French Resolution (Dances With Gazillionaires Book 2) Read online

  FRENCH RESOLUTION

  By Nora Snowdon

  Genre: Contemporary Romance

  From the author of the hilarious Dances With Werewolves series comes, FRENCH RESOLUTION, book two in the Dances With Gazillionaires series—a fast read that will steam up your glasses and warm your heart.

  What happens when the man of your dreams becomes your worst nightmare? Charity Fundraiser, Helen Dunhill’s fabulous Bahamian vacation fling with the devastatingly handsome and charming Antoine, comes to a crashing halt when she discovers an incriminating e-mail on his computer.

  Billionaire Corporate Raider, Antoine Christoff needs the outstanding shares on a newly acquired company. His efforts to seduce the heiress out of her shares becomes all too effective when he finds himself falling for the unassuming philanthropist. Further complications arise as his overbearing sister and personal assistant/ex-lover conspire to meddle in his affairs.

  It’s a battle of wills and sexual attraction as the two lovers challenge their preconceptions and battle their insecurities to find their happily ever after.

  *Contains sex scenes and is not suitable for readers under 18 years of age.

  *Previously published in 2013 by Rebel Ink Press as The French Resolution.

  PRAISE FOR THE FRENCH RESOLUTION

  “SHE HAS THIS NAILED!”

  Nora Snowdon never fails to deliver - her romances are smart, sexy,

  funny and can't-put-it-down engaging.

  Carol Hiller ★★★★★

  “A CUTE, COMPELLING LOVE STORY”

  I adore stories where love comes out of the blue and turns

  someone's world upside down.

  Alicia Dean ★★★★★

  “A SHORT READ THAT I REALLY ENJOYED

  FROM FIRST PAGE TO THE LAST”

  J. Cox ★★★★

  "EXCELLENT!"

  What a joy. Great story, well written, yummy characters, a great read.

  Amazon Customer ★★★★★

  PRAISE FOR SPANISH ACQUISITION

  “ANOTHER WINNER! SMART, FUNNY AND SEXY”

  Kay Gregory ★★★★★

  “LUSH, EVOCATIVE, AND A LITTLE BIT CHEEKY.”

  Holly Trent ★★★★

  “A FUN DELIGHTFUL READ!”

  Sienna Jazmyn ★★★★

  French Resolution

  By Nora Snowdon

  First Edition published 2013

  Copyright © 2013 Nora Snowdon

  Cover design © 2018 by Terry Mitchell

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  AUTHOR NOTE

  EXCERPT

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  THE FRENCH RESOLUTION

  CHAPTER 1

  Helen trotted into the Bahamas Beach Tennis Club, juggling her sports bag while dragging her hair into a hasty ponytail. She scanned the entranceway and spied Jordana window-shopping in the tennis club gift store. Of course. Jordana was decked out in a cute, white, short set that displayed her long brown legs to their full advantage.

  Faced with Jordana’s perfection, Helen almost regretted her sloppy appearance. Almost. It annoyed her wasting time trying to look effortlessly beautiful. And it seemed pretentious. Then again were her scruffy cut-offs and baggy t-shirt any more honest? She made enough money to dress well but, at least on vacation, she enjoyed annoying those who expected a certain protocol. And she could always count on Jordana to rise to the bait.

  “Hey, girl. You are looking fabulous!” Helen called out as she drew closer.

  When they were younger, Helen had prayed for a growth spurt that would give her Jordana’s long, lean look. At 5'4" standing next to Jordana, she resembled an unsophisticated teenager. And this year her friend was even more stunning, sporting new, puffier lips. They used to discuss Jordana’s enhancements, but the last few years Jordana liked to pretend that her boobs, nose, eyes, and now lips, were just as nature had intended.

  “I wish I could say the same for you, but what are you wearing?”

  “It’s the new Ralph Lauren line, ‘ghetto.’” Helen sucked in her cheeks and struck a supermodel pose. “It’s all the rage in New York.”

  “Hmph. It looks like the same thing you wore last time. You need a style intervention.”

  “Too much effort. Besides, this way I avoid the paparazzi.”

  “Yeah right, you and Kim Kardashian.” Jordana headed outside to the tennis courts. “We’ve got number one reserved until three o’clock. And no one’s on court two so you’ll have to retrieve your own wild shots.”

  Helen waved to Tyrone, manning the reception counter as they zipped by.

  He winked. “Looking hot, Helen.”

  She grinned. He must’ve overheard their discussion. A small huff was the only hint that Jordana caught Tyrone’s comment.

  Helen opened her bag and pulled out her racquet as they commandeered the court. “I hope I remember how this game goes. I haven’t been on a court for absolute ages.”

  “Oh good. Maybe I can win a game for a change.” Jordana hit a smooth forehand across the net. Helen’s response was a choppy, ugly shot that came back with twice the speed and a touch of top spin. Jordana reached ineffectively for it. “Then again, maybe I don’t really want to win.” She sighed.

  “You should fire your tennis pro, and hire me instead,” Helen told her. “I may not look good playing, but I am unpredictable. Oops!” Her lob over Jordana’s head had continued up over the fence. “Sorry, I’ll get it.”

  Helen ran to recover the ball before it rolled into the club café. She was lunging for the ball, when a beautiful, manicured, and decidedly male hand picked it up. She glanced at the man proffering her tennis ball and her breath caught in surprise. In front of her stood the most devastatingly handsome man, she’d ever seen. Brown, wavy hair over a high, intelligent forehead, intriguing hazel eyes, sculpted cheekbones, and a wide, sensuous mouth smiling seductively at her.

  “This would be yours?” He also had a delicious French accent.

  “Yes. Thank you.” She blinked, hoping she hadn’t been staring at him in awe for any noticeable amount of time. As she took the ball from him, her fingers touched his palm and a shock wave coursed through her entire body. She nodded awkwardly, and ran back to the tennis courts.

  “My God, Jordana. Did you see that man?” Helen glanced back at the café but the man was no longer visible. She met her friend at the net. “I’m in love. And he has a French accent. Do you think he’s a movie star?”

  “He’s gorgeous. I wonder who he is.” Jordana backed up and restarted the volleying. “But the next ball you hit over the fence, I’ll retrieve.”

  “Tell me when.”


  Helen’s shots became more controlled as she relaxed into the game. Then suddenly Jordana began stretching languidly between each play. Helen opened her mouth to ask if she’d pulled a muscle, when she noticed the Frenchman was now watching their game. And, of course, she flubbed an easy shot of her own. If her face wasn’t already beet-red from the sun and exertion, she’d have blushed to the self-same color. Thank heavens for small mercies.

  “Well, I’m done,” Jordana pronounced as soon as the man turned away to talk with Tyrone. It appeared he’d left his cell phone in the café. “And I definitely need to get a new racquet this season. This one has soggy strings.”

  “Yup.” Helen collected the balls and retrieved her sports bag. “Do you want to play again Tuesday or Wednesday?”

  “I’ll check my calendar and get back to you.” She held the mesh door open for Helen and glared at her nails. “I need to schedule a manicure, now.”

  Helen held back an eye roll. She couldn’t afford to piss off her friend too much. Since Helen now only visited her father in Nassau occasionally, finding people to socialize with had become trickier. And besides, beneath the social snob, Jordana really was a nice person.

  “Excusez-moi.” Helen jumped at the male voice close beside her. “You played an entertaining game. Malheureusement, my usual partner is unavailable this week. Could I persuade you to favor me with a set?”

  Helen glanced at Jordana, before realizing he was asking her. “Me? I’m not a very good player. I’m sure my friend, Jordana, would be better competition.”

  “Au contraire, you have a scrappy game that looks most challenging. Are you available tomorrow?”

  “Oh…” She didn’t know whether to be insulted by the scrappy comment, but then couldn’t think of a witty comeback.

  “Sorry. Where are my manners?” He bowed. “My name is Antoine Christoff, and I am most pleased to meet you.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Helen struggled to breathe normally. “I’m Helen and this is my friend, Jordana.”

  Antoine acknowledged Jordana, but then focused his seductive smile on Helen. “I will meet you here, tomorrow at eleven o’clock, Mademoiselle Helen.”

  She nodded. “Thank you… I mean, sure. See you tomorrow.” She went to wave goodbye, but realized she was still clutching her can of tennis balls. With a quick nod she ducked back to the parking lot and the safety of her dad’s car. Although she’d complained earlier, now she was pleased Edward, her dad’s chauffeur, had insisted he’d drive her and wait.

  For the rest of the afternoon, her thoughts fixated on Antoine. Who the heck was he? If only her dad hadn’t hightailed it to Europe prior to her arriving, she could’ve asked him. All the mega-rich people in the Bahamas eventually crossed paths. And from the man’s expensively tailored casual clothes, fresh manicure and suave manners, he was undeniably one of the moneyed set.

  A quick check revealed her Wi-Fi connection was still down so she called Tyrone at the tennis club. Other than confirming Antoine was a long-term member, Tyrone didn’t know much. He guessed the man was from France.

  Why did Antoine seem interested in her? And what would it feel like to have those lips pressing against hers? He seemed about her age, maybe a couple of years older, but he was so polished, not to mention drop dead gorgeous. Men like that didn’t seek her out, especially when she was with Jordana.

  It didn’t matter anyway, she chided herself; it wasn’t as though he’d asked her on a date. He’d only asked her for a game of tennis. She was reading too much into his smoldering glances. Odds were he looked that way at every woman, leaving behind a trail of broken hearts. But if she could have one night with him, would she?

  *

  Antoine unlocked the door to his friend’s house and let himself inside. After the long flight from Paris and the quick trip to the tennis club to check out his quarry, he required a drink. Ms. Helen Dunhill had not been as he had expected. After pouring a cold Pinot Grigio, he retrieved his well-thumbed dossier on the girl.

  The only child of Robert Dunhill, from whom he had just acquired Dunhill Holdings, Ms. Dunhill was also a major shareholder in the company. Twenty-seven years old, short and mousy-looking in the photo, she was the donor relations manager at the Feed the Child foundation, a part-time waitress at a Mexican restaurant in Manhattan and resided in a rental apartment in Brooklyn.

  He’d assumed she was one of those obnoxious American feminists who felt if they paid any attention to their appearance, they’d somehow degraded themselves. After meeting her, he was not so sure. Yes, she dressed atrociously, but she did not have the attitude. And she was certainly more attractive than her picture.

  Getting to know Ms. Dunhill may not be the onerous chore he had anticipated. He would take her to dinner, compliment her intellect and business acumen—American women liked that—and then persuade her to sell her shares in her father’s company to him before she learned his connections.

  It was fortuitous he had not brought his assistant, Laurenne with him on the trip. Much as he would have appreciated her company during the long tropical nights, she might’ve been detrimental to his mission. Laurenne had not been concerned with him meeting the dowdy heiress based on her photograph. In person, she might have perceived Ms. Dunhill as more of a threat.

  And Ms. Dunhill, faced with his statuesque, blonde assistant, would have doubted the sincerity in his wooing regardless of her “intellect.” Antoine chuckled, as he recalled his British Public Relations manager, Winston’s advice regarding the Dunhill girl, “Never mind, old Chap. Just close your eyes, and think of France.”

  CHAPTER 2

  A flicker of annoyance crossed Antoine’s face when he first saw Helen, but was soon replaced by his devastating smile. He probably hadn’t appreciated her uniform of the same cut-offs and another baggy t-shirt, but what did he expect? She stifled a grin as she followed him onto the courts. Jordana would’ve decked herself out in the most revealing tennis outfit that was legal, and that must’ve been what he expected. She may not be in the same league as the two of them, but she did know how to wind them up.

  “I am glad you were available to play.” Antoine cracked open a fresh can of balls and lobbed one to her. “I fear my game may be a little rusty.”

  She carefully returned it, thanking the gods of tennis that her shot didn’t go wild or into the net. God, this man unnerved her. He’d looked fantastic in his casual clothes yesterday, but now in his shorts and fitted shirt, she could barely concentrate on the game. Helen analyzed each move, ‘eye on the ball, step into position, back swing, hit and follow through,’ as if she were back at the community center in Brooklyn where she’d learned to play. She would not look at his tanned, muscular, legs, propelling him easily across the court. She would not look at his broad chest, tapering down to a lean waist. She would not— “Damn.” Helen groaned as she bunted an easy shot into the net. She had been distracted by his beautiful biceps.

  “I did warn you, I’m not a good player,” Helen reminded him.

  “Au contraire. You have a lovely stroke. Do you wish to serve?”

  “Sure. A couple of practice shots first?” She placed two careful serves over the net. “Okay. Here goes.” She let loose a blistering serve to the right side that Antoine lunged to return. She ran him back to the left but her next forehand went squarely into the net. “Love, fifteen.” Antoine was ready for her second serve and returned it with ease.

  “You have a very large serve.” His dryly delivered observation made her smile. “You did not play like this against your friend.”

  “No,” she admitted. “Jordana would never play with me again if I hit it too hard. You seem a little tougher.” She lobbed the balls back to him. “Your game.”

  Antoine aced two serves before Helen managed to return one. They settled into a competitive game with neither willing to concede a point. She was relieved that, as long as she concentrated on trying to win, she could almost block out how attractive he was. He won the match, but at
least she made him work for his victory.

  “Good game.” With the sweat dripping down her arms, she didn’t dare offer to shake hands. Now that she wasn’t concentrating on playing, she was again, overwhelmed by his sexual appeal. She used the sleeve of her t-shirt to wipe the droplets off her forehead. “Wow, I’m not used to this heat.”

  “May I get you a drink?” Antoine steered her toward the café.

  “Thank you. Uh, I just need to wash my hands first. I’ll meet you inside.” Helen hoped against hope that her face wasn’t bright red.

  The washroom mirror confirmed the worst of her fears. She rinsed her face several times with cold water then brushed out her hair with her fingers so her pink ears wouldn’t be as obvious. Well, I guess I don’t need to wonder if he’ll want an affair with me now. She made her way back into the café and sat down opposite Antoine. The waitress placed two glasses in front of them.

  “I took the liberty of ordering you a lemonade. You may choose something else, if you prefer.”

  “This is fine. Thank you.” Helen took a gulp, trying not to notice Antoine’s long, tanned fingers playing with the condensation on his glass, imagining how it would feel to have those same fingers caressing her face. She couldn’t help babbling, “Boy, I sure got thirsty out there.”

  “Yes. You are a little flushed.” As if he’d read her mind, Antoine ran his index finger down her cheek and tucked a curl behind her ear.

  She sat frozen until his hand left her face. An odd series of sensations hit her; the thrill of his touch, the embarrassment at his understatement, and the disappointment when his fingers deserted her. She had no idea how to react. At least she was already flushed and couldn’t blush any more.

  *

  Antoine enjoyed the confusion in Helen’s face. She seemed totally guileless, reacting instantly and visibly to his touch. This conquest was almost going to be too easy. She was nothing like the women with whom he usually associated. They wouldn’t have played tennis with such vigor, knowing it would compromise their beauty. They also wouldn’t have tried to best him at the game. As if underlining his thought, Antoine noticed Helen’s companion from the day before, bearing down on them. She wore a beautiful, yellow, halter dress revealing sun kissed shoulders, ample cleavage with no tan lines, and bronzed legs that seemed to go on forever. He stood and bowed slightly.