The From Paris With Love And Regency Season Of Secrets Ultimate Collection. Кэрол МортимерЧитать онлайн книгу.
for me,” Sarah countered with a laugh. “Not everyone can parlay a degree in Renaissance-era art into a job at one of the country’s leading fashion magazines.”
“Or work her way from junior assistant to senior editor in just three years,” Charlotte retorted. Her face softened into an expression that played on Sarah’s heartstrings like a finely tuned Stradivarius. “Have I told you how proud I am of you?”
“Only about a thousand times, Grandmama.”
They spent another half hour together before Charlotte decided she would rest a little before dinner. Sarah knew better than to offer to help her out of her chair, but she wanted to. God, she wanted to! When her grandmother’s cane had thumped slowly down the hall to her bedroom, Sarah fixed a spinach salad and added a bit more liquid to the chicken Maria had begun baking in the oven. Then she washed her hands, detoured into the cavernous sitting room that served as a study and booted up her laptop.
She remembered the basics from the article Beguile had run on Devon Hunter. She wanted to dig deeper, uncover every minute detail she could about the man before she crossed swords with him again tomorrow evening.
Seated at a linen-draped table by the window, Dev watched Sarah St. Sebastian approach the restaurant’s entrance. Tall and slender, she moved with restrained grace. No swinging hips, no ground-eating strides, just a smooth symmetry of motion and dignity.
She wore her hair down tonight. He liked the way the mink-dark waves framed her face and brushed the shoulders of her suit jacket. The boxy jacket was a sort of pale purple. His sisters would probably call that color lilac or heliotrope or something equally girlie. The skirt was black and just swished her boot tops as she walked.
Despite growing up with four sisters, Dev’s fashion sense could be summed up in a single word. A woman either looked good, or she didn’t. This one looked good. Very good.
He wasn’t the only one who thought so. When she entered the restaurant and the greeter escorted her to the table by the window, every head in the room turned. Males without female companions were openly admiring. Those with women at their tables were more discreet but no less appreciative. Many of the women, too, slanted those seemingly casual, careless glances that instantly catalogued every detail of hair, dress, jewelry and shoes.
How the hell did they do that? Dev could walk into the belly of a plane and tell in a single glance if the struts were buckling or the rivets starting to rust. As he’d discovered since that damned magazine article came out, however, his powers of observation paled beside those of the female of the species.
He’d treated the Ten Sexiest Singles list as a joke at first. He could hardly do otherwise, with his sisters, brothers-in-law and assorted nieces and nephews ragging him about it nonstop. And okay, being named one of the world’s top ten hunks did kind of puff up his ego.
That was before women began stopping him on the street to let him know they were available. Before waitresses started hustling over to take his order and make the same pronouncement. Before the cocktail parties he was forced to attend as the price of doing business became a total embarrassment.
Dev had been able to shrug off most of it. He couldn’t shrug off the wife of the French CEO he was trying to close a multibillion dollar deal with. The last time Dev was in Paris, Elise Girault had draped herself all over him. He knew then he had to put a stop to what had become more than just a nuisance.
He’d thought he’d found the perfect tool in Lady Eugenia Amalia Therése St. Sebastian. The blonde was gorgeous, vivacious and so photogenic that the vultures otherwise known as paparazzi wouldn’t even glance at Dev if she was anywhere in the vicinity.
Thirty minutes in Gina St. Sebastian’s company had deep-sixed that idea. Despite her pedigree, the woman was as bubbleheaded as she was sumptuous. Then she’d lifted the Byzantine medallion and the game plan had changed completely. For the better, Dev decided as he rose to greet the slender brunette being escorted to his table.
Chin high, shoulders back, Sarah St. Sebastian carried herself like the royalty she was. Or would have been, if her grandmother’s small Eastern European country hadn’t dispensed with royal titles about the same time Soviet tanks had rumbled across its border. The tanks had rumbled out again four decades later. By that time the borders of Eastern Europe had been redrawn several times and the duchy that had been home to the St. Sebastians for several centuries had completely disappeared.
Bad break for Charlotte St. Sebastian and her granddaughters. Lucky break for Dev. Lady Sarah didn’t know it yet, but she was going to extract him from the mess she and her magazine had created.
“Good evening, Mr. Hunter.”
The voice was cool, the green eyes cold.
“Good evening, Ms. St. Sebastian.”
Dev stood patiently while the greeter seated her. A server materialized instantly.
“A cocktail or glass of wine before dinner, madam?”
“No, thank you. And no dinner.” She waved aside the gilt-edged menu he offered and locked those forest-glade eyes on Dev. “I’ll just be here a few minutes, then I’ll leave Mr. Hunter to enjoy his meal.”
The server departed, and Dev reclaimed his seat. “Are you sure you don’t want dinner?”
“I’m sure.” She placed loosely clasped hands on the table and launched an immediate offensive. “We’re not here to exchange pleasantries, Mr. Hunter.”
Dev sat back against his chair, his long legs outstretched beneath the starched tablecloth and his gaze steady on her face. Framed by those dark, glossy waves, her features fascinated him. The slight widow’s peak, the high cheekbones, the aquiline nose—all refined and remote and in seeming contrast to those full, sensual lips. She might have modeled for some famous fifteenth-or sixteen-century sculptor. Dev was damned if he knew which.
“No, we’re not,” he agreed, still intrigued by that face. “Have you talked to your sister?”
The clasped hands tightened. Only a fraction, but that small jerk was a dead giveaway.
“I haven’t been able to reach her.”
“Neither have I. So what do you propose we do now?”
“I propose you wait.” She drew in a breath and forced a small smile. “Give me more time to track Gina down before you report your medallion missing or...or...”
“Or stolen?”
The smile evaporated. “Gina didn’t steal that piece, Mr. Hunter. I admit it appears she took it for some reason, but I’m sure...I know she’ll return it. Eventually.”
Dev played with the tumbler containing his scotch, circling it almost a full turn before baiting the trap.
“The longer I wait to file a police report, Ms. St. Sebastian, the more my insurance company is going to question why. A delay reporting the loss could void the coverage.”
“Give me another twenty-four hours, Mr. Hunter. Please.”
She hated to beg. He heard it in her voice, saw it in the way her hands were knotted together now, the knuckles white.
“All right, Ms. St. Sebastian. Twenty-four hours. If your sister hasn’t returned the medallion by then, however, I...”
“She will. I’m sure she will.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
She drew in another breath: longer, shakier. “I’ll pay you the appraised value.”
“How?”
Her chin came up. Her jaws went tight. “It will take some time,” she admitted. “We’ll have to work out a payment schedule.”
Dev