The Parisian Playboy. HELEN BROOKS

‘So it isn’t satisfying now, Mr Querruel?’

      He looked at her for a moment without speaking and she wondered if she had gone too far, even though her tone hadn’t been openly acidic. And then he grinned. ‘Occasionally,’ he admitted softly. ‘Yes, occasionally it serves a purpose.’

      Oh, wow! Oh, wow, oh, wow, oh, wow. Where had all the natural arrogance gone? If the other girls thought he was dynamite normally he had just moved up to nuclear-missile potential.

      Holly cleared her throat, thinking that if she had known this morning she was going to have such an amazing, one-in-a-million day she would have worn her new suit and given more attention to her hair and make-up. And then she suddenly realised where her thoughts were going and checked herself firmly. It wouldn’t make any difference if she was covered from head to foot in Dior and diamonds. Jacques Querruel was as far removed from her orbit as the man in the moon! Not only that, he was a heartless so-and-so.

      ‘Margaret tells me your work is more than acceptable,’ Jacques continued after a moment. ‘In fact, “excellent” is the word she used.’

      Good old Margaret!

      ‘How old are you, Miss Stanton?’ he asked with a directness that took her by surprise.

      ‘Twenty-five.’ She frowned. ‘Why?’

      He liked that in this young woman, the candidness, but she was something of a paradox and he did not like that. He did not trust what he did not understand, and one of his strengths was that he could sum people up very swiftly. She appeared to be strong and determined, one could almost say aggressively so, and yet several times now he had seen something else behind those great blue eyes. She intrigued him, and it had been a long time since that had happened.

      ‘Why?’ He repeated the word and then didn’t answer her question, saying instead, ‘Have you ever considered working abroad, Miss Stanton, or are you bound to home shores by family or maybe a boyfriend?’

      Holly blinked. What had that got to do with anything? She stared at him, wondering how they had arrived at this from his initial reading of her statement. He was watching her coolly and she envied his detachment as her nerve-ends began to prickle. Her wary expression seemed to amuse him. His amber eyes glinted and a faint cynical smile twisted his lips. ‘Well?’ he prompted lazily.

      ‘I…I wouldn’t be averse to travelling in the future,’ she said carefully, hating the little stutter at the beginning of her words and warning herself to show no weakness before this man.

      ‘And family commitment? Love commitments?’

      His French accent gave the last two words a sexy intonation an English voice couldn’t hope to compete with. Holly hoped the heat which had surged in her blood wasn’t reflected in her face, but she had the nasty feeling she was a definite shade of pink. ‘I live alone in rented accommodation, Mr Querruel,’ she answered primly, ‘and I have some good friends but not a special man-friend if that’s what you mean.’

      He surveyed her for a second more as he straightened and then he said quietly, ‘Mr Roberts has already left the premises so you can relax. I have some business to deal with but I would like to see you again before you leave tonight, Miss Stanton. You will not forget this?’

      She wanted to ask why. He had her statement, and there was nothing she was prepared to add or delete from it. But, in view of the way he had successfully deflected any unwanted questions to date, she didn’t bother, inclining her head as she said, ‘Of course not, Mr Querruel. In Mr Roberts’s office?’

      ‘Just so.’

      And with that he was gone.

      CHAPTER TWO

      THE rest of the day was an anticlimax. Holly went to lunch as usual with Margaret, in the excellent canteen the firm boasted, but the other woman didn’t mention the events of the morning at all and fielded any attempt Holly made to discuss them. Holly was left with the distinct impression Margaret had been warned not to talk about the matter by a higher source: perhaps by Jeff’s father, who was now ensconced in his office with Jacques Querruel, or the tycoon himself.

      The afternoon was spent typing a long and involved but boring report with one ear cocked towards the outer office. Although Holly was aware of Jeff’s father leaving at some point after she and Margaret had returned from lunch, Mr Roberts Senior did not look in on her, for which she was grateful. Another confrontation was beyond her for the present.

      There was the usual coming and going in Margaret’s office, and once or twice Holly heard a female speaking in a hushed but excited tone—no doubt due to the occupant of the room beyond, Holly thought cynically—but she worked on undisturbed. Once the report was finished she printed three copies, as Margaret had requested, and clipped each of them together before placing them in three prepared folders.

      And then she stretched tiredly, shutting her eyes for a moment as she raised her hands high above her head with a big sigh. She had tried not to think about the impending meeting with Jacques Querruel but now it was imminent. She didn’t want to see him again. Not ever.

      ‘Tired?’

      Her eyes shot open and there he was, standing in the open doorway, but now dressed in a light grey suit that must have cost a mint of money. The jacket was unbuttoned, revealing an ivory shirt tucked into the flat waistband of his immaculate trousers. He was the epitome of the successful tycoon, from the top of his sleek, dark head to the tips of his handmade shoes. He looked even more sexy than he had done in the leathers.

      Holly was horrified the last thought had slipped in and straightened hastily in her seat, flushing hotly.

      ‘It is nearly five-thirty.’ He didn’t wait for her to speak. ‘And I think our little chat could be conducted more comfortably over dinner, yes? Are you free tonight, Miss Stanton?’

      ‘What?’ She was hallucinating now, she had to be, because he couldn’t possibly have said what she thought he’d just said.

      ‘Dinner?’ he said with a patience which bordered on the insulting. ‘I take it you do eat dinner? I asked you if you were able to accompany me tonight.’

      Holly’s flush deepened. Either he was stark staring mad or she was.

      ‘There is a job proposition I would like to put to you,’ he continued smoothly, ‘which will obviously need some discussion. I am hungry and I am thirsty, and a good bottle of cabernet sauvignon is calling. If you are free tonight I will run you home and you can change. I have a table booked for seven.’

      She stared at him, utterly taken aback. And then the thought surfaced—who would he be taking to dinner if she refused? The table was already booked and Jacques Querruel didn’t look the type to eat alone. No doubt he had a little black book to deal with such an eventuality. She forced herself to say, and calmly, ‘I don’t understand, Mr Querruel. You said a job proposition?’

      ‘Don’t tell me that you were not thinking of looking for another position forthwith?’ he said quietly.

      Holly’s jaw set. This was a catch-22 question and however she answered it she couldn’t win. If she denied it he would assume she was lying. That much was clear. If she confirmed his suspicions she might well find herself leaving Querruel International sooner than she had expected. Jacques Querruel was the type of employer who demanded absolute loyalty.

      ‘What gave you that idea?’ Holly chose her words carefully.

      ‘Nicely fielded, Miss Stanton,’ he said gravely.

      Impossible man! She glared at him and he smiled back, a cynical twist of his cleanly sculpted mouth. ‘So…I will give you another ten minutes to finish off here and then we will call by your apartment, yes?’ he asked, his black eyebrows rising with derisive amusement at her confusion.

      Holly thought of all the reasons that made it imperative she say no to this ridiculous invitation. The man was dangerous—lethal, in fact, as an adversary. She’d heard stories about