The Husband Assignment. Helen Bianchin

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      ‘Impressive,’ Michel drawled, incurring a sharp glance from his wife.

      ‘Laudable,’ Raoul inclined in agreement. ‘Perhaps you’d care to elaborate—your degree of dedication to this particular project?’

      ‘Total,’ she responded, then qualified evenly, ‘With one exception. In terms of personal family crisis, my daughter Emma takes precedence.’

      ‘Not optimum,’ Raoul discounted, employing an edge of ruthlessness.

      A deliberate strategy to place her behind the eight ball? ‘You have no obligations whatsoever, Mr. Lanier?’ she posed smoothly. ‘No wife or mistress who has license to your time?’ Her gaze lanced his, level, unwavering, undeterred by the warning glint apparent. ‘Or does business consume your life to the exclusion of all else?’

      It was possible to hear a pin drop within the immediate vicinity of their table. No one, she imagined, had dared to confront Raoul Lanier in such a manner.

      ‘A subtle query on your part?’ Raoul posed with hateful amusement. ‘As to whether I have a wife?’

      ‘Your marital status is of no interest to me whatsoever,’ she responded evenly. It was the truth. ‘And you didn’t answer the question.’

      Would she be so brave if they were alone? Perhaps, he accorded silently, sufficiently intrigued to discover if the bravado was merely a facade.

      ‘I allow myself leisure time.’

      His drawled response set her teeth on edge, and she summoned a sweet smile. ‘Sensible of you.’

      She had no answer for the sensual tension electrifying the air between them. Or for the insane desire to challenge him to a verbal fencing match. It was almost as if some invisible imp was prompting her into battle, and putting words in her mouth she would normally never utter.

      ‘I hope you weren’t too inconvenienced in locating a baby-sitter at such short notice?’ Sandrine queried in what Stephanie perceived as a skilled attempt to switch the subject of conversation.

      ‘Fortunately not.’

      Sandrine offered a wry smile. ‘The Lanier brothers tend to snap their fingers and expect immediate action.’

      ‘So I gather,’ Stephanie responded dryly.

      ‘Can I persuade you to try some wine, Stephanie?’ Michel intervened smoothly. ‘Half a glass won’t affect your ability to drive.’

      ‘Thank you, no.’

      The waiter unobtrusively removed their plates, inquired if the starter was to their satisfaction, then retreated.

      Raoul leaned back in his chair and subjected Stephanie to an analytical appraisal. The subdued lighting emphasized delicate bone structure, lent a soft glow to her skin and accentuated the blue depth of her eyes.

      She possessed a lush mouth, full and softly curved, and he watched it draw in slightly, caught the faint tightening of muscles at the edge of her jaw as she became aware of his deliberate assessment.

      For one infinitesimal second her eyes blazed fire, and he noted the imperceptible movement as she attempted to minimize a convulsive swallow.

      Not so controlled, he decided with satisfaction, aware that it would provide an interesting challenge to explore the exigent chemistry between them.

      How would that mouth feel beneath the pressure of his own? There was a part of him that wanted to ruffle her composure, test the level of her restraint, and handle the aftermath.

      Stephanie barely restrained the impulse to hit him. He was deliberately needling her, like a supine panther who’d sighted a prey within reach and was toying with the decision to pounce, or play. Either way, the result would be the same.

      Raoul Lanier was in for a surprise if he thought he could try those tactics with her, she decided in silent anger.

      She held his gaze deliberately, and saw one eyebrow lift in a slow arch, almost as if he had read her mind. Mental telepathy? Somehow she doubted he possessed that ability. More likely it stemmed from an innate and accurate knowledge of women.

      The appearance of the waiter with their main course temporarily diverted her attention. She looked at the plate placed before her, and felt her appetite diminish to zero.

      ‘The meal isn’t to your liking?’

      Stephanie heard Raoul’s deep drawl, sensed the double entendre, and for a brief moment she entertained tossing the contents of her glass in his face.

      Smile, a tiny voice urged. This isn’t the first occasion you’ve had to deal with male arrogance, and it sure won’t be the last. Business was the purpose for this meeting, albeit that it was being conducted in luxurious surroundings with the accompaniment of fine food and wine.

      ‘Do you have any queries?’ she asked of Michel, and incurred his thoughtful gaze.

      ‘You appear to have covered everything for the moment.’

      ‘Perhaps Stephanie would care to give us her personal opinion on this film,’ Raoul drawled as he toyed with his wineglass.

      ‘My expertise is with marketing strategy, Mr. Lanier,’ she said with grave politeness, whereas underneath that superficial veneer she was seething.

      His gaze seemed to lance through every protective barrier she erected, and she hated him for it.

      ‘Surely you have an opinion?’ he queried mildly.

      ‘Nothing is a guaranteed success,’ she voiced steadily. ‘And there are varied degrees of success. I understand both director and producer have a certain reputation in their field, the cast comprises relatively high profile actors, the theme will attract public interest.’ Her gaze was unwavering as she held his. ‘I can only assure you marketing will do a commendable job with promotion.’

      She glimpsed his cynical smile, saw the hardness in those powerful features and refused to allow either to unsettle her equilibrium.

      ‘A standard response,’ Raoul acknowledged silkily. ‘That conveys precisely nothing.’

      She’d had enough. ‘You’re talking to the wrong person, Mr. Lanier. But then, you know that, don’t you? This so-called business dinner is merely a social occasion initiated by you for your own amusement.’ She removed her napkin and placed it beside her plate, then she stood to her feet and collected her evening purse. Ignoring Raoul, she focused her attention on Michel. ‘Enjoy your meal.’

      Without a further word she turned from the table and made her way to the main desk. Requesting the bill, she produced her corporate card, instructed the maximum estimated amount for the total be written in, then she signed the credit slip and pocketed her copy.

      Stephanie moved into the foyer and crossed to the lift, jabbing the Call button with more force than necessary.

      Damn Raoul Lanier. He’d succeeded in getting beneath her skin, and she hated him for it. Hated herself for allowing him to affect her in a way that tore СКАЧАТЬ