The Marriage Bargain (20 page)

“Sure you can.”

“I doubt I’d ever be able to pay it back.” She shook her head. “I can’t take it.”

“It’s not a loan. It’s a gift. From one friend to another.”

Tasha shook her head again, her mouth tightening. She closed her eyes. “No. I don’t want to get you into trouble with Julian.” She paused, and slowly raised her gaze to meet Camille’s. “What’ll he say when he finds out you’re giving away money?”

“Julian gave me the money to do with as I please.” Camille shrugged. “I choose to give it to you.”

Tasha moaned and tapped her foot. “You let me know if he makes a fuss and I’ll send it right back,” she said, with a bit of reluctance. “Whatever I’ve spent, I’ll find a way to pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Camille said, taking her arm and leading her to the door. “He said I could spend it any way I wanted.”

“I’m so afraid I’m never going to see you again.” Tasha’s words were drenched in angst.

“Oh, you’ll see me again,” Camille blurted out without thinking. “I’ll make sure of it,” she added, trying to cover her blunder with a well-meant declaration.

“Well, I guess so,” she said, almost bitterly, following Camille into the hallway. “Your husband does have a fleet of private jets and he can take you anywhere you want to go.” Immediately, regret cast a shadow over Tasha’s face.

But Camille knew Tasha was feeling abandoned. She was losing her best friend to a husband half a world away. And Camille knew a thing or two about abandonment. There was no way to spin it to make the one left behind feel better.

“You know,” Camille said as they descended the stairs, “You can always ‘act’ in France.” She put it out there to see if Tasha would bite.

She didn’t. “Are you kidding?” she shrieked. “Like they want to see some American on their TV screen.”

“Jerry Lewis.”

“Huh?”

“Jerry Lewis,” Camille repeated. “He’s an American. And the French love him.”

“Everybody loves Jerry Lewis.” Tasha snorted and then her face sobered. “I’m no Jerry Lewis.”

She had a point.

They stopped at the entryway, and Julian came in through a door on the far side. His first move was to kiss Camille’s cheek. “Good morning, darling.”

“Ooh, darling...” Tasha’s voice bordered on dreamy. “The honeymoon must’ve gone really well.”

Camille smacked her.

Andre entered from a different doorway. Looking at Tasha with suitcases by her side, his smile faded. “Chéri...are you going somewhere?”

She sighed and got this poignant look on her face. “Andre, you have been a dear, really. But it’s time for me to go home.”

“Chéri,” Andre slammed his hand against his chest. “You break my heart.”

Julian took one look at Andre and another at Tasha. When his attention landed back on Andre, Julian’s face turned into a scowl. “Soren!” Julian bellowed his valet’s name.

Soren appeared from out of nowhere. “Yes, sir.”

“You will accompany Miss Gordon back to Los Angeles.”

“Me, sir?” Soren failed to hide the shock.

“I’ll accompany her,” Andre said.

“No.” Julian stared at his brother. “You have other business that needs your attention.” If looks could kill, Julian’s came with a loaded nine millimeter.

Andre paused, slipped Tasha’s hand in his and brushed his lips against it. “Chéri, I await your next visit.” He bowed. “Do not make me wait long.”

He gave her one of those looks that moved even Camille. It reminded her of Julian. Two heartthrobs in one family. The girls in France weren’t safe. Neither was Camille. Tasha was the fortunate one; she was leaving.

J
ulian leaned in and kissed Tasha’s cheek, then moved immediately back to Camille’s side. “Tasha, your visit was a pleasure.” He smiled and rested his hand on the small of Camille’s back. “I do hope you’ll come back soon. Anytime you’d like to get away, just let Camille know and we’ll send a plane for you directly.”

He turned to Camille, wanting very much to run back upstairs with her. But Papa had said it was important. And it probably was, according to Papa. He could wait. At least a couple of minutes.

Julian grabbed Andre by the arm and dragged him into the west hallway. He closed the door and leaned against it, arm outstretched. “Are you insane?”

Andre remained silent. He slipped his hands inside his trousers pockets and waited.

Julian hated it when he did that. But it wouldn’t stop him from admonishing his little brother. “Didn’t I tell you specifically, do not sleep with Camille’s friend?”

“In all fairness...I did not
sleep
with her.” Andre defended his case.

“I’m in no mood for your play on words.” Julian paused, drawing his hands into fists at his sides. “If you leave that girl brokenhearted, then my wife will become upset. If she’s upset—”

Andre laughed. “I know, you don’t...” Andre’s words trailed off, as if recalling the last time he’d said something rude and risqué about Camille.

“Check yourself, baby brother,” Julian warned.

“You’ve got it all wrong,” Andre said, almost sulking.

“How’s that?”

“I asked her not to leave.”

“What?” Rippling waves of shock slapped at Julian.

He didn’t know which was worse. Andre being a cad. Or Andre falling for Tasha. That’s the worst thing that could happen. How could Julian walk away guilt-free at the end of six months if Camille’s friend became his sister-in-law?

“I want you to stay away from that girl.” Julian’s finger popped up in Andre’s face, accompanying his order. “Do you understand?”

Andre walked to the door and paused, looking over his shoulder. “Why do you get to have all the fun?”

“Apparently, I’m not the only one.” Julian’s thoughts lingered on Andre until he disappeared around a corner.

There was no putting it off any longer. Papa was waiting. Julian headed in the direction of his father’s study. He whistled a jovial tune as he trekked through the halls and stopped at Papa’s door. Summoning his courage, he knocked.

“Come.” Papa’s voice traveled through the walls.

Julian opened the door. Papa’s bottle was already out of the drawer. An audacious move that desiccated Julian’s confidence. If he was bold enough to flaunt the liquor, in the off-chance Claudette walked in, whatever had Papa so troubled, it must be bad.

“Papa...” Julian took to his pockets to keep from openly fiddling with his hands. His knees weakened as he progressed across the room, which seemed much too small today.

Papa gestured toward the empty chairs in front of the desk.

Julian hesitated and sank into one.

“How was the cruise?” Papa’s tone was much too gentle and accommodating.

What’s this
?
A trap
? Julian hesitated. In the whole of Julian’s life, Papa had never made small talk with anyone, not that he’d ever heard. His attempt reminded Julian of a spider stalking a fly that was on the verge of landing in his web.

That was a snare Julian wasn’t about to fall into. “Fine.”

Papa filled a shot glass and pushed it gently across the desk. Julian reached for it, feeling like a fly that was coming dangerously close to the spider’s web. He pulled the drink toward him and left it sitting on the edge of the desk.

Take that. Two could play this game. Julian had after all learned from the best.

Papa saluted and drained his glass. Julian didn’t have the guts to say,
should you be drinking that, and so early in the day
? But it was on his mind. His father’s health worried him daily.

Papa opened the center drawer, pulled out a manila envelope and tossed it across the desk.

“What’s that?” Julian asked, avoiding it. He wasn’t playing.

“It’s a dossier on your wife.”

Julian tried to keep a stoic face. “Why?” His discomfort snuck out as awkward fidgeting.

Maurice’s right jaw twitched. “See for yourself,” he said, waving his hand over his desk.

“Why don’t you just save me the trouble and tell me what you think you’ve uncovered?” Surely there couldn’t be this much commotion over finding out Camille had acting aspirations.

Papa studied him for a moment with that cold, calculating glare of his, and pulled a box of cigars out of his desk.

Not the cigars. He brought out his trademark technique of smoke screening a weak accusation. On the surface, that looked like a good thing. But Papa could be brutal when he didn’t get his way—and Julian wasn’t about to let that happen.

The sweet scent of cognac followed the smoke as it floated about the room. Julian loved that smell, it reminded him of his childhood. But Papa rarely smoked the aromatic cigars anymore. Not because he couldn’t afford them, but because Claudette’s nose was stronger than a Bloodhound’s.

She must be in town. Or perhaps Paris. Nothing else ever induced Papa to act so carelessly.

He puffed on his cigar a couple of times. “You’ve brought a wolf into the lion’s den.”

What
? That made no sense. Julian searched his brain, coming up with nothing. Papa was losing his mind. “Perhaps you’d better spell it out for me.” Julian met Papa’s accusing eye without flinching. “I have no idea what wolf I’ve let into what lion’s den.”

Did this have something to do with a business deal? He’d wrapped up the merger—ala-takeover—of Dine Shipping nearly a month ago. Which is why he’d felt comfortable going to America to find Camille and then taking another ten days for the honeymoon. There was nothing pressing on his calendar.

“The lion’s den would be this family.” Papa’s icy stare surrounded him with a chill.

This family?
What
...? Papa had nothing. It had to be so. Julian was always careful about what he subjected the family to. He may have let Madeleine down a little hard, but he’d never once put the family in harm’s way.

“And the wolf is your wife.” Papa looked like a cat with feathers in its mouth.

Julian’s laughter echoed across the room. That was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “That’s a stretch, Papa.”

“Please tell me you had her sign a confidentiality agreement?” It wasn’t a question so much as an opinion.

Confidentiality agreement? The thought hadn’t crossed Julian’s mind. Surely the attorneys had her sign one as part of the pre-nup.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Papa’s voice faded and he glanced down at his lap. It was only a second or two, but it felt like forever to Julian.

No. He didn’t say no. He didn’t say anything. But, as usual, Papa had a way of reading Julian as if he were an open book. Julian rallied his desire to believe in Camille. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about?” Papa snorted. “The girl works for a Los Angeles gossip rag called
Disclosure Magazine
.” He paused, his face turning red. “I think we have plenty to worry about.”

“There has to be some mistake.” His voice weakened, right along with his confidence. Insistence and denial reeled through Julian’s mind.
She’s an actress
.
Not a reporter
.

“There’s no mistake.” Papa’s accusing finger pointed to the envelope that Julian still hadn’t touched.

But he had news for Papa—he refused to look at the information. Julian didn’t believe it. Camille wasn’t here under false pretenses. Whatever the truth was, he wanted to hear it from Camille herself. Not some suspect report given to him by his father.

“Find a way to handle this discreetly.” Papa’s voice cut through the silence.

“I’ll handle it.” Julian rose and paused in front of his father’s desk. “It’s not what you think.”

“Just see to it that she doesn’t do what I think she’s come here to do.” Papa’s voice followed him to the door.

Julian hesitated, pushing aside the thoughts invading his head. The woman he’d poured his heart out to in the garden. The woman who’d rocked his world just last night. The woman who’d promised to be his salvation. She couldn’t be here after a story.

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

CAMILLE STEPPED OUT
of the marble-laid shower with its gold-plated fixtures and grabbed a hand-woven towel, the softest she’d ever seen.

She draped an equally plush bathrobe around her and tied the belt before tousling her wet hair. One last quick glance into the mirror, and she pushed herself toward the gigantic suite she and Julian had moved into after returning from the honeymoon cruise last night. The suite was like its own little apartment inside this huge old house. Camille saw no reason to leave the sanctity of its walls. Anything not to run into Madeleine or Maurice.

The glittering diamond necklace Julian had given her caught her eye. Before getting into the shower, she’d placed it on the table by the window overlooking the rose garden. She touched the pendant, aroused by its romantic inference.

Flashes of their naked bodies tangled together flittered through her mind. The thoughts made her smile. Camille had no disillusions where Julian was concerned. She knew this was temporary—well it had started out that way—but she had six months to change his mind—and hers. Julian was starting to grow on her, and she dared to entertain the notion that he could be her Prince Charming.

Camille dropped into the nearby chair and glanced out the window. The roses looked like someone had come along and splattered a green canvas with every color imaginable. The suite’s décor with its yellows, golds, and reds had a pleasing and calming effect. She could get used to living in Julian’s world—and in his arms.

A glass of champagne waited on the table beside her necklace. Someone, probably Monique, had placed it there while Camille was in the shower.

Man, these people are really into drinking
. Bubbles floated up the amber liquid in relegated lines.
Just a sip
. Besides, she needed the extra edge to get her through the ups and downs of what was to come. She’d have to be careful not to become too dependent upon the crutch.