‘What we share is not crude, Eloise.’ He smiled a ruefully slightly humorous grin, accurately reading her mind. ‘And I intend to keep it that way.’
Marcus watched the fleeting emotions of surprise, regret and finally relief chase across her exquisite features, and accurately read every one of them, amazed at his own restraint and slightly worried. He had never felt protective of his usual lady friends but for some inexplicable reason with Eloise it was different.
He paused and cleared his throat. ‘Now, what was it you wanted to know? How long have I had this place?’ Rolling over on his back and curving her unresisting body in the crook of his arm, he proceeded to tell her.
‘My father bought this apartment for me when I spent a year here studying French. My father was of the old-fashioned school, who thought if one wanted to be a player in the world-wide business market, then it was essential to speak the two languages of diplomacy, English and French.’
Realising she loved him made her feel incredibly vulnerable but, somehow comforted by the warmth of his body and the deep melodious tone of his voice, she slowly relaxed. ‘Ah, so that’s why you are so fluent in French,’ she murmured. ‘And the London hotel—don’t tell me he bought that for you as well?’ Such conspicuous wealth was unimaginable to Eloise.
Marcus chuckled. ‘No, I bought the hotel myself a few years later. When I was a student in London I stayed in a hall of residence. It was single-sex and very correct.’
She looked up beneath the thick fringe of her lashes. The sensual curve of his mouth brought vividly to mind how it felt on her own, and her stomach flipped. She didn’t want to like him, didn’t want to admit she loved him, and certainly did not want Marcus to discover how she felt, and she hid the disturbing thought with humour.
‘Why is it I have difficulty associating you with correct and sex?’ she posed. ‘Unless, of course, you’re a secret S and M freak?’ she concluded with a grin.
A husky chuckle greeted her comment. ‘Wishful thinking, darling.’ And, leaning over her, he added, ‘S and M is not my thing, but I will be perfectly happy to oblige if your fantasy is to be bound to my bed.’
‘No, certainly not,’ Eloise shot back, horrified at where her attempt at humour had led.
‘Pity,’ Marcus observed with a grin, his dark eyes laughing down at her, and wondered if she was aware she had the most expressive eyes; every flicker of emotion was recorded in the swirling emerald depths. ‘Still, I think I can survive on straight sex, as long as it is with you.’
‘Straight sex, with a crooked lady friend.’ She said the first thing that came into her head, and then wished she hadn’t as she saw the swift flare of anger in the depths of the black eyes that held hers. Then a muscle in his jaw twitched, a slow smile tilted the corners of his lips again, and he lifted a finger to trace the contours of her slightly parted lips.
‘Forget the crooked part, and be my lady, and I will do the same,’ Marcus offered lazily. ‘The deal we made need not affect our relationship, unless we let it.’ He shrugged a smooth, tanned shoulder. ‘A tru
ce, if you like.’
Pretend the deal never existed. It would be very foolish, Eloise told herself, but with Marcus’s hand slipping from her lips to her throat and lower, she felt like taking the chance. His words had given her the first crumb of hope for the future. ‘All right,’ she agreed rather breathlessly.
‘That design looks really promising.’ Katy stood behind Eloise surveying the drawing board over her shoulder. ‘Inspired, in fact. It just goes to show what the love of a good man can do,’ Katy teased happily.
Eloise grimaced! If only that were true, she thought longingly. But Marcus’s intentions were far less honourable. A lustful revenge was more what he had in mind.
‘And where is he?’ Katy demanded as Eloise turned in her seat to look at her friend. ‘We haven’t seen him for nearly a week.’
‘Marcus does work,’ Eloise drawled mockingly. ‘He has an office on Wall Street, and he keeps apartments in London and Paris, but his home base is in Greece. And hopefully, if we all work a bit harder, we might end up with three or four outlets as well.’ She diverted Katy from any more personal questions by asking how the latest designs were selling.
It was over a month since she had returned from Paris. The week in Paris had been a revelation to Eloise, and she blushed at the thought. She’d spent most of it in Marcus’s wide bed. They’d eaten out occasionally, and he’d insisted on taking her shopping and spending a fortune on clothes for her. She’d tried to stop him, pointing out she had only been joking when she suggested he buy her clothes, and in any case she was only going to be with him for one year.
His short reply was to remind her of their truce.
On returning to London, he’d insisted on accompanying her to her apartment. She hadn’t wanted him in her own home, and she certainly hadn’t wanted him to make love to her there, but he did. She couldn’t sleep in her own bed at night without thinking of him sharing it with her.
The next evening he had called, supposedly to take her out to dinner; instead, she had landed up in the king-sized bed in his London penthouse, and dinner was a cheese sandwich before, at her insistence, she returned to her own home.
In the ensuing weeks, he had behaved as far as Katy and Harry were concerned as the perfect suitor for their friend, handsome, sexy but more than that—he was caring and concerned, and his input in the business had been invaluable. He had a wonderful sense of humour. Eloise had watched him joking and laughing with Jeff and Julian, and Katy and Harry; they had all dined frequently together, and according to all of them Marcus was wonderful.
He was the same with everyone; even baby Benjamin gurgled when Marcus appeared. Eloise kept reminding herself, he was a master manipulator and a devious swine—but, God help her, even as she hated him for what he was doing to her, she was finding it harder and harder to retain a semblance of distance from the man. Every night that she spent in his bed, when he made love to her with a passion, tenderness, or simply a ravishing hunger, it became more difficult to hold back the words of love she ached to say.
True to his word, their affair was high profile. He’d insisted on taking her to the premiere of a film, where they’d been photographed, and appeared in the gossip column of a national daily the following day. Eloise cringed at the publicity, and lived in fear of anyone making the connection with her past. She had tried to argue with Marcus and, to give him his due, after that one event, he’d bowed to her wishes, and intimate restaurants, and an occasional trip to the cinema had followed.
Surprisingly, as the weeks passed, Eloise found herself actually thinking of Marcus as a normal boyfriend. He did nothing to dispel the notion and remarkably the truce they’d struck in Paris was holding up. Neither ever mentioned the real reason for their togetherness. They talked, they laughed, they made love, and the few times he couldn’t see her, he sent her flowers, and phoned every day.
‘Daydreaming won’t get the work done.’ Katy’s voice cut into her troubled thoughts. ‘Mind you, I don’t blame you. Much as I love Harry, I can see what a wonderful catch Marcus is. If you play your cards right, you could keep him—wedding bells, the lot, I’m sure.’
Eloise gave a sharp laugh. ‘No, I don’t think so.’ But in her heart of hearts she wished it were true. It was becoming harder and harder to maintain the invisible barrier she had erected in her mind that kept her from declaring her love to Marcus. And lying to Katy didn’t help. She longed to confide the truth to her friend, but she could imagine Katy’s angry reaction if she did. Marcus is not my boyfriend, he simply blackmailed me into being his mistress for a year and in return he won’t wreck our business. Katy would probably kill him…
‘And, to answer your first question, he’s in New York and likely to stay there for a while. And, knowing Marcus, I doubt if he’ll be missing me for long. There are too many beautiful women in the world ready to accommodate him.’