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"You mean you're not getting married at Christmas?" Jean-Jacques needed to be perfectly clear on what Nicole meant.

She paused in the process of straightening the chairs. "I mean, I was never going to be married. It's true I was in London recently to represent my mother at a family party. Some photographer caught me out on the lawn talking to Colin. He's marrying his fiancée in a few days."

With those words, Jean-Jacques's entire world turned inside out. She wasn't engaged ? There wasn't going to be a marriage ? She wouldn't be living in England ? Mon Dieu.

He'd imagined many things since he'd seen the photograph. All of them gut-wrenching.

He fought to smother a groan. "My mistake. I was about to offer my congratulations."

An impish smile broke out on her face. "It appears you've joined a long line of people duped by the paparazzi."

When she looked like that, she had no idea how she came across to the males of the species. It was something she did as naturally as breathing. He'd known her since she was a little girl with a mop of bouncing curls. Her charm had gotten beneath his skin then, and would always have a stranglehold on his heart.

Now that she'd grown into a breathtaking woman, it didn't surprise him every journalist in Europe wanted photographs of her. Heiress to the Giraud perfume fortune, he supposed she would always be hounded by the press.

"Guilty as charged," he replied in the same teasing vein to disguise his shock.

She moved closer to him, her eyes intent on his face. "I never imagined such a thing could happen to Jean-Jacques Armentier of all people. Not when you used to laugh with me over the ridiculous claims in the tabloids linking me to this prince and that shipping magnate. Remember?"

Oh yes. I remember. How I wish I didn't. For the love of heaven, Nicole, don't look at me like that.

It was the same way she used to look at him whenever he tried to play hard to get. He did it on purpose to gauge her reaction. Her eyes would glisten over in pain and she'd go all breathless. Every time she responded that way, it would prove that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

Something dark in his nature had always needed that proof because he couldn't believe that Nicole Giraud, the exquisite brunette men all over Europe fantasized about, the daughter of a family worth billions, would rather be with Jean-Jacques Armentier, a son of the soil who was very good at entertaining her, but could never be her equal.

No matter how many times he tested her, she still came after him, undaunted. In front of his peers her unswerving desire for him fed his inflated ego. In the privacy of night, with the taste of her mouth still on his, he felt his heart soar. Then the morning would come, when the harsh light of day brought reality, dashing every dream.

How jealously he'd guarded her all those years. Right up until the moment he left for Paris with an offer that settled an untenable situation for him. But that was a lifetime ago.

His jaw hardened. This conversation needed to conclude so the torture would end. "If you're not getting married, what is the favorite target of the paparazzi doing these days besides putting on a Christmas play?"

Tell me what I need to hear. Tell me you're planning a world cruise with your lover. Anything that puts thousands of miles between us.

Nicole was in so much pain over his indifference to her presence, she didn't know if she could answer him. The question he'd asked her had been motivated by courtesy, nothing more. It went to prove how totally he'd eradicated her from his consciousness.

"Brigitte never mentioned it?"

"I'm afraid my sister and I were both poor letter writers," came the dampening response.

Her heart plunged to new depths. Not only had Jean-Jacques been able to steal away in the night five years ago and abandon everything and everyone he knew without a backward glance, he hadn't shown enough curiosity to ask questions of his older sister who'd been a good friend to Nicole.

There'd been no concern on his part how she'd survived that empty black period of endless mourning.

Devastated didn't begin to describe Nicole's feelings at the time. One day he was working at his father's plant where the harvested lavender was processed. The next day Jean-Jacques was gone. With obvious pride Monsieur Armentier told Nicole his son had left for Paris to study chemistry.

He never wrote her. Never phoned. There'd been no explanation. Dear God. The pain had been so excruciating, she still hadn't recovered, and feared she never would.

"I've been doing what I always intended to do with my life when I grew up."

Her reply managed to wipe the faint mocking expression from his face. In its place crept a sober mask, realigning those attractive features.

"You're a teacher?"

The fact that he remembered even that much of past conversations ought to have brought her a modicum of solace. But his glaring incredulity didn't allow her one second's pleasure in the moment.

She fought not to let him see how devastated she was. In as level a tone as possible she said, "I've been instructing kindergartners for four years now."

"Where?" he asked.

"At the École Charles Martel."

He flashed her an impatient glance. "I meant 'where' as in which town?"

"Here in Vence, of course. I was thrilled to be assigned that school because it's only a few minutes from the office. My brother and I were able to enjoy many lunches together before he moved to New York."

She could have sworn his face lost color.

"But that's impossible.…"

"Why?" she burst out angrily. "Is it so unthinkable that a Giraud might be teaching at the same grade school an Armentier attended?"

"You misunderstand me, Nicole," he ground out. "To be frank, I hadn't imagined you —"

"Working at all?" she cut him off. "Having a job like an ordinary person? For someone who always seemed so down-to-earth, you have a real problem about people with money. I don't know how I failed to recognize it until now —"

His mouth thinned into a white line of anger, but she didn't care. She was just getting warmed up.

"I'm not sure you'll be able to handle what I'm going to tell you, Jean-Jacques, but I'll say it anyway. All those billions you're now responsible for have never had anything to do with me. I didn't earn as much as one cent! The only money I spend is what I make on my salary."

It was fascinating to watch the way his black eyes turned into furious pinpoints of light.

"Impossible as it is for you to believe, money doesn't make my world go round."

Her declaration reverberated in the room. The way Jean-Jacques was staring at her now made her realize how out of control she was sounding.

"The children here at the day care center," she began in a quieter tone, "will be presenting the Christmas play at the villa. Mother's planning a light supper for everyone on the staff. She sent an invitation to your office, but in case you didn't see it yet, I'm extending it personally."

A long silence ensued before he said, "Giselle already brought it to my attention. Please thank your mother for me."

"I will," she whispered. "Does that mean you're coming?"