Exposed: Misbehaving with the Magnate

Luc reached for her the moment they were seated in the relative privacy of the car.

His fingers were in her hair, expertly seeking and removing pins as his lips slanted over hers and demanded she open for him. He groaned when she did, the raw and needy groan of a man pushed to his limits, and his tongue began a fiercely sensual invasion, stripping her of everything but the need to respond. Gabrielle wrenched her lips from his and pushed him away with an unsteady hand.

‘Drive,’ she ordered raggedly.

‘Where?’

‘Anywhere.’ Although… ‘Maybe not Caverness.’ Her courage did not extend to flaunting her intimacy with Luc in her mother’s face—not because of what she might think of her, but because Gabrielle feared that somehow, heaven only knew how, she would turn her feelings for Luc into something ugly. ‘My room.’

‘Caverness is my home, Gabrielle.’ His voice was as ragged and strained as hers. ‘Sooner or later I will want you there.’ But he drove towards the old mill, and said, as they exited the car and strode towards the front door, ‘I aim to stay the night.’

Accidentally educated in the sciences, Kelly Hunter has always had a weakness for fairytales, fantasy worlds, and losing herself in a good book. Husband… yes. Children…two boys. Cooking and cleaning…sigh. Sports…no, not really—in spite of the best efforts of her family. Gardening…yes. Roses, of course. Kelly was born in Australia and has travelled extensively. Although she enjoys living and working in different parts of the world, she still calls Australia home. Visit Kelly online at www.kellyhunter.net

Kelly’s novel SLEEPING PARTNER was a 2008 finalist for the Romance Writers of America RITA® award, in the Best Contemporary Series Romance category!

Look out for

REVEALED: A PRINCE AND A PREGNANCY

the second book in Kelly’s deliciously sexy duet

Hot Bed of Scandal

Available later this year!

Dear Reader

I found the setting for this story on my way from the Netherlands to France via the back roads. The history of this part of Europe captivated me: the castles and the caves, the churches and the cafés… My stepsisters, born and raised in this part of the world, delighted in bringing the cultural details alive for me. I had my setting. I had my characters. I had a smart, sophisticated tale of true love all lined up.

I never dreamed that when I returned to Australia and finally began to write out would pour a simple coming home story. Oh, I love coming home stories—don’t get me wrong. Barbara Samuel’s superbly written No Place Like Home saw to that. But where was my smart, sophisticated tale, rich in all those cultural details I’d collected? Could it really be that the most joyous moment of a fascinating trip came at the very end, when I walked through the doorway of my home and into the arms of my family?

Yes. Yes, it could.

Write what you know. I’ve heard that before. Not always practical when writing about heiresses and princes and billionaire tycoons. Not always practical when your childhood was wonderfully ordinary and life is better than fine. Sometimes what you know simply isn’t enough, and you have to imagine the rest. I imagined plenty when it came to writing this story, but there was one truth I clung to—one vivid and powerful emotion that made this story real for me. I wanted my heroine to find her way home.

Happy reading!

Kelly Hunter

EXPOSED: MISBEHAVING WITH THE MAGNATE

BY

KELLY HUNTER

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Maytoners.

And Puppies.

CHAPTER ONE

‘BREATHE IN, breathe out,’ muttered Gabrielle Alexander as she stood and stared at the daunting wooden door that led to the servants’ quarters of Chateau des Caverness. She knew this door, knew the feel of it beneath her palm and the haughty hollow sound the brass knocker made when it connected with the wood. Gabrielle had been sixteen when she’d last walked through this door; sixteen and shattered at the thought of leaving everything she knew and loved behind. Such turbulent times, thought Gabrielle with a wry smile for the girl she’d once been. How she’d pleaded with her mother to be allowed to stay; Lord, how she’d begged and argued and finally wept. But the people she’d loved had not loved her. Josien Alexander had shipped her daughter off to Australia with a heart as hard and as cold as an arctic iceberg.

All because of a kiss.

‘It wasn’t even a good kiss,’ muttered Gabrielle as she stared at the door and dug deep for the courage to put her hand to the knocker and make it do its thing. Seven years had passed; Gabrielle knew a lot more about kissing these days. She knew the feel of hot sweet kisses on her lips. Ragged greedy kisses on her skin. ‘It was a very ordinary kiss.’

Liar, said a little inner voice that would not remain silent.

‘A practice kiss. A practically meaningless kiss.’

Big fat liar.

‘So shoot me,’ she murmured to that little voice inside her. ‘You remember it your way and I’ll remember it mine.’ She grasped the knocker and lifted it. ‘Better still, let’s not remember it at all.’

But that was harder done than said. Not here in this place, with the scent of summer grapes all around her and the warmth of the sun beating down on her shoulders. Not with her heart swollen and heavy with the knowledge that this place, this chateau, this fragrant idyllic corner of France’s Champagne district was the only place that had ever felt like home and that for seven long years she’d stayed away from it.

All because of a kiss.

Taking hold of the brass ring, Gabrielle lifted it and brought it down hard against the wooden door. Boom. Nothing quite like a dreaded sound from her childhood to get her blood pumping and the hairs on her arms standing to attention. Boom. Once more with feeling. Boom boom and boom.

But the door did not open. No footsteps echoed along the dark and narrow hallway Gabrielle knew was behind that door. She turned from her mother’s quarters to stare across the courtyard at the chateau proper. She really didn’t want to go knocking on any of those doors.

Josien had pneumonia; that was what Simone Duvalier, childhood playmate and current mistress of Caverness, had said in her phone message. What if Josien was too ill to get out of bed? What if she tried to answer the door and collapsed on the way?

Muttering a prayer to a God she barely believed in, Gabrielle dug in her handbag until her fingers closed around the key she sought. Smooth and cold, it both beckoned and repelled. She had no right to unlock this door—this wasn’t her home any more. Caution pleaded with her not to slide the key in the lock but caution never had been Gabrielle’s strong point.

Wilful, her mother had called her on more than one occasion.

Headstrong.

Fool.

The key turned easily, smoothly, and with a click and a slight nudge on her part the door swung open. ‘Maman?’ Gabrielle stepped tentatively inside the darkened hallway. ‘Maman?’ A flash of red caught her eye—red where there’d never been red before. A blinking row of little red lights and a no-nonsense square panel, the kind that signalled state-of-the-art alarm systems that summoned large men with flat top buzz cuts and firearms to the door. ‘Maman?’

And then the cacophony began. No discreet beeping for this alarm system, it was air-raid-klaxon loud and could doubtless be heard for miles. Uh oh. Gabrielle ran towards the blinking lights and wrenched the casing open, staring in dismay at a keyboard containing both letters and numbers. She punched in her birth date. The ear splitting noise continued. She keyed in Rafael’s name and date of birth next, but Josien was clearly not the sentimental type. She tried entering the year that Chateau des Caverness had been built, the name and year of its most successful champagne vintage, the number of ancient Linden trees lining the sides of the lane leading up to the chateau, but the alarm just kept on screaming. She started pressing buttons at random. ‘Shiste. Merde. Bugger!’

‘Nice to hear you’re still multilingual,’ said a midnight-smooth voice from close behind her and Gabrielle closed her eyes and tried to stop her already racing heart from doubling its tempo yet again. She knew that voice, the deep delicious timbre of it. A Champagne voice, a voice of Rheims, it was there in the lilt and the texture of the words. A voice that conjured up forbidden thoughts and heated yearnings. She’d heard it in her dreams for years.

‘Oh, hello, Luc.’ If he could do deadpan, so could she. Gabrielle turned slowly and there he stood, looking every inch the head of a Champagne dynasty in his tailored grey trousers and crisp white business shirt. Gabrielle could have spent a lot longer staring at Luc Duvalier and cataloguing the changes time had wrought in him but circumstances and a healthy respect for her eardrums dictated moving right along. ‘Long time no see. I don’t suppose you could help me turn this thing off?’

He brushed past her, long, strong fingers moving swiftly over the panel. ‘Cinq six six deux quatre cinq un.’

The alarm cut out abruptly and silence cut in. A loud, ringing kind of silence.

‘Merci,’ she said finally.

‘You’re welcome.’ Lucien Duvalier’s perfectly sculpted lips tightened. ‘What are you doing here, Gabrielle?’

‘I lived here once, remember?’

‘Not for the past seven years, you haven’t.’

‘True.’ Now that quiet had been restored, Gabrielle could look her fill. She studied the tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed man standing before her, trying for detachment and failing miserably. Luc had been twenty-two when she’d last seen him and even then the promise of tightly leashed power and outrageous sexuality had hovered about him like a velvet cloak. Night, the household staff had called him. And Rafael, Luc’s childhood partner in crime, with his fair hair and his teasing blue eyes, had been Day.

‘Sorry about setting the alarm off,’ she said with an awkward shrug. ‘I should have known better than to use the key.’

Luc said nothing. He never had been one for small talk. But it was all she could manage. Taking a deep and steadying breath, Gabrielle tried again. ‘You’re looking well, Lucien.’

When he still made no reply Gabrielle looked past him, across the courtyard towards the chateau tucked snugly into the terraced hillside. ‘Caverness is looking well too. Cared for. Prosperous. I heard about your father’s death a few years back.’ She didn’t feel inclined to say any more on the subject. Had she wanted to lie through her teeth she could have added something about being sorry to hear of old man Duvalier’s demise. ‘Guess that makes you king of the castle now,’ she added recklessly. She met his dark burning gaze without flinching. ‘Should I kneel?’

‘You’ve changed,’ he said abruptly.

She certainly hoped so.

‘You’re harder.’

‘Thank you.’

‘More beautiful.’

‘My thanks again.’ Gabrielle held back a sigh. If Luc wanted to categorise the changes in her, she might as well show him the big ones. She wasn’t a gangly sixteen-year-old on the cusp of womanhood any more. And Luc wasn’t the centre of her life. ‘Look at us,’ she chided lightly. ‘Childhood playmates and here I’ve greeted you with less warmth than one would greet a stranger. Three kisses, isn’t it? One for each cheek and then a spare?’ She moved closer and brushed his left cheek with her lips, breathing in the subtle pine scent that clung to his skin and trying very hard not to let it wrap around her and squeeze. ‘One.’ She pulled back and made for his other cheek, never mind that he stood as if turned to stone. ‘Two,’ she whispered and let her lips linger a fraction longer this time.

‘Back off, angel.’ Luc’s voice was nothing more than a dark and dangerous rumble as his fingers came up to caress her jaw before sliding around to the base of her neck. ‘For your own sake if not for mine.’

A warning. One she would do well to heed. Not that she did. A frisson of awareness slid down her spine and she closed her eyes the better to diffuse it. So he could still make her body ache for his touch. Nothing to worry about. She was older now. Wiser. She knew better than to lose her heart to the head of the House of Duvalier. Not that a few more iron clad reasons to ensure she kept her distance from this man wouldn’t come in handy. ‘Are you married these days, Luc?’

‘No.’

‘Celibate?’

‘No.’

‘Are you sure?’ She brushed his ear lobe with her lips. ‘You seem a little…uptight. It’s just an innocent greeting.’

The fingers at the base of her neck tightened. ‘You’re not innocent.’

‘You noticed.’ She pulled back smoothly, dislodging his hand with a shrug as she stepped away and shot him a careless smile for good measure. ‘You always were observant. Perhaps two kisses are greeting enough for you, after all. Shall we take a rain check on the third?’

‘Why are you here, Gabrielle?’

Here in this place where no one wanted her. Luc couldn’t have made the implication clearer if he’d painted it on a sign and hung it on the door. ‘Simone phoned and left a message. She said my mother had been ill. She said…’ Gabrielle hesitated, unwilling to reveal any more weakness to this man. ‘She said that Josien had been calling for her angels.’ Whether Josien had been calling for her children, who’d been named after two of the winged entities, was anyone’s guess. Rafe thought not. Rafael thought Gabrielle’s decision to travel halfway across the world on the strength of a fevered plea a colossal mistake but even so… Even if Josien refused to see her…

Some mistakes were unavoidable.

Gabrielle attempted a nonchalant shrug. ‘So here I am.’

‘Does Josien know of your expected arrival?’ asked Luc quietly.

‘I—’ Nervously, Gabrielle fiddled with the cuff of her stylish cream jacket. ‘No.’

Luc’s gaze grew hooded and Gabrielle thought she saw a flash of something that looked a lot like sympathy in their depths. ‘You always were too impetuous for your own good,’ he murmured. ‘I gather your brother declined to accompany you?’

‘Rafe’s busy,’ she said guardedly. ‘As I’m sure you must be. Luc, if you could just tell me where to find my mother…’

‘Come,’ he said, turning abruptly and heading for the door. ‘Josien is staying in one of the suites in the west wing until she recovers more fully. A nurse attends her. Doctor’s orders. It was that or the hospital.’

Pulling the door closed behind them, and pocketing her keys, Gabrielle hurried to match Luc’s long loping stride. ‘How bad is she?’

‘Frail. Twice, we thought we’d lost her.’

‘Do you think she’ll want to see me?’

Luc’s features hardened. ‘That, I have no idea. You should have called ahead, Gabrielle. You really should have.’

Gabrielle’s apprehension grew claws as they entered the chateau through the western door. Josien Alexander had always been a mystery to her children. Never loving, constantly critical. Gabrielle had spent most of her childhood trying to please a mother who could not be pleased. Gabrielle’s overriding instinct was still to please her, even after seven years of barely any contact with her mother at all. What if Josien didn’t want to see her? What if she hadn’t been calling for her children at all? What then?

The nurse who met them in the sitting room of the suite was a grizzle-faced man in his mid fifties whom Luc introduced as Hans. Hans had a firm handshake, a steady gaze, and a warm smile for Gabrielle.

‘Stubbornest patient I’ve ever had,’ he said. ‘She’s just taken her medication so you’ve about five minutes before she begins to get drowsy. Not that she won’t fight the sleep. She always does.’ Hans gestured towards yet another closed door. ‘She’s in there.’

‘Thank you.’ Gabrielle’s nerves were at breaking point and her body felt weary beyond belief, courtesy of the twenty-three-hour flight from Sydney, but this was the path she’d chosen to follow and follow it she would, no matter what Rafe thought, or Luc thought, or anyone thought. Gabrielle had come to see her mother.

Some mistakes were unavoidable.

‘Would you like me to accompany you?’ asked Luc quietly.

‘No.’ Luc’s offer of support scraped at her, shamed her. Some humiliations were best kept private. Then again, maybe this meeting would go more smoothly with a third party present. With Luc present, Gabrielle amended with brutal honesty, so that Josien could see that, as far as Luc was concerned, the mistakes of the past had been paid for. And they had been paid for, hadn’t they? Surely they’d been paid for? ‘Yes.’

Luc’s lips curved ever so slightly. ‘Which is it?’

Gabrielle’s gaze met his and skittered away. ‘Yes.’

‘Four minutes,’ said Hans dryly.

‘Thanks.’ Steeling herself, Gabrielle reached for the handle to yet another closed door and headed inside. It was warmer in here. Darker too, for the afternoon light had to pry its way through two layers of gauze curtain material before finding entry. A large four poster bed dominated the space so that the figure tucked beneath the fluffy white bedcovers looked tiny in comparison. Seven years ago, Josien Alexander’s hair had been as black as a raven’s wing and had fallen almost to her waist. Now it was streaked with silver and cut to sit just beneath her chin but she was still the most beautiful woman Gabrielle had ever seen. Josien’s eyes—those startling violet blue eyes that had always watched and judged but never smiled—were closed, and Gabrielle was grateful for the reprieve. She needed that moment to bind her emotions tight.

‘Josien,’ said Luc gently. ‘Pardonnez-moi for the lateness of the hour but you have a visitor.’

Josien turned her head and slowly, slowly, she opened her eyes, focussing first on Luc, and then on Gabrielle standing awkwardly beside him. With a swiftly indrawn breath, Josien closed her eyes and turned away.

Gabrielle felt the sting of bitter tears welling in her own eyes but she blinked them away, and made herself speak even though her words would come out ragged and choked. ‘Hello, Maman.’

‘You shouldn’t have come.’ Josien kept her face averted.

‘So people keep telling me.’ Luc’s face, when Gabrielle glanced his way, was as hard and unyielding as the stones from which the chateau had been built. ‘I hear you’ve been unwell.’

‘Ce ne’est rien,’ said Josien. ‘It’s nothing.’

It didn’t look like nothing. Luc had been right. Her mother looked frail. ‘I brought you a gift.’ Gabrielle reached into her bag for the album of photos she’d put together so painstakingly. Rafe would kill her if he knew how many photos of him she’d included in the mix, but he didn’t know and she wasn’t about to tell him. ‘I thought you might like to know what Rafe and I have been doing these past seven years. We bought a broken vineyard, Maman, and brought it back to life. We’ve done so well. Rafe’s a brilliant businessman. You should be proud of him.’

Josien said nothing and Gabrielle felt her lips tighten. So what if Rafael had eventually gone as far away from Josien and this place as he could get? That was what people did when raised on a diet of scathing criticism interspersed with icy indifference. Rafe had never deserved any of the treatment Josien had dealt him. He really hadn’t. ‘I’ll leave it here on the end of the bed in case you want to look at it some time.’

‘Take it and go.’

Yeah, well. That was what you got when you believed in tooth fairies, happily ever after, and mothers who actually cared. ‘I’ve taken a room in the village, Maman. I’ll be in the area these next few weeks. I know you’re tired right now but maybe when you’re feeling better you could give me a call. Here.’ She fished a business card from her handbag. ‘I’ll leave you my number.’ Gabrielle’s words were met with more silence. Gabrielle bit her lip—praying for one pain to subdue another, but Josien’s rejection had cut too deep. She should never have come here. She should have listened to Rafe and to Luc instead of listening to her heart. ‘So…’ Gabrielle felt the world sway, and then Luc’s hand was beneath her elbow, fragile purchase against the darkness threatening to engulf her.

‘Jet lag,’ murmured Luc. It wasn’t jet lag causing her to sway and they both knew it, but he afforded her the courtesy of an excuse for her body’s reaction and Gabrielle seized it.

‘Yes. It’s been a long day.’

‘Wait for me outside,’ he said as he gently shepherded her towards the door. ‘It’s about to get longer.’

Luc waited until the door clicked closed behind Gabrielle before turning to the woman in the bed. Josien Alexander was an enchantingly beautiful woman and always had been. Coolly unfathomable, she ran the housekeeping staff at the chateau with an iron fist and no second chances. She’d raised her children the same way. Luc had bowed to Josien’s will all those years ago because he’d seen the sense in sending Gabrielle away, but he saw no sense in Josien’s actions now. All he saw was pain.

Josien’s eyes were still closed as Luc strode back towards the bed but he didn’t need her eyes, only her ears. ‘My father told me of our duty to you before he died,’ he said grimly. ‘I’ve done my utmost to honour it. I’ve tried my damnedest to make allowances for your behaviour, Josien, but, so help me, if you don’t make time for your daughter while she’s here you can pack your bags and leave this place the minute your health allows it. Do you hear me, Josien?’

Josien nodded, tears tracking noiselessly down her cheeks, and Luc struggled to contain his frustration and his fury. ‘You’ve never been able to see it, have you? No matter how badly you wound them or how hard you try to push them away…you just don’t get it.’ He looked at the photo album and his roiling emotions coalesced into a tight ball of anger directed squarely at the woman in the bed, no matter how fragile or beautiful she was. ‘You’ve never been able to see how much your children love you.’

Luc caught up with Gabrielle halfway along the hallway. He needed a drink. The thorn he’d never quite managed to extricate from his side looked as if she needed one too. ‘In here,’ he told her, and ushered her into the library that doubled on occasion as his formal office space, usually when he entertained clients and wanted to impress. ‘Where are you staying?’ he asked as he headed for the bar, reached for the brandy and poured generously.

‘In the village,’ she replied, careful not to let her fingers brush his as she took the half full glass from his outstretched hand and downed it in a single gulp. ‘Thanks.’ Her gaze went to the label on the bottle and her eyes widened. ‘What…? For heaven’s sake, Luc! This stuff has to be at least a hundred years old and expensive enough to make even you wince. You might warn a person before you handed it to them. I could try tasting it next time.’

‘Where in the village?’ He poured her another shot. She could taste it now.

‘I took a room above the old flour mill.’

‘I’ll have someone collect your bags,’ he told her curtly and downed his own brandy before setting the glass back on the counter somewhat more forcefully than necessary. Gabrielle flinched at the sound. She looked jittery, strung out. She looked like he felt. ‘You can stay here,’ he told her. ‘There’s room enough.’