeled sandals, her hair twisted into a  careless knot at her nape. All she had to do was check what time she had  to report on the set the next day, then she was free to go home.                       
       
           



       

Seven was an improvement on the early hour of five, and she turned  towards the exit, caught sight of Michel deep in conversation with a man  whose tall frame seemed familiar.

Both men glanced up at the same time, and Sandrine's eyes widened in  surprise at his identity. What on earth was Michel's elder brother doing  here? She'd last seen Raoul Lanier three months ago in Paris. Then,  he'd regarded her with warmth and affection.