The Highest Price to Pay (7 page)

In Paris, he seemed rootless, a rogue. A man who didn’t care what others thought. He took action swiftly, decisively, without care for how it affected others so long as the bottom line was well-served.

Not here. Here were his roots. Here was his responsibility. Something he cared for more than money. People that meant more to him than a bottom line. He’d said that business was not the place for charity, but apparently he believed it had a place.

He’d also said he didn’t believe in honor. But his honor was here, too.

“We’ll be doing the shoot here,” he said, gesturing to the shoreline.

“It will be dramatic. I love the idea of formalwear in this environment.” She was happy to be back to the safety of business. She tried to keep her mind there by imagining what hairstyle she would have the stylist do with each gown, what sort of makeup.

The distraction was short-lived. Because Blaise was still right next to her, close and so very male and tempting.

She shivered slightly, even though it was hotter than blazes outside and the air conditioner only served to take the edge off. She wasn’t cold. She was hot inside. Burning up. Consumed with an internal fire that she had never allowed herself to confront before.

It wasn’t that she had spent eleven years void of sexual desires. She had simply channeled them into fantasies about movie stars, heroes in books. Men she would never meet, or, better still, weren’t real. Men who couldn’t reject her.

It was more than a fear of rejection, though. It was the bone-deep fear that her mother was right. That things would be easier if she had died in the fire instead of living with the damage, confronting her mother with the damage, left behind.

But things wouldn’t be better. She could do anything she wanted, fulfill her dreams. She was in the most beautiful place she’d ever seen, with the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, on the edge of the biggest break of her career.

And even though she would never truly have the man, it wouldn’t stop her from enjoying the fantasy.

She looked at Blaise again, watched him as he stared out the window at the passing landscape, square jaw enhanced by the angle of his head, rich mocha skin begging for the touch of her lips, a taste from her tongue.

Somehow, being so near to him, the memory of his fingertips gliding over her skin, made all of those fantasies that had always been sufficient seem pale.

“Where will we be staying?” she asked.

“Another thing I have been working toward, bringing more tourism into the area. There is no shortage of attractions, but accommodations for wealthier guests have been limited.”

“And you’ve taken care of that, too?”

“Yes,” he said simply, turning his focus to his smartphone.

She had a feeling that she was getting close to seeing the man that Blaise truly was. And she could tell that he didn’t want her to see it.

E
LLA
hadn’t anticipated the absolute decadence of the resort. She should have. It was Blaise’s, and he didn’t do anything in half measures.

It was hidden from the harsh sun beneath a thick canopy of trees. Built from stone and covered in vines, it looked as though it had grown up from the impossibly beautiful landscape. It was cool, calm and completely inviting.

“We will be staying in my personal villa,” he said.

“We?” she said, her face starting to burn, and not from the heat.

“I have given it some thought. The Heart’s Ball created a huge media stir. The press loved the more…intimate photos they were able to capture of us.”

“And?”

“And I would like to give them some more fodder.”

“The press won’t be here will they?”

“Ella, there will be models, stylists, writers, photographers and a photo shoot director. I think someone might mention something. Especially as I’m certain there were photos taken of us boarding the plane in Paris this morning.”

“Oh…you think there were?”

“If the press wasn’t taking a day off. I made no effort to be discreet. The press are weaving a romantic fantasy around our association and it is attracting a lot of attention to your clothing line. And this time, whoever wrote the article about the two of us mentioned you were wearing one of your own designs. He also named you best dressed of the night.”

“I…I saw that.” Seeing the pictures that had been taken of the two of them, some when they had been on the balcony, so close, desire so clear in her eyes it had horrified her. But the article had been wonderful, and the next day she’d had two women into the boutique asking about the red lace dress.

So he was right. The media was paying attention, and as a result, so was the public. But the idea of shacking up with him for a week was a little bit disconcerting.

“I’ll have my own room, right?”

“It’s a big villa. You won’t have to see me if you don’t want to.”

That wasn’t what concerned her. It was that she did want to see him. It was that being near him made him long for things that she had no business longing for. Not now, not with him.

The Town car bypassed the main building and drove them down toward the shore. The villa was situated at the very edge of the covering of trees, the front door nearly resting on the white sand beach, the crystalline water lapping at the shore a mere fifty yards away.

It was made of stone, just like the main building, the roof fashioned out of woven grass. It was like a private island fantasy. Like the two of them had been shipwrecked. Shipwrecked with the pirate—there was a nice one to save for later when she was in her bed. Alone. Aching. Longing.

She turned her thoughts off that particularly depressing track and back onto the scenery.

The slight rusticity of the environment dissolved the moment they walked into the villa. High ceilings, that were plastered, proved the woven grass was for show. White stone floors and French Provincial style furnishings gave it a look of timeless, expensive elegance. The curved, sweeping staircase that led to the second floor made it feel palatial. And Ella felt like a princess for a second. A feeling that was so foreign she thought she might be dreaming.

And then there was Blaise, and the feelings he created in her. Now that was complicated. There was the desire, desire that had been there since day one, and then there was the growing tenderness. A well had opened up behind the walls surrounding her heart and seemed to be expanding.

Coming here with him had changed the way she saw him. It had opened up another side of the enigma to her. This wasn’t simply a moneymaking venture for him. She knew that. Sensed it. This brought in tourism, and with it, tourism dollars. It created jobs.

It forced her to look at him in a new light, though she didn’t want to. Even when she thought he was nothing more than a cold, ruthless man who would stop at nothing to get what was his, a man who would think nothing of betraying his brother, even then it had been hard enough to stop herself from weaving fantasies around him.

Add this unexpected glimpse into his humanity and she felt like she might be in serious trouble.

“I will ask that dinner is served soon,” he said.

“I can find something in the kitchen.” The idea of spending a quiet, intimate evening filled her with excitement, which gave way to mild panic. She should feel that way about him, about spending time with him.

“Ella, must you always be so stubborn?”

“I think so.”

“For once, don’t. Tonight, just enjoy yourself.”

“Okay,” she said.

Her heart thundered hard in her chest. Because nothing scared her more at the moment than the thought of giving in to what she really wanted and truly enjoying herself. Because, if she did, she not only faced the possibility of rejection, but of Blaise seeing how weak she truly was.

The scene was set for seduction, and never had there been a woman who looked more ready to be seduced. Blaise could only stare at Ella when she came down the stairs and met him in the open living area of the villa.

Ella, with her loosely contained blond curls accented by a shockingly pink flower. Ella, with lipstick and a daring dress to match. The neckline was too high for his taste, denying him the sight of her luscious breasts. But the fabric was fitted, clinging lovingly to every dip and curve of her body. And the hemline was brief, showing more of her mile long legs than should be legal.

It was the first time he’d seen her in simple, flat sandals, and he imagined the only reason she’d abandoned her daring high heels was out of deference to the sand.

He hadn’t realized quite how petite she was. She seemed softer, more delicate this way. And it made his stomach tighten with urgency. He wanted to shield her, from what he didn’t know. And to make her his.

And that he understood very well. He knew just what sort of possession he sought. The most basic, elemental sort. Her soft body beneath his as he found satisfaction within her, as he gave her pleasure, took his own pleasure.

The strength, the immediacy of it, was beyond anything he had felt in so long. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever felt that way. He had shut down so much of himself after Marie because he had seen what happened when he gave his emotion free rein. It was an ugly thing.

“Dinner was set out for us on the terrace.”

“Oh, nice,” she said, but she didn’t really sound like she thought it was nice.

“Were you expecting different?”

“I just thought…maybe a restaurant.”

“Are you afraid to be alone with me?”

She blinked rapidly, pale gold lashes sweeping up and down with the motion. “I…why would I be?”

He took her hand in his, and she let him, curling soft slender fingers around his. “I don’t know,” he said, tracing the back of her hand with his thumb.

“Well, I’m not. I just thought we would go out. I’m overdressed.”

“You look perfect. As always.”

He watched as her pretty pink lips wobbled, only for a moment, before she set them into a firm line again. Her blue eyes looked brighter than usual, suspiciously so. “I will accept the compliment,” she said, her voice thick.

How could such a simple compliment touch her so? Careless words, words he meant, but not words he had spent time thinking over. Nothing he hadn’t said to another woman, only to be treated to a petulant pout until he expanded on the sentiment.

Not Ella. The simple, pure reaction was totally honest. He wasn’t sure what to do with it. It made him want to say more. It made him want to offer to take her out, somewhere where he wouldn’t be tempted to seduce the woman with the steel exterior, but possibly fragile interior.

But no, Ella wasn’t fragile. She was tough. She was confident. He had simply caught her in an emotional moment, and heaven knew women had plenty of those.

He continued holding her hand, and she continued to hold his, as he led her up the stairs and through double French doors out to the sweeping terrace. White lanterns hung from the sheltering roof, introducing a soft glow to the warm, purple evening.

The view of the lake was stunning, the table setting was stunning. But neither thing touched the beauty of his companion.

Ella sat down before Blaise could do something else sweet. Like pulling her chair back for her or something. She already felt like a wreck.

You look perfect. As always.

She had never been perfect. Not before the fire. Certainly not after. And he had stripped her bare of every last piece of armor with the compliment. Because it was a tease of the one thing she’d always dreamed of. The longing she would never even say out loud, not even in an empty room.

To have someone accept her as she was. Love her as she was.

It was such an impossible fantasy. She didn’t love
herself
as she was, how could anyone else? Least of all a man like Blaise. A man of such physical perfection, who dated women possessing the same physical perfection. It was impossible.

But her mind had taken that little thread and immediately begun weaving a web with it. One of pretty words and happy endings. Lies.

She picked up the wineglass that was, thankfully, already full and touched it to her lips, taking a small sip. Anything to distract herself.

“This looks great,” she said, placing her glass back on the table. It was inane conversation, but the grilled fish and bright, fresh vegetables did look great and at least it was a safe topic.

“Naturally.”

“Because you only hire the best in the world?” she asked, arching one eyebrow.

“I had the best in the world come here and train some of the local people. Everyone that works here is from Malawi.”

More of that tenderness spread through her. She could almost feel her heart melting.

“How old were you when you came here?” she asked. She shouldn’t ask. She didn’t need to know. And yet she wanted to know.

“I was eight. But I didn’t live on the island. I lived on the mainland, just outside Mzuza. My mother worked at a bank there. We were not impoverished, as so many others here are.”

“But why did your mother bring you here?” She’d wondered. She knew his brother had been raised in France with their father.

“It was part of the deal,” he said, his voice rough. “If she left Europe, she could have me. Otherwise, she would never see either of us.”

“Why…why would your father do that?”

He slid his fingers up and down the stem of his wineglass, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “I think he was hurt and he wanted to hurt her back. I also don’t think he believed she would truly go. It is my understanding that she had an affair, although, I have never been angry at her for it. I think when they fell in love they were perhaps a bit idealistic. They were able to see past cultural differences, skin color difference, and then many others were not. And there was tension.”

Blaise leaned back, releasing his hold on the glass. “They imagined that love would be enough. It was not. Of course, things have changed now. I don’t believe there would be the same issues. I’ve certainly never had them, and I have dated all types of women. But at the time…”

“And you came with your mother,” she said softly.

“I wanted to,” he said, “I never regretted it.”

“When you came back…did you hate your father for what he’d done? For…banishing you?”

He shrugged. “My father is a hard man. He demands perfection. Control in all areas of life. I don’t regret that I wasn’t raised with him. But I don’t hate him, either. All of us act poorly at times when passion is involved,” he said, his voice taking on a bitter tinge.

She wondered if he was thinking of himself now, if he regretted the affair with his brother’s fiancée. She wouldn’t ask, though. Not now. She didn’t want to engage in an exchange of information.

“True,” she said. Not that she would know.

Her life had been so void of passion. She had channeled it all into her work. Everything had gone into her work. But it hadn’t felt as all-consuming lately, hadn’t felt quite as essential. Which she imagined was good. Feeling so much about anything was dangerous, as Blaise had just pointed out.

It was strange, though, feeling like her focus was splintered. Since her senior year of high school she’d moved toward her goal of having a successful fashion career, and she’d done it single-mindedly. Nothing had distracted her. She’d gone to Paris, she’d studied business and fashion in college, she’d gotten low-level jobs, gotten loans, started her own boutique and clothing line.

Nothing had ever turned her head away from that. Until now.

Now she saw the beauty of the setting she was in, the food tasted more intense, flavors bursting on her tongue. Her skin felt sensitive, her entire body on edge. It was as though a part of herself that had been dormant had just woken up.

Her focus had broadened. Her desires had broadened.

Blaise was looking at her, the same glittering heat in his honey eyes that she’d seen at the Heart’s Ball. Her heart started pounding harder, her palms growing damp, her stomach so tight it made it hard to draw breath.

She stood from her chair and walked over to the edge of the terrace, looking at the lake glittering in the pale moonlight. It was beautiful, a natural wonder. It made her feel empty. Because she suddenly realized she’d never truly enjoyed the beauty of her surroundings. She’d always lived with such manic desperation, to be better, to be more successful.

Then Blaise was standing beside her, his large masculine hand gripping the wrought-iron rail. Before meeting Blaise she’d never really stopped to admire the differences between a man’s hand and a woman’s hand. She had never stopped to appreciate the effect that difference had on her.

He lifted the hand she’d been so focused on, cupped her cheek.

She lifted her eyes, met his gaze. It was easier in the dim light. He slid his hand down her neck, the undamaged side, and she shivered at the sensation. He leaned in, pressing his cheek against hers, his skin hot, roughened by stubble.

He pressed his lips to the hollow beneath her ear and a sharp groan escaped her lips. It was shocking. It was pleasure beyond anything she’d known before, that brief brush of his mouth on her tender flesh.