french twist

.....Holy hell. Her Plums were missing.
.....Janine Coulter blinked against the blinding May sunshine reflected off hundreds of Venetian mirrors. She could feel their absence. Even in the chaotic cavern of light, glass, and enough gilded fleur-de-lis to eliminate world hunger, she knew her precious Pompadour Plum vases were not in Versailles’ famed Hall of Mirrors.
....."Monsieur Le Directeur, where are the Sèvres vases?"
.....Henri Duvoisier almost broke into a smile, but then must have remembered he was French. "How astute of you to notice, Professor Coulter. We are not including them in this area of the exhibit." At her intake of breath, he lifted a bony shoulder. "We have been advised against doing so."
.....Janine closed her eyes and swallowed, digging deep for every ounce of diplomacy and patience she knew she’d need. This was a test. He resented her and, frankly, she understood it. In his eyes, she was a novice, an American, a woman and an intruder. Not to mention a last minute stand-in.
....."Advised?" This would be a battle of wills. What he didn’t understand was that where the Plums were involved, her will was steel. "By whom?"
.....He didn’t respond.
.....She took a deep breath and looked directly into Henri’s limpid blue eyes. Then she broke into a wide smile, knowing it would have an unnerving affect on the old Frenchman.
....."The vases are the centerpiece of the exhibit, monsieur, and our plans call for them to be in the middle of the hall." She turned and crossed the polished parquet, the staccato tap of her high heels reverberating off the marble walls and richly painted ceilings. "They were supposed to be right here."
.....She stole a peek at the massive portrait of Madame de Pompadour hanging across the hall. Oh hell, if little bourgeoisie Jeanne-Antoinette Poisson could march into the most splendid address in France and convince the surly court that she deserved to be the king’s mistress, certainly one unwelcome art history professor from UCLA could handle Versailles’ embittered director.
....."We have altered the design of the exhibit because of security issues, Professor," Henri said.
.....Was there a French equivalent to ‘I don’t give a shit’? She’d have to look that one up.
.....She squared her shoulders and tried to match the haughty expression Boucher had captured in his famed image of Pompadour. "I wasn’t apprised of these security issues."
.....Henri cleared his throat and suddenly sent a beseeching glance over her shoulder. Someone else had entered the hall. She didn’t hear footsteps, but she sensed a presence. She turned to follow the direction of Henri’s gaze.
.....At first she couldn’t see anything but a shadow against an arched window at the very end of the hall. Then the shadow became a silhouette of a man, the splendid work of thousands of artisans melting into the background as he silently approached.
....."That’s because you were unavoidably detained." The presence spoke. The English words, buried in a smoky baritone and rich French accent, echoed through the massive hall.
.....He strode with all the assurance of the three Bourbon kings who’d played God in this very room. Those Louis’ – the lot of them – were tall enough to look down on their subjects, dark enough to be the focal point of every portrait and handsome enough to have their legendary libidos constantly satisfied.
.....This man could be a direct descendant. And then some.
.....With each step, his striking features became more visible. His eyes, nearly as black as his thick, straight hair, glinted as he gazed at her. A shadow of stubborn whiskers in hollow cheeks balanced a dark slash of brow. Everything about him – from the elegant thousand dollar suit fitted to his expansive shoulders down to the rich Euro loafers – screamed control, perfection and superiority.
.....Not only did he have the drop-dead looks of French royalty, he had the ’tude to match.
.....Janine tilted her face up to him. Something a five-foot-seven inch woman in heels rarely got to do.
....."Ah, Luc." Henri’s voice startled her. She’d forgotten he was in the room. The museum director mumbled something in undecipherable French while he shook the new arrival’s hand.
.....The corner of his mouth curled in response to whatever Henri had said. He turned to Janine and swept a glance over her, lingering a moment longer than necessary on her legs. She casually touched her hem with her fingertips. Maybe the spunky skirt was a little too L.A. hip and not enough Paris couture.
.....His eyes narrowed a fraction. "Evidently you were unable to be involved in the last minute decisions, Madame La Curator." His English was flawless, although softened by an undulating French accent. "I understand you had urgent personal business keeping you from joining us."
.....The musical cadence didn’t mask the little dig. Whoever Luc was, he knew, like everyone else, that the second string curator had been delayed because her wedding had been scheduled to take place the week before. And like everyone else, he would soon deduce that although she’d arrived late, she had no ring, no new last name and no husband in tow.
.....For the millionth time, she cursed Sam Benjamin and the ground the cheating, lying bastard walked on.
.....She held out her hand. "Janine Coulter."
.....With a slight bow of his head, he took her hand, engulfing hers with a large, strong grip. "Luc Tremont."
....."Luc is our spécialist de la securité," Henri explained. "A consultant, as you would say, we have hired to supervise and control the security of the Pompadour exhibit. And yes, Luc, this is the newly appointed Madame la Curator, our distinguished guest from the Univerisité de Californie, Janine Coulter."
.....A shower of resentment sparked at her nerve endings. She hadn’t been told a thing about a security consultant.
....."The pleasure is mine, madame." A decidedly un-French smile revealed perfect white teeth. His handshake relaxed as one of his fingers lightly moved over her skin. More resentment sparked. Something sparked. She withdrew her hand.
....."From California," he said in a tone so soft it could be considered seductive...or mocking. "But your beautiful name is so French. Janine."
.....Szha-neen. It sure never sounded like that before. She shook her head and tried to respond in his language. Just to be polite.
....."No." Damn. Every syllable she’d ever learned eluded her. "Not French. Just...American."
.....She crossed her arms self-consciously. This was probably part of their sabotage strategy. They sent this hunk to sidetrack her, make her stumble on the job, steal her attention from her responsibilities. Who said the French weren’t effective warriors?
....."We were so sorry to hear of the passing of Dr. Farrow," he said.
.....The familiar dull ache settled around her heart. "Thank you. His death was a tremendous loss for the art world and for the University." Not to mention for her.
.....But she didn’t want to discuss Albert Farrow, or the fact that his suicide left her as Curator of the Pompadour exhibit. She wanted the Plums.
....."Monsieur Tremont, do you know where the Sèvres vases are?"
.....He held out an arm toward an artful arrangement of porcelain under a portrait of Louis the Fifteenth. "Some are right there, madame, and there are still more in the Salon de la Guerre."
That area of the Hall of Mirrors was nearly a football field away, awash in the same sunlight that warmed them. But she’d been through it already. No vases. Not the ones she wanted. "Non, monsieur. The Pompadour Plum vases."
.....She heard Henri stifle a moan at the phrase. Of course, he’d hate that the American media had dubbed the three exquisite vases "the Pompadour Plums" after they had been found in the dusty basement of a French chateau a year ago. The purist French historians despised the catchy description of the matchless purple porcelain that had been the subject of such great debate in the art world.
.....Luc Tremont regarded her from under thick, dark lashes. "It’s my strong recommendation that we limit the viewing of the Sèvres in one of the anterooms, guarded twenty-four hours a day. I’ll allow entrance by invitation only."
.....He’ll allow entrance?
....."I don’t think so," she responded. "The vases are the heart and soul of the exhibit."
....."There are nearly a hundred other artifacts that have not been seen in well over two centuries," he countered.
....."None as precious as the Sèvres." And none as closely tied to Madame de Pompadour, the exhibit’s namesake. "They are the whole reason people will come to this exhibit."
....."Surely they will want to see all of the treasures of Louis the Fifteen’s Versailles."
.....He was clueless, this big French security guard. "Monsieur Tremont, do you realize that in the history of all mankind, there has never been a piece of soft paste Sèvres porcelain produced in that color, let alone three matching vases, all with Pompadour’s image and name?" She purposely used the let-me-spell-this-out-for-you tone that she saved for freshmen. "All three bear Madame’s actual signature written in gold. They are priceless."
....."Precisely my point." A glimmer lit his midnight gaze. "Professor."
.....A sudden, uncomfortable warmth spread through her, but she continued her argument. "They’re the reason more than a million people around the world will file into museums like this one," she insisted. "It would be like exhibiting King Tut without the sarcophagus. We can’t deny visitors the chance to see the Pompadour Plums."
....."Madame." Henri cleared his throat. "We are not using that expression."
.....She ignored him, her focus unwavering on Tremont. "Why would you do something so counterproductive? Believe me, I know about Sèvres porcelain. This is rare. This is huge. It has to be shown to the world. Not just a select few."
.....Tremont took a few steps closer to her, invading her breathing room in that totally French way. But somehow, with him, it was more...invasive. "There have been very specific threats to the exhibit, madame. I don’t think you want to take the chance of losing the vases before they have traveled the world."
.....Of course not. If something – anything – went wrong, her trial run would end as fast as she could say au revoir.
.....She couldn’t let this guy steamroll her. How would Albert have handled him? "Why don’t you let me in on the security issues, Monsieur Tremont, and then we can come up with a plan that meets your needs and mine?"
....."Madame la Curator." A hint of condescension was artfully buried in the musical accent. "There have been rumblings in the underground world of art trading."
.....She translated the euphemisms. Word on the street said there would be a hit. "I don’t have a problem with armed guards and increased museum security," she responded quickly. "But I refuse to remove the Sèvres vases from the main exhibit."
....."I’m afraid you have no authority to refuse anything."
....."Sorry, but I do." She gave him a tight smile to avoid total bitchiness. "Perhaps we can discuss this with the Minister of Culture who gave me the authority to do what I want with my vases."
.....He winked at her. "They belong to France."
.....Damn. She could have bitten a hole in her lip. "I mean Madame’s vases...the Sèvres vases."
....."Une minute, Henri," he said to the other man, who had inched closer and closer to them. With one strong, sure hand on her shoulder, he guided her away, leaning close enough for Janine to feel a whisper of warm breath on her cheek. The French. Personal space was irrelevant to them. "Madame. Professor. What do you prefer that I call you?"
.....She couldn’t resist. "Janine."
....."Janine." Szha-neen. It was absolutely sinful the way he said it. "There is more than I am telling you."
.....A shiver skated down her spine, but her reaction had way more to do with his serious tone than his sexy pronunciation.
.....He moved his hand from her shoulder, down her back, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. "Surely you understand that there are those who will stop at nothing to own such a magnificent piece of history as Pompadour’s vases."
.....Did he think she didn’t comprehend their value? "Of course there are thieves who would want them. But hiding them in another room? Offering a viewing by invitation only? Such extreme measures will only detract from the exhibit."
....."Not when lives are at risk, Janine."
....."Whose life is at risk?"
.....His smile disappeared. "Yours."