But I was young then! A stripling! It was calf love, nothing more than that, and that’s why it hit me so hard.
Now he was a stripling no longer, but a seasoned man, in his thirties, sure of himself, and sure of what he wanted and how to get it. Sure of his relationships with the women he selected for his amours. Women who were nothing like the one now sitting opposite him, taking money for her time here.
That was what he must remember. She would—that was for certain. It was the reason she was here...the reason she’d accompanied him from the fashion show. She’d made it perfectly clear then—and again when she’d so brazenly upped what he’d been prepared to offer her to come out here now. That was warning enough, surely?
However stunning her face and figure—however powerful her appeal—his relationship with Tara Mackenzie must be strictly professional only. She was here, as he reminded himself yet again, only to do a job.
It was, therefore, in a brisk, businesslike tone that he continued now. ‘The Neubergers are arriving this evening. From then on, until they leave, you will assume the role you are here to play. What is essential, however,’ he went on, ‘is that you understand you are here to act the part only. You are not to imagine we actually have a relationship of any kind whatsoever or that one is possible at all. Do you understand me?’
* * *
Tara felt herself bridling as his dark eyes bored into hers. He was doing it again! Putting her back right up. And not just in the way he’d said things—in what he had said.
Warning me off him. Telling me not to get ideas about him. Oh, thank you—yes, thank you so much, Monsieur Derenz. It was so necessary to warn me off you! Not.
Would she really ever consider a man with the personality of a lump of granite, who clearly thought every woman in the world was after him?
Indignation sparked furiously in her. ‘Of course, Monsieur Derenz. I understand perfectly, Monsieur Derenz. Whatever you say, Monsieur Derenz,’ Tara intoned fulsomely, venting her objection to his high-handed warning.
His eyes flashed darkly and his arched eyebrows snapped together in displeasure. ‘Don’t irritate me more than you already have, Ms Mackenzie,’ he said witheringly.
‘And don’t you, Monsieur Derenz,’ she shot back, bridling even more at his impatient put-down, ‘entertain the totally unwarranted assumption that I have any desire to do anything more than act the part I am here to play! And,’ she continued, refusing to be cowed by the increasingly black look on his face, ‘I expect you to do likewise. There is to be no repeat of that little wrist-kissing stunt you pulled just before I went back into the fashion show!’ She saw his expression stiffen and ploughed on. ‘No unwarranted body contact at all. I appreciate that my role must be convincing—but it is for public view only.’
Even just pretending to be on intimate terms with him was going to be a challenge. A challenge that, now she was seeing him again, was making a hollow form inside her. Oh, what did the wretched man have that got to her like this?
Deliberately, she made herself think not about how drop-dead devastating he was, sitting there in his killer suit, drawing her hapless gaze to his hard-featured face with the night-dark eyes, but of how obnoxious his manner was. Yes, that was a much safer way to think of him!
The best way of all, though, would be to do what he was doing, annoying though it was to admit it—treat this entire matter as simply a professional engagement.
So, with a deep breath, and a resumption of her cool tone, she asked in a no-nonsense, businesslike way, ‘OK—so, the Neubergers... You’d better tell me what I’ll be expected to know.’
He didn’t seem to like it that she’d taken control of the conversation—but then, she thought acidly, Marc Derenz was clearly used to calling all the shots, all the time. Maybe his employees—and she was one herself, after all, however temporary—were not expected to speak before the august chairman of Banc Derenz.
However, he answered her readily enough, in a no-nonsense tone matching her own.
‘Hans Neuberger is head of Neuberger Fabrik—a major German engineering company based in Frankfurt. He is a long-standing family friend and he knows this villa well from many previous visits. Celine is his second wife—Hans was a widower—and their marriage is a relatively recent
one...less than two years. He has adult children from his first marriage—’
‘Who hate Celine’s guts,’ put in Tara knowingly.
He made no reply, only continued as if she had not spoken. ‘Celine has persuaded her husband to house-hunt for a villa here, and on that pretext she has invited herself to stay, with predictably obvious intent.’
His tone was icy and Tara found herself chilled by it. Even more so as he continued in the same cold voice.
‘I will not conceal from you the fact that I consider Hans’s marriage to Celine...ill-advised. The woman targeted him for his wealth, and she presumes to target myself—’ his tone dropped from cold to Arctic ‘—as a source of...entertainment.’ His voice plunged to absolute zero. ‘This demonstrates just how ill-advised their marriage is. Were Hans Neuberger anything other than, as I have said, a long-standing family friend, there would be absolutely no question. I would have no hesitation in sending her packing.’
Tara took a slicing breath. ‘No, no question at all...’ she muttered.
It was unnerving to see just how cold Marc Derenz could be—and how ruthless. Imperious in manner, intemperate in mood—yes, she’d seen that already—but this display of icy ruthlessness was something else...
He got to his feet. ‘As it is, however, I am required, for Hans’s sake, to proceed by taking a more...subtle approach.’
Tara gave a tight smile. ‘To demonstrate to her that the...vacancy in your life is fully occupied?’
His eyes rested on her, dark and unreadable. ‘Precisely,’ he said.
He got to his feet. He seemed taller than ever, looming over her. He glanced at his watch—doubtless one of those custom-made jobs, she assumed, that cost more than a house. Then his eyes flicked back to her. She got the feeling that he’d suddenly veiled them, and found herself doing likewise with her own. Instinctively she reached for her discarded sunglasses, as if for protection.