The French Aristocrat's Baby by Christina Hollis Page B

for you.’
    Gwen gaped at him. ‘No—I don’t think so! This restaurant is my life. I can’t abandon it on a whim!’
    Etienne clicked his tongue in disgust. ‘If this place is so important to you, you can spare a couple of hours to consider its future.’
    ‘It wouldn’t have a future if I hadn’t mortgaged myself to the hilt. I can’t let my guard down for a minute, much less go gallivanting off on a private yacht for the afternoon! And me on a yacht? What on earth would my old mam and dad say?’
    ‘If they had any sense, they’d tell you to do as I say,’ Etienne said mildly.
    Gwen was aghast. She couldn’t possibly leave it at that. Hands on hips, she regarded him, her head on one side.
    ‘I thought you were issuing me with an invitation, not an order?’
    He raised a mocking brow. ‘I was. You don’t have to come, but you would be crazy not to hear what I have to say.’
    ‘In your opinion,’ she said caustically, but her suspicion had no effect on Etienne. He was far too sure of himself.
    ‘You’ll be of the same opinion, when you’ve listened to me.’
    Gwen pulled out the chair beside him and sat down. ‘All right—if your idea is so good, tell me about it now.’
    He shook his head. ‘All the relevant paperwork is set out in my conference room aboard The Windflower. You’ll see it this afternoon.’
    ‘No, I won’t, because I shan’t be there. I’ll be here,’ she explained patiently. ‘I’ve told you. I must supervise arrangements for the party.’
    A small wrinkle appeared between Etienne’s brows. He took a sip of mineral water, which gave him time to iron out his frown. ‘I’m giving you the opportunity of several lifetimes, and you want to delay things? I thought you couldn’t wait?’ He looked at her narrowly.
    ‘I can’t wait, but I must ,’ she stated.
    He turned slightly in his seat, studying her for some time before replying.
    ‘A good manager knows how to delegate,’ he said eventually.
    Gwen was glad he sounded reasonable rather than irritated, but it still took courage to state her case.
    ‘Maybe: but I’m not just a manager. I’m the owner, head cook and bottle-washer. There is no fallback position. It’s me. Although,’ she added quickly, raising her hand to stop him objecting, ‘I might be able to get away tomorrow. Le Rossignol is closed for our half-day. I usually spend the time stocktaking and going throughthe accounts. If your offer of some temporary help right now still stands…’ she ventured, looking up at him from beneath her long, dark lashes. He gave a brief nod.
    ‘I could try and get everything done today, so I’ve got tomorrow afternoon free.’
    ‘Then I suppose that will have to do.’ He returned her look with interest. ‘I’ll send a car to pick you up, then, after lunch. It wouldn’t do to have you run out of petrol again, would it?’
    She flushed in embarrassment. Until that moment she had been totally unable to tear her gaze away from him. Now her eyes were glad to have an excuse to escape.
    ‘Tell me—did you drive my car back to the gite yourself this morning?’ she said in a low voice.
    ‘Of course.’ He shrugged as though the gesture was nothing. But to Gwen, secretly, it meant a lot—that he’d gone out of his way for her. Then he checked his watch with a deftness of touch she remembered so well, and Gwen signalled for his menu to be brought. As he studied it her mind was a jangle of possibilities. After the way she had spoken to him earlier, seduction must be the very last thing on his mind. His businesslike attitude just seemed to confirm this. Still, he was here and she could at least try to make amends. Wistfully, she realised he would be highly unlikely to pull her in out of her depth, ever again.
    He looked so calm now, Gwen began to doubt her sanity. They had tumbled through the night, she had snubbed him, stormed off and then snubbed him a second time, yet there was absolutely no trace of their history on