“I want to be with you.”

Raoul’s meaning was unmistakable.

“Are you suggesting we scratch an itch?” Stephanie demanded.

Her scandalized expression amused him. “When I take you to bed,” he vowed silkily, “it won’t be merely to scratch an itch!”

“No,” Stephanie denied heatedly. “Because you won’t get anywhere near my bed!”

Raoul regarded her silently for a few seconds. “You are so sure about that?”

HELEN BIANCHIN was born in New Zealand and traveled to Australia before marrying her Italian-born husband. After three years they moved, returned to New Zealand with their daughter, had two sons then resettled in Australia. Encouraged by friends to recount anecdotes of her years as a tobacco sharefarmer’s wife living in an Italian community, Helen began setting words on paper, and her first novel was published in 1975. An animal lover, she says her terrier and new Persian kitten consider her study to be as much theirs as hers.

USA Today bestselling author Helen Bianchin

loves to create sizzling emotional tension,

passion and conflict between her characters—

especially when it leads to marriage!

In The Marriage Deal (Presents #2097),

Michel Lanier discovered that sparks continue

to fly even after the wedding! Now it’s his

brother’s turn. Raoul Lanier is equally gorgeous

and passionate—and he’s about to meet his

match in Stephanie!

The Husband Assignment
Helen Bianchin

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ONE

RAOUL LANIER inclined his head in silent acknowledgment as the attractive airline hostess extended a customary farewell to passengers leaving the aircraft.

Her mouth curved a little wider, and the expression in her eyes offered numerous sensual delights should he choose to extend an invitation to share a drink during her stopover.

The attention she’d bestowed on him during the long international flight had included a friendly warmth that went beyond the courteous solicitousness proffered to his fellow travelers.

It could have proved an interesting diversion, if fleeting sexual encounters formed part of his personal agenda, Raoul mused as he cleared the aircraft and entered the concourse.

As the eldest son and part heir to a billion-dollar fortune, a sense of caution coupled with cynicism had formed at an early age.

Good European genes had blessed him with enviable height, superb bone structure and ruggedly attractive facial features that inevitably drew a second glance. Physical fitness and fine clothes completed a combination that proved magnetic to women of all ages.

A quality that was both an advantage and a curse, he acknowledged with rueful humor as he rode the escalator down to ground level and crossed to the appropriate luggage carousel.

Raoul checked his watch. He had two hours in which to clear customs, take a cab to the hotel at Double Bay, shower and change, before he was scheduled to appear at a business meeting.

Primarily his Australian visit was intended to target the possibility of setting up a Sydney base for the multinational Lanier conglomerate. Wheels had already been set in motion, and if all the details met with his satisfaction, he was prepared to clinch the deal.

Not easily, for he was a skilled tactician whose strategy was recognized and lauded by his peers and associates.

He spotted his luggage, hefted it from the carousel and then strode out of the terminal to summon a taxi.

Brilliant summer sunshine had him reaching for protective sunglasses as he provided the driver with the name of his hotel, then he sank back against the seat in contemplative silence.

The meeting this afternoon held importance. He planned to present a noncommittal persona, and absent himself from the scene for several days, reachable only by cell phone during a sojourn on Queensland’s Gold Coast.

Checking up on family. His mouth thinned slightly as his expression assumed reflective thought.

He held filial affection for both his brothers. The youngest, Sebastian, had recently married and was at present taking an extended holiday in Europe with his new wife.

However, it was Michel who was providing concern, with his marriage of six months in apparent crisis. Seven weeks ago Michel’s wife had left New York and flown to Australia to take part in a movie being filmed at the Gold Coast Warner Brothers’ studios.

Michel had concluded important European meetings, then followed Sandrine with a view to negotiating a reconciliation. The fact the movie had developed financial problems merely added a bargaining dimension Raoul suspected Michel intended to use to his advantage.

Each of the Lanier brothers possessed a considerable personal fortune, and sinking a few million dollars into a floundering movie wouldn’t put a dent in Michel’s assets.

A sudden screech of brakes, a muffled curse from the taxi driver, followed by an offered apology captured his attention, and he caught the buildup of traffic, the terrace houses, as the driver swung into the outer lane.

Raoul caught a glimpse of tall buildings stretched skyward in the distance, and estimated it would take ten minutes, fifteen at most, to reach the Ritz-Carlton hotel in Double Bay.

He was no stranger to this large southern hemispheric city, and he held a certain affection for its scenic beauty and stunning architecture, albeit that it was very young in terms of his native France.

Home was a luxury two-story apartment in Auteuil filled with antique furniture, marble-tiled floors, oriental rugs, objets d’art.

He had been born and raised in Paris, graduated from one of its finest universities, then was absorbed into the Lanier corporation as a junior executive.

Raoul gave a grim smile in memory of those early days beneath his father’s eaglelike tutelage. Henri Lanier had been a hard taskmaster. Ruthless, Raoul conceded, but fair.

Today, Henri presided as the figurehead of a multinational conglomerate, with Raoul and Michel holding equal power. Sebastian, on the other hand, had chosen law, graduated, practiced, then he penned and sold his first novel, and the rest as they say was history.

The taxi slid to a halt outside the entrance to a gracious well-established hotel a short distance from the waterfront.

Raoul handed the driver a folded note, then stepped from the vehicle while the concierge collected his bags from the boot.

Checking in was a simple procedure, and in his room he took bottled water from the bar-fridge and drank it, ordered room service to deliver lunch at midday, then he unpacked a few essentials, showered, shaved, donned a complimentary robe and replaced the receiver on the last of a few calls less than a minute before a steward presented lunch.

Afterward he dressed, checked his briefcase and took the lift to the main lobby. His meeting was scheduled for two. It was now three minutes past the hour. Essential minutes that gave him an edge, unless the man he was due to liaise with was also well-versed in tactical game-playing.

Eagerness inevitably bred punctuality, Raoul acknowledged, especially when the possibility of a large investment was at stake.

The meeting could easily have stretched to an hour. Raoul cut that time in half with clear instruction and assertive demand, leaving no shred of doubt as to who held command.

Afterward he returned to his room, snagged bottled water from the bar-fridge, then he opened his laptop and spent time keying in data and directing it via e-mail to Paris. He made two calls, the second of which was to Michel, alerting him to his arrival the following day.

Raoul flexed his limbs, then stretched his lengthy frame. He needed exercise. The gym? First, he’d exchange the business suit for sweats and sneakers, and take a walk in the fresh air. His plans for the evening encompassed nothing more than ordering in a light evening meal, followed by an hour or two on the laptop, then he intended to fall into bed and catch up on sleep.

The intercom buzzed, and Stephanie reached out to activate it.

‘Michel Lanier is here.’

She winced at the receptionist’s attempt at a French pronunciation, and stifled a faint smile at the girl’s obvious effort to impress. Michel Lanier was, she had to concede, an impressive man. If a woman was susceptible to a tall, dark-haired, attractive male.

‘Give me a minute, then show him in.’

It was an integral part of Stephanie’s job as a marketing manager to initiate discussions and venture opinions. She liked what she did for a living, it paid well and the rewards were many.

There was satisfaction in utilizing her expertise in film, together with an instinctive grasp of what attracted and titillated public interest, thus improving cinema attendance, and profitability for the film studios, the investors.

This particular movie had gone over budget, over time, financial avenues had been exhausted and a week ago it had been destined not to be completed.

The crux had been Sandrine Lanier, part-time model and actress, who had a minor role in the film, and her husband’s willingness to inject a considerable amount of money to salvage it.

Stephanie shuffled the papers she’d been perusing into a folder at the sound of a double knock on her door, and hit the Save button on her computer.

‘Michel and Raoul Lanier.’

She successfully hid her surprise as she registered both names, and she stood and summoned a friendly smile as Michel Lanier entered the room.

‘Please take a seat,’ she instructed, indicating a pair of comfortable leather chairs.

‘My brother requested he sit in at this meeting,’ Michel Lanier revealed smoothly. ‘You have no objection?’

What could she say? ‘No, of course not.’

Michel made the introduction. ‘Stephanie Sommers. Raoul Lanier.’

In his late thirties, she surmised, and the elder, if only by a few years.

Raoul Lanier stood an inch, maybe closer to two, taller than his brother. His broad frame held a familial similarity, as did his facial features. Except his hair was darker, almost black, and his jaw had the dark shadow of a man who was forced to shave night and morning.

Wide-set gray eyes, dark as slate, were far too knowledgeable for a woman’s peace of mind. As to his mouth…its curve held a sensuality that hinted at great passion. Equally she imagined those lines could thin, perhaps become almost cruel if he was so inclined.

His presence in her office hinted business, which raised doubt in her mind that Michel Lanier held the sole stake in a financial package aimed at rescuing the film in which his wife played a minor part.

‘Stephanie.’ He extended his hand in formal greeting, and she took it, choosing to ignore the faint tinge of mockery evident.

His handshake was firm, his touch warm, and she told herself the sensual awareness pulsing through her veins was merely a figment of her imagination.

‘Mr. Lanier,’ she acknowledged coolly.

One eyebrow rose, and his mouth curved slightly. ‘Raoul.’ He lifted a hand and indicated Michel with an expressive gesture. ‘Otherwise an adherence to formality will prove confusing.’

His accent was slight, but evident nonetheless, and the depth and intonation of his voice curled around her nerve endings and tugged a little, setting her internal protective mechanism on edge.

Charm, he had it. There was also knowledge apparent in those dark eyes, a knowledge that was wholly sensual, sexual, coupled with contemplative interest.

He would be lethal with women, she deduced wryly. Given his looks, his physique, his wealth, he wouldn’t even have to try.

With deliberate movements, she crossed around her desk and sank into the leather chair. It was a position of power, and she used it mercilessly.

‘I have the figures you requested.’ She looked at Michel, and chose to ignore Raoul entirely. ‘Together with a rundown of proposals we intend to use in promoting the film.’ She picked up a manila envelope and slid papers into it. ‘I’m sure you’ll find it satisfactory. Of course, we can’t begin with promotion until the film is completed. The marketing people will have a private viewing, then discuss which aspects should be highlighted to attract the attention of the viewing public.’

She kept her attention on Michel. ‘I believe the producer anticipates another week should wrap up filming, with perhaps a further few days scheduled for reshooting. It would be of added interest to include you in the publicity campaign…both as an investor, and Sandrine’s husband.’ Her smile was purely professional. ‘I trust you’ll be agreeable?’

When he didn’t respond, she explained, ‘It’s all part of the bid to protect your investment.’ Did she sound cynical? She hadn’t meant to, but it had been a long day. ‘Do you have any questions?’

‘You have another appointment?’ Raoul queried silkily.

‘Yes, I do.’ Stephanie glanced at her watch, and stood. ‘I’m sorry I can’t spare you more time.’ She met Michel’s enigmatic gaze, then picked up the manila envelope and held it out to him. ‘When you’ve examined these, please feel free to call me with any queries.’

‘I’d like the opportunity to continue this discussion,’ Raoul indicated. ‘Shall we say dinner, tonight? Michel and Sandrine will join us. I’m staying at the Sheraton Mirage. Six-thirty in the main lobby?’

It annoyed her unreasonably that he took her acceptance for granted. ‘I’m sorry, I won’t be able to make it.’

‘A date you can’t break in the interest of business?’

Important business. Or was Raoul Lanier merely employing undue influence in his own interest?

‘With my daughter, Mr. Lanier, whom I’m due to collect from the day care center in half an hour.’ Her personal file was easily accessible to anyone with the right connections. Eliciting such details would be a breeze for someone of Michel or Raoul Lanier’s standing.

His eyes narrowed fractionally. ‘It isn’t possible for you to hire a baby-sitter?’

She wanted to hit him for attempting to infringe on her personal life. ‘Difficult, at such short notice,’ she responded stiffly.

‘Make the call, Stephanie.’

She disliked being controlled, and she resented this man’s aura of power.

There was the temptation to tell him to go to hell, and she barely managed to bite her tongue. Michel Lanier was a wealthy man in his own right, although she couldn’t be certain part of his investment wasn’t being funded by the Lanier conglomerate. In which case, Raoul Lanier had a legitimate claim.

She could insist on another evening. In fact, she was sorely tempted to do just that. Except it seemed foolish to be irksome just for the sake of it.

Her expression was cool and composed as she inclined her head. ‘If you’ll excuse me?’ She walked to the door and opened it, waiting as both men filed past her and exited the room.

One pair of dark gray eyes held a glimmer of amusement, and her own sharpened, then deepened with silent anger.

He was enjoying this, and didn’t appear to give a second’s consideration to what it would cost her in time and effort.

She closed the door behind them, then she crossed to her desk and pressed the required digits to connect with the teenage student she relied on to baby-sit. A few minutes later she replaced the receiver, gave a heavy sigh, then walked out to reception.

Michel Lanier was using his cell phone, and she was acutely conscious of Raoul’s studied appraisal as she crossed to his side.

‘Six-thirty, the Sheraton Mirage foyer,’ she confirmed, adding with a certain cynicism, ‘I shall look forward to it.’

He withdrew a slim billfold. ‘My card, with my cell phone number.’

She wanted to ignore the courtesy, and add with cutting sarcasm that Hell could freeze over before she’d willingly choose to contact him.

Stephanie caught the quick gleam of amusement apparent, and deliberately arched an eyebrow in silent query, held it, then she accepted the card from his outstretched hand, careful to ensure their fingers didn’t touch.

Was that an imperceptible quirk of mockery at the edge of his lips? She told herself she didn’t give a damn.

Without a further word she turned and retraced her steps.

It was almost five, which allowed her one hour and ten minutes to collect Emma from the day care center, drive to Mermaid Beach, feed and bathe her daughter, then shower, dress, brief the baby-sitter and leave.

Do-able, provided there were no hiccups or delays. An added bonus was that Sarah, her baby-sitter had offered to arrive early and take up any slack.

Something for which Stephanie was immensely grateful as she stepped into a slim-fitting black dress and slid the zip home. A few strokes of the brush to her strawberry-blond hair restored order to the stylish bob, and she examined her makeup, added a touch of blusher to her cheeks, spritzed her favorite Hermés perfume to several pulse points, then she slid her feet into stiletto-heeled black pumps, caught up a black shoulder bag and stepped quickly into the lounge.

‘Bye, darling.’ She leaned down and gave Emma a hug. ‘Be a good girl for Sarah.’ She turned toward the baby-sitter. ‘Any problems, ring me on my cell phone. I won’t be late. Thanks,’ she added with heartfelt sincerity.

‘Anytime. Enjoy yourself.’

That was debatable, Stephanie perceived as she crossed the path and slid in behind the wheel of her car.

Business, she reminded herself as she reversed out from the driveway, and eased the sedan down the quiet suburban street. Tonight is strictly business.

Why, then, did she have the feeling that she’d been very cleverly manipulated?

The distance between Mermaid Beach and the Sheraton Mirage hotel at Main Beach represented a fifteen-minute drive…slightly less, if she was fortunate enough to strike a green light at every traffic controlled intersection.

It was a beautiful summer evening, the sun reflected the day’s heat, and Stephanie reached forward to adjust the air conditioning.

High-rise buildings stood like tall sentinels, vying with luxury hotels lining the long gently curved stretch of oceanfront.

The Gold Coast had been her home for almost four years. Years in which she’d mentally fought to put a broken relationship behind her and deal with the bitterness of knowing the man in her life had expected…no, begged, her to terminate an accidental pregnancy on the grounds a baby would represent too much responsibility and wreck his plans. With icy calm she’d handed back his engagement ring and walked out of his life.

It hadn’t been easy. Yet Emma made it all worthwhile. She was a dear child, Stephanie’s image with soft blond curls with the merest tinge of reddish gold.

A horn-blast shattered Stephanie’s introspection, and a slight frown creased her forehead as the car developed a faint bump. Seconds later she didn’t know whether to curse or cry as she pulled into the side of the road and brought the vehicle to a halt.

Just what she needed. A puncture, when she hadn’t allowed herself a minute to spare. Dammit. She reached forward and popped the boot, then she slid out of her seat and prepared to change the tire. Left front, she determined as she removed the jack and set it in position.

Stiletto heels and a figure-hugging dress didn’t make for ideal maneuvering. Nor did she relish wrestling with unfamiliar tools as she attempted to loosen stubborn wheel nuts.

This was one occasion when she was more than willing to put feminine self-sufficiency to one side and welcome male assistance.

Except no car stopped, and she battled with the task, completed the wheel change, replaced tools and then cleaned up as best she could with a packet of moist wipes and a box of tissues.

A quick glance at her watch confirmed she was already ten minutes late, and she reached for her cell phone, extracted Raoul Lanier’s business card and keyed in the appropriate digits.

He answered on the second ring, and she identified herself, offered an explanation, an apology, and ended the call before he had the opportunity to say a further word.

Five minutes later Stephanie slid the car to a halt in the Sheraton Mirage hotel underground car park and took the lift to the main lobby.

She saw Raoul at once, his height and breadth of shoulder emphasized by superb tailoring, his dark hair well-groomed.

As she drew close he turned toward her, and he stood watching her approach with an unwavering scrutiny that made her want to check if there was a smudge on her nose or cheek, and wonder whether her hasty cleaning-up had removed every speck of grease and dust.

Stephanie mentally squared her shoulders as she summoned forth a warm smile. She was practiced in the social graces, and adept at handling any situation. It was very rare for her to allow anything or anyone to ruffle her composure.

All she had to do, she assured herself silently, was get through the next hour or two with her dignity intact.

‘Sandrine. Michel,’ she greeted with ease as she joined them. ‘Raoul,’ she acknowledged civilly. ‘I’m sorry about the delay.’

Take control, a tiny voice prompted. ‘Shall we go in?’

She didn’t miss the faint narrowing of his dark eyes, nor did she mistake the deceptive indolence apparent, and she ignored the slight shiver that feathered its way down her spine.

Raoul Lanier was just a man whose wealth and power were enviable assets in the business arena. She had no interest in him on a personal level, she assured herself.

Why, then, did she feel on edge and about as confident as a seven-year-old child, instead of the twenty-seven-year-old woman she was?

CHAPTER TWO

THE maître ’d led them to a table with a splendid view out over the pool and ocean. He seated them with reserved politeness, then summoned the drinks waiter.

Stephanie perused the wine list with practiced ease. Her knowledge of Australian wines was comprehensive, and she conferred over a choice of red or white, sparkling or still.

‘What would you suggest?’ Raoul drawled, mildly amused by her determination to play hostess.

‘The hotel carries a selection by a multigold medal vintner. I can recommend their Chardonnay or the Pinot Noir.’

Raoul ordered a bottle of each, and when the wine steward uncorked and presented the wine, Stephanie declined, opting for mineral water.

‘The need for a clear head?’

‘Of course,’ she returned coolly. ‘The evening’s purpose is focused on discussions about marketing strategies for the movie.’ She turned her attention to Michel. ‘I trust you’ve had an opportunity to examine the paperwork?’

‘Perhaps we could leave any business discussion until after we’ve ordered our starter and main?’ Raoul suggested imperturbably.

Stephanie directed him a studied glance, and met his level gaze. ‘If you’d prefer, Mr. Lanier.’

‘Raoul,’ he insisted silkily.

‘Raoul,’ she conceded, imitating his slightly accented intonation. If he wanted to play a game of verbal thrust and parry, she’d prove she could be his equal.

Her resolve deepened the color of her eyes and lent a slight tilt to her chin.

It amused and intrigued him. Most…no, all, he mentally amended, women of his acquaintance tended to assume a mantle of coquetry, some subtle, others distinctly blatant, in his presence. Cynicism acquired at a young age had taught him that wealth and social status provided the attraction. Experience hadn’t changed his opinion.

A waiter approached their table, conferred over the choice of starters, and at a request from Michel, provided a knowledgeable dissertation regarding the merits of each main dish on the menu before taking their order.

Stephanie lifted her glass and sipped the contents. Despite the apparent social implications, this evening was business, and she intended to relay the pertinent aspects of marketing strategy, outline the precise course it would take for this particular film, then she would leave.

If Raoul, Michel and Sandrine chose to linger or move on to the bar, that was their choice.

She replaced her glass onto the table and directed her attention toward Michel. ‘I’ve already outlined the major facets of film marketing strategy in an appendix among the paperwork handed to you this afternoon,’ she began formally. She was aware of Raoul’s studied gaze, and chose to ignore it.

‘Briefly to recap, when the completed film is delivered to us from the studio, it receives a private viewing by several people, about thirty in all. Various meetings are held to discuss the target market, what age group the film will most appeal to, which segments should be selected for the trailer.’ It was an involved process, and one in which she excelled. ‘We need to determine which shots will appear in press releases to television and the media, overseas and locally.’

Raoul noted the way her skin took on a glow beneath the muted lighting, the small gestures she used to emphasis a point. The liking for her job seemed genuine, and her enthusiasm didn’t appear to be contrived. Unless he was mistaken, this was no hard sell by a corporate executive intent on personal success at any price.

‘In order to heighten public awareness of the film, we’ll organize a fashion shoot with one or more of the prestige fashion magazines, and arrange coverage in at least two of the major national weekly magazines. As well as local and interstate newspapers.’

The waiter approached the table and set down their selected starters, and almost on cue the wine steward appeared to top up their drinks.

‘It would be advantageous to utilize Sandrine’s modeling connections to the fullest extent,’ Stephanie continued as she reached for her cutlery. ‘We’ll also arrange for you to be present at a few social events and organize media coverage. Press interviews will be set up with the main actors and a few of the cast, the release of which appear simultaneously to draw public attention to the film.’

‘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 at the foundations of unbiased professional good manners.

For heaven’s sake, where was the lift? Another five seconds, and she’d take the stairs. Almost on command, the doors slid open, four people emerged and Stephanie stepped into the cubicle, then turned toward the control panel.

Only to freeze at the sight of Raoul Lanier on the verge of entering the lift.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she managed to ask in a furious undertone.

‘Accompanying you down to your car.’ He reached forward and depressed the button designating the car park.

An action which galvanized Stephanie into jabbing the button that held the doors open. ‘Something that’s totally unnecessary. Get out.’

He didn’t answer. Instead he leaned forward, captured both her hands and held them firmly while he depressed the appropriate button.

Stephanie wrenched against his grasp in an attempt to get free, without success, and she watched with mounting anger as the doors slid closed and the lift began to descend.

‘Let go of me.’ Her voice was as cool as an arctic floe.

‘When the lift reaches the car park,’ Raoul drawled imperturbably.

‘You are the most arrogant, insolent, insufferable man I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.’

‘Really? I’m flattered. I expected at least ten damning descriptions.’

‘Give me a few seconds,’ she threatened darkly.

She was supremely conscious of him, his physical height and breadth, the aura of power he exuded, and this close his choice of cologne teased her senses, notwithstanding the essence of the man and the electric tension evident between them.

The heightened sensuality was almost a tangible entity, powerful, primeval, riveting. It made her afraid. Not only of him, but herself and the long dormant emotions she’d deliberately tamped down for four years.

The lift came to a smooth halt, and she wrenched her hands free, then exited the cubicle the instant the doors slid open.

‘Where is your car?’

She began walking toward the glass doors that led to the car park. ‘There’s no need to play the gentleman. The area is well-lit.’

She may as well have not spoken, and she drew in a deep breath, releasing it slowly as she deliberately ignored him and increased her pace.

It took only minutes to reach her car, and she extracted her keys, unlocked the door, then stilled as a hand prevented her from sliding in behind the wheel.

‘Whatever you’re thinking of doing,’ she said tightly, searing him with a look that would have felled a lesser man. ‘Don’t.’

‘I was going to offer an apology.’

‘For initiating an unnecessary social occasion in the guise of business, then conducting a deliberate game of cat and mouse with me?’ Her tone was deceptively soft, but her eyes resembled crystalline sapphire. ‘An apology is merely words, Mr. Lanier, and I find your manner unacceptable.’ She looked pointedly at his hand. ‘You have three seconds to walk away. Otherwise I’ll alert security.’

‘And request you rejoin me at dinner,’ he continued as if she hadn’t spoken.

‘I’m no longer hungry, I don’t like you, and—’ she paused fractionally, and aimed for the kill ‘—the last thing I want to do is spend another minute in your company. Is that clear?’

Raoul inclined his head in mocking acceptance. ‘Perfectly.’ He attended to the clasp and held open the door. ‘Au revoir.’

Stephanie slid in behind the wheel, inserted the key into the ignition and fired the engine. ‘Goodbye.’

The instant he closed the door she reversed out of the parking bay, then without sparing him a glance she drove toward the exit.

Minutes later she joined the flow of traffic traveling toward the center of town, and it wasn’t until she’d cleared the three major intersections that she allowed herself to reflect on the scene in the hotel car park.

She’d managed to have the last word, but somehow she had the feeling Raoul Lanier had deliberately contrived his apparent defeat. And that annoyed the heck out of her!

‘You’re home early,’ Sarah said with surprise when Stephanie entered the house just before nine.

‘Everything all right?’ Stephanie asked as she placed her bag down onto the table, and began removing her earrings.

‘Fine. Emma is never any trouble. She had a glass of milk at seven-thirty, and went to bed without a murmur.’

She looked at the textbooks laid out on the table, the empty coffee mug. ‘Another coffee? I’m making myself some.’

Sarah stood, closed and stacked her books, then slid them into a soft briefcase. ‘Thanks, but I’ll take a rain check.’

‘I appreciate your coming over at such short notice.’

‘It’s a pleasure,’ the baby-sitter declared warmly. ‘You have a lovely quiet house, perfect study conditions.’ She grinned, then rolled her eyes expressively. ‘Two teenage brothers tend to make a lot of noise.’

Stephanie extracted some bills from her purse and pressed them into the girl’s hand. ‘Thanks, Sarah. Good luck with the exams.’

She saw her out the door, then she locked up and went to check on Emma.

The child was sleeping, her expression peaceful as she clutched a favorite rag doll to her chest. Stephanie leaned down and adjusted the covers, then lightly pushed back a stray lock of hair that had fallen forward onto one soft cheek.

The tug of unconditional love consumed her. Nothing, nothing was as wonderful as the gift of a child. Emma’s happiness and well-being was worth any sacrifice. A stressful job, the need to present cutting-edge marketing strategy, estimating consumer appeal and ensuring each project was a winner.

The necessity, she added wryly, to occasionally entertain outside conventional business hours. She was familiar with an entire range of personality traits. In her line of business, she came into contact with them all.

Yet no man had managed to get beneath her skin the way Raoul Lanier did. She dealt with men who’d made flirting an art form. Men who imagined wealth condoned dubious behavior and an appalling lack of manners. Then there were those who had so many tickets on themselves they no longer knew who they were.

She’d handled each and every one of them with tact and diplomacy. Even charm. None of which qualities were evident in the presence of a certain Frenchman.

He unsettled her. Far too much for her own liking. She didn’t want to feel insecure and vulnerable. She’d tread that path once before. She had no intention of retracing her steps.

Stephanie entered the main bedroom, carefully removed her dress and slipped off her shoes, then she cleansed her face free of makeup, stripped off her underwear and donned a long cotton T-shirt before returning to collect her mug of coffee and sink into a deep-cushioned chair in front of the television.

At ten she turned out the lights and went to bed, only to lay awake staring into the darkness as she fought to dismiss Raoul Lanier’s disturbing image.

The in-house phone buzzed, and Stephanie automatically reached for it, depressed the button and endeavored to tame the frustrated edge to her voice. ‘Yes. What is it, Isabel?’

It wasn’t shaping up to be a good day. That little Irish gremlin, Murphy, had danced a jig on her turf from the moment she woke. Water from the shower ran cold from the hot tap, necessitating a call to a plumber. Emma wanted porridge instead of cereal, then requested egg with toast cut into soldiers, only to take two mouthfuls and refuse to eat anymore. Depositing her daughter at day care resulted in an unprecedented tantrum, and she tore a nail wrestling the punctured tire from her boot at the tire mart en route to work.

‘I have a delivery for you out front.’

‘Whatever it is, take care of it.’

‘Flowers with a card addressed to you?’

Flowers? No one sent her flowers, except on special occasions. And today wasn’t one of them. ‘Okay, I’m on my way to reception.’

Roses. Tight buds in cream, peach and pale apricot. Two, no three dozen. Long-stemmed, encased in cellophane, with a subtle delicate perfume.

‘Stephanie Sommers? Please sign the delivery slip for this envelope.’

Who would send her such an expensive gift? Even as the query formed in her mind, her mouth tightened at the possible answer.

He wouldn’t…would he?

‘They’re beautiful,’ Isabel breathed with envy as Stephanie detached an accompanying envelope and plucked out the card.

“A small token to atone for last night. R.”

Each word seemed to leap out in stark reminder, and she wanted to shove Raoul Lanier’s token into the nearest wastepaper bin. Atone? Twenty dozen roses wouldn’t atone for the studied arrogance of the man.

‘Shall I fetch a vase?’

Stephanie drew a shallow breath, then released it. ‘Yes.’ She handed the large cellophane sheaf to her secretary. ‘Place these on the front desk.’

‘You don’t want them in your office?’

‘They’ll make me sneeze.’ A slight fabrication, but she didn’t want to be constantly reminded of the man who’d gifted them. ‘Take messages on any of my calls for the rest of the afternoon, unless they’re urgent, or from Emma’s day care center.’

She stepped back into her office, closed the door, then crossed to her desk, picked up the letter opener and slit the envelope.

Quite what she expected to find, she wasn’t sure. Certainly it had to be relatively important to warrant special delivery.

Stephanie extracted the slim piece of paper, saw that it was a check, made out to her and signed by Raoul Lanier for an amount that covered the cost of dinner the previous evening. To endorse it, just in case she might be in doubt, there was a hotel business card attached with his name written on the reverse side.

How dare he? The dinner was a legitimate business expense. Raoul Lanier had chosen to make it personal.

Well, she knew just what to do with his check. Her fingers moved automatically, and seconds later the torn pieces fluttered into the wastepaper bin.

Stephanie sank into her chair and turned on the screen on her computer. Work. She had plenty of it. All she had to do was immerse herself in the electronic checking of pertinent details to dispense the omnipotent Frenchman from her mind.

Except it didn’t quite work out that way. His image intruded, disrupting her focus, minimizing her concentration.

It was something of an endurance feat that she completed the day’s schedule without mishap, and she closed down the computer as Isabel entered with a sheaf of messages. Three of which she returned, two were put to one side for the morning, and one she discarded.

Raoul Lanier could whistle Dixie, she decided vengefully as she slid papers into her briefcase and caught up her bag.

Her gaze skimmed the office in a cursory check before leaving for the evening. She caught sight of the special delivery envelope that had contained Raoul Lanier’s check, and she reached for it, flipped it idly between her fingers, then on impulse she bent down and caught up the torn check she’d consigned to the wastepaper bin.

Stephanie took an envelope from her stationery drawer, placed the torn check into it, dampened the seal, then wrote Raoul Lanier in bold black ink, followed by the name of his hotel.

The Sheraton wasn’t that far out of her way, and a wry smile teased her lips as she anticipated his expression when he opened the envelope.

Tit for tat wasn’t an enviable modus operandi, but she was darned if she’d allow him to have the upper hand.

It was a simple matter to drive up to the main hotel entrance and hand the addressed envelope to the concierge. Difficult to hide a vaguely exultant smile as she eased the car onto the main road.

Traffic was heavy, consequently it took at least three light changes to pass through each main intersection as she headed for the day care center.

Emma looked slightly flushed, and her eyes held a brightness that foreshadowed an increased temperature. ‘I’ll see how she fares through the night,’ Stephanie declared quietly to the attendant nursing sister. ‘I may keep her home tomorrow.’

‘Give me a call in the morning.’

An hour later she’d bathed and changed Emma, encouraged her to eat a little dinner, only to have her throw up soon after. Something that occurred with regularity throughout the night.

By morning they were both tired and wan, and at eight Stephanie made a series of calls that gained a doctor’s appointment, the office to relay she’d be working from home and to divert any phone calls to her message bank and finally, the day care center.

‘Sick,’ Emma said in a forlorn voice, and Stephanie leaned down to brush her lips across her daughter’s forehead.

‘I know, sweetheart. We’ll go see the doctor soon, and get some medicine to make you better.’

Washing. Loads of it. She took the second completed load out and pushed it into the drier, then systematically filled the washing machine and set it going again.

A gastro virus, the doctor pronounced, and prescribed treatment and care. Stephanie called into the pharmacy, collected a few essentials from the nearby supermarket, then she drove home and settled Emma comfortably on the sofa with one of her favorite videos slotted into the VCR.

A sophisticated laptop linked her to the office, and she noted the calls logged in on her message bank, then settled down to work.

Emma slept for an hour, had some chicken broth, a dry piece of toast, then snuggled down in the makeshift bed Stephanie set up on the couch.

By evening Emma was much improved, and she slept through the night without mishap. Even so, Stephanie decided to keep her home another day as a precaution.

Work was a little more difficult with a reasonably energetic child underfoot, and when she’d settled Emma into bed for her afternoon nap she crossed to the phone and made a series of necessary calls.

One revealed the information she sought, in that Michel Lanier was investing personal, not Lanier corporate funds. Therefore it was solely Michel to whom she owed professional allegiance.

Stephanie opened her laptop, and began sourcing the necessary data she needed to complete a report. Although film was her area of expertise, she worked on other marketing projects and liaised with several of her associates.

It was almost three when the doorbell rang, and she quickly crossed to open the door before whoever was on the other side could ring the bell again.

Security was an important feature for a single woman living alone with a young child, and aluminum grills covered every window and both doors.

Possibly it was a neighbor, or a hawker canvassing door-to-door.

Stephanie unlocked the paneled wooden door and was temporarily unable to contain her surprise at the sight of Raoul Lanier’s tall frame beyond the aperture.

He looked vital, dynamic, his broad-boned features portraying a handsome ruggedness that was primitive, compelling. Almost barbaric.

Words formed to demand how he’d discovered where she lived. Then they died before they found voice. All Raoul Lanier had to do was lift the telephone and make a few inquiries to elicit the pertinent information.

CHAPTER THREE

‘WHAT are you doing here?’

Raoul arched an eyebrow. ‘Do you usually greet everyone this way?’

‘No,’ she managed to say coolly.

‘And keep them standing on the doorstep?’

He bothered her more than she was prepared to admit. On a professional level, she had no recourse but to suffer his presence. However, this was her time, her home, which made it very personal.

She was safe. The outer wrought-iron security door was locked. He couldn’t enter unless she chose to release the catch.

‘I conduct business in my office, Mr. Lanier. I suggest you contact my secretary and make an appointment.’

‘In case it slipped your mind, you refused to take my call.’

‘I had to do some urgent work on the computer,’ she explained, determined not to sound defensive. ‘My secretary took messages.’

‘I gave her one. You didn’t return it.’

She regarded him carefully. ‘There was no need, given Michel is investing personal, not Lanier company funds, into the film.’

‘As a matter of interest, did the roses make it into your office?’

Stephanie’s eyes flared, then assumed cool control. ‘I had Isabel put them in reception.’

‘And tore up my check.’

‘It was a business dinner,’ she reminded firmly.

‘Business was on the agenda,’ Raoul granted in measured tones.

‘It was the sole reason I accepted your invitation.’

There was cynical amusement lurking in the depths of his eyes. ‘You have since made that remarkably clear.’

‘I’m not into playing word-games, nor do I indulge in male ego-stroking.’

He laughed. A deep throaty sound that held a degree of spontaneous humor, and something else she didn’t care to define.

‘Invite me in, Stephanie.’

‘No. Emma is due to wake from her nap anytime soon.’

‘Have dinner with me tonight.’

‘I don’t date, Mr. Lanier,’ she added icily.

‘Raoul,’ he insisted evenly. ‘The sharing of a meal doesn’t necessarily constitute a date.’

He really was too much! ‘What part of no don’t you understand?’ she demanded, and saw his eyes narrow slightly.

‘Are you so afraid of me?’

Fear had many aspects, and while her personal safety wasn’t in question, her emotional sanity was something else entirely. She’d turned the lock on her emotional heart and thrown away the key. This man saw too much, sensed too much, and was therefore dangerous.

‘You’re wasting your time,’ she said quietly.

One eyebrow arched. ‘You think so?’

‘We have nothing to discuss.’

‘Yes,’ Raoul argued silkily. ‘We do.’

His gaze seemed to sear right through to her soul, and it took enormous willpower to keep her eyes level, emotionless.

‘In your dreams,’ Stephanie reiterated with pseudo sweetness.

His expression didn’t change, although his voice was a soft drawl that conveyed innate knowledge. ‘Oui.’

She drew a deep breath, and released it slowly. ‘If you don’t leave immediately, I’ll make a call and have you charged with harassment.’

Stephanie closed the door, and leaned against it for several long minutes, then she drew in a deep breath and moved toward the kitchen. Crossing to the refrigerator she took a can of cola, popped the tab, then she extracted a glass and filled it with the sparkling dark liquid.

Her skin felt heated, and her pulse beat fast at the edge of her throat. Damn him. Who did he think he was?

A hollow laugh escaped into the silence of the room. Raoul Lanier knew exactly who he was. What’s more, she had the instinctive feeling he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

The question was, what did Raoul Lanier want with her?

Sex. Why else did men pursue women, if not to indulge in intimacy?

Hadn’t she discovered that to her cost? Ben had said the sweet words and pushed all the right buttons. Until she fell pregnant. Then he became someone she didn’t know at all, and she’d walked away, vowing never to trust a man again, ever.

There were men she dealt with in the course of her business life, and despite numerous invitations she’d held steadfast to her rule not to date.

However none had affected her as Raoul Lanier did. Instant awareness. Sexual chemistry at its zenith, she added with silent cynicism.

Electric, primeval, shocking, she acknowledged, remembering vividly the moment their gazes met when he’d walked into her office.

Within seconds, it had seemed as if her life came to a standstill and there was only him. Invading her senses, warming her blood, staking a claim. As if he possessed a blueprint to her future. It had unnerved her then. It disturbed and unnerved her now.

Her fingers clenched until the knuckles shone white, and she crossed to the sink and discarded the glass.

Do something. Anything. The ironing, she decided. Heaven knew she had enough of it. By then Emma would be awake, and she’d entertain her until it was time to cook dinner.

Two hours later Stephanie settled Emma in front of the television and slid an educational video into the VCR.

‘I’ll start dinner, sweetheart.’ The house favored open-plan living, and the lounge adjoined the dining room, both of which were visible from the kitchen.

There was chicken and vegetable broth left from yesterday, and she peeled potatoes, carrots and added broccoli to go with the steamed chicken. Better to stick to something fairly bland for the next day or two.

She had just added water to the saucepan when she heard the singsong peal of the doorbell. She reached for the kitchen towel, dried her hands and crossed into the lounge.

‘Doorbell,’ Emma announced solemnly as Stephanie moved into the hallway.

The only person who popped in without forewarning was her neighbor, and she opened the door with a ready smile, only to have it fade as she recognized the man on the landing.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I believe we’ve already done that,’ Raoul said with musing mockery. He held out two brown paper sacks. ‘I brought dinner.’

‘Why?’ she demanded baldly.

‘Why not?’ he posed lightly.

‘Mommy?’

Stephanie closed her eyes, then opened them again, spearing him with a look that spoke volumes before turning toward her daughter. ‘It’s okay, darling,’ she said gently. ‘Go back into the lounge. I’ll be there in a minute.’

‘Hello, Emma.’

His voice was calm, soothing…friendly, warm, damn him!

‘Hello.’ Emma was openly curious, and not at all intimidated. ‘Who are you?’

Raoul sank down onto his haunches in one fluid movement. ‘A friend of your mother’s.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Raoul.’

‘Are you having dinner with us?’ the little girl queried solemnly.

‘Would you like me to?’

Oh my, he was good! Stephanie shot him a glance that would have felled a lesser man.

‘Yes.’

Unfair, she wanted to scream.

‘Mommy?’

‘I’m sure Raoul—’ she hesitated fractionally over his name ‘—has plans for the evening.’

‘Do you?’ Emma asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

‘No plans,’ Raoul assured.

Dammit, he was enjoying this!

‘You can watch my video,’ Emma invited, offering a generous smile.

‘I’d like that.’

Stephanie met his eyes, glimpsed the silent query lurking there and wanted nothing more than to close the door in his face. ‘I don’t think it would be a good idea.’

‘I promise to be on my best behavior,’ Raoul declared solemnly.

Don’t you get it? she wanted to demand in anger. You’re not welcome. And never will be, a silent voice echoed.

He inclined his head, aware that she was teetering on the edge, and anything he said at this point could work to his disadvantage.

‘Please, Mommy.’

Blind trust. To a child, everything was simple. If only it was as simple for an adult!

Stephanie inserted the key and unlocked the security door. ‘Come in.’ Her voice was polite, but lacked any pretense of enthusiasm or graciousness.

‘You’re big,’ Emma declared as he entered the lobby, and he smiled.

‘Maybe it’s because you’re small.’

‘I’m three,’ the little girl pronounced proudly.

Raoul indicated the paper sacks. ‘If you lead the way, I’ll deposit these in the kitchen.’

It was a comfortable one-level house, relatively modern with average-size rooms. Raoul’s presence seemed to diminish them, and she was supremely conscious of him as he followed her down the hallway.

It was almost as if all her fine body hairs stood on end in involuntary protection. Which was crazy, she silently chastised. Already she was fast becoming a mass of nerves, and he hadn’t even touched her.

What would you do if he did? Don’t think about it. It’s not going to happen.

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