His Perfect Partner. Laura Martin

      “Hello, Rachel.”

      His voice was deep, smooth—not so heavily accented now, but still with the same mesmerizing quality. “How are you?”

      He hadn’t expected this—that she should look virtually the same. Here she was, six years older, and she was still as fresh and young and beautiful as ever…

      Rachel forced her gaze away from Jean-Luc’s face, stared at his strong, tanned fingers for a moment in a daze. “I’m…fine,” she murmured automatically. “Just fine….”

      He wondered if he would be able to keep this up—to act as if the sight of her had little or no effect on him. He was a man who supposedly thrived on challenge, but this was a bigger challenge than any he had ever attempted—except maybe the one of trying to forget her…

      Laura Martin lives in a small Gloucestershire village in England with her husband, two children and a lively sheepdog. Laura has a great love of interior design and, together with her husband, has recently completed the renovation of their Victorian cottage. Her hobbies include gardening, the theater, music and reading, and she finds great pleasure and inspiration from walking daily in the beautiful countryside around her home.

      His Perfect Partner

      Laura Martin

       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

       EPILOGUE

      CHAPTER ONE

      JEAN-LUC MANOIRE frowned. He wasn’t entirely sure that he was doing the right thing. Indecision and compulsion were unhappy bedfellows, and neither was a state of mind that he was at all comfortable with.

      Too late now. They were here. He leant forward and touched his chauffeur on the shoulder, indicating that he wanted the car to slow.

      Jean-Luc stared up at the tall iron gates. They told the story as well as any inanimate object ever could—rusty, they hung awkwardly from the crumbling stone wall that surrounded the estate. He inhaled a deep breath, more conscious than ever of the conflicting emotions which were churning around deep inside. ‘D’accord, Emile. Continuez!’

      The car glided forward, the tyres crunching on gravel. The trees that lined the drive were just coming into bud. Lime, he remembered, looking up at the tall, statuesque framework of branches, at least one hundred years old.

      The house looked empty and neglected. He hoped the enquiries he had made proved to be reliable. Time was money, and driving this far out of London on such a tightly scheduled trip, only to find her not at home, would be aggravating to say the least.

      His mobile phone rang and he retrieved it from the briefcase at his side and took the call he had been expecting. He spoke into it, his comments brief and to the point as he listened to his personal assistant many miles away in Paris, confirming the fact that the final transaction on an important business deal had been completed without a hitch.

      Business. That was all he had to focus on—just business. The rest…the other, more complex reasons for his involvement here had to be put to one side, or else how would he cope? He still doubted his ability to act with absolute composure. He had been dwelling on this meeting for days—ever since the situation here had first come to his attention.

      A death notice in the English papers, that was all it had taken. Thoughts of her, banished for so long, had haunted him day and night. He couldn’t sleep, he could barely eat, business had lost its attraction.

      Except for this deal…She would agree to it. The generosity of his offer made financial sense. Her advisers would practically force her to accept.

      And if they didn’t?

      She would have changed—he had prepared himself for that, counted on it. Because if she were the same how would he ever be able to get through…?

      Arrêtez! How Rachel looked after all these years, her reaction on seeing him again—none of that could be dwelt on. He needed to be in control. He was over her—this was just an exercise to confirm as much. Devastation was a strong word, and it had applied to him, but that had been six years ago.

      Jean-Luc cursed silently as a vision of Rachel, lying beneath him, golden hair splayed out, eyes wide with trust and love, jolted into his mind—that days later she could have disregarded what they had had together and walked away from him, from his love…

      Just business. He must remember that.

      ‘Here you are! I wondered where you’d got to.’

      Rachel turned sharply at the sound of the elderly woman’s voice. She watched as Naomi approached, forcing a smile. ‘How did you know I was here?’

      ‘I spotted you from one of the upstairs windows.’ Naomi folded her arms across her ample chest and sighed. ‘Your Aunt Clara was a hoarder and no mistake—there’s still a ton of junk to clear out up there.’

      ‘Yes, I should be doing something.’ Rachel rose to her feet. ‘Sorry, Naomi, I didn’t mean to leave you alone for so long. I just needed a breath of fresh air.’

      ‘Now don’t be silly, my girl, I’m not complaining. You needed the break. It’s been a week since your dear aunt’s funeral and you haven’t let up for a minute.’ The old woman placed a sympathetic arm around Rachel’s shoulders and squeezed gently. ‘I’ve come to find you because you have a visitor.’

      ‘Not another creditor?’ Rachel asked wearily. ‘I thought we’d had our fill of those.’

      ‘And so did I, but these things are best faced. He gave me this card.’ She held out a gilt-edged business card to Rachel. ‘From some corporation or some such,’ she added. ‘I’d tell you what it says, but I’m blind without my reading glasses. Important, though—if the look of him and his car are anything to go by. Wealthy,’ she added, with an approving nod.

      Rachel shrugged as she read the name. ‘JSJ Corporation. Means nothing to me, but, then…’ she sighed ‘…neither did the hundred and one other names that were thrust under my nose by the accountant.’ She stood up, stretching her arms high above her head. ‘OK, let’s go back. I may as well see what this man wants and get it over with. Tomorrow is crunch day, anyway. I have to face the bank manager to discover exactly how deep the estate is in trouble, and decide—or rather be told—what has to be done.’