‘The narrative of our relationship,’ he said. ‘It is best to stick as close to the truth as possible. My publicist will work out a press release—but it will be along the lines that we knew each other years ago, got reacquainted when you made a delivery here while Mira was in Klosters and I broke off my engagement with her once I realised I was in love with you.’
‘Do you think the press will buy that?’ she asked. ‘You only broke up with her yesterday.’
‘I don’t really care if they do or not. The important thing is that the Jedah Consortium believes our marriage is real—which they will once they see us together, all loved up for a few key events a week from now in New York.’
If she agreed to his proposal.
He didn’t like that if. He wanted this settled. Now.
But she hadn’t said a word. She still looked dumbfounded. He forced himself to take a breath. And back off a little, before he spooked her altogether.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have the luxury of time. He had a Eurostar to catch in two hours for a meeting in Paris this afternoon, then he was travelling to Rome tomorrow for several days—and from there he would fly to New York to finish the final negotiations on the Waterfront deal. By which time, if he wanted the negotiations to go smoothly, his marriage needed to be finalised.
He waited for her to say something, but she simply stared at him.
‘Do you have any questions?’ he prompted as he glanced at his watch, unable to hide his impatience.
She nodded, and the tension in his chest eased.
‘Could I have time to think about it?’
He had to bite his lip to stop the husky, self-satisfied laugh from bursting out of his mouth. This negotiation was already in the bag. Of course it was; he didn’t even know why he had been concerned about it. If the price was right, anyone could be bought. Even a woman as artless and forthright as Alison Jones.
He didn’t think less of her for it. Money was important. Something he had learned at an early age—while he and his mother had struggled to survive in the slums of Saint Denis on the outskirts of Paris, on the tiny amount she’d been able to scratch together working two jobs—after having been refused child support from the wealthy man who had discarded her as soon as she’d fallen pregnant.
Alison and her mother had struggled in a similar way after that summer thanks to their association with his father, by the sound of it. He had no idea how bad it had become, but he didn’t doubt she had to be fairly desperate to be risking her life each night as a cycle courier simply to pay her rent. Alison, unlike the spoilt debutantes and career women he had dated in the past, had to know what real poverty looked like; he was offering her a route out of that.
‘Unfortunately, I need a verbal commitment from you this morning,’ he said. ‘As I have to catch a train to Paris in...’ he checked his watch ‘...one hour and forty-eight minutes. You can take your time to read through the paperwork and negotiate any changes with my personal assistant, Selene, before you sign. If you want to renegotiate the alimony payment I can be flexi...’
‘I don’t want any more money,’ she said, sounding horrified. ‘Are you nuts?’
He barked out a laugh, unable to stop his amusement at the absolute horror on her face.
‘I’m not a complete mercenary,’ she added forcefully.
‘Noted,’ he said, thinking she didn’t seem that mercenary to him at all. If she’d pressed he would easily have been persuaded to up the lump sum to two million pounds.
Getting the Waterfront deal was worth a great deal more than that to him.
The pulse of arousal struck him unawares. And he was forced to admit it wasn’t just the thought of signing that deal that was driving his enthusiasm. She really did look good enough to eat—her eyes wide with confusion and uncertainty. The desire to capture her strawberry and chocolate taste on his tongue was all but overwhelming.
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A week-long cooling-off period wouldn’t be a bad thing at all. He needed to get a choke hold on his hunger before he made love to her again. Or things had the potential to get out of control, the way they had the first time. He wanted to show her he could savour her, that she was worth savouring.
‘Come here, ma belle.’ Before he could second-guess himself, he snagged her wrist and tugged her into the space between his knees.
Inhaling her scent—strawberries and sin—he unfurled her fingers, which had tightened into a fist. Lifting her palm to his mouth, he bit into the soft flesh beneath her thumb. Her shudder of reaction had the heat swelling in his groin. He lifted his gaze to hers, and smiled at the shocked arousal on her face.
‘I want very much to make you my wife, Alison. And I’m willing to admit my reasons for suggesting it are not all about business—nor are they entirely honourable.’ In fact, if the ache in his crotch was anything to go by, he wasn’t sure any of them were at the moment. ‘I think the months ahead will be beneficial to both of us, in a financial sense. You’d be doing me a big favour and I’m willing to pay handsomely for your time, it’s as simple as that. But this marriage could also be very entertaining for both of us, on the evidence of last night.’
He dropped her hand, and got down off the breakfast stool. Capturing her shoulders, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, forcing himself not to press, not to push, not to take what he so desperately wanted. If she agreed to his proposition, there would be more than enough time to enjoy their chemistry to his heart’s content in the months to come.
‘You have twenty-four hours to read over the paperwork but I need your answer now,’ he said. ‘What do you say, Alison? Will you marry me?’
* * *
It was wrong. She knew that. Wrong to marry for convenience, for a business deal and definitely wrong to marry him for money. Whatever he said, whatever qualifications he put on what he was offering her, a part of her knew she was basically selling herself.