The Marriage Deal. Helen Bianchin

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      ‘You provoked me.’

      ‘It was reciprocal.’

      Words. His, cool and controlled, whereas hers had been the antithesis of calm. Yet equally hurtful, uttered in frustrated anger.

      ‘Space and time, Michel?’ Sandrine queried with a trace of bitterness. ‘In which to cool down and pretend it never happened?’

      ‘I imagined we’d already resolved the situation.’

      The gold flecks in her eyes became more pronounced as she held on to her anger. Twin flags of colour highlighted her cheekbones as the memory of the very physical sex they’d shared immediately afterwards came vividly to mind. On top of his magnificent antique desk. Hard, no-holds-barred sex, libidinous, barbaric and totally wild. Afterwards he’d cradled her close and carried her upstairs, bathed and gently towelled her dry, then he’d taken her to bed where he made exquisite love long into the night.

      She’d waited until he’d fallen asleep, then she’d dressed, thrown clothes into a suitcase, penned a hastily scrawled note and left as the new day’s dawn was lightening a shadowed grey sky.

      ‘No.’ The single negation emerged with quiet dignity. Sex…even very good sex, she amended, didn’t resolve anything.

      He had never felt so frustrated in his life when he discovered she’d left. If he could have, he’d have boarded the next Australia-bound flight and followed her. Except Raoul was in America, and Sebastian, youngest of the three Lanier brothers, was honeymooning overseas. He’d had no option but to attend scheduled meetings in various European cities, then conclude them with a brief family visit with his grand-mère in Paris.

      ‘An empty space in bed, a brief note, and a wife on the other side of the world who refused to take any of my calls.’ For that, he could have shaken her senseless.

      ‘If you’re through with the interrogation,’ Sandrine said stiffly, ‘I’d like to leave. I have an early call in the morning.’

      His features hardened and his eyelids lowered slightly, successfully masking his expression. ‘Then let’s find our host and thank him for his hospitality.’ He took hold of her arm, only to have her wrench it out of his grasp.

      ‘I’m not going anywhere with you.’

      One eyebrow arched in a deliberately cynical gesture. ‘Are you forgetting our bargain so soon?’

      ‘Not at all,’ Sandrine declared bravely. ‘But I’m damned if I’ll allow you to share a house with me!’

      His smile bore no humour at all. ‘Separate residences aren’t part of the deal.’

      ‘Go to hell,’ she vented, sorely tried.

      ‘I’ve been there,’ Michel said with dangerous softness. ‘I don’t intend a return trip.’

      ‘I think,’ she declared with controlled civility, ‘we should save any further discussion until later.’

      ‘I haven’t even begun,’ he stated with deliberate emphasis. ‘And the guests are free to speculate as they like.’ He curved an arm around her waist and anchored her firmly to his side. ‘Place one foot in front of the other and smile as we bid Tony goodnight.’

      ‘Or else?’ Sandrine countered with controlled anger.

      ‘It’s a matter of dignity. Yours,’ Michel declared in a silky smooth tone. ‘You can walk out of here or you can exit this apartment hoisted over my shoulder. Choose.’

      Her stomach turned a slow somersault. One glance at his set features was sufficient to determine it wouldn’t be wise to oppose him.

      Her eyes held a chill that rivalled an arctic floe. ‘I prefer the first option,’ she said with icy politeness.

      It took ten minutes to exchange pleasantries and have Michel confirm a business meeting with Tony the following morning. Sandrine didn’t miss the slight tightness of Tony’s smile or the fleeting hardness evident in his eyes.

      ‘He’s sweating on your decision,’ she inferred as they rode the lift down to the ground floor. ‘A calculated strategy, Michel?’

      He sent a dark, assessing look in her direction, and she glimpsed a faint edge of mockery beneath the seemingly inscrutable veneer.

      The query didn’t require a verbal affirmation. The three Lanier brothers, Raoul, Michel and Sebastian, controlled a billion-dollar corporation spearheaded by their father, Henri, who had ensured each of his three sons’ education encompassed every financial aspect of business.

      The lift slid to a smooth halt, and they crossed the foyer to the main external entrance.

      Sandrine extracted her cell phone and flipped it open. ‘I’ll call you a taxi.’

      The streetlight nearby provided a luminous glow, the shadows highlighting the strong planes of his face.

      ‘I have a hire-car,’ Michel informed her silkily. ‘I’ll follow you.’

      ‘You can move in tomorrow—’ She broke off as the connection engaged. ‘Could you send a cab to—’

      Michel ended the call by the simple expediency of removing the small unit from her hand.

      ‘How dare you?’ The words spilled out in spluttered rage, and she made a valiant attempt to snatch the cell phone from him, failing miserably as he held it beyond her reach. ‘Give it to me!’

      One eyebrow arched in silent cynicism as she stamped her foot in wordless rage.

      ‘Where are you parked?’

      She glared at him balefully, incensed that much of her visual anger was diminished by the dark evening shadows. ‘Aren’t you booked in somewhere?’

      She had tenacity, temper and tendresse. The latter had never been so noticeably absent. A faint twinge of humour tugged at the edge of his mouth. ‘I checked out this morning.’

      Damn, damn him, she silently vented. ‘My car is the white Honda hatchback,’ she told him in stilted tones. She turned away, only to have his hand snag her arm, and she whirled back to face him in vengeful fury. ‘What now?’

      ‘Your cell phone,’ Michel said mildly as he held it out to her. She snatched it from him as if his fingers represented white-hot flame.

      She would, she determined angrily as she slid in behind the wheel and engaged the engine, drive as fast as she dared and hope to lose him. Fat chance, Sandrine silently mocked minutes later as she ran an amber light and saw, via the rear-vision mirror, his car follow.

      Knowing Michel’s attention to detail, it wouldn’t surprise her if he had already discovered her address and was therefore quite capable of reaching it with the aid of a street map. It was a sobering thought and one that relegated her actions to a foolish level.

      No more taking risks with the traffic lights, she determined as she settled down to the twenty-minute drive and tried to ignore the twin set of headlights following several metres to the rear of her car.

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