The French Encounter

‘Project head? Katrina said weakly, unable to hide the horror on her face. ‘This is JLC?’ she asked Luc, as if the very act of asking would change the fact. She forgot her manners at that moment, unaware that the man being discussed was observing her and that his lips were trembling precariously as if he wanted to laugh very badly. Katrina was aghast. She’d been flirting with the French mogul? The financial genius who played the stock market and rarely lost? The shark-cobra-billionaire? And what happened to the son of the director born with the golden spoon in his mouth? The old lady’s gigolo? Katrina flushed darkly. So okay, she’d been a little unfair. This man was anything but a gigolo. How could she have not noticed that stamp of authority on that arrogant face earlier? Because, my dear Kathy you were looking at other parts of his anatomy. ‘You could have told me,’ she turned on Jean in such a fit of rage that he started and looked at Luc bewildered, probably thinking she was a serious nut case. And then that head swung in her direction, speaking to her patiently as if he were talking to a disturbed child. ‘I do remember introducing myself.’ ‘As Jean Leclerc.’ ‘That’s my name.’ ‘Everyone knows you as JLC, not Jean Leclerc.’ Katrina was almost shouting now, so caught up in the argument that she hardly realized that they were attracting attention. An eerie silence had descended around them as Ali, for whatever reason, chose that moment to change the disc. They were on the rooftop, a very beautifully arranged rooftop with an appetizing spread on the left, where several guests were helping themselves to sumptuous seafood and grilled meats, a very active bar on the right, where a group of young students gathered, discussing French food and culture, and a glass piste de danse, lit up from beneath. ‘Kathy, I think we should have this conversation some other time,’ Luc hissed, looking at his boss apologetically as if gauging the degree of his wrath. ‘Stay out of it!’ Jean said in a deadly low voice, turning back to the girl who’d dared to berate him in public about such a silly matter as his name. ‘What is it about JLC that bothers you?’ ‘Don’t ask her that!’ Luc groaned, holding his head as if it were about to explode. For a moment, Katrina debated whether she should attack JLC just for the pleasure of bringing him down. But something told her that he wasn’t the kind of man to allow anyone to get the better of him, least of all a woman. She saw him give Luc a reassuring smile which indented his cheeks cutely and then turned to Katrina minus the smile. ‘Let’s hear it.’ ‘You mean you don’t know?’ she asked with saccharine sweetness. ‘Well, let me see. The list is very long, but I’m polite.’ She’d swear she heard a choked laugh, but she could be wrong, because the eyes were still breathing fire. ‘You lack basic courtesy, JLC. How dare you not answer our calls? Do you know how many times we’ve telephoned your office? The least you could have done . . .’ ‘I thought my secretary told you I’ll call when I’m ready.’ He sounded impatient, which made Katrina even more furious. ‘You’ll call when you’re ready?’ Her tone scaled a few octaves. ‘My boss is the FICCI president.’ She dug a finger into his chest, almost fracturing it in the process. ‘He’s doing you a favour, introducing you to the Indian business community. His itinerary is planned months in advance and—’ ‘—I’m the investor.’ The tone was pleasant; the eyes weren’t. Luc was making frantic signs to Katrina, begging her to keep quiet. But she was damned if she’d let this arrogant bully get the better of her. ‘Not you, JLC. Glass Mondial is the investor. You might be a major shareholder through inheritance’—she spat the word with all the contempt she could muster—‘but that doesn’t make you the decisive authority.’ Two things hit Jean simultaneously. She seemed to have uncovered information about him, and his angry gaze flickered on Luc. But most important of all, she had no idea what she was talking about. Kapoor hadn’t told her. And Jean wasn’t going to do his work for him. He shackled her wrist and tugged her roughly to him, feeling her indignation like waves. It made him smile. No one fought with Jean like this, least of all a petite fille who barely reached his chest. She was somehow managing to distract him, and he wasn’t sure whether he liked the feeling or not. ‘I think you must talk to Kapoor before you take this argument any further, Katrina,’ Jean said in an unusually hoarse tone. ‘And I’ll wait for your apology.’ He added as an afterthought. Her neck was probably aching with the effort it took to tilt her head back and meet Jean’s gaze at his six feet four inches, but not even by a flicker of an eyelid did she show it. ‘You’ll be waiting a very long time, JLC.’ ‘Jean. You were quite comfortable with my name earlier.’ His thumb moved in a slow dragging motion across her palm as his eyes began its seduction, whispering wicked things that he wanted to do with her—wicked, erotic things. Her pulses raced, her pupils dilated, and her mouth—oh yes, her mouth—luscious pink lips parted, as if experiencing an orgasm. ‘As soon as you have that talk with Kapoor, you’ll understand me better.’ ‘I don’t think it would change anything! You’ll be just as arrogant and overbearing, thinking your God’s gift to women. You aren’t. You’re just a pampered brat that’s been given things on a platter. And since you’re in India now, you want to entertain yourself while you play around with the most important investment to my country.’ Jean was struggling with desire to throttle Katrina and kiss her at the same time. From the corner of his eyes he saw Luc looking ferocious. Jean smiled and shook his head. I can handle the young spitfire, he told him silently. I’ve handled worse. ‘I’m flattered you think so highly of me, Katrina. I must discuss these compliments with Kapoor during my meeting. He’d love to know how nice his representative was to me.’ Jean paused, swallowed a chuckle at the dismay he could now see on her face. ‘You said something?’ ‘Your name fits. Cobra! But you can’t sting me, because Mr Kapoor knows my worth. He’ll never sack me.’ Jean’s smile was feral. He hated what he was doing, but this girl needed to be spanked, threatened, and kissed. And he wanted to do all three—immediately. He couldn’t put his finger at the exact moment it happened. Earlier Jean wanted to bed her; now he wanted to tame her. ‘He will if I tell him. So before I do, apologize.’ ‘I’d rather die than apologize to you.’ ‘Don’t go to such lengths. Just a simple “Sorry, sweetheart” will do.’ Jean waited a beat and was not disappointed. Her hands clenched into fists that were dangerously close to plummeting him. She actually took a step towards him and paused, fighting to contain herself. Luc’s mouth had fallen open, and he was wringing his hands helplessly as he looked at Katrina with murder in his eyes. Jean folded his arms across his chest, feeling more alive than ever. He’ll have to personally thank Luc for inviting this heatwave to his party. She certainly made Jean forget his problems.