His Perfect Partner. Laura Martin

enter into some sort of partnership with you?’

      ‘You know, Rachel…’ Jean-Luc lifted his glass and took a mouthful of wine ‘…that my proposition is the only thing capable of getting you out of this mess. I know you do—I can see it in your eyes.’

      ‘Can you, indeed?’ Rachel said through gritted teeth. ‘How clever of you!’

      He raised a dark brow, his gaze steady and unflinching. ‘You’re not interested?’

      ‘There’s got to be another way!’ Rachel asserted. ‘How can you sit there and tell me that the best thing would be to turn the Grange into a huge hotel? It’s my home!’

      ‘Not for very much longer!’ Jean-Luc’s voice was clipped. ‘You know as well as I do that the Grange, in its present condition with all of its natural assets, is an ideal site—’

      ‘It isn’t a “site”, as you so callously call it,’ Rachel cut in. She gulped a breath. ‘I’ve lived there ever since my parents were killed—’

      ‘And now dear Aunt Clara is dead and the Grange is your responsibility! You were orphaned at a young age—that is tragic. Car accidents are tragic, death is tragic.’ He lifted his broad shoulders in, it seemed to Rachel, an uncaring shrug. ‘So is bankruptcy.’

      Rachel pushed her plate aside. The mushrooms were good, but suddenly she had no stomach for them. She loved her work. The excitement and challenge of managing a hotel from day to day, when just about anything could happen and often did, gave her more satisfaction than she could say, but this shocking idea, that somehow she and Jean-Luc should have a shared interest—and in the Grange of all places—was difficult to contemplate. She shook her head again. ‘I cannot imagine a worse scenario!’

      ‘Except, perhaps, the one where you sack Naomi and the rest of the staff, pack up, move out and hand over the keys of the Grange to the bank?’ Jean-Luc picked up his wine glass. ‘You find that particular course of action more acceptable, do you?’ There was a tense silence. ‘Are you so naïve?’ Jean-Luc continued remorselessly. ‘What do you imagine the bank will do once they take possession?’

      Rachel glanced down at her lap, avoiding his penetrating gaze. ‘I haven’t thought that far ahead.’

      ‘Well, it’s time you did! They’ll sell to the highest bidder. They won’t be concerned whether it’s split up into apartments or turned into the biggest conference centre in Europe!’

      ‘I haven’t lost it yet!’ Rachel persisted stubbornly. ‘There’s still time.’

      ‘There’s no time. Your aunt used up all the time and left you with nothing but debts,’ Jean-Luc informed her brutally. ‘You will be left with nothing.’

      ‘So, why do you care?’

      Why, indeed? But he did—more than he cared to admit.

      He looked at her, cold and hard and formidable. ‘I don’t. I have been looking for suitable properties in this area for some time. In fact, I was about to close a deal when I heard of your aunt’s death and subsequent problems.’

      ‘Oh! So…so your predatory instincts took over! How extremely fortuitous that the Grange got into difficulties when it did!’ Rachel replied unsteadily. ‘I’m sure your shareholders are going to be very impressed at such easy pickings!’

      ‘I have no shareholders,’ Jean-Luc informed her with a cold expression. ‘I own the company lock, stock and barrel.’

      ‘Oh, well, even better!’ Rachel continued scathingly. ‘Think of all those profits just for yourself—you’ll be a millionaire in no time!’

      ‘I already am one!’ The terse statement came as he pushed back his chair and rose from the table, throwing his napkin onto the plate in front of him in disgust. ‘I’m not prepared to put up with this. It’s clear from your behaviour that you’re not capable of taking my proposition seriously. That is your mistake and you will have to live with the consequences.’

      Rachel stared up at him in horror. ‘You’re leaving?’ she asked. ‘Just like that?’

      ‘I see no reason to stay. You’re clearly not interested in anything I have to say.’

      Angry, tense, annoyed with himself at not being able to stay cool, he walked away, threading his broad frame through the tables of the restaurant.

      Rachel sat for a moment, watching him go, stunned by his sudden departure. She didn’t know what to do. She could barely think straight. Jean-Luc’s words haunted her. Did she really want to lose the Grange? Did it honestly mean so little to her? She rose from the table, glancing at the other diners who, she realised belatedly, had been enjoying the cabaret, and followed Jean-Luc outside.

      Rachel stood hesitatingly in the entrance to the restaurant, glad of the cooling night air on her heated skin.

      What was she to do? How was she supposed to cope with this nightmare situation? He didn’t care, that much was clear. He had said it, and she believed him. His only thought was to strike a deal, to make money.

      Jean-Luc’s first emotion was relief because there was always a risk in pushing too hard, and she might so easily have decided to go with her true instincts and reject everything, without giving a damn for the consequences.

      ‘You’d like a lift home?’

      Rachel spun around at the sound of his voice. She looked up, and felt the immediate lurch of awareness deep down in the pit of her stomach at the sight of him. ‘I’d like to talk about the Grange,’ she murmured.

      He pushed a little harder. ‘I think we’ve said all there is to say.’

      ‘No.’ Rachel shook her head. ‘No, we haven’t.’ She paused. ‘Maybe…maybe I was a little hasty just now…’

      ‘Maybe?’ His dark eyes pierced her.

      ‘Is there somewhere quiet we can talk?’ Rachel murmured. ‘I don’t particularly want to go back into the restaurant.’

      ‘My car?’

      ‘You have a chauffeur,’ Rachel reminded him.

      ‘Emile can go get himself something to eat.’ Jean-Luc placed a guiding hand at the small of her back. ‘This way. Would you like something to drink?’ He pulled open a cabinet, once the chauffeur had been temporarily relieved of his duty and they were both installed in the back of the Rolls Royce. ‘Vodka? Martini?’

      ‘Just mineral water for me, please.’

      Jean-Luc’s smile held precious little humour. ‘So that you can keep a clear head?’

      ‘It makes sense, in the circumstances,’ Rachel responded smoothly.

      As far as business propositions were concerned, it was well thought-out and covered all the angles. The gist of Jean-Luc’s proposal was that his company would pay off all the outstanding debts, agree to invest a substantial amount of money in the Grange and take the bulk of any profits in return.

      ‘So, where do I fit in?’ Rachel enquired eventually. It had been difficult to concentrate on much of the detail because as Jean-Luc had talked she had found her attention wandering away from the business of the house and estate towards more…immediate matters. He looked so…incredible. More mature, more compelling…more everything.

      Usually so good at concentrating on business matters, Rachel’s eyes had wandered as he spoke, drifting away from his mouth across the broad chest, down the length of his long, muscular legs, clad in dark trousers, then back to his face once again. It wasn’t fair that he could still do this her, she thought, that it still mattered after all these years….

      Rachel cursed silently, and dragged herself back to the important discussion in hand. ‘I agree it all sounds perfectly feasible,’ she continued in businesslike tones. ‘The market’s there—this area could do with a top-notch hotel and