This was what had happened in Paris, when he’d nailed the spring showing.
He’d done it. His ideas. His campaign. Not that upstart smarmy Jacques with his stupid berets and fast talking.
This creative freefall had also occurred for his first showing too—the one that must not be named, as he’d labelled it in his head following the shemozzle.
The spring collection might have gone some way to restoring his confidence, but it was this show that would prove beyond a doubt that he had what it took to make it in the fashion world.
With Sapphire Seaborn along for the ride every step of the way.
He stopped in front of her, itching to get started. ‘You know we’d be working on this project twenty-four-seven, right?’
‘Of course,’ she said, and the vein in her temple pulsed.
It had been her ‘give’ when she’d been younger—a tell-tale sign that she was rattled—and he didn’t know whether to be flattered or annoyed that spending time with him disconcerted her.
‘And that doesn’t bother you?’
She stood, cool and confident and lithe. ‘This is business. Why should it?’
That vein beat to a rap rhythm. Yeah, she was rattled. Big time.
‘Okay, then, let’s do it.’
‘Fantastic. You won’t regret this.’ Her lush mouth eased into a wide grin. ‘We’re going to be great together.’
‘Absolutely.’
And he kissed her to prove it.
CHAPTER THREE
SAPPHIE’S FIRST INSTINCT was to knee Patrick in the groin. But he’d probably enjoy the contact too much.
She settled for placing both palms on his chest and shoving—hard.
‘Can’t blame a guy for wanting to celebrate the most significant moment of his career.’
The fact he was still using that boyish grin to try and disarm her a decade later made her want to knee him again.
As for the flutter low in her belly? It was a reminder that she hadn’t eaten lunch and nothing to do with the insistent tug of attraction between them.
An attraction torched to life by his kiss.
Why did the most annoying guy on the planet also have to be the best kisser?
It didn’t make any sense. She’d barely given him a second thought all these years—discounting the first few months after he’d left—yet all it took was one smooch—okay, one pretty scorching smooch—to resurrect how amazing he’d made her feel with his first kiss.
She could kill him.
Willing her pulse to stop pounding, she glared at him through narrowed eyes. ‘You do that once more and I’ll take Seaborns jewellery and walk.’
He merely raised an eyebrow, not in the least intimidated by her bluff. ‘You need me as much as I need you, sweetheart.’ She gaped at his insolence and he laughed. ‘Come on, you know better than to con a con. I’m blunt. I say it as it is. You and me?’ He waved a hand between them. ‘We’re going to take Fashion Week by storm, so don’t let your predictable outrage over a little spur-of-the-moment celebratory kiss get in the way of a beautiful friendship.’
Predictable outrage? She shook her head, unsure whether to applaud his honesty or reconsider that knee to the balls.
She had to regain control of this situation—fast—and the way to do that was to focus on business.
Not the naughty twinkle in his grey eyes.
Not the smug smirk quirking his lips.
Not the way he continued to stare at her mouth as if he was primed for a repeat performance.
‘What’s with the “most significant moment of your career” big talk?’
For the first time since she’d entered his ultra-modern office he appeared a tad uncertain, tugging at the cuffs of his shirt.
‘I’ve been looking for an angle for Fashion Week—something to play to the company’s strengths.’
‘And?’
His gaze raked over her but there was nothing overtly sexual about it. Maybe she’d imagined his hungry stare a moment ago. In fact he seemed to be sizing up her outfit and accessories in a purely professional manner.
‘When you first walked in here you made a statement.’ He tilted his head to one side, evaluating. ‘Class. Elegance. Timeless. Made me think of screen legends in the past.’
A compliment from a guy who threw them out there like confetti. Who would have thought it?
‘Should I be flattered or concerned you just called me old?’
The corners of his mouth quirked. ‘You don’t need to fish for compliments. You’re stunning and you know it.’
Actually, she didn’t. The designer clothes, the jewellery, the make-up and hair were all part of her duties as spokesperson for Seaborns. Take away the fancy outer dressing and she was Sapphire Seaborn—the responsible one, the devoted one, the sensible one. She didn’t do outrageous things. She dated suitable men and socialised with a suitable crowd.
Spending more than five minutes in the company of Patrick Fourde was decidedly unsuitable. Or, more to the point, it elicited decidedly unsuitable thoughts.
He’d always had that effect on her. Been able to confuse and bamboozle and intrigue her with the barest hint of that lazy half-smile he had down pat.
She might have been immune in the past, but having him in her face again—bolder, brazen, still bamboozling—unnerved her far more now than he ever had.
‘Get to the point.’
He stalked around his desk and fired up his laptop, swivelling the screen to face her.
‘Bear with me a sec.’
His fingers flew over the keyboard and, increasingly curious, she propped herself on the edge of his desk.
The tip of his tongue protruded slightly as he concentrated on typing and her chest tightened in remembrance.
He’d used to do the same thing when they studied together. She’d known when he’d stopped goofing off—which had been rarely, admittedly—and started taking their studying seriously by that tell, and it was as endearing now as back then.
At the time, she’d done her best to give him the impression she couldn’t stand the sight of him. Had berated him constantly about slacking off and sketching instead of studying. Her chastisement had only served to stir
