The Highest Price to Pay (4 page)

The gauzy curtain of arousal that had been shrouding them lifted suddenly and broke her trance as effectively as a gust of icy wind.

“I’m ready to leave,” she said, stepping away from him, finally.

“I’ll stay,” he said, golden gaze already wandering. He would probably stay and find some slim, sexy socialite to hook up with.

It made her feel ill, and it shouldn’t make her feel anything at all.

“Good. Great. Have fun.”

She turned and walked out of the club, embracing the chill of the night air as it hit her face. She needed it, needed a good dose of reality. What had happened in there wasn’t real. It wasn’t possible for a woman like her. And even if it were, she couldn’t think of a single man she should want less.

It didn’t change the fact that her heart was still pounding wildly and her body felt empty and unsatisfied. Didn’t change the fact that when she closed her eyes it was his face that she saw.

“I
T’S
headline news in the society pages,” she said, still feeling numb with the shock of her discovery.

“The press has an unhealthy fascination with my sex life,” Blaise responded, his voice still rich and enticing, even over the phone.

Ella stared down at the picture of the two of them, shrouded in near darkness in a secluded corner of the club, their lips nearly touching. Her stomach contracted and heat flooded her face. His body, so near to hers, so hot and dangerously tempting.

She shook her head and tried to banish the rogue thoughts. “I thought you said the press always printed the truth about you.”

“Usually, if I’m with a woman, she’s my lover. Or she will be by the time the night has ended.”

That thought made her scalp prickle, made her breasts feel heavy. “Well, I’m not.”

“No, but we were together. And they know I recently purchased your loan, a move that they presume was a bailout, a way for me to help out the current woman in my life.”

“Shoddy reporting,” she said tightly. “Someone needs to write a letter to the editor.”

She sat down in front of her laptop and pulled up the statistics for her website. It was something she did out of habit every day. She liked to know what brought people to her website, to get a window into the kind of people that viewed her work and to help get an idea of where she needed to buy advertising.

Her eyes widened when she saw the number of visitors she’d had, and they widened even more when she saw the keywords that had brought them to the site. Blaise Chevalier and Ella Stanton lovers. Blaise Chevalier Ella Stanton girlfriend. Blaise Chevalier Ella Stanton engaged. The last one made her inhale the sip of tea she’d been taking. She coughed into the phone.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I…I have about four times the normal amount of traffic to my website and…almost everyone was searching for information about the two of us.” She looked back down at the article in the paper. “I…wow.”

“That is the kind of press you need.”

“And I got it at the kind of event you said was beneath me,” she said, feeling the need to point it out because his superior tone grated.

“It helped that you were keeping the proper company.”

That rendered her speechless for a full three seconds. “Your ego really is staggering,” she managed to say.

“I fail to see how acknowledging my appeal to the media is evidence of my ego.”

“Hmm.”

“You disagree?”

She couldn’t deny that she never would have gotten such a prominent feature in the society pages if it weren’t for him. She couldn’t deny that Blaise’s aristocratic heritage, his reputation for being completely ruthless and his status as a first rate womanizer, and the fact that she was with him, were probably the key elements to the fact that there was any interest in her attendance at the party. But she didn’t have to like it. And she could still think he had a big ego. Because he did. Any man who could callously walk off with his brother’s intended bride and then, after the damage had been done, abandon her as well, was hardly a man of humility.

Or integrity.

But darn if he didn’t get things done. His mere presence had created a mini media whirlwind. One that could only be good for her. And it hadn’t even taken valuable advertising dollars to make it happen.

“I’ll concede the point,” she said, idly tracing the image of the two of them in the paper. Her eyes went straight to the biggest scar on her arm. Of course they’d taken the photo from her left side, her arm exposed by the sleeveless dress she’d been wearing last night. It was easy enough to feign confidence when she wasn’t forced to look at the reality of her body.

She tossed the paper down on her table. “Without you, I never would have ended up in such a prominent paper, with such a large photo. The exposure was obviously worth it.”

“Careful, my ego is growing.”

“Ha-ha,” she said, standing from her place at the table and walking over to the fridge, rooting around for a moment before closing the door, empty-handed. “I don’t want to waste your time so I’ll talk to you…when I talk to you.”

She felt awkward suddenly. She’d called his mobile number, which he’d given to her. But for some reason it seemed personal. It seemed…it was awkward, which was why she
felt
awkward. That much she was sure of.

Of course, it wouldn’t feel that way if she only felt hostility for him, but try as she might, that spiraling, stomach tightening, heart pounding attraction just kept squishing down the resentment.

“This is business. I hardly consider it a waste of my time.”

“Wow. That was almost a compliment.”

“I’ve told you, Ella. None of this has been personal. I am not out to get you. I’m out to make a profit, and frankly, it only benefits you that I am.”

“Yeah,” she said, padding across the kitchen and moving to her living room window. She had a great view of the neighboring building’s brick wall. “I get that. Because you make money, I make money, everyone’s happy. But this is more than that to me.”

“What more is there to business?”

Ella blinked. “Passion. A dream. The thrill of success, the feeling of accomplishment. There’s a lot more to it.” There was for her at least. Sometimes she felt like she was her fashion career. Like if it crashed and burned there would be nothing left of her. She’d poured everything into it. Time, money, hope.

If she failed…she just couldn’t fail. It was everything.

“Ah, but unlike you, Ella, I
am
in it for the money. If something isn’t profitable, I cut it loose. I do not waste my time.”

“And I’m not wasting your time, so I suppose I’m meant to feel flattered?”

“Why would you?”

Oh, right. It wasn’t personal. “Good question.”

“I’ve had an email from Karen Carson, the editor of
Look.
”

“Oh.” She was excited to hear that, but a little bit annoyed since she wanted clients to work with her, not her all-powerful, unwanted benefactor. “And?”

“She liked the photographs.”

“Great, does she want the look for the ad?” Her heart was pounding a little bit harder, and this time at least it was over something concerning work and not Blaise’s butter-smooth voice.

“Non.”

“Oh…I…that’s okay, it was a good try.” And now all she could do was obsess about what she’d done wrong, worry about why her look hadn’t been good enough. Why she hadn’t been good enough.

Melodramatic much, Ella?

But that was the hazard of being so wrapped up in something. It felt personal when it shouldn’t. It made her feel like she’d just been dumped. Which had never happened to her before, but she was guessing that was what it would feel like.

“She wants you to create something else.”

“What?”

“The blue dress wasn’t right, but she said she liked your…how did she put it?” He paused for a moment and she assumed he was skimming the email. “Aesthetic.”

“Well, great. What does she want? I can do anything she needs me to do.” She felt a little bit like an overexcited puppy and she had a feeling she might sound like one, too, but she didn’t care right then.

“I’ll forward you the message. She wants something more formal, something in that same color scheme. Something only for
Look.
”

The resentment she felt for Blaise was pushed down a little bit further. There were some definite advantages to this enforced, uneven partnership. Exposure like the article in the paper, and like this ad campaign, didn’t just drop into a person’s lap. At least they hadn’t dropped into hers before.

Under normal circumstances she would have had to build a web of connections and climb the threads to get to the top, dealing with all the sticky hazards along the way. But she’d just skipped all of that, the boost from Blaise’s connections propelling her much further ahead of where she should be.

“Thank you,” she said, her throat suddenly, horrifyingly tight. She didn’t want to do something stupid like crying. She didn’t want to show him so much vulnerability.

“You have a strange habit of acting like a prickly little…hedgehog and then thanking me for something.”

“A hedgehog?”

“Yes, that,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact and full of certainty.

“Well, you have a strange habit of being a jackass and then turning around and making something pretty amazing happen, so I think it’s a cause-and-effect kind of thing.”

“A jackass?”

“Yes,” she returned, “that.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

She knew he had. She’d seen it in black and white, in the tabloids, on the online gossip sites.

“So have I,” she said, looking down at her hands, grateful he was just a disembodied voice on the phone and not actually here to fix those all-too-knowing golden eyes on her.

“I’ve forwarded Karen’s email to you. You have about a week to get the dress made. They’ll handle the styling.”

“Great.” Thank God they were off the personal topics and back onto business.

“I’ll be by later in the week to check in on your progress.”

“Great,” she said again. Her body didn’t get the memo that she was decidedly unenthusiastic about meeting up with him again and it immediately dosed her with a nice shot of adrenaline.

“Good luck, Ella.”

“Only the weak need luck and magic,” she said, repeating to him what he’d told her that first day. Reminding herself what sort of man he was so that her body would calm down a little bit and stop getting so darn excited every time he said something with that knee-weakening, stomach-tightening voice of his. “I don’t need luck. I make fabulous clothes.”

“Make sure that you do. Because if not, the ad could backfire on you in a major way, and I won’t continue to support a dying business.”

Her stomach tightened for an entirely different reason now. Annoyance and a prickle of unease spread through her. He was right—this was huge, and blowing it would cause far-reaching damage.

But doing it well would be the key to her success.

“I will,” she said as she hung up the phone.

She would. She would make the best dress she was capable of, because everything was riding on this right now. And failing simply wasn’t an option.

He was giving Ella special attention, or rather, he was giving her business special attention. He recognized it, and yet, he didn’t feel compelled to change anything. Blaise watched as Ella knelt down in front of the mannequin.

She was fitting a pale blue gown to it, adding and removing pins, tugging fabric and humming absently.

He was struck again by how different her studio was than her neat, slick looking boutique. It wasn’t a paired down black and white scheme with the occasional punch of color. It looked like there had been a color explosion in the converted warehouse. There were boards covered in swatches of fabric hung on the walls, bolts of fabric stacked into piles on the floor, on tables. A rack of bright threads, buttons and ribbons was at the center of the room. It was neat but chaotic in its choice of color and style.

A study in organized eccentricity. Like Ella.

She stood, tugging on the straps of the gown. Even now she matched the space she worked in. Tight dark jeans with bright pink stitching, the fabric clinging tightly to the perfect curve of her lush little backside, a black clinging top, a shocking magenta flower loosely pinning her wild blond hair into a low bun. Her look seemed casual, thrown together, and yet he had a feeling she worked for that effect.

There was no question that, as much as Ella might come across as some carefree, party-prone socialite, she wasn’t that at all. Everything, even the chaos, was controlled and purposeful. That was something he understood. Control. Because without it, there was no limit to the depths a man might sink when he threw it all away.

Control was everything.

“That looks nice,” he said, the compliment flowing from him with surprising ease. He didn’t usually feel the need to give people that sort of assurance. But with her, he did. Perhaps it was the same, indefinable thing that had made him come here when a phone call would have sufficed as a means of assessing her progress.

Her shoulders bunched tight and she turned around to face him, blue eyes wide, finely arched eyebrows moved halfway up her forehead.

“Couldn’t you, like…knock?” she asked, hand on her chest, bright pink fingernails glowing against the black background of her top. “You scared me.”

“Perhaps you could try locking the door?”

“Is that your apology?” she asked, one hand on her hip now, her weight thrown onto one foot, causing her curves to become more exaggerated. Full breasts, small waist, absolute perfection. Perhaps her appeal was not indefinable. Perhaps it simply boiled down to her luscious figure, her enticing pink lips, and the fact they when he closed his eyes at night it was her image that left him hard and aching.

“How are things going?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Good. I thought you were just going to call or something.”

“I decided to stop by and see how things were going. I like to have a personal hand in some of my larger investments.” And the fact that her killer curves had played into the visit was something he was intent on ignoring. This was business. He kept his life compartmentalized, everything in its place. All the better to make sure he had a firm grasp on things.

Ella stepped slightly behind the dress form, her heart still thundering from Blaise’s unannounced entry. He’d just startled her, that was all. But her body seemed to be having an awfully prolonged reaction to it. And it only got worse as he began to walk toward her, all fluid grace and hard, masculine lines. A compelling combination.

The deep charcoal suit he was wearing conformed to his physique like a dream, the color the perfect foil for his rich skin tone. His shoulders and chest seemed impossibly broad. She had to add shoulder pads to suits for most of the male models she worked with and didn’t get an effect half as dynamic.

It was easy for her to acknowledge interest and appreciation for his suit. That was her comfort zone. It was quite another to confess, even to herself, that she was more interested in what was beneath the suit.