The Marriage Deal(3)

'And discovered I wasn't waiting in the New York apartment,' Sandrine  voiced evenly. Her chin lifted fractionally and the topaz flecks in her  eyes shone deep gold. 'Subdued and contrite at having thwarted you?'

'Difficult,' he acknowledged with wry cynicism. 'When a delayed filming schedule kept you here.'

Sandrine opened her mouth to refute that was something he couldn't have  known, then she closed it again. All he had to do was lift the phone and  instruct someone to report her every move. It angered her unbearably  that he had.

'What's your purpose, Michel?' she launched with polite heat. If they  were alone, she would have hit him. Or made every effort to try.

'You didn't answer any of the several messages I left on your message bank.'

She'd let every call go to voice mail and become selective in whose  messages she returned. 'What was the point when we'd said it all?'                       
       
           



       

'Nothing is resolved in anger.'

So he'd let her go, sure in the knowledge that, given time, she'd come  to her senses and run back to him? How many nights had she lain awake  fighting against the need to do just that? Except pride and determined  resolve had kept her firmly where she was. As well as loyalty to a  project and a legally binding contract.

She looked at him carefully, noting the fine lines that fanned from the  outer corners of his eyes, the faint shadows beneath. Unless it was her  imagination, the faint vertical crease slashing each cheek seemed  deeper.

Once, those dark grey eyes had gleamed with naked passion … for her. Only her. She'd looked into their depths and melted.

Now there was only darkness and a hard quality that chilled her bones.

'You haven't explained why you're an invited guest in Tony's apartment,' Sandrine managed evenly, and saw one eyebrow arch.

'You mean you haven't guessed?'

There was soft mockery evident in his tone, an underlying hint of steel that tore the breath from her throat.

'Your sojourn in Europe is over and you've come to haul me home?'

Her facetiousness didn't escape him, and his mouth assumed a cynical slant. 'Try again.'

Anger overlaid fear. 'You want a divorce.'

His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes shifted,  hardened. 'There hasn't been a divorce in the Lanier family for three  hundred years.'

'You mean women have suffered the overbearing, arrogant, autocratic will  of Lanier men for centuries without offering a word in complaint?'

'I imagine any complaints were soon-' he paused, the emphasis significant '-satisfactorily dealt with.'

She took his meaning and rode with it. 'Sex isn't the answer to everything.'

'Lovemaking.'

There was a difference. Dear heaven, such a difference. Even thinking  about Michel's powerful body joining with hers brought a surge of warmth  that raced through her veins, heating her body to fever pitch.

He saw the reaction in the subtle shading of her skin, the faint  convulsive movement of her throat, the sudden, too rapid sweep of  eyelashes as she sought to veil her response. And he experienced  satisfaction.

'You haven't answered my question.'

'Which particular question is that?'

Her lashes flew wide, and the intensity of those deep brown, gold-flecked eyes held a brilliance that danced close to anger.

'What you're doing here, tonight?'

His gaze was direct, probing, and held a degree of cynical humour. 'Why, chérie, I am the guest of honour at this soiree.'

'The guest of honour touted to inject sufficient funds to rescue the film?'

Michel confirmed it with the faint inclination of his head. 'For a price,' he conceded with chilling softness.

Something inside her stomach curled into a painful knot. 'And that is?'

'A reconciliation.' Succinct, blatant and chillingly inflexible.

Dear God. Pious salutation had nothing to do with the words that remained locked in her throat.

From somewhere she dredged up the courage to confront him. 'A marriage certificate doesn't transform me into a chattel you own.'

Michel took in her pale features, the dark eyes that seemed too large  for her face, the loss of a few essential kilos, and barely restrained  himself from wringing her slender neck.

Sandrine became aware of the circumspect glances, the ripple of  curiosity Michel's action had generated. Cait Lynden's expression was  composed, although her brilliant blue eyes were icy.

Their marriage hadn't been written up in any of the international  society pages. It was doubtful anyone in this room knew the guest of  honour's identity, much less his connection with a little-known  supporting actress.

'This is hardly the time or place.'

Michel's smile was a mere facsimile and bore not the slightest degree of  humour. 'No discussion, no negotiation. Just a simple yes or no.'

Simple? How could he deem something so complicated as simple? 'You can't demand conditions.'

'Watch me.'

'Blackmail, Michel?'

He gave an imperceptible shrug. 'Label it what you will.'

'And if I refuse?' Sandrine queried bravely.

Something moved in those dark eyes, making them appear incredibly dangerous. 'I walk out of here.'

And out of her life? As she'd walked out of his? Temporarily, she amended.

So why did she have the feeling she was poised on the edge of a precipice? One false move and she'd fall to unknown depths?

She could see the grim purpose etched in his features and she felt her stomach muscles clench in pain. 'You don't play fair.'                       
       
           



       

His expression didn't change. 'This isn't a game.'

No, it wasn't. Yet she hated him for employing manipulative tactics.

'Yes or no,' Michel reiterated with deadly quietness.





CHAPTER TWO


SANDRINE looked at Michel carefully, her eyes steady, her composure  seemingly intact. Only she knew what effort it cost to present such a  calm facade.

'I'm sure Tony has other sources available from which to raise the necessary money.'

'He has exhausted all of them.'

'How can you know that?' It didn't warrant an answer, she acknowledged  wryly. The Lanier family consortium held immense holdings, and Michel  was extremely wealthy in his own right. As such, he had contacts and  access to otherwise privileged information.

Without the injection of funds, the film wouldn't be completed or make  it into the cinemas, and the resulting financial loss would be  disastrous.

The knowledge she held the film's fate in her hands didn't sit well. Nor  did the fact that Michel had very skilfully planned it this way.

'With the possible exception of Gregor Anders, the film doesn't have the  big-name leads to attract a runaway box office success,' Michel relayed  with damning accuracy. 'The director and producer are both scrambling  to resurrect their ailing careers with a period piece currently out of  vogue.'

Add to that, she knew the film's financial backers had set a limited  budget that made little allowance for countless takes in a quest for  perfection, delays, escalating expenses, and the result was a high-risk  venture no sensible investor would touch.

Sandrine cast him a level look. 'That's your opinion.'

Michel's gaze remained steady, obdurate. 'Not only mine.'

'If that's true, why are you prepared to invest?'

His expression didn't change, and for several seconds she didn't think  he was going to answer. 'Honesty, Sandrine?' he mocked lightly. 'You.'

Her eyes widened, then narrowed slightly.

'What did you think I would do, ultimately?' Michel demanded silkily. 'Just let you walk?'

She gritted her teeth, counted to five. 'I didn't walk,' she denied  vehemently. 'I was committed to a signed contract. If I hadn't checked  into the studio on the designated date, I could have been sued.'

'A contract you chose not to tell me you'd signed.'

'You were locked into meetings in Europe.'

'Aren't you going to introduce me, darling?'

Damn. Sandrine barely swallowed the vengeful curse as Cait placed an arm  along the back of her waist in a gesture that indicated they were the  closest of friends.

'Michel Lanier,' Michel interposed smoothly.

'Cait Lynden.' The smile, the voice, the actions, combined to provide maximum impact. 'So, you're our knight in shining armour.'

Sandrine watched an exquisitely lacquered nail trace a provocative  pattern down his suit sleeve and was overwhelmed by the desire to sweep  it aside.

'And Sandrine's husband.'

Ouch. She felt Cait's slight intake of breath, glimpsed the coy smile  and felt the faint increase of pressure as fingers bit into the back of  her waist.

'Well,' Cait acknowledged as she turned to shoot Sandrine an icy glare, 'aren't you the secretive one.'

Michel took hold of Sandrine's hand and lifted it to his lips, then he spared Cait a level glance.

'If you'll excuse us? We were in the middle of a private discussion.'

Oh, my. He didn't pull any punches. She watched as the lead actress  proffered a sizzling smile, then turned and walked away with a blatant  sway of her hips.

'Another conquest,' Sandrine commented lightly.

'Let's focus on the immediate issue, shall we?'

The master manipulator. Dammit, why did she want to crack his cool  facade when she knew what lay beneath the surface of his control?