The Cherbourg Jewels (14 page)

Sébastien’s olive eyes glittered coldly.  “No, I haven’t forgotten about that.  My private investigator is running the car’s plates and tracking down the owner as we speak.  If you refuse to submit that report, my number one problem will be you, Ms. Wilcox.”

Ella felt a perverse thrill of pleasure at his words.  “Good,” she snapped.  “I’m glad there’s someone here with the guts to challenge a Cherbourg.”

“Challenge me all you want, Ella.  You won’t win.”

“I sure as hell won’t give in,” she retorted.  “I don’t care how long you keep me here or how many nice dresses you throw at me.  I won’t submit that report.”

He stood up and strode around the table to face her.  His breath, hot and fevered, fanned the flames of anger in her cheeks. 
Do not back down
, she ordered herself. 
He’s just a big bully.

“You will do as you’re told,” he growled.  His hands came up to her face, gripping it and pressing lightly against her cheekbones.  “I always get what I want, Ella.”

“There’s a first time for everything, you son of a—
”

His lips came down hard on hers.   She wasn’t prepared for the flood of longing that swept through her.  Her entire core turned to molten liquid, burning her from the inside out.  She opened her mouth to him without even knowing why
.  I
t was an instinct she couldn’t fight and simply had to obey.

His tongue twined with hers, searching to explore her hungrily.  One of his hands left her face and encircled her back, jerking her against him.  Pressed against the hard length of his body, her belly instantly ached for more.  She felt herself grow wet.  The soft tissues of her innermost core began to throb in time with the thrusts of his tongue. 

Her hands came up to encircle his neck.  She was afraid of what might happen if their lips were to unlock.  If he put his lips anywhere but hers, she didn’t trust the words that might come out of her mouth.  She imagined wrapping her legs around his waist as he swept all the dishes from the table.  She imagined him laying her on the table, slipping a hand under her skirt, and gently sliding down her delicate lacy underthings. 

The imagining only made the ache in her core worse.  Close to physical pain, she knew there was only one way to make it go away.  She needed him.  She wanted him.  At that moment, he was the only person in the world who could quench the flames that threatened to devour her.

She moaned deep in her throat.  A part of her knew this was wrong, that he had just betrayed her.  Now her body was the one betraying her, responding to his kiss and his touch in a way she couldn’t hide.  This wasn’t what she wanted…was it? 

The sensations building up inside her were so painful in their anticipation, so explosive in the pleasure they promised.  But if she gave in, if she guided his hand to her breast or the hem of her skirt, would she be betraying herself?

“Yes,” she breathed. 

“Yes?” Sébastien panted.  In his eyes, she recognized the same uncertain whirl of emotions:  desire, anger and lust. 

His hands had dislodged her hair pins.  She felt her chignon slide down the back of her neck.  His breath made the tiny, escaped tendrils flutter next to her face.  One of his hands began the long, treacherous slide from her face to her breast.

Suddenly, a quick pair of footsteps sounded in the hall behind them. 

Ella shrugged out of his grasp, with one hand over her mouth to hide the smeared lipstick.  She wiped her mouth and put her hands to her hair, re-twisting and pinning the chignon. 

Every nerve inside her ached to be pressed against Sébastien once more.  Beneath the suit, she’d felt granite-hard arms and abs, with thick bands of muscle extending up and down each of his thighs.  She imagined his body above hers, in those satin sheets.  She’d never experienced the sort of desire that came over her at the mere thought of his naked flesh touching hers. 

She cast one more look at him, at the raw need visible in his face.  Then she turned and ran, sprinting away from him—and from what she might do—as fast as she could.

The members of the press filed in at the direction of his publicist, Lisa Ehrenberg.  She flashed each of them an ultra-white smile and directed them to an area beneath Sébastien’s podium, roped off and surrounded by security officers. 

The press conference was being held on the Cherbourg mansion’s rooftop patio, an intimate setting that still managed to convey his power.  The reporters had been carefully escorted through a metal detector station in the front of the house, then guided through the house up to the roof by Lisa’s office staff. 

Up here, they were high enough to look north and get a view of the Golden Gate Bridge and the fog swirling gently at its feet.  On a raised platform above them, his private helicopter pad sat at the ready, a reminder to everyone of the Cherbourg family’s prestige and privilege.  Sébastien stood ready and waiting, poised to deliver a statement that would strike fear into the heart of whoever wanted to sabotage his exhibition.  He wanted the person to realize he or she had failed—and would fail again, if they were determined to keep trying.

As Lisa continued smiling and handing out press packets, Sébastien gripped the edges of his wooden podium tightly.  This was one of the most important moments of his career, but his mind wasn’t focused on his speech or on schmoozing with the press.  He could think about nothing but Ella and the way she’d felt in his arms
. . .
and the things he wanted to do to her. 

When he heard her breathy “yes,” he’d been about to sweep everything off the breakfast table and take her then and there.  The sweetness of her mouth and the lush curves of her body were more than he could resist, even if he knew her eyes seethed with loathing. 

She was furious with him for insisting she falsify her report—he’d expected that much.  He knew it would feel like a betrayal after their closeness of the night before.  She’d feel like he tricked her, and he did feel guilty for it.  But she’d tricked him first by coming into his home under false pretenses and failing, at every opportunity, to come clean and tell him what she was really searching for.  All she would have had to do is tell him the truth.  But she couldn’t do even that much, not even once the second kiss proved their mutual attraction.

At the very least, he’d learned that attraction wasn’t all in his head.  Ella definitely felt it, too.  He’d felt the quick pulsing of her heart in her chest and her sharp intake of breath when she pulled away.  Now he’d seen her petulant side, her adventurous side, her courageous side, her vulnerable side, and her sensual side.  The only thing he lacked was her truthful side
,
if there was one.  And he couldn’t force her to show that part of herself to him.  She had to offer it willingly. 

And if she didn’t? 

The voice in his head tormented him with the question he hadn’t wanted to ask.  He didn’t have a good answer for it yet, and now wasn’t the time to deal with it.  Now was the time to push aside the memory of her warm, willing body and focus on destroying the person or people out to sabotage him. 

Sébastien’s eyes scanned the crowd, searching for familiar faces.  Frau Müller and Dr. O’Malley stood off to the left, along with Ed Novochek and two members of his security team.  Lisa and her staff stood beside them. 

At the rear of the seated throng, he spotted his mother, Annaliese, and two of his father’s five younger brothers: Jacques and Chrétien.  His father’s only sister, Marie-Amélie, sat beside his mother. 

He’d wondered if his mother would make it back from Dallas after all.  She hadn’t bothered calling him in advance and he’d begun to think she took Neiman Marcus’s flagship store more seriously than her own son.  Although she maintained rooms at the Cherbourg mansion, she lived in a suite at the Mark Hopkins.  She’d moved out of the mansion when Sébastien first became engaged, claiming she didn’t want to “intrude” on the young couple and their privacy.  But he knew she’d been dying to get away from him, if only because he lectured her on spending too much money and doing too little to back up her position as matriarch of the family.

Sébastien had learned at a young age that his mother cared for cocktails, Chanel
,
and not much else.  Although his aunt and uncles cared far more about the family’s empire, they all had their own ideas about how things should be done—usually the opposite of his.  He could tell by the greedy sparkle in his uncles’ eyes that they were anticipating his failure, scheming for the day when he became too weak to be a real leader.

But theirs weren’t the faces he was most anxious to see.  He kept his eyes moving over the crowd until he found her.  Behind them all, standing at the edge of the patio and virtually hidden behind a potted palm, stood Ella.

She’d composed herself since running away from him in the conservatory.  Her eyes were clear and bright, and she stood primly, with her arms folded behind her back.  He couldn’t tell what she was feeling.  She seemed to be keeping her face purposefully blank.  Once again, he felt guilt claw at him for the way he was treating her. 

Don’t think about that now
, he told himself. 
The best time for regrets is always later.

Although it would have been a welcome gesture, he hadn’t invited any museum staff to the press conference.  He’d been too worried that Ella might corner one of them and tell them about his methods. 

If she claimed he was blackmailing her to complete her appraisal, the museum just might believe her—and he didn’t want to have to make an impromptu donation to persuade them to see it his way.  He was spending enough on this exhibition as it was, subsidizing most of the cost so the admission price for the public would be free.  

To his left, he heard Lisa clear her throat.  That was his signal to turn on the charm and get the party started.  He looked away from Ella, determined not to let her stubbornness ruin his concentration.  He cleared his throat, flashed the field of journalists his brightest smile, and began the speech Lisa had faxed over to him that morning.

“Good morning!” he began.  “And thank you all for coming.  I’ve called you all here to give you a few more details about the upcoming exhibition at the California Pacific Museum featuring my family’s amazing collection of jewelry.  Begun by my great-great-great-great grandparents, Louis and Marie-Louise Cherbourg, this collection represents seven generations of acquisitions from all over the world. 

“As you may know, Louis Cherbourg made most of his fortune in the gold and silver rushes of the late 1800s, both here and in Nevada.  Our collection includes gold rings and chains hammered out of the very metal he pulled from the earth in the Sierra foothills. 

“In the 1920s, his grandson Louis-Charles acquired many pieces from members of the former Russian Imperial family and their court.  But the bulk of the collection was acquired by my grandfather, Sébastien Cherbourg II.  Although we like to think of it as a modern concept, my grandfather was one of the first to embrace the idea of shopping local.”

Sébastien stopped and waited for the titters to die down.  Lisa always made sure to throw a few jokes or political references into his speeches.  It made him seem connected and likeable, she said
,
and the Cherbourgs needed all the likeability they could get.  He took a deep breath and went on. 

“My grandfather did his homework, researching the best jewelers in the city.  Although he bought a few pieces from the children of Russian and Romanian émigrés, he preferred to patronize local designers.  He was always on the lookout for a top-rated new talent whose settings and stones could be used to win back my grandmother’s favor after an argument. 

“Although my grandfather could be ruthless at times when it came to getting what he wanted, his determination—and his inability to remember my grandmother’s birthday—led to the creation of a superb collection of jewelry that belongs not just to me, but to the entire city.” 

He could see the heads of the audience members nod, appreciating his apparent humility.  If they knew he didn’t believe any of it, they gave no indication. 

Sébastien glanced at his mother, who appeared more interested in the stitching on her white gloves than in her son’s entire presentation.  His two uncles were sitting back, arms crossed over their chests, staring him down and daring him to make a mistake. 
Not today
, he thought.

At the back of the patio, he could see Ella’s lips press together tightly.  She appeared to be choking back an exclamation, as if she’d just realized something.  He made a mental note to ask her what she was thinking about
.  T
hat is, if she didn’t blurt it out immediately.

“As a result,” he continued smoothly, “tomorrow night I will personally unveil these beautiful pieces of my heritage in a new exhibition called The Cherbourg Jewels: Treasures of History.  The exhibition will run for five months, with rotating displays containing 20 percent of the collection at any given moment.  The displays will change monthly, giving you all a damn good reason to come back for more.”

Another round of laughter broke the silence.  

“And although the exhibit will be free to the public, I ask that you consider making a small donation each time you visit the museum.  All proceeds raised will stay at the museum to do two things—help preserve their existing collection and arrange for more mobile displays to bring the museum’s collection of fossils, gems and other artifacts to local elementary and middle schools.”