Page 20 of Signed, Sealed, Married

How was it that he felt wrong-footed when twenty minutes earlier he’d been congratulating himself on his success?

Adam tucked away his disgruntlement. He couldn’t fault her for being annoyed or wanting to keep her distance. He’d pushed her into a situation she still barely accepted. It was up to him to show her that, despite her misgivings, she’d find plenty of benefits in their marriage.

Which meant reining in the ruthless corporate shark.

And, what? Charming her into compliance? You’re out of practice, mate. Can you even remember how?

Since his successes became widely reported he’d barely had to exert himself to win any woman. They tended to offer themselves.

But Gisèle’s not impressed by your success, is she?

Acquiring, and pleasing, a wife was going to be more of a challenge than he’d anticipated.

The trip to Adam’s rented villa at Cap Ferrat was one of the strangest Gisèle had experienced.

She didn’t like this man on principle. His marriage demand was preposterous. Provoking. Insulting!

Adam Wilde believed she and Julien took their family legacy for granted. As if they hadn’t worked all their lives to contribute to it!

Yet, despite her determination to loathe the Australian’s swaggering confidence, his prejudices and assumption he’d get his own way, she found herself relaxing and forgetting, for short periods, to be incensed.

It had started when, searching for an uncontentious topic so the trip along the coast didn’t pass in stultifying silence, she’d asked about the yacht. He’d admitted he hadn’t a clue about sailing. He’d hired the yacht, like the villa to which they were heading. Then he’d asked one of the crisply uniformed crew to take them on a tour.

Remembering his desire to celebrate their so-called engagement, Gisèle had instead expected him to insist on opening champagne and spend the time discussing plans for their farce of a marriage.

It was a relief to find herself inspecting the large yacht, even if Adam insisted on accompanying her.

She should have found his presence claustrophobic. Yet his curiosity about the vessel was...engaging.

She’d assumed that like many people who believed themselves important, Adam Wilde wouldn’t admit to ignorance on any subject. Instead he peppered the crew member with questions that showed he might be ignorant about sailing, but had an enquiring mind and a genuine interest in discovering more.

It didn’t absolve him from being a manipulative bully but it was hard to stay furious, especially when an admission of an intermittent problem with the motor led to him and their guide, peering at the engine, bonding over mechanics.

Adam had caught her stare and the corner of his mouth lifted, eyes amused as he shrugged. ‘Men and engines, eh? It’s a cliché but in my case it’s true. I spent so many hours coaxing clapped out old motors to work that along the way I found I enjoy it.’

Gisèle had been going to ask him about that when he straightened. She was too slow, disarmed by the warmth of that half-smile that made his eyes crinkle charmingly at the corners and turned him into another man altogether.

Before she could ask her question he apologised for keeping her waiting, thanked the crew member, and suggested they head up to enjoy the view of the coast.

Where was the dangerous corporate raider who’d turned her world inside out? She felt discombobulated.

No wonder he’s a force to be reckoned with in the commercial world.

If he kept all his competitors trying and failing to second-guess his moods and intentions, he’d have a natural advantage.

The realisation was a timely reminder as the vessel approached a green finger of land pointing south into the Mediterranean. Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat. One of the most exclusive pieces of real estate in the world.

Gisèle had attended a couple of parties here, most recently at the invitation of a tech billionaire who wanted the House of Fontaine to create a new line of cosmetics and personalised perfume for his wife. The first time she’d been a child, arriving with her uber-glamorous parents.

She remembered that day with piercing clarity. The sunlight glittering on an infinity pool looking over the deep blue sea, the tang of fresh mango juice, and inevitable cluster of people around her mother. There’d been a sweet Scandinavian nanny to mind the guests’ children. The young woman’s eyes had shone with awed excitement when Gisèle’s father thanked her for looking after his kids.

Her father had led Gisèle and Julien back to their car, he and their mother laughing as they drove away on that cloudless afternoon.

It was her last memory of her father. He’d died two days later in a car race, the reassuring grasp of his hand around hers, his twinkling smile, gone for ever.

‘Gisèle? Is something wrong?’

A gravelled voice broke her thoughts. She blinked and discovered she held the railing in a white-knuckled grip.

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