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Her Deal with the Devil
Nicola Marsh
Better the devil she knows…? Patrick Fourde was once famed for the trail of broken hearts and rumpled bedsheets he left behind him. Now the fashion house CEO is determined to make his name known for the right reasons. First challenge?Getting Sapphire Seaborn, Melbourne’s Queen of Jewellery, onside. Sapphie has sacrificed everything for her jewellery business and very nearly lost it all. She hates that to rescue it she needs to work alongside her nemesis – Patrick!It was supposed to be business only, but Sapphie quickly realises that when you make a deal with a devil this scorching someone’s going to get burnt…‘Sizzling throughout with an ending to melt your heart!’ – Marg, 31, Mother



‘You know we’d be working on this project twenty-four-seven, right?’
‘Of course,’ Sapphire said, and the vein in her temple pulsed.
It had been her ‘give’ when she’d been younger—a tell-tale sign that she was rattled— and Patrick didn’t know whether to be flattered or annoyed that spending time with him disconcerted her.
‘And that doesn’t bother you?’
She stood, cool and confident and lithe. ‘This is business. Why should it?’
That vein beat to a rap rhythm. Yeah, she was rattled. Big-time.
‘Okay then, let’s do it.’
‘Fantastic. You won’t regret this.’ Her lush mouth eased into a wide grin. ‘We’re going to be great together.’
‘Absolutely.’
And he kissed her to prove it.
Dear Reader
What does romance mean to you?
For me, it’s a glance, a smile, a touch, a kiss.
Kisses are special. They convey so much—tenderness and passion, fun and flirting. They’re sensual and sexy, sweet and sublime!
Patrick and Sapphire certainly discover all that and more when they join forces for Melbourne Fashion Week. Can the fashion house CEO and the jeweller collaborate in and out of the bedroom?
I love revisiting characters, and was so pleased when Sapphie (who first appeared in MARRYING THE ENEMY, her sister Ruby’s story) demanded her very own romantic tale, complete with plenty of kisses…
Happy reading!
Nicola
www.nicolamarsh.com

About the Author
NICOLA MARSH has always had a passion for writing and reading. As a youngster she devoured books when she should have been sleeping, and later kept a diary whose contents could be an epic in itself!
These days, when she’s not enjoying life with her husband and sons in her home city of Melbourne, she’s at her computer, creating the romances she loves in her dream job.
Visit Nicola’s website at www.nicolamarsh.com for the latest news of her books.
Recent titles by the same author:
MARRYING THE ENEMY
WHO WANTS TO MARRY A MILLIONAIRE?
GIRL IN A VINTAGE DRESS
DESERTED ISLAND, DREAMY EX!
Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Her Deal
with the Devil
Nicola Marsh



www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For my nan, who I miss more than words can say.
Your support for my writing meant so much.
You’ll live in my heart for ever.

CHAPTER ONE
SAPPHIRE INTERLOCKED HER fingers and stretched overhead, savouring the slight twinge between her shoulder blades. The twinge was good. It meant her muscles were functioning, which was more than she’d been able to say a few months ago.
But she wouldn’t go there. Not today.
Today was all about relaxation and easing back into work. Minimal stress. Positive thoughts. Focus.
She tilted her face to the Melbourne summer sun, enjoying the rays’ warm caress.
She should have done this more often. Then maybe she wouldn’t have ended up at the brink of collapse and almost losing her cherished family business.
If it hadn’t been for her younger sister Ruby…Her shoulder muscles spasmed and she lowered her arms, shook them out, using the relaxation techniques she’d learned during her enforced three month R&R at Tenang, the retreat that had nursed her weary body back to health.
She couldn’t afford to get uptight. Not with so much at stake. Not when she had so much to prove in facing her nemesis tomorrow.
With hands on hips she twisted from the waist, deliberately loosening her spine. Some of the tension eased and she closed her eyes, breathed deep. In. Out.
Calm thoughts. Zen. Centred. Relaxed.
‘Never thought I’d see the day when the great Sapphire Seaborn connected with her inner yoga chick.’
That voice. No way.
Her eyes snapped open and her Zen evaporated just like that.
Patrick Fourde. Here. In the tiny backyard behind the Sea-born showroom. Seeing her in daggy pink yoga pants, purple crop top and hair snagged in the morning mail’s elastic band; not in the fabulous designer outfit she’d planned to wow him with tomorrow.
Freaking hell.
She could feel the blood rush to her face. A virtual red flag to her mortification. Considering their past, she’d be damned if she let him know how truly flustered she was.
The guy had made her last year of high school a living hell and she’d rather grind coal to diamonds with her teeth than work with him now. But she had no choice. She had to reaffirm her leadership of the company. Had to prove she could handle the job physically. Had to ensure she never came that close to losing it again.
She strolled towards him, stopping about a foot away. Close enough to see tiny flecks of cobalt in a sea of grey. His eyes reminded her of a mood stone: bright and electric when he was revved, cool and murky when he had his game face on. Like now.
Lucky for him she’d wised up since high school and could outplay him. Never again would the cocky rebel get the jump on her.
‘Was there a problem with our meeting time?’
He grinned—the same wicked quirk of his lips that had driven her batty during Year 12 Biology—and leaned against the doorjamb.
‘No problem. I happened to be in the area. Thought I’d drop by for old times’ sake.’
This wasn’t how she’d envisaged their first meeting after ten years. Not at all.
She didn’t like being on the back foot. Not around him. Not when she needed to convince him Fourde Fashion couldn’t live without Seaborns’ fabulous gems for the upcoming Mel-bourne Fashion Week.
‘Or maybe I couldn’t wait ’til tomorrow to see you?’
There it was: the legendary charm. What had it taken? All of five seconds for him to revert to type?
Pity her opinion of the silver-spooned, recalcitrant playboy hadn’t changed over the years.
Indulged. Spoiled. Never worked a day in his life. Everything she’d despised in the rich guys she’d grown up with at the private school she’d attended. The type of guys who thought they could snap their fingers and have a harem falling at their feet.
Not her. She’d save her seven veils for strangling him if he didn’t agree to her business proposition.
‘Still trying to get by on lame flirting?’
‘Still the uptight, stuck-up prude?’
Ouch. That hurt. Especially as she wasn’t the same per-son—not any more. Working her butt off to learn the family business, losing her mum and having a bruising brush with chronic fatigue syndrome had seen to that.
Besides, she’d never been stuck up or a prude. Uptight? Maybe. But he’d always brought out the worst in her. Riling her with his practised charm, swanning through high school with an entourage of popular kids, teasing her whenever he got a chance.
For some unfathomable reason he’d taken great delight in annoying the hell out of her during their study sessions, succeeding to the point where she’d been flustered and irritable.
The more she’d ignored him, or feigned indifference, the more he’d pushed, niggling until she snapped. Sadly, her cutting remarks would only spur him on, so she’d learned to curb her annoyance and focus on their assignments in the hope he’d get the message.
He hadn’t.
She’d become an expert in patience, honing a cool tolerance in an effort to fight back her way.
Until the day she’d had no comeback.
The day he’d kissed her.
‘Why are you really here, Patrick?’
‘Honestly?’
She rolled her eyes. Did he even know the meaning of the word, with his glib lines and smooth charisma?
‘I heard the rumours and wanted to see for myself.’
Uh-oh, this was worse than she’d thought.
She could handle him seeing her without make-up and in workout clothes. She couldn’t handle him knowing about Seaborns’ reputed financial woes. It would undermine everything and scuttle her entire plan before she’d had a chance to present it.
‘You of all people should know better than to listen to a bunch of rumours.’
She attempted to brush past him but he snagged her arm. The zap of something was beyond annoying.
Ten years and he still had that effect on her? Grow up.
‘The reports of my life in the media are highly exaggerated. How about you?’
She could try and outbluff him but, considering she had to meet him at his office tomorrow for the pitch of her life, it wouldn’t be the smartest move.
‘What have you heard?’
‘That Seaborns has been doing it tough.’
‘No tougher than most during an economic decline.’
A blatant lie. Not that she’d let him know. If her sister hadn’t married mining magnate Jax Maroney the jewellery business that had been in their family for generations would have gone under.
And it would have been entirely Sapphie’s fault. She’d been too busy playing superwoman, trying to juggle everything on her own, to let anyone close enough to help. Her stubborn independence had almost cost her the company and her health.
The bone-deep fatigue and aching muscles had scared her, but not as much as the thought that she’d almost failed in making good on her promise to her mum.
No way would she take the business so close to the edge again. She’d do whatever it took—including play nice with this guy.
‘Really? Because the grapevine was abuzz with news of Ruby shacking up with Maroney to save Seaborns.’
Bunch of old busybodies—socialites who had nothing better to do than spend their lives sipping lattes, having mani/ pedi combos at the latest exclusive day spa and maligning people.
She’d spent a lifetime cultivating friendships in the moneyed circles she’d grown up in, had made an effort out of respect for her mum with Seaborns’ bottom line firmly in sight. Rich folk liked to be pandered to, and with the ‘old school’ mentality at work they stuck to their own. Which equated to them spending a small fortune on Seaborns jewellery.
But it was at times like this, when gossip spread faster than news of a designer sale, that she hated their group mentality.
‘You heard wrong.’
She hated having to justify anything to him, but she knew how hard Ruby had fought for Seaborns and she’d do anything for her amazing sister and their company.
The fact that Patrick was partially right—Ruby had initially married Jax for convenience to save Seaborns—rankled. If they hadn’t fallen head over heels Sapphie would have personally throttled her self-sacrificing sister for going to such lengths for their business.
‘Ruby and Jax are madly in love. They can’t keep their hands off each other.’
‘Lucky them.’
His gaze dipped to her lips and she could have sworn they tingled in remembrance of how commanding his kiss had been for an eighteen-year-old…how he’d made her weak-kneed and dizzy with one touch of his tongue…how he’d made her lose control.
Her lips compressed at the memory. Damn hormones. Just because it had been over a year since she’d been with a guy it didn’t mean she had to go all crazy remembering stuff from the past.
Or noticing the way his dark brown hair curled around his collar, too long for conventionality. Or the way stubble highlighted his strong jaw. Or how he never wore his top button done up, making the tanned V of skin a temptation to be touched.
Yep, damned hormones.
‘You’re flustered.’ He took a step closer and it took all her willpower not to step back. ‘Anything I can do to help?’
Oh, yeah. But she wasn’t going there, and especially not with him.
Once she sealed this deal she needed a date. A hot guy with nothing on his mind but drizzled chocolate and a sleepless night.
As if she’d ever find a guy to live up to her fantasies. The guys she dated were staid, executive types on tight timelines who demanded little. Guys like her.
‘Yeah, there is something you can do.’ She met his gaze, determinedly ignoring the quiver in her belly that signalled Patrick Fourde would be the kind of guy to make all a girl’s fantasies come true. ‘Be prepared to be wowed by the best designs Seaborns has ever produced.’
He inclined his head, the sunlight picking up spun gold streaks. ‘I’ll keep an open mind.’
‘That’s all I’m asking for.’
‘Pity.’
How one word could hold so much promise, so much sizzle, she’d never know. The guy had suave down to an art. He’d had that elusive something as a teen and it had evolved into a raw, potent sex appeal that disconcerted her.
Not that she couldn’t handle him…it…whatever.
‘Did that practised schmooze work for you in Europe?’
Those cobalt flecks flared and an answering lick of heat made her squirm. He didn’t speak, and his silence unnerved her as much as the banked heat in his steady stare.
‘Because personally it doesn’t do much for me.’
‘What does?’
‘Pardon?’
‘What does do it for you?’ He leaned in deliciously, temptingly close and she held her breath. ‘Because I’d really like to know.’
His breath fanned her ear, setting up a ripple effect as every nerve ending from her head to her toes zinged.
She could feel the heat radiating off him, could smell a delectable combination of crisp designer wool and French aftershave with a spicy undertone.
Heady. Tempting. Overwhelming.
Powerless to resist, she tilted her head a fraction, the tip of her nose within grazing distance of his neck.
And she breathed. Infusing her senses with him. Closed her eyes. Imagined for one infinitesimal moment what it would be like to close the gap between them and nuzzle his neck.
She had no idea how long they hovered a hair’s breadth apart, the inch between their bodies vibrating with an undeniable energy.
‘Hey, Saph, you out the back?’
She jumped, snagged her sneaker on a rock and stumbled. His hands shot out to grab her, anchoring her.
She should have been grateful. Instead, with his burning gaze fixed on her, a host of unasked questions she had no hope of answering flickering in the grey depths, she felt embarrassment burn her cheeks.
Patrick Fourde was the master of seduction. Always had been. It came as naturally to him as waking up in the morning. So why the heck was she responding to him on a level that defied explanation?
She couldn’t be attracted to him.
Her business depended on it.
Besides, she didn’t like him. She’d never liked him. He’d been a major pain in the ass during high school and by the way he’d breezed in here, determined to rile her, it looked as if nothing had changed.
For there was nothing surer—his turning up here today, twenty-four hours before their scheduled meeting, was nothing better than a ploy to unnerve her.
She might need his business, but working alongside him wouldn’t be easy.
‘Thanks,’ she muttered, brushing off his hold in time to see Ruby propped in the doorway, a delighted grin matching the astute glint in her eyes.
‘I didn’t know you had company.’ Ruby winked at Patrick. ‘And such fine company at that.’
Debatable.
‘Looking good, Rubes.’ Patrick saluted her sister. ‘Marriage suits you.’
‘Thanks.’ Ruby’s assessing gaze swept over Patrick, and by her growing grin she approved of what she saw. ‘Could say the same about you and Europe.’
‘Paris is okay, but Melbourne can hold its own.’ For some inexplicable reason he glanced her way. ‘This city is filled with beauty.’
To her annoyance, Sapphie’s blush intensified as Ruby stifled a guffaw.
‘You’re full of it,’ Sapphie muttered under her breath. In response, he snatched her hand and lifted it to his lips before she could react.
‘Maybe so, but you missed me anyway.’
He kissed the back of her hand—a soft, butterfly brush of his lips that almost made her sigh. Almost.
‘In your dreams.’
‘Count on it,’ he whispered, squeezing her hand before releasing it. ‘See you tomorrow.’
Damn the man for doing it to her again. Deliberately taunting, trying to make her flustered—and succeeding. Her stupid hand still tingled where he’d kissed it. That whole in-her-face practised French charm…? Yet another of his tricks to tease her. What she couldn’t understand was why. Was he trying to get her off-guard before their meeting tomorrow? Trying to disarm her and make her stuff up?
Whatever the answer, she mulled over it while watching one very fine ass as he farewelled Ruby and disappeared into Seaborns on his way out.
Ideally, she would have returned to her relaxation stretches to banish the disturbing sensations Patrick had elicited.
How many times had she done her best to ignore him in Biology, when her recalcitrant lab partner doodled rather than rote-learn the nerves in the human body, would deliberately distract her with stupid jokes, poke fun at everything from her ruled margins to her neat handwriting.
It made what had happened on graduation night all the more annoying, because it had been him she’d let her guard down around, him who’d been there to offer comfort, him who’d made her tingle all over just like the stupid buzz still zapping the skin on the back of her hand.
To add to her discomfort she now had to face a rampantly curious Ruby, who waited until he’d left before bounding towards her.
‘Jeez. How seriously hot is Patrick now?’
Sapphie refrained from answering on the grounds that she might incriminate herself.
‘I mean he was always hot, with that whole bad boy thing he had going on at school, but now?’ Ruby fanned her face. ‘He’s a babe and he’s totally into you.’
Sapphie shook her head and stuffed her hand into her pocket. ‘You know better than that. The guy flirts all the time. It’s his thing.’
Ruby shifted her weight from side to side, bouncing on the balls of her feet. ‘Well, his thing is making you glow.’
‘Bull.’
Ruby grabbed her arm and dragged her to a window. ‘Go ahead. Look.’
Blowing out an exasperated breath, Sapphie glanced at the glass. Even through a film of dust and rain spots she could see pink cheeks and wide eyes. But it was the expression in those eyes, the glazed confusion of a thoroughly bamboozled woman, that sent her hopes of forgetting the past spiralling on a downward trajectory.
She might despise Patrick and all he stood for, but he appealed to her on some visceral level she had no hope of explaining.
It hadn’t made sense back then and it sure as hell didn’t make sense a decade later that the guy she could quite happily have strangled had something that made her want to explore beneath his flaky surface.
‘Been a while since I’ve seen you look like this. A long while.’ Ruby slung an arm across her shoulders and led her inside. ‘Suits you.’
‘I was doing a few yoga poses outside. That glow…? Must’ve caught too much sun.’
Ruby laughed and hugged her. ‘You’re cute when you’re in denial.’
‘Nothing to deny. Patrick and I will soon be colleagues, hopefully.’
If she hadn’t botched it. First impressions counted in her business and considering he was CEO of Fourde Fashion’s new Aussie branch, she’d hazard a guess they counted with him too.
Having him discover her in the tree pose, followed by the verbal sparring they’d always been unable to resist, didn’t bode well.
At least she hadn’t called him any nasty names—something she vaguely recalled doing just before their final exams, when he’d particularly annoyed her with his goofing off.
‘Just colleagues, huh?’ Ruby bustled into the tiny makeshift kitchen at the back of the showroom and flicked on the kettle. ‘Wonder if he’ll greet you with a kiss on the hand every day you work together?’
Sapphie’s heart splatted at the thought. ‘It’s a French thing. Means nothing.’
‘Hmm…’ Ruby popped peppermint teabags into two mugs and propped herself against the bench as she waited for the kettle to boil. ‘Wonder if that “thing” extends to French kissing?’
The nibble of a double-coated Tim Tam stuck in Sapphie’s throat and she choked, coughing and spluttering, while Ruby poured boiling water into the mugs and grinned.
After a few thumps on her chest, which cleared her throat but did little for her pounding heart and the thought of getting anywhere near Patrick’s lips again, Sapphie gratefully took the proffered tea.
‘Considering I need to wow him with the presentation tomorrow, you’re not helping.’
Ruby’s smile waned. ‘You’re not getting too wound up about this, are you? Because Seaborns is doing okay since the auction and there’s plenty of time for you to get back into the swing of things.’
Sapphie cradled her mug, savouring the warmth infusing her palms, and inhaled the fresh minty steam. A six-espressos-a-day gal, she’d never thought it possible she could become hooked on herbal alternatives. But her time out at Tenang had taught her many things—the importance of self-worth being one of the biggies.
She needed to do this, needed to secure Seaborns’ future once and for all. Not from any warped sense of obligation to protect her little sister from the hardships of the family business. Not because of the promise she made to her mum on her deathbed.
For her. For Sapphire Seaborn, who loved this jewellery company and all it stood for, who secretly wanted her kids to run proudly along these polished floorboards one day, who wanted to prove to herself she didn’t have to be a stress-head to be the best in this business and could physically handle the pressures of the only job she’d ever known—the job she valued above all else.
Her brush with chronic fatigue syndrome had left her weak and debilitated. She never wanted to feel that frail again. Ever.
Resuming her position as leader of Seaborns and doing a damn good job was more about proving to herself that she was past her vulnerabilities than anything else.
She had to test her physical capabilities, had to prove she could handle whatever the future held.
‘You and Jax pulled off a coup with the auction. Proceeds are still coming in.’
Ruby shrugged, her bashful smirk not fooling Sapphie for a second. Her creative genius sister loved accolades, and the fact that every one of her signature Seaborn pieces had been snapped up at a recent gala auction had ensured orders flooded in. And kept Seaborns viable.
Something she now intended to do. Her way.
‘We did okay.’ A coy smile curved Ruby’s lips. ‘For two people who couldn’t see what was right in front of their noses ’til it was almost too late.’
Even now Sapphie could hardly believe Ruby and Jax had fallen in love and made their marriage real in every way that counted. The two were worlds apart yet they connected on a deep emotional level she sometimes envied.
What would it be like to be so into another person you were willing to tie yourself to them to life?
The way she was practically married to Seaborns, she’d probably never know.
‘I’m so happy for you.’ Sapphie’s eyes misted over and she blamed it on the steam from her peppermint tea.
‘Thanks, sis.’ Ruby sipped at her tea before lowering it to pin her with a probing stare. ‘So what are you going to do?’
‘About?’
‘Patrick Fourde.’
Damn, even hearing the guy’s name made her belly knot with trepidation.
‘I’m going to make him an offer he can’t refuse.’
‘Not about work.’ Ruby rolled her eyes. ‘About what I saw out the back.’
Sapphie didn’t want to think about what had happened out the back. She didn’t want to give credence to a single thing the flirtatious charmer had said or done.
She surreptitiously rubbed the back of her hand where the imprint from his lips lingered to prove it.
He’d been goading her like in the bad old days, nothing more. The fact she’d let him get to her—not good.
She was older and wiser now. Time to prove she could work with him without letting his deliberate barbs affect her.
‘He could be good for you.’ Ruby wound the end of her ponytail around her fingertip in the same absentminded way she did while pondering her next creation. ‘Bit of fun. Nothing serious. Clear out the cobwebs, metaphorically speaking.’
Sapphie grabbed the nearest teatowel and chucked it at Ruby’s head. Her sister ducked, laughing.
‘You’re right about me needing to date again but I wouldn’t touch Patrick Fourde if he was the last guy on earth.’
Ruby smirked. ‘Six-month supply of Tim Tams says you can’t last a fortnight without getting up close and personal with the dishy Patrick.’
‘Too easy.’ Sapphie held out her hand to shake on the bet, looking forward to Ruby stocking her pantry with the irresistible rectangles of decadent chocolate. ‘You’re on.’
Patrick headed for the nearest café. He needed a caffeine shot. Fast. Maybe the jolt to his system would snap him out of his weird funk. A funk that had started around the time he’d laid eyes on Sapphire Seaborn again.
He shouldn’t have come, he knew that, but he’d been unable to stay away.
The cool blonde had always had that effect on him. There’d been something about her in high school that had made him want to ruffle her poised, pristine exterior.
Rather than hating the way she’d turned up her pert nose, as if she had better things to do than hang out with him to study, he’d made it his personal mission to see how far he could push before she’d crack.
She never had, and seeing her name on his meeting manifesto was the reason he’d shown up today.
Curiosity. Was she still the same uptight prig? Would he be able to work with her? Seaborns were the best in Melbourne, and that was what he needed for his venture. But being stuck alongside Miss Prissy for the duration of the Fashion Week campaign wasn’t his idea of fun.
Until he’d fired his first barb. She’d parried it and had unexpectedly catapulted him back in time. For some unknown, masochistic reason he’d wanted to annoy her all over again for the fun of it.
That kiss on the hand had done it too. He’d seen the initial flash of antagonism in her icy blue stare, the tiny frown between her perfectly plucked brows.
But he’d also glimpsed an uncharacteristic softening, a thawing of ice to fire, when he’d lingered over her hand, and that had shocked him. Almost as much as his physical reaction.
Hand-kissing a turn on? Who would’ve thought?
It reminded him of the other time they’d kissed, when he’d managed to delve beneath her frosty veneer and prove she wasn’t as immune as she’d like to think.
That was what he had to do if he were to work with her. Keep her off-guard. Maintain control. And show he wouldn’t tolerate her coolly disdainful treatment.
This time he had something she wanted and she must want it real bad. For Sapphire to approach him for business…Well, Seaborns must be in a worse place than the rumours he’d heard.
Seaborns. He glanced at the elegant art deco cream façade, at the gleaming honey floorboards beneath discreet downlights, at the shimmer and sparkle of exquisite gems behind glass.
And he remembered. Remembered the night he’d brought her home from the graduation dance because her lousy date had been too drunk to drive. Remembered standing in this very spot outside the showroom, reverting to his usual taunts to cheer her up, hating the way the first time he’d seen her vulnerable, seen beneath her outer shell, had made him feel sad rather than victorious.
He remembered the sounds of soft laughter from nearby restaurants, the distinct clang of a tram bell, the faintest wistful sigh a moment before he’d ignored his misgivings and kissed her.
It had been a crazy spur-of-the-moment thing to stop her lower lip wobbling. He’d liked teasing the Ice Princess. He would have hated seeing her cry.
So he’d had no option but to distract her.
He’d expected a kiss to do that and then some.
The part where she’d combusted and he’d lost control a little…Not supposed to happen.
Who would have thought beneath Sapphire’s glacial surface lay a bubbling hotbed of hormones?
He’d kissed a lot of women in his time, in the endless whirl of parties and fashion events throughout Europe, and dated some of the hottest women in the world, but that kiss with Sapphire Seaborn…
Something else.
Not that he deliberately remembered it, but every now and then, when a blue eyed-blonde gave him a haughty glare, he’d remember her and that brief moment when he’d glimpsed a tantalising sliver of more.
Back then she’d shoved him away and fled. Wanting to ease her mortification—and maybe rub her nose in it a little, because old habits died hard—he’d tried calling once, e-mailed and texted a couple of times.
Predictably, she’d raised her frosty walls and he’d backed off. It hadn’t bothered him. He’d left for Paris a week later.
Now he was back, ready to take the Melbourne fashion scene by its bejewelled lapels and give it a damn good shake-up on his way to achieving his ultimate goal. And if he ended up working with Sapphire he’d rattle her too.
As he took a seat at an outdoor table at the café next door and ordered a double-shot espresso he remembered her horrified expression when she’d first caught sight of him.
Shell-shocked didn’t come close to describing it.
Only fair, considering he’d felt the same. When he’d first seen her, arms stretched overhead, revealing a flat, tanned stomach that extended to her bikini line courtesy of ragged, low-riding yoga pants, he’d felt like he had that crazy time he’d leapt into the Seine on a dare: breathless, shivery, out of his depth.
He’d never seen her so casual or without make-up and it suited her—as did the layered pixie cut that framed her heart shaped face and made her blue eyes impossibly large.
Usually lithe and elegant, she’d appeared more vulnerable, more human than he’d even seen her, and it added to her appeal.
She’d been hugely confident as a kid. Cutting through a crowd or cutting him down to size. When Sapphire spoke people listened, and he’d been secretly impressed by her unswerving goal to help run the family business.
Not many teens knew what they wanted to do, let alone actually did it, but Sapphire had been driven and determined. And she hadn’t had time for a guy who plied his charm like a trade, getting what he wanted with a smile or his quick wit.
So he’d tried harder to rile her, needling and cajoling and charming, buoyed by her reluctant smiles and verbal flayings.
Sapphire Seaborn gave good putdowns.
If it hadn’t been for Biology during their final year of high school he would have thought she really didn’t like him. But being her lab partner, being forced to work with her, had shown him a different side to Sapphire—one that had almost made him like her.
Because beneath the tough exterior was a diligent, devoted girl who hated to let anyone down. Including him. Probably the only reason she’d put up with him during their assignments.
He admired her unswerving loyalty to her family, her dream to expand Seaborns. Especially when he’d had no aspirations to join Fourde Fashion and all it entailed.
Ironic how, ten years later, he was back in his home city, making Melbourne sit up and take notice of the newly opened Fourde Fashion his priority.
He had a lot to prove to a lot of people—mainly himself—and he’d take Fourde Fashion to the top if he had to wear shot silk and stilettos to do it.
The waitress deposited his espresso on the table and he thanked her—a second before he caught sight of Sapphire leaving Seaborns.
His gut tightened as she glanced his way, her gaze soft and unfocused, almost lost.
Her vulnerability hit him again. He’d never seen her anything less than über-confident and he wondered what—or who—had put the haunted look in her eyes.
She hadn’t caught sight of him so he stood and waved her over.
A slight frown creased her brows as she worried her bottom lip, obviously contemplating how to flee. He took the decision out of her hands by ordering a tall, skinny, extra hot cappuccino with a side of pistachio macaron, loud enough for her to hear.
Her eyes narrowed as she stalked towards him, the yoga pants clinging to her lean legs like a second skin, a pink hoodie hiding the delectable top half he’d already checked out.
Sapphire might be petite, but the way she held herself, the way she strode, made her appear taller. In heels, she was formidable.
He liked the grass-stained purple sneakers with diamante studs better.
‘Care to join me?’ He pulled out a wrought iron chair. ‘I ordered your favourites.’
‘So I heard.’ She frowned, indecisive, as she darted a glance inside. Probably contemplating how to cancel the order without offending. ‘Rather presumptuous.’
He pointed to his espresso. ‘I hate drinking alone.’
‘I’m busy—’
‘Please?’
He tried his best mega-smile—the one she’d never failed to roll her eyes at.
She didn’t disappoint, adding an exasperated huff as she slid onto the seat. ‘Tell me you’re not still using that smile to twist people around your little finger.’
He shrugged. ‘Fine. I won’t tell you.’
‘Does it still work?’
‘You tell me.’ He crooked a finger, beckoning her closer. ‘You’re here, aren’t you?’
‘That’s because I haven’t had my cappa fix this morning.’
‘And you can’t resist anything sweet and French.’
She snorted. ‘Surely you’re not referring to yourself?’
‘I’ve lived in Paris for ten years.’ He leaned towards her, close enough to smell the faint cinnamon peach fragrance of her shampoo—the same one that had clung to his tux jacket after their kiss. ‘And you used to find me irresistibly sweet.’
She pretended to gag and he laughed.
‘Let me guess. You’re trying to impress me by remembering my favourites after all these years?’
‘Not really.’ He pushed around the sugar sachets in the stainless steel container with his fingertip. ‘Hard for a guy to forget when you had the same boring order every time we studied for those stupid Biology spot tests.’
She ignored his ‘boring’ barb. Pity.
‘Remember the plant collection assignment?’ She winced. ‘Just thinking about poison ivy makes me itchy.’
‘Though it wasn’t all bad.’ He edged closer and lowered his voice. ‘As I recall, the human body component in last semester proved highly entertaining.’
Her withering glare radiated disapproval. The arrival of her coffee and macaron saved her from responding.
He let her off the hook. Plenty of time to stroll down memory lane if she wowed him with her presentation, as he expected, and they ended up working together.
It would be interesting, seeing if the old bait and switch that had underpinned their relationship in high school would apply now. If her responses to him so far were any indication, not much had changed. He relished the challenge of making her loosen up. She thrived on proving that anything he said annoyed the crap out of her.
She’d change her attitude if Fourde Fashion brought Sea-borns on board for this campaign. And if that happened he should change his attitude too.
He needed this business venture to thrive, and he needed to be on top of his game to do it. Invincible. And he knew Sapphire could help him do it.
There might not have been so much at stake in high school, bar a pass or fail grade, but he hadn’t forgotten her ability to command and conquer. If she brought half that chutzpah to her presentation tomorrow he had a feeling Fourde Fashion working with Seaborns for Fashion Week couldn’t fail.
And that, in turn, would launch his plans—the ones ensuring the entire fashion world, including his folks, would finally forgive the mistakes of his past and recognise there was more to him than his family name.
‘Fill me in on what you’ve been up to.’
An eyebrow inverted as she stared at him over the rim of her cappuccino glass. ‘In the last decade?’
‘Give me the abbreviated version.’
‘The usual. Taking over the business. Working my butt off to make it thrive.’ Shadows darkened her blue eyes to midnight before she glanced away.
Damn. How dumb could he be? He’d forgotten all about passing on his condolences. ‘Sorry about your mum.’
‘I am too.’ She cradled her coffee glass, determinedly staring into its contents.
‘You must miss her?’
‘Every day.’
With a suddenness that surprised him she placed her glass on the table and jabbed a finger in his direction. ‘Her drive and vivacity and tenaciousness were legendary. And that’s exactly what you’ll get a taste of in my presentation tomorrow.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’
He was surprised by her mood swings: pensive one moment, wary the next. The old Sapphire would never let anyone get under her guard—least of all him.
Which begged the question: what had happened to make her so…edgy?
‘No significant others?’
A faint pink stained her cheeks again, highlighting the incredible blueness of her eyes—the same shade as the precious stone she was named after.
‘Haven’t had time.’ She picked up her glass again, using it as a security measure. ‘Work keeps me busy.’
‘Will you fling that macaron at me if I quote you the old “all work and no play” angle?’
‘No, because I’ve heard it all before.’ Her fingers clutched the glass so tightly her knuckles stood out. ‘Besides, I play.’
Defensive and nervous. Yep, definitely not the woman he remembered.
‘How?’
She frowned. ‘How what?’
‘How do you play? What do you do for kicks?’
The fact that she screwed up her nose to think and took for ever to answer spoke volumes.
‘You’re a workaholic.’
She puffed up with indignation. ‘I do other stuff.’
‘Like?’
‘Yoga. Pilates. Meditation.’
He laughed, unable to mesh a vision of the long-striding, book-wielding girl going places with an image of Sapphire sitting still long enough to contemplate anything beyond Sea-borns’ profit margins.
‘What’s so funny?’
He shrugged and stirred his espresso. ‘You’re different than how I remember.’
Tension pinched the corners of her mouth. ‘I was a kid back then.’
‘No, you were a young woman on the verge of greatness. And I’m having a hard time reconciling my memory of you then with who you are now.’
He willed her to look at him, and when she did the fear in her gaze made him want to bundle her into his arms.
Closely followed by a mental what the hell? He’d learned the last time that Sapphire didn’t value his comfort and he’d be an idiot to be taken in by her vulnerability again. For all he knew she could be using it as a ploy to soften him up before the presentation tomorrow.
‘I’m still the same person in here,’ she murmured, pressing her hand to her chest. But the slight wobble of her bottom lip told him otherwise.
She wasn’t the same, not by a long shot, and it irked that deep down, in a metrosexual place he rarely acknowledged, he actually cared. Crazy when he didn’t really know her, had never known her beyond being someone to tease unmercifully for the simple fact she’d made it easy.
He could have probed and prodded and grilled her some more, but she seemed so defenceless, so broken, he didn’t have the heart to do it.
So he reverted to type.
‘Maybe it’s the casual exercise gear that threw me?’ He winked. ‘I much prefer you in a school uniform.’
‘You’re a sick man,’ she said, the glint of amusement in her eyes vindication that he’d done the right thing in not pushing her.
‘Well, then, maybe you should don a nurse’s uniform instead and—’
‘Unbelievable.’ She pursed lips in disapproval and his chest tightened inexplicably. ‘You haven’t changed a bit.’
‘You have.’ On impulse he touched the back of her hand and she eased it away, grabbing a teaspoon to scoop milk froth off the top of her cappuccino.
‘Ten years is a long time—what did you expect? To find me dissecting frogs and acing element quizzes?’
He couldn’t figure why she vacillated all over the place but there was something wrong here, some part of the bigger picture he wasn’t seeing, and if he were relying on her to help push Fourde Fashion into the stratosphere he needed to know what he was dealing with.
It was good business sense. It was an excuse for his concern and he was sticking to it.
‘Did you stop to consider my kiss may have ruined you for other men?’
Her eyes widened in shock at his deliberately outrageous taunt a second before she picked up several sugar sachets and flung them. He caught the lot in one hand.
He’d wanted a reaction and he’d got it. It was a start.
‘Newsflash: that kiss meant nothing. You caught me at a bad time and it ended up being two hormonal teens making out in a moment of madness.’ She crossed her arms and glared, outraged and defiant. ‘And I think it’s poor form, you bringing it up a decade later when we’re potentially on the verge of working together.’
‘Another thing that’s changed. You used to be brutally honest. Saying that kiss meant nothing?’ He tsk-tsked. ‘Never thought I’d see the day when you told a fib.’
He baited her again, wondering how far she’d go before he got a glimpse at the truth. He moved the sugar out of her reach just in case.
‘I’m not playing this game with you.’ She slammed her palms on the table and leaned forward, blue eyes flashing fire. ‘No reminiscing or teasing. No pretending to be buddies. And definitely no talk of kissing.’
She waved a hand between them.
‘You and me? Potential work colleagues. Our aim? To make our businesses a lot of money. So quit pretending to be my best buddy, because I don’t need a friend—I need a guarantee.’
Ouch. This brutal honesty he remembered.
‘Of what?’
‘That you’ll give me a fair hearing tomorrow and you’ll judge my presentation on merit and not on our past rel—friendship.’
‘You can say it, you know.’ He cupped his hands around his mouth to amplify his exaggerated whisper. ‘Rel-a-tion-ship.’
When she swore, he almost fist-pumped the air. This was more like it. Sapphire riled and feisty. He could handle her this way, firing quips and barbs to get a rise. The withdrawn, almost melancholic woman she’d been a few minutes ago confused the hell out of him.
‘This is important to me,’ she said, her tone low and ominous. ‘You may have it easy, being given a subsidiary of your folks’ company to play with while you’re in Melbourne for however long you care to stick around. Me? Seaborns is everything, and I’ll do whatever it takes, including aligning our jewellery with your fashion, to ensure my company is never threatened again.’
Not much made Patrick quick to anger—bar anyone casting aspersions on how hard he worked.
He’d had a gutful of people doubting him. Doubting his capabilities, doubting his creativity, doubting his business brain.
It was why he’d leapt at the chance to head up this new branch. It was why his main goal was to show the world what he was made of. He intended to prove all the doubters wrong—including his parents.
Patrick Fourde had left the mistakes of his past behind and he had what it took to be a success beyond the family name and all it stood for.
‘Are you done?’
Something in his tone must have alerted her to his inner frustration, for she slumped back into her chair and held up her hands in surrender.
‘Sorry.’
‘No, you’re not. You believe all that crap.’
Just as his folks believed Jacques had single-handedly come up with the concept for the spring collection that had set the couture gowns sales in Paris soaring.
It had been the first time in ten years they’d given him another chance to work on a primary showing, collaborating on the spring collection alongside Jacques. Maybe they expected him to be eternally grateful, maybe they expected him to stuff up again, but never had they considered for one second he’d been the creative genius behind it.
He’d waited for their acknowledgment that he’d made amends for his monumental stuff-up when he’d first started with the company, waited for an encouraging word.
All he’d got was begrudging thanks for being part of a successful team.
Pride had kept him from confessing his true role and he’d realised something. Until he proved he’d put the past behind him on his own no one would believe him.
Least of all himself.
And it was at that moment he’d made his decision.
Making a success of the Australian branch of Fourde Fashion wasn’t debatable. It was imperative.
He needed to do this.
For him.
He’d accept nothing less than being the highest-grossing branch in the company—and that included topping their long-established French connection. Closely followed by putting his secret plan into action.
And he was looking at the one woman who could help make that happen.
‘You think I’m some lazy, indulged, rich playboy who gets by on his charm and little else.’
She couldn’t look him in the eye—vindication that he was spot-on in her assessment of him.
‘You never did give me any credit.’
Her mouth opened and closed, as if she’d wanted to respond and thought better of it. But her eyes didn’t lie, and their shameful regret made him want to thump something at the injustice of being judged so harshly.
‘Irrelevant, because my work will speak for itself.’
He expected to see scepticism.
He saw admiration and it went some way to soothing his inner wildness.
‘Okay, then, I guess we both have something to prove.’ She nodded, tapped her bottom lip, pondered. ‘From here on in a clean slate.’
‘No preconceptions?’
‘None whatsoever.’
For the first time since he’d sought her out today a coy smile curved her mouth, making him wish she’d do it more often.
‘Though you do rely heavily on charm.’
‘Pity it never worked on you,’ he muttered under his breath, surprised by her sharp intake of breath, as if she’d heard him.
She downed the rest of her cappuccino in record time and scooped the pistachio macaron into her palm. ‘Gotta dash. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.’ She cocked her finger and thumb at him. ‘Prepare to be wowed.’
As he watched her stroll away, the Lycra clinging to lean legs and shapely butt, he wondered what she’d think if she knew she’d already achieved her first goal.

CHAPTER TWO
‘YOU’D THINK AFTER three months at a freaking health spa I’d be more relaxed than this.’
Sapphie glared at Karma, the goldfish she’d purchased after checking out of Tenang as part of her new calm approach to life.
Right now rainforest sounds spilling from her iPod dock, lavender fumes from her oil burner and talking to Karma weren’t working.
She’d never felt so tense in all her life and she had Patrick Fourde to blame.
The guy was infuriating.
The guy was annoying.
The guy was seriously hot.
And that was what had her flustered deep down on a visceral level she didn’t want to acknowledge.
Despite his inherent ability to consistently rub her up the wrong way, even after a decade, she found him attractive.
That ruffled, casual, bad-boy aura he had going on? Big turn-on. Huge.
It was why she’d deliberately held him at arm’s length during high school.
Patrick Fourde, in all his slick, laid-back glory, had encapsulated everything she’d yearned to be and couldn’t. She’d had major responsibilities, being groomed to take over Seaborns, and while she’d relished every challenge her mum had thrown her way she’d always secretly wanted what Patrick had.
Freedom.
Freedom to be whomever she wanted, whenever she wanted. Freedom away from maternal expectation. Freedom from being Sapphire—the eldest, responsible one. The confident, competent one. The driven, dependable one.
She’d envied Ruby for the same reason, loving her carefree, creative sister but wishing she could be like her.
It was why she hadn’t burdened Ruby with the promise she’d made to their mum on her deathbed, why she’d kept Sea-borns’ economic situation a secret until it had been too late.
She’d learned the hard way how foolish it was to do it alone, to hide her stress beneath a brittle veneer, and if she hadn’t almost collapsed with fatigue she might have jeopardised the company altogether.
The fact she’d ignored the signs of her ailing body, pushing herself to the limit with the help of caffeine drinks and energy bars, foolish behaviour she’d never accept with anyone, least of all herself. But she’d done it—driven her body into the ground because of her stubborn independence.
Thankfully she’d wised up, vowed to take better care of her body.
She never, ever wanted to experience the soul-sapping fatigue that had plagued her for weeks when she’d first checked into Tenang. The nebulous chronic fatigue syndrome—something she’d heard bandied around on current affairs programmes but knew little about—had become a scary reality and she’d fought it for all she was worth.
When she’d left Tenang she’d promised to take time out, to achieve a better balance between her business and social lives.
Karma gaped at her, opening and closing his fishy lips, and she could imagine him saying, So how’s that working out for you?
She’d been back on the job a week, easing into the business by scouring accounts, re-establishing contact with clients and making projections for the next financial year. It had been going well, coming to work in casual workout clothes and sneakers, wearing no make-up, not having to put on her ‘company face’ for clients and the cameras.
Being CEO and spokesperson for Seaborns had always given her a thrill, but the stress of possible financial disaster had ruined her enjoyment of the job.
While Seaborns had recovered, courtesy of Ruby and Jax, she’d never let the situation get out of hand again. Which was why she’d latched onto the idea of working alongside Fourde Fashion for the upcoming Melbourne Fashion Week.
A mega seven days in the fashion world, it would secure Seaborns’ future for ever if their exquisite jewellery designs were seen with designer clothes from Fourde’s.
Despite their past, she hadn’t hesitated in contacting Patrick’s PA for an appointment when she’d heard the CEO of Melbourne’s newest fashion house was courting jewellers for a runway partnership.
Patrick’s terse, impersonal response had surprised her but she hadn’t cared. She had her chance.
So why had he shown up at Seaborns yesterday, seemingly hell-bent on rattling her?
If his wicked smile and smouldering eyes hadn’t undermined her, his ability to hone in on how much she’d changed would have.
How had he done that?
The guy she’d known had never pushed for answers, had never bothered to be insightful or concerned. He’d teased and annoyed and badgered his way through their year as lab partners in Biology, never probing beneath the surface.
She’d pretended to tolerate him back then, when in fact—she could finally admit it—she’d looked forward to their prac sessions with a perverse sense of excitement. Biology had been the relief of her senior year. Through the heavy slog of Maths and Economics and Politics—subjects recommended by her mum and careers adviser, she’d craved the tantalising fun she’d have with Patrick.
It had been a game with him back then. A challenge for him to rile her into responding. She hadn’t given him the satisfaction most of the time, choosing to ignore him as a way of dealing with his constant outrageous annoyances. But she’d seen his respect on the odd occasion she’d snapped back, and for some bizarre reason she’d valued it.
He’d made her rigid life bearable. Not that she’d ever let him know. The more he teased and taunted the harder she’d pushed him away.
Until graduation night. The night she’d let down her guard and he’d swooped, making a mockery of her stance to ignore him.
She’d never had a boyfriend in high school, had never been kissed before that night. And the fact Patrick had been her first had really peed her off at the time.
She’d blamed him. He’d taken advantage of the situation. He’d seen her at her worst and had kissed her as part of his usual taunts. He’d probably laughed at her afterwards.
But none of that had been true. In reality he’d been gallant in bringing her home after her date ended up drunk. And his kiss had been one of comfort, not cruelty.
It wasn’t his fault she’d gone a little nuts.
That was why she’d ignored his overtures to meet after that night. Pure mortification. And a small part of her knew she would have hated having him belittle something as special as that spectacular first kiss.
He would have too, to lighten the mood between them—would probably have been as embarrassed as her and covered it by taunting her.
Thankfully he’d given up after a week, headed to Paris, and she’d forgotten about it.
Until now.
Beyond annoying.
She glanced at the alarm clock next to the bed and winced. Less than an hour until her pitch.
Yesterday had been an aberration. The feeling that she’d connected with him on some deeper level that went way beyond their banter in high school hadn’t happened. It had been a figment of her imagination—the same imagination that insisted she go out and find the hottest guy in Melbourne to have some fun with.
That was what their tenuous bond had been about: her need for some male company and his inherent ability to flirt with anything that moved.
Harsh? Yeah. But it was the only way she’d cope with the riot of uncertainty making her doubt her choice of outfit, accessories, and the wisdom of meeting up with him—albeit for work.
‘This is business.’ She squared her shoulders. ‘I can do this.’
Karma’s affirmation consisted of a gill twitch as he ducked behind his treasure chest.
At least she looked the part. Knee-length, A-line sleeveless dress with a fitted bodice and cinched waist in the deepest mulberry, towering stilettos in black patent, and an exquisite amethyst pendant on a simple white gold necklace with matching earrings.
Throw in the dramatic make-up, designed to accentuate her eyes and lips, a hairspray-reinforced slicked-back coif that could withstand the stiffest breeze, and she was ready to face him.
This was how she’d envisaged their first meeting after a decade: with her power-dressed, strutting into his office, demonstrating her control and confidence and savoir-faire.
Considering he’d seen her in her oldest yoga pants and a crop top yesterday she’d kinda lost her advantage.
Then she remembered the look in his eyes when he’d first seen her, as if he’d wanted to gobble her up and come back for main and dessert…Maybe she still held the upper hand after all.
Not that she’d stoop so low as to use her sexuality to seal a business deal, but knowing the great and powerful Patrick found her attractive made her walk that little bit taller.
‘Wish me luck,’ she said, snatching up her bag and smoothing her hair one last time.
Karma gave a lazy swish of his tail. No problem. When she stalked into Patrick’s office shortly armed with a presentation to wow him, she’d have all the good karma she needed.
She’d make this Fashion Week deal happen.
Let him try to stop her.
‘The pieces are good. Really good.’
The fact that Sapphire sat close to Patrick on his office sofa, her stockinged leg within tantalising touching distance, was not so good.
How was a guy supposed to concentrate?
The moment Sapphire had strolled into his office, looking as if she’d stepped off the pages of a fashion mag, he’d been befuddled.
There was nothing revealing in her outfit but the cut of the fabric and the way she wore it made him think of the screen sirens of old. Beautiful, curvaceous women who were proud of their bodies and weren’t afraid to flaunt them in understated elegance.
And stockings…He loved them—the sheerer the better. None of those thick opaques for him. The way they added a sheen to Sapphire’s legs, highlighting their shape…and the possibility that she might be wearing suspenders to hold them up…
Another thing he’d discovered since she’d arrived: hard-ons were distracting and guaranteed to scuttle a business meeting.
His plans to take the Melbourne fashion scene by storm would be derailed before he’d begun if he started thinking with the wrong head.
‘These pieces are some of Ruby’s best work, but she’s willing to design whatever you want—depending on the concept you come up with.’
Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm and he wondered if they darkened when she was aroused.
Hell. Still thinking with the wrong head.
‘The show’s next month. Sure you can deliver?’
He hated how abrupt he sounded, but he needed to refocus and stifle the urge to readjust his pants.
‘Definitely. We’ll work nights, do whatever it takes.’
‘You want to be on the runway alongside Fourde that badly?’
A flicker of fear shimmered in her defiant gaze before she blinked, leaving him wondering if he’d imagined it.
‘Yeah, I want Seaborns to be featured with your designs. I’m a savvy businesswoman and, as you know from the suitors bashing down your door, any jeweller in this city would give their last diamond tennis bracelet to accessorise your clothes.’
He admired her honesty. But she was right. He’d had back-to-back meetings all day in which he’d been systematically wooed and impressed by the calibre of jewellers in Melbourne.
The city might not have the same joie-de-vivre as Paris but it had certainly come a long way since he’d lived here.
The fashion scene thrived, with worldwide designers setting up shop, which was the only reason his folks had deemed it prudent to launch a branch of Fourde Fashion here.
With Jerome, his older brother, heading Milan, and his younger sister Phoebe heading New York, he’d been the only one left to thrust into a makeshift CEO position.
Not that he was complaining. He’d been desperate to prove he could do this. The disaster of his first campaign had seen to that.
He knew they thought he was only a figurehead, a puppet whose strings they could yank at will. They’d even installed Serge, the manager of Fourde’s flagship store near the Champs-Élysées, alongside him.
Apparently Serge ‘had the expertise’ and was ‘worth his weight in gold’ despite the fact he and Serge, his best mate, had cut a path through Paris, Monte Carlo, Nice, Barcelona and most of the other cities in Europe together, living the high life, partying their way through each country.
He’d done it in an attempt to shrug off the taint of his first showing, wanting to be known for something other than his notorious failure.
It had worked too. His socialising antics had been diligently reported and the press had soon forgotten the savaging he’d received at their hands following a mistake that had cost Fourde Fashion megabucks.
He’d eventually returned to the company in different roles, learning what he could without being given any real responsibility.
It had suited him. Given him time to re-evaluate personally what had gone wrong. But no matter how many times he tried to analyse it, no matter how many angles he considered, it all came back to one thing: he’d tried to take an established brand and create something new that wouldn’t fit.
His parents had given him free rein for his first showing, wanting to see what he came up with, and he’d been determined to show them what he could do.
Correction: he’d wanted to wow them. He hadn’t had their attention in years—they’d moved to France for their precious business when he was still a teenager, had barely acknowledged their late-life ‘mistake’ for years before that—and he’d wanted to make a major impression.
He’d done that all right. For all the wrong reasons.
He’d swapped the Forde designs for ones he’d planned as part of a small group of designers. A catastrophic move that had cost the company a small fortune and pretty much sealed his career where his parents were concerned.
He’d been a fool to think Fourde Fashion was ready for cutting edge contemporary, and the fact his folks had distanced themselves from him—‘to protect the company,’ apparently—still burned after all this time.
It shouldn’t have come as any great surprise. They’d been emotionally distant for as long as he could remember. Not from any deliberate cruelty but for the simple fact that their business came first. Always.
Birthdays and Christmases were spent having snatched lunches and the obligatory presents before they headed back to the office. Phoebe and Jerome were used to fending for themselves and his parents had expected him to do the same despite their fourteen-year age-gap.
He’d been the baby they’d never expected to have in their mid-forties. He got it. He’d grown used to their absence early on.
But when he’d finally joined the fold and wanted them to sit up and take notice of his talents, of him, it had been a flop.
Their continued lack of appreciation of his efforts, their distrust of his talents, all stemmed from his first failure, and despite how hard he’d worked since they couldn’t forget it.
Well, the success of Melbourne Fashion Week would make them forget.
He’d make sure of it.
‘What can you offer me that the other jewellers can’t?’
Her eyes widened imperceptibly before her gaze dipped momentarily to his lips, and for one crazy, irrational second he wished she’d make an offer that had nothing to do with business.
‘One hundred percent commitment.’ She tilted her chin up and eyeballed him. ‘I’m willing to do whatever it takes to have our designs accessorising yours.’
‘Anything?’
Until now he’d been the epitome of a corporate businessman, with his mind on the job. But with a hard-on that wouldn’t quit, her body enticingly close, and her tempting cinnamon-peach fragrance wrapping him in an erotic fog, he couldn’t help but flirt.
Besides, that was what she thought he was—an idle playboy who’d never worked for anything in his life. He’d gladly disillusion her. Later.
Now, he wanted to play a little.
‘Within reason.’ A tiny frown slashed her brows and she held up hand between them.
Yeah, like that would stop him.
‘Hmm…’ He drummed his fingers against his thigh, pretending to ponder. ‘I could get you to privately model a few designs.’
Her frown deepened and her lips thinned.
‘Or you could help me with the lingerie line.’
She didn’t speak, but the daggers she shot him with her narrow-eyed glare spoke volumes.
‘Or we could get together in my penthouse suite and do some serious—’
‘Stop toying with me.’ She jabbed at his chest. ‘You want the best? Seaborns is it and you know it.’
She snatched her hand away when he glanced at it, still lingering on his chest.
‘Quit stalling. Do we have a deal or not?’
With her eyes flashing indigo fire, her chest heaving from deep breaths and her designer-shoe-clad foot tapping impatiently an inch from his, she was utterly magnificent.
Once again she brought to mind starlets of old: glamorous, powerful women who knew what they wanted and weren’t afraid to go after it.
That was when it hit him.
The idea that had been playing around the edges of his mind, taunting him to grab it and run with it.
‘You’re a frigging genius!’ He grabbed her arms so suddenly she was startled, and his maniacal laughter sounded crazy even to his ears.
‘You’re out of your mind.’ She brushed him off with a slick move that suggested martial arts training. ‘Just tell me already.’
He leapt from the sofa and started pacing, riotous ideas peppering his imagination. He needed to sit, jot them down, make some sense of the brainstorm happening in his head.
This was what had happened in Paris, when he’d nailed the spring showing.
He’d done it. His ideas. His campaign. Not that upstart smarmy Jacques with his stupid berets and fast talking.
This creative freefall had also occurred for his first showing too—the one that must not be named, as he’d labelled it in his head following the shemozzle.
The spring collection might have gone some way to restoring his confidence, but it was this show that would prove beyond a doubt that he had what it took to make it in the fashion world.
With Sapphire Seaborn along for the ride every step of the way.
He stopped in front of her, itching to get started. ‘You know we’d be working on this project twenty-four-seven, right?’
‘Of course,’ she said, and the vein in her temple pulsed.
It had been her ‘give’ when she’d been younger—a tell-tale sign that she was rattled—and he didn’t know whether to be flattered or annoyed that spending time with him disconcerted her.
‘And that doesn’t bother you?’
She stood, cool and confident and lithe. ‘This is business. Why should it?’
That vein beat to a rap rhythm. Yeah, she was rattled. Big time.
‘Okay, then, let’s do it.’
‘Fantastic. You won’t regret this.’ Her lush mouth eased into a wide grin. ‘We’re going to be great together.’
‘Absolutely.’
And he kissed her to prove it.

CHAPTER THREE
SAPPHIE’S FIRST INSTINCT was to knee Patrick in the groin. But he’d probably enjoy the contact too much.
She settled for placing both palms on his chest and shoving—hard.
‘Can’t blame a guy for wanting to celebrate the most significant moment of his career.’
The fact he was still using that boyish grin to try and disarm her a decade later made her want to knee him again.
As for the flutter low in her belly? It was a reminder that she hadn’t eaten lunch and nothing to do with the insistent tug of attraction between them.
An attraction torched to life by his kiss.
Why did the most annoying guy on the planet also have to be the best kisser?
It didn’t make any sense. She’d barely given him a second thought all these years—discounting the first few months after he’d left—yet all it took was one smooch—okay, one pretty scorching smooch—to resurrect how amazing he’d made her feel with his first kiss.
She could kill him.
Willing her pulse to stop pounding, she glared at him through narrowed eyes. ‘You do that once more and I’ll take Seaborns jewellery and walk.’
He merely raised an eyebrow, not in the least intimidated by her bluff. ‘You need me as much as I need you, sweetheart.’ She gaped at his insolence and he laughed. ‘Come on, you know better than to con a con. I’m blunt. I say it as it is. You and me?’ He waved a hand between them. ‘We’re going to take Fashion Week by storm, so don’t let your predictable outrage over a little spur-of-the-moment celebratory kiss get in the way of a beautiful friendship.’
Predictable outrage? She shook her head, unsure whether to applaud his honesty or reconsider that knee to the balls.
She had to regain control of this situation—fast—and the way to do that was to focus on business.
Not the naughty twinkle in his grey eyes.
Not the smug smirk quirking his lips.
Not the way he continued to stare at her mouth as if he was primed for a repeat performance.
‘What’s with the “most significant moment of your career” big talk?’
For the first time since she’d entered his ultra-modern office he appeared a tad uncertain, tugging at the cuffs of his shirt.
‘I’ve been looking for an angle for Fashion Week—something to play to the company’s strengths.’
‘And?’
His gaze raked over her but there was nothing overtly sexual about it. Maybe she’d imagined his hungry stare a moment ago. In fact he seemed to be sizing up her outfit and accessories in a purely professional manner.
‘When you first walked in here you made a statement.’ He tilted his head to one side, evaluating. ‘Class. Elegance. Timeless. Made me think of screen legends in the past.’
A compliment from a guy who threw them out there like confetti. Who would have thought it?
‘Should I be flattered or concerned you just called me old?’
The corners of his mouth quirked. ‘You don’t need to fish for compliments. You’re stunning and you know it.’
Actually, she didn’t. The designer clothes, the jewellery, the make-up and hair were all part of her duties as spokesperson for Seaborns. Take away the fancy outer dressing and she was Sapphire Seaborn—the responsible one, the devoted one, the sensible one. She didn’t do outrageous things. She dated suitable men and socialised with a suitable crowd.
Spending more than five minutes in the company of Patrick Fourde was decidedly unsuitable. Or, more to the point, it elicited decidedly unsuitable thoughts.
He’d always had that effect on her. Been able to confuse and bamboozle and intrigue her with the barest hint of that lazy half-smile he had down pat.
She might have been immune in the past, but having him in her face again—bolder, brazen, still bamboozling—unnerved her far more now than he ever had.
‘Get to the point.’
He stalked around his desk and fired up his laptop, swivelling the screen to face her.
‘Bear with me a sec.’
His fingers flew over the keyboard and, increasingly curious, she propped herself on the edge of his desk.
The tip of his tongue protruded slightly as he concentrated on typing and her chest tightened in remembrance.
He’d used to do the same thing when they studied together. She’d known when he’d stopped goofing off—which had been rarely, admittedly—and started taking their studying seriously by that tell, and it was as endearing now as back then.
At the time, she’d done her best to give him the impression she couldn’t stand the sight of him. Had berated him constantly about slacking off and sketching instead of studying. Her chastisement had only served to stir him up further and he’d deliberately make fun of her work or call time out for a coffee.
Interesting how his doodling had probably been a prelude to his career in fashion, an outlet for his creativity. And to see him now, CEO of a branch of a world-renowned fashion house, made her feel ashamed she’d given him such a hard time.
Then again, considering the amount of time he’d spent poking fun at her study timetables and subject spreadsheets, her guilt quickly faded.
Whatever he was doing now, it had captured his attention and given her an opportunity to study him. In his flawlessly fitted charcoal suit and open-necked black shirt, perched behind a glass-topped desk large enough to fit an entire classroom, with the skyline of Melbourne surrounding him with three hundred and sixty degrees of floor to ceiling windows fifty storeys high, he looked like the consummate businessman.
A guy on top of the world, in total control and loving it. Who would have guessed the laid-back charmer had ambition?
He’d never shared any of his plans with her—had never showed any interest in business beyond teasing her about taking such a manic interest in Seaborns.
She’d been surprised when he’d absconded to Paris—had assumed it had been to live the high life on his family money.
After that first kiss she’d reluctantly kept an eye on him, had followed him on the internet for six months, surprised by mentions of him doing an internship at Fourde Fashion headquarters.
Pity those internet hits had also shown her the type of life she envied: parties and nightclub openings and theatre galas. The type of life she’d secretly craved but had been too focused on work, on proving herself, on seeking approval, to do anything about.

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