The Antique Love (24 page)

“What do you want from me? Four years is a long time. I was young and reckless then but not anymore!” She leaned over the desk in savage fury. “I left you that night because I didn’t want anything else to do with you, do you hear me? Nothing to do with you And now leave my family alone,” she finished on a childish, shaking sob

Her tormentor span out of his chair and towered over her, his hands gripping her arms above the elbows, his eyes boring their piercing blue into hers.

“I’m not threatening you.
Calmes-toi, chérie
,” he said urgently. Sophie drew in her breath in a shuddering gulp as she took in his meaning. He had called her his darling. The mask of formality had dropped, and he was holding her again. His mouth was so close to hers, she could almost touch it with her own. Her fury fell away as quickly as it had come, to be replaced by shaking gasps.

His own breathing equally uneven, Jean-Luc stared, horrified, at the tears rolling down her cheeks. She stiffened under the strength of his fingers. With a quiet expletive, he suddenly relaxed his hold on her.

For several seconds they stood in silence, Sophie straightening herself as Jean-Luc dropped his hands to his sides. The tears continued to flood her cheeks, and she reached a shaking hand to brush them away.

“
Tiens
, Sophie,” he said eventually, putting his hand in his breast pocket and pulling out a neatly pressed handkerchief. “Take this.”

She looked suspiciously at his outstretched hand, then snatched the snowy handkerchief and sat down, squeezing the white cloth to her eyes and saying nothing.

“I’m sorry,” Jean-Luc said gruffly after a time, and followed his apology with a humourless laugh. “That’s the second apology you’ve had from me in less than ten minutes. This is suspiciously like a habit.”

Sophie dropped the handkerchief from her face and took another shuddering attempt at controlling her breathing. She wondered what the staff and students at her college would think of her now—the unflappable Sophie Challoner, dissolved in tears on her first day at work. She was shaken by the realisation that there was something about Jean-Luc that reached right to the heart of her, stripping away her cool exterior. If this was the effect he had on her first afternoon, she dreaded to think what the next two months would bring.

She finally controlled herself enough to speak. “I’m sorry, too. The past few weeks have been a strain.”

Jean-Luc digested her words, looking thoughtfully at the crumpled figure in front of him.

“
Écoutes
, Sophie,” he said. “I’m not threatening you. Or your family. On the contrary, I know things have been hard for you. I’m glad your grandmother left you provided for, but don’t you think it would be better if you were not alone?”

“I’m not alone. I have my father and brother.”

“That’s good to hear.” He continued to look at her steadily, but his tone lacked conviction, and his eyes were as shrewd as ever. Sophie twisted the handkerchief in her lap. Her grandmother had not left her provided for. She had nothing. Her father was too infirm himself to support her, and her brother was too young and too involved in his music studies to spare much time for anything else. For the moment, Sophie was alone, and there was no answer she could give that would convince Jean-Luc otherwise.

He sat back in his chair and smiled at her encouragingly. “Your father and brother will have to do without you for a while. You’re here with me, now.”

Sophie nodded. She knew very well that Jean-Luc had her where he wanted her. Men like Jean-Luc generally got what they wanted.

“You must forgive my suspicions,
mademoiselle
. My dealings with women have left me a little disillusioned. But I’m sure you’re no opportunist.” He smiled, but in spite of the appearance of sympathy, his smile continued to hold a hint of chill. Sophie stiffened her shoulders, eyeing him warily.

“But we’ve talked enough. For now,” he continued. “Let’s get down to business.”

He picked up the sheet of foolscap which had been lying on the desk in front of him and carried on, single-mindedly banishing their previous conversation. “This is an excellent, if unusual CV,
mademoiselle
. The other students had nothing like your experience.”

“Really?” Sophie lifted her head, tears momentarily forgotten.

“You were successful at school, but you left at sixteen to become a secretary. Why was that?”

“It was good to be earning some money,” Sophie said, without elaborating. Jean-Luc’s sharp gaze met hers again, but he appeared to accept her answer at face value.

“Eventually you were earning very good money.” He looked at the salary on her CV and raised his eyebrows. “Very good money indeed, for one so young.”

“I started off in a small business. My boss and I got on really well. After a while, I got promoted.”

His eyebrows flew even higher. Once again, Sophie felt the full force of his perceptive gaze. “I see,” he said. “Getting on with the boss is often a step up the ladder.”

His insinuation brought Sophie’s chin up instantly.

“My boss—
Mrs
Lawson,” she said, emphasising her boss’s female status with satisfaction, “thought I was highly competent. She was an excellent mentor. In fact, it was her idea for me to go back to college. She offered me promotion with her when I finish this placement.”

Her spirited response finally won a genuine smile and a small nod from him. “And your tutor speaks very highly of you. If I didn’t think you could do an excellent job here, I wouldn’t have offered you a placement.”

Without waiting for her to answer, he bent to pick up a swatch of fabrics from beside his desk. Within moments, he was absorbed in a description of her role and his need for someone who could speak English to help win a contract in the U.S. The silks in the swatch slid through his masculine hands as he spoke, the fabrics falling over his fingers in vibrant colours.

“There is a real role here for you and plenty to be done. When I took over from my uncle, the company was ailing. Now we are selling worldwide.” Sophie noted the unmistakeable pride in his voice. “I promise you, your two months with me will be very rewarding.”

Two months with Jean-Luc. Rewarding was not the adjective Sophie would have used. It was a daunting prospect. It had taken all her resolve just to step through the door. She lifted her gaze from the fabric swatch he had passed to her and registered again the changes in his physical appearance. She had already marked the faint lines beneath his eyes. The young, impetuous man she had known seemed on the surface to be gone. There was about him now a new steadiness, a strength that was indefinable.

Jean-Luc appeared to catch the way she was studying him and smiled. The smile lit up his face and brought back a trace of the young man she remembered, causing her treacherous heart to skip a beat.

“I’ve asked all the questions,” he said. “What about you? Isn’t there anything you’d like to ask?”

She hesitated. There was a lot she would like to know. Where to start? Her attention was drawn to a photo hanging on the wall behind Jean-Luc’s desk. There in the gold frame was a picture of the Jean-Luc she’d known—a young racing driver, in team colours, high on the winner’s podium. Dominating the photo was a trophy, held triumphantly aloft in one strong hand; in the other hand, a bottle of champagne overflowed in a froth of bubbles. A radiant smile split his tanned face, his brilliant eyes bursting with youthful enthusiasm. Sophie’s gaze travelled slowly from the old photo back to Jean-Luc, a silent question hovering on her lips.

He raised an eyebrow. “You want to know how I got here. What became of the young man in the photo.”

Again, Sophie was caught by his perspicacity. She nodded. “You had such a different career then, a different life. I’d like to know what’s changed. Why are you here?”

She saw him frown and lifted her chin a little, the tears still faintly staining her cheeks. “Or is that not the sort of question you meant?”

He met her gaze, accepting the faint hint of challenge before giving a small, unsmiling nod.

“It’s only fair. You’ve every right to ask.” He leaned away from her, his seat tipping back slightly. For a long moment, he said nothing. His eyes were on some point above her head, his lips still. All mobility and expressiveness had left him. In the quiet office, an ineffable sadness descended. Sophie gazed wide-eyed at the sudden change in him. The youthful photo behind him smiled uncaring over his shoulder. His present day features were etched in grief. She wondered what could possibly have happened in his past to cause such bleakness and was filled with guilt for the challenging way she questioned him.

“Sometimes there are events that happen in life which are outside our control,” he said eventually.

Sophie noticed his fingers were clenched on the arms of his chair. Control would be important to a man of Jean-Luc’s character. She couldn’t imagine a situation outside his command and wondered what terrible event had left him with such a feeling of impotence.

“But you asked me how I’ve changed,” he said finally. “Perhaps I don’t even know the answer myself. I’m not much given to introspection.” He pushed his chair back from the table. “You might remember, I prefer action to words.”

His statement dispelled his sorrow, bringing a night full of memories vividly alive, so that in spite of the distance he had just made between them, they were both instantly flooded with physical awareness. Sophie felt her blood leap and saw an answering flash in those bright blue eyes. Of course she remembered. She remembered everything. It was the single most passionate experience of her life. Nothing and no one had ever come close.

“Sophie,” he said quietly.

She lifted her chin shakily, pushing away the lock which had fallen over her eyes. Moving with quick and cat-like grace, Jean-Luc left his chair to stand in front of her, placing himself between her and the door.

“Four years is a long time. We were both younger then.”

Sophie eyed him, full of mistrust. What did he mean by his words? That he had changed? In one respect he was definitely the same man. He still had the extraordinary ability to organise events as he wanted them, despite all opposition. And she realised with dismay that she knew absolutely nothing about what had happened to Jean-Luc in those past four years. He had succeeded in keeping his private life just that. Intensely private. He positioned himself on the desk in front of her, his masculine thighs perilously close to her line of vision.

“
Écoutes, chérie
. Four years ago I was that young man in the photo. I was young. I had money. I was hell bent on having a good time, on and off the race track. That young man was my life, but now he’s gone.”

“Do you mean you’ve changed?”

“Such deep questions.” He smiled, assessing her gravely. “No, I haven’t changed. Outwardly, the trappings have changed. But Jean-Luc Olivier, the man, not the famous driver, is still the same man he ever was.”

“In that case, I have another question for you.” Sophie lifted her head and looked at him with piercing directness. “Why did you ask for me?”

Jean-Luc didn’t pretend not to understand. He returned her wide-eyed gaze with equal candour. “I told you, I don’t like mysteries. That morning you ran away from me.” He lowered his voice and drew his face nearer to hers, his smile taking the threat out of his mocking words. “And no one runs away from me. Ever.”

Their eyes held a moment. Sophie registered the determination in his expression and, to her chagrin, was the first to look away, dropping her gaze to the crumpled handkerchief on her lap. She had no idea how to respond. She was out-manoeuvred and out of her depth, and Jean-Luc was fast depleting whatever inner reserves of strength she had. From somewhere, she managed to summon up enough will to reply tartly: “Yes, I know. I remember the women crawling all over you at my eighteenth party. Doesn’t it get a bit boring?”

“Depends on the woman,” Jean-Luc deadpanned. Sophie looked at him suspiciously. When she saw amusement flicker in his eyes, her lips lifted in a smile despite herself.

“Almost a smile,” he said with satisfaction. “We’ve made progress. Now,” he stood up, towering over her, “we can start with a clean slate. Shall I show you your office?”

He held her chair for her as she stood, their hands brushing together briefly. The tremor that passed between them was all the proof Sophie needed that the past could never be wiped clean, in spite of his assurance. The history was there between them. All she had to do was get through these next two months. And get through them without doing something else stupid she would regret.

Whatever she was feeling, Jean-Luc picked up on it with his usual astuteness. He kept an exaggerated distance as he led her into her office. A small, tidy room, filled with morning light, faced onto the street, its wooden shutters pushed open to the summer air.

“You see there is already a lot for you to do.” He gestured toward the neat stack of papers piled up on the desk. The distance between them was now a good three feet. “There are some documents here I’d like translated. And these will be useful background for you.” He reached above the computer and brought a bulging file down from the shelf in one strong hand. “In here are samples of our marketing
materials. If you could make a start targeting the U.S.—I have a list of contacts—that would be a good beginning…” He caught sight of her expression and stopped short.