Bought For The Frenchman's Pleasure. Эбби Грин

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      ‘No.’ Sorcha took in a deep patient breath. ‘It’s pronounced Sorka…’

      ‘That’s almost as cute as you, honey…and where is it from?’

      The man’s beady eyes set deep into his fleshy face swept up and down again with a lasciviousness that made Sorcha snatch her hand back from his far too tight and sweaty grasp. He clearly had no more interest in where she or her name were from than the man in the moon. She managed to say, with some civility and a smile that felt very fake, ‘It’s Gaelic. It means brightness…

      It’s been lovely meeting you, but if you wouldn’t mind, I really must—’

      ‘Sorcha!’

      She looked around at her name being called with abject relief. The need to get away from this oily tycoon from Texas was acute and immediate.

      ‘Kate…’ She couldn’t disguise that relief as she greeted her friend, and gave her a very pointed look.

      Sorcha turned back to the man whose eyes were now practically popping out of his head as he saw the luminous blonde beauty join Sorcha’s side. Her best friend merely smiled sweetly at him and led Sorcha away.

      ‘Boy, am I glad to see you. I think I need a shower after that.’ Sorcha gave a little shiver.

      ‘I know. He cornered me earlier, and when I saw you with him I knew I had to save you.’

      Sorcha smiled at her closest friend in the whole world and gave her a quick, impulsive hug. ‘I’m so glad you’re here, Katie. These evenings are such torture—do you think we could make a run for it?’

      Kate’s nose wrinkled in her exquisite face. ‘No such luck. Maud is keeping her eagle eye on us, and has already told me that if we scarper early she’ll make us pay.’

      Sorcha groaned, and at that moment caught the eye of the woman in question—Maud Harriday, doyenne of the fashion industry and head of Models Inc, the agency in New York she and Kate worked for. And who was, for want of a better term, their surrogate mother.

      She smiled sunnily until Maud’s laser like gaze was distracted by something else, then stifled a huge yawn. They’d both been up since the crack of dawn for work that day, albeit for different catwalk shows.

      Kate grabbed a passing waiter and took two glasses of champagne, handing one to Sorcha. She didn’t normally drink the stuff but took it anyway, for appearances’ sake. Maud liked her models to look as though they were enjoying themselves—especially when they were on show right in the middle of the mayhem of New York’s Fashion Week in one of New York’s finest hotels, rubbing shoulders with some of the most important people in media, fashion and politics.

      Sorcha smiled and clinked glasses with Kate. ‘Thanks. I always feel like some kind of brood mare at these functions…don’t you?’

      Kate was looking around with interest. ‘Oh, I don’t know, Sorch…’ She affected the broad accents of Maud’s famous New York drawl, and repeated her pep talk of earlier. ‘“This is the one time in the year we get to promote the new faces along with the old.”’ She nudged Sorcha playfully and said, sotto voce, ‘At the grand age of twenty-five we’re the old, in case you hadn’t noticed…’ She continued with her strident imitation. ‘“…and we generate business. These are the people who invest in you, the fashion advertisers who pay your bills, so go out there and look gorgeous.”’

      Sorcha threw back her head and laughed. ‘She’d kill you if she heard you.’

      The contrast of their beauty side by side—one blonde, the other dark—drew many gazes in their direction. They shared an easy intimacy that came from a long friendship that had started when Kate had gone to Sorcha’s boarding school in Ireland, just outside Dublin.

      Kate spoke again, bringing Sorcha’s attention back from its wanderings. Her voice was deceptively light. ‘Plenty of gorgeous guys here tonight, Sorch…’

      A tightness came into Sorcha’s face. She was recalling a recent heated discussion with her friend, and she had no desire to rake over the same ground now. No desire to go back down memory lane, where a comment like that was inevitably headed.

      ‘Kate, let’s not get into that again, please.’ The entreaty in her clear blue eyes was explicit. Kate was her best friend—the one person who knew her like no other, who had seen her at her worst. The familiar guilt rose up, the feeling of debt. Even though she knew Kate would never mention it or use it against her. To her relief she saw her friend nod slightly.

      ‘Ok, you’re off the hook for now. But it’s just…you are one of the most beautiful women I know, inside and out. I just wish—’

      Sorcha took Katie’s hand, halting her words. Her voice was husky. ‘Thanks, Katie…but, really, just leave it for now—OK?’