with his dark hair and rugby scars, it didn’t take a genius to work it out.
“Ha! Ha!” The slim man, who Henri quickly decided was in his forties, swigged his own champagne. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” With that he waved a hand and caught the attention of the beautiful blonde. She nodded and walked towards them.
Henri’s mouth suddenly became so dry that he wondered if he’d be able to talk. As she approached, he couldn’t take his eyes off her form, the way the material caressed her breasts, the gentle curve of her stomach, her hips. If he did nothing else in his whole life, he felt in that moment that he had to have her. His common sense called out, telling him that she’d be another disappointment, a wannabe out to snare him for a tabloid tale or a wag desperate to ride on his rugby successes. But his desire growled with hunger and his heart pounded with need.
The chatter around them seemed to dissipate, fading like a passing car. The harp’s gentle melody moved in tune with her body as if it played only for her. His body throbbed with every step she took and he had to press his free hand into his pocket for fear that he would reach out and pull her to him.
When she arrived at his side, she held out a small white hand and he stared at it mutely.
“Henri Chevallier,” Liam announced, “I would like you to meet Catrin Owens. My intern, assistant and…yes, I guess I can call her my protégée.”
Henri noticed a flicker of something pass over the young woman’s face but she quickly masked it with a dazzling smile.
“Mademoiselle,” he said, taking her hand and bowing over it.
“Oh, Monsieur Chevallier.” Her cheeks coloured. “It is true what they say about the French having manners.”
He smiled in reply.
“Yes, yes!” the agent at his side fanned himself with a napkin. “I daresay they do. But Monsieur Chevallier is here to demonstrate his prowess on the rugby field and to draw in some British sponsorship, not to display manners that put us other men to shame.”
Henri glanced at the man, sensing that he was perhaps intimidated by the presence of a younger and fitter model but then it could just be impatience with propriety. The whole agency game was a bit of an act at times and Henri bet that Liam, like anyone, got tired too.
But he wasn’t really interested in Liam. His attention was glued to the young woman. She was not, as he had first thought, a model or actress but an assistant in training to be an agent herself. So her looks were the façade that hid something, he hoped, even more interesting. He was so used to being surrounded by clones with their fake hair, fake tans and fake tits, that to find natural beauty (which he hoped might be unfettered by a desire to use him to climb the celebrity ladder) was a novelty. And a challenge.
He wanted her even more.
The evening had passed in a haze of introductions, fine wines, mead and medieval food. Liam H. Clarkson had sat at Henri’s left and placed Catrin to his right so that Henri had been flanked by the agency. They had spoken of contracts and promotions, events and meetings until Henri’s head had spun and he didn’t know if it was the wine or their chatter. Catrin’s appearance belied the focused career woman beneath the attractive, elegant exterior and he was fascinated by her knowledge and determination. A lesser man, one lacking in self-confidence, might well have found her intimidating but Henri found her refreshing. She was different. It was clear that this woman did not need a man to define who she was. That could deter many possible suitors but it intrigued him and he wanted to find out what made her tick, where she had come from and where she was headed.
At the end of the evening, Liam whispered into Catrin’s ear and she nodded then turned to Henri.
“Liam has asked me to accompany you back to your hotel.”
“I’m sure I can find my own way there, Miss Owens.” He was just being polite. He hoped that she’d insist.
“It’s all part of the service.” She flashed him a dazzling smile. “And please, call me Catrin!”
“Yes, Catrin.” He smiled in return, then held out his arm and they made their way through the winding corridors and out into the damp July air.
Thinking about how the evening had ended made heat run through his blood. He wasn’t sure if it was the wine, the heady atmosphere of the medieval castle, being in a different country or just Catrin’s overwhelming beauty but they’d ended up having fast and furious sex as soon as they crossed the threshold of his hotel room. Initially, as they travelled back in the limo, she’d told him she’d see him to the hotel lobby, then it had been the door to his room and finally she’d said she’d come in for a night-cap. He’d worried briefly about whether or not she was after a story for the tabloids but dismissed the thought by reminding himself that she was building a career as an agent and she was surely above such behaviour.
She’d refused to stay that first night and every night since. He didn’t mind because he didn’t want things to get all serious and confused anyway. He had some big decisions to make and he was happy to enjoy her company for what it was.
For now.
But he just couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Catrin stood outside the hotel room door. She raised her hand to knock then let it fall to her side again.
What was she doing? This was absolute madness! She was riding a wave that would surely drop her into shark infested waters. If Liam found out what she’d been up to with Henri he’d be furious, wouldn’t he? The lines about clients and agents had never been clearly drawn. She’d been told to take good care of Henri and she’d found the directive ambiguous. Was she supposed to look after his needs…all of his needs? If so, then she’d done well so far. Or was her job description limited to strictly hands off, no touching?
If she got it wrong and Liam found out, she knew that if he didn’t sack her on the spot, he’d never make her permanent. But then, Henri wasn’t officially her client. She was just taking care of him while Liam was busy with other things.
Did that make it OK? Would Liam see it that way? She wished that everything was clearer but since Henri had arrived, nothing had been clear any more. Her vision and her thinking were hazy, infused with a smoky scarlet glow that warmed her and puzzled her. She felt all fuzzy round the edges.
Before she had time to dwell further on the ethics of her behaviour, the door swung open and she gasped at the beauty of the man in front of her.
Henri wore a silver-grey suit which caught the light when he moved and gave the effect of shimmering. Beneath it he wore a crisp white shirt but no tie. The top button of the shirt was undone and she could see the black hairs at the top of his chest. She knew that those hairs lightly covered his pecs and ran in a fine line over his abdomen and down to his groin. The thought made desire flicker deep inside her and she shivered with delight.
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