The Frenchman's Reluctant Surrender

They cannot stop fawning over the suave and sophisticated French industrialist, Jeanluc DeLeon, recently arrived in New York to establish a presence for his company. Everybody wants a piece of him. All, except the irresistible Iris Falconer. The sizzling chemistry between them is explosive and undeniable. He’s never felt this way before and pursues her with a single-minded purpose. ‘Move in with me’ he says. When it’s over, he’ll give her a million dollars. Iris would rather go feed the cat she doesn’t have. Subconsciously, she knows that if she gives in to this man, who’s too darn cute for his own good, she'll end up with a broken heart. Does he always get what he wants, or has the Frenchman met his match this time?

Excerpt:
Iris knew most of the guests and it wasn’t too much of a stretch to indulge in some polite conversation. She helped herself to a much needed glass of champagne and took a sip. There was an abrupt lull in the conversation. New arrivals? Iris looked over her shoulder toward the salon doors and at once recognized the petite figure of Marilyn Filcher. Poised in the doorway, also waiting to make an entrance, stood a man towering beside her.

Ah! The incomparable Jeanluc DeLeon.

She turned around fully to scrutinize the man, who’s business, her father had been obsessing about for the past few weeks.

The buzz in her ear took her by surprise. Her body awakened with a swiftness that left her breathless. She felt charged, invigorated and thrilled, all at the same time.
And just like that, life, as she knew it, was changed.

It was all true what they said about him, she thought absently, staggered by her reaction to this man. He wasn’t only blindingly handsome, there was a hint of that unmistakable aura about him. The one which summed him up in a glance: confident, arrogant and not to be messed with. He wore a steel gray suit, custom fit to his lean and rangy body. And a fuchsia tie? Honestly, she didn’t know of any man who could wear a girlie pink tie and carry it off with such flamboyance.

His face was compelling. All harsh angles. High forehead, straight nose, interesting cheekbones but it was his mouth that caught her attention. Fine and chiseled, it was perfection itself. The thick dark hair was combed back into submission, away from his forehead.

My prince! Iris thought with a dreamy look in her eyes.

He stood at the door surveying the crowd like a royal would, his realm. Then, as she looked on, his inscrutable expression changed. His lips curled into a cynical half-smile, as if he’d suddenly discovered that the crowd before him was somewhat lacking and not quite up to par. At least that’s how she perceived it.

Iris got her head out of the clouds in a hurry and sauntered over to the fireplace. There was a large decorative mirror hanging above the mantelpiece. Her eyes searched the reflection and quickly honed in on him. In spite of that arrogant look on his face, his appearance was electrifying. She couldn’t tear her eyes away and continued the covert perusal. Okay, so he was hot. Practically, all the women in the room were drooling. Case and point: Marilyn, the chosen one, who was preening happily beside him. ?Her father, Iris noticed, was swiftly weaving his way through the milling guests to greet and gush over his VIPs. Marilyn performed the introductions and DeLeon politely inclined his head and shook hands with Arthur.

She saw his expression go from cynical to uninterested as he casually turned away to peruse the room. His gaze skimmed past her. She drew in a shaky breath, for it was as if he’d reached out and physically touched her. To her chagrin he did a double take and their eyes locked in the mirror. She froze. He raised a brow and she reddened with embarrassment. Wrenching her gaze, she strolled away pretending a nonchalance she certainly didn’t feel.