Читать книгу The Best Of The Year - Modern Romance - Мишель Смарт, Annie West - Страница 24
ОглавлениеSEVERAL IMAGES FLASHED across her brain, each one more graphic than the last. Furiously, she tried to blink them away, praying that the fire spiralling upwards from her belly wouldn’t engulf her whole body.
He took his time swirling his drink, savouring a taste of the amber liquid, before he quirked one amused eyebrow at her. ‘Nothing to say?’
‘It’s not going to work.’
That stopped him. ‘Excuse me?’
‘No matter how much you try to rile me, it’s not going to work.’
‘Mon Dieu, you’re as stubborn as you were when you were eight years old.’
She nodded. ‘And you’ve become an expert at hiding your feelings—albeit under a veneer of brusqueness that grates, but I see right through you.’
He slammed the glass down, stalked to where she stood and glared down at her. ‘What exactly do you think you see?’
Ana fought the urge to caress that tight jaw. ‘After all this time you’re still hurting. And don’t bother denying it. You don’t speak to your father unless you absolutely have to. I heard one of your board members ask you how he was doing when I came into the room. You shut him down. You blame your father for what happened too, don’t you?’
‘Of course I blame him!’ he shouted. ‘Do you think I should just forgive him for what he did?’
‘I think you need to find a way to put it behind you so it doesn’t consume you like this.’
He laughed, the sound like chips of ice being crunched underfoot. ‘How very Zen of you. Have you done the same with your mother?’
Ana sucked in a painful breath. ‘I’ve tried. She refuses to admit she did anything wrong.’
‘And yet you still entertain her in your life—even employ her as your manager? Would I be wrong in thinking that on some level you’re okay with what she did?’
She flinched. ‘Yes, you would be!’
‘Then what are you doing about it?’ he challenged.
About to speak, she froze, unprepared for the slap of realisation that she’d lived with her mother’s behaviour for so long she did silently accept it. ‘I don’t claim to have all the answers, but I know cutting your father off isn’t one of them.’
‘You’re right—you don’t have the answers. So don’t throw stones. And do not speak to me about what happened sixteen years ago. As of now, that subject is closed.’ His voice was taut with suppressed anger.
Whirling away, he strode to the window. His tense shoulders bunched as he slid both hands into his trouser pockets. Dappled sunlight framed his head in a golden halo. Ana stared, astounded by her inability to stop looking at him. But this time she saw past it to the hurt boy beneath. And her heart broke for him.
‘How can it be when it colours everything you do?’
A breath shuddered out of him. ‘Mon Dieu, Ana, I’m trying. Just let it go. Please.’
She swallowed hard and blinked back threatening tears. ‘Okay, I’ll let it go. For now.’
After several minutes he turned. ‘Your little stunt with the newspaper has paid off. I suggest you focus on what happens next.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means I’m relocating the ad campaign here,’ he said.
‘What?’ Surprise jerked through her. ‘Why? The venue in Scotland has been arranged and it’s all set to go.’
‘Since my presence is required where you are, I’d rather stay in a place where I can be guaranteed there won’t be a repeat of any suggestive newspaper articles. There’s very little press intrusion in Switzerland.’
‘So for the next three weeks I’m your prisoner?’
His eyebrows rose. ‘You’d rather return to London and feed more stories to the papers?’
‘I want to go home.’
Despite reassuring herself that she could control her feelings around him, her every instinct protested against spending any more time in Bastien’s disturbing company. The last shoot had overrun a whole week. If the pattern repeated itself she could be here for a long time, perhaps even until her trial. Here with this man who couldn’t fail to elicit intense, dangerous emotions from her.
‘That’s not going to happen.’
Anger exploded inside her. ‘You can’t do this!’
Her outburst brought a frown. ‘I’m willing to concede that the article may have helped save my company, Miss Duval, but I won’t be giving the press any more fodder for their gossip rags.’
‘Seriously—would you stop with the Miss Duval nonsense? It sounds ridiculous, considering we’ve...’ Ana faltered. Had she seriously been about to invite him to call her by her first name because they’d had their hands all over each other not once but twice in the last twenty-four hours?
She’d truly lost her mind.
‘Considering we’ve what? Been intimate?’
‘What happened between us wasn’t intimacy,’ she denied through stiff lips.
A grim parody of a smile curved his lips. ‘I agree. It was undeniably primal, and irritating as hell, but it was not intimacy.’
Somewhere deep inside her something cracked. Something she hadn’t even known existed. ‘No, it wasn’t.’
He gave her a quizzical glance before striding to his desk. He reached for a leather-bound file. ‘I’m glad we’re agreed. Tatiana will get the driver to take you back to the hotel. Be ready to leave at six.’
‘Leave? Where are we going?’ she asked.
‘My château. That’s where the shoot is now taking place. We’ll stay there until it’s wrapped. Oh, and Ana?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m trusting you not to do anything foolish like attempt to leave.’
‘I’m so honoured by your trust,’ she returned sarcastically.
His sensual mouth compressed and he sat down, reached for his phone and swung his chair towards the window.
Ana felt as though she’d been released from the heady power of a vortex. Yet the relief she craved was absurdly missing. Surely she couldn’t want to lock horns with Bastien?
Irritated with herself, she retrieved her bag and left his office, ignoring the hypnotic husk of his voice as he conversed in flawless French.
‘Are you ready to leave?’ Tatiana’s smile oozed enviable confidence.
Forcing herself to focus, Ana nodded. ‘Yes, thank you.’
* * *
Back in her hotel suite, Ana threw down her handbag and pulled the pins from her hair. It seemed a lifetime ago when she’d left here, fearing the worst. The axe hadn’t fallen as she’d expected, yet her instincts warned that she faced a darker threat.
She hated the idea that she had to remain in Switzerland, but she silently conceded that Bastien was right. What good would returning home do aside from setting the paparazzi on her tail again?
Going to the window, she opened the curtain and drank in the view. A towering jet of water shot into the sky from the jetty across the lake, its cascading drops creating breathtaking prisms of light.
Craving a modicum of freedom, she dashed to the bedroom and changed into the clothes she’d worn on the plane. Defiantly, she wore a bra underneath the top this time. The coat covered the worst of the daring slashes and minimised her exposure.
She left the hotel, making sure to keep it in sight at all times. Using the jet of water as her landmark, she walked along the bank, hoping the fresh air would clear her thoughts.
Unbidden, Bastien’s face rose into her mind: the haunted look in his eyes when she mentioned what happened sixteen years ago. That he carried baggage from that time was fairly obvious. So did she, after all. But Bastien was lucky. His parents had stayed together. She hadn’t been so lucky. Her mother’s erratic behaviour and bitter rants had worsened after their winter in Verbier because Bastien’s father had returned to his wife.
His family had survived Lily Duval’s toxic intrusion. He should be celebrating. She and her father hadn’t been so lucky.
Her phone trilled. She seized on it in relief—until she saw the number.
Ana contemplated letting it go to voicemail. But her mother would only call back. Lily didn’t like to be ignored.
‘Lily.’ Ana had been forbidden from calling her Mother the day she’d turned nine.
‘I see you’ve landed herself in a bit of a pickle,’ her mother drawled in carefully cultivated upper-class tones.
‘I’m fine. Thank you for asking.’
Ana had trained herself long ago not to listen for any softening in her mother’s voice but she found herself doing so now, her conversations with Bastien having rubbed at the barrier she’d placed around her heart where her mother was concerned.
‘You’re a Duval. Life will knock you down but you have to learn to bounce back,’ Lily snapped.
Her heart clenched painfully. Again she thought back to her conversation in Bastien’s office and her grip tightened on the phone. Was she being a hypocrite by letting her mother get away with treating her so badly?
‘So your less than loving treatment of me all these years was supposed to teach me a lesson?’
Taut silence greeted her daring question, followed by a haughty, ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, dear.’
Another jagged arrow of pain lanced through her. ‘Did you ever stop to think I might need a shoulder to cry on before I took my next lesson?’
Her mother laughed. ‘Even if I wanted to offer a shoulder you’d never take it.’
Ana froze. ‘How would you know, since you’ve never offered it?’
Again a small pause, before Lily sighed. ‘I may be blind to some things but not to everything, dear. But, be that as it may, I called to offer my advice. If you’re thinking of starting anything with Bastien Heidecker I suggest you think twice.’
It took a few seconds to arrange her reeling thoughts. ‘Thank you, but the advice isn’t necessary.’
‘That picture in the paper suggests otherwise.’
Ana exhaled sharply at the reminder that her momentary loss of composure was now streaming across the world. ‘I’m not thinking of starting anything with anyone.’
‘That’s good. Take it from one who knows: the Heidecker men are ruthless liars. They’ll string you along until they get what they want from you, then leave you high and dry.’ Unmistakeble bitterness coated her words.
‘So you take no responsibility for what happened sixteen years ago?’
Ana had expected a swift denial, and was shocked when her mother made a quickly veiled sound of distress. ‘Believe it or not, I do.’
Ana halted in surprise. ‘You do?’
‘Hindsight is a wonderful thing—so, yes, I wish things had turned out differently. Anyway, the thing to do is look forward.’
Ana closed her eyes. ‘Well, I can’t just yet. The past is ruining my life.’ She tried for a light-hearted tone despite the vice squeezing her heart.
‘Then don’t do as I did. Take the lesson you need from it but don’t hang on to it.’
This unexpected morsel of advice made Ana’s breath catch. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Of course I am. Or I will be as soon as I find another gig. I’ve left the show,’ she added, her attempt at flippancy not quite hitting the mark.
‘Why? What happened?’
‘The director was a bore. His artistic vision was totally wrong.’
‘The truth, Lily. What really happened?’
Her mother sucked in a shaky breath. ‘He told me he loved me... Of course it turned out to be lies. All lies.’
Against her will, a lump formed in Ana’s throat. ‘I see.’
‘You see? That’s all you have to say?’
‘I can’t pretend to be surprised.’
Her mother gave a shocked gasp. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking...calling you for support—’
‘Lily, listen to me. You’re worth so much more than what you let happen to you. Why don’t you take your own advice—?’
‘It’s that man, isn’t it? Turning you against me!’
‘Bastien has nothing to do with this.’ But his voice echoed at the back of her mind all the same...
‘Well, don’t call me when Bastien kicks you to the kerb. Just remember I warned you—all men are bastards.’ The line went dead.
Not all men... Some men could be gentle when they chose...could make you feel safe...
A cool mist touched her face. With a start, she realised she’d reached the water jet.
Turning around, she headed back to the hotel, the joy of her walk gone. Had she silently condoned her mother’s behaviour all this time? Enabled her, even, by continuing to support her just to keep the lines of communication open...the secret hope of a connection?
Her phone rang again. She stared at the number and breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Papá!’ She summoned a smile, her world brightening a little.
‘I heard something on the news about you. I’m worried,’ he said after they’d exchanged pleasantries.
She bit her lip and quickly summarised what had happened to her, knowing that her father didn’t keep up with current affairs on his dig in Colombia but not wanting to risk him finding out anyway.
‘How did this happen, Ana?’ he asked in the softly modulated voice that could turn steely when needed.
‘I don’t know, but I didn’t do it.’
‘Sí, I know that,’ he said impatiently. ‘But you need to find out who wishes you such harm and deal with it.’
His unequivocal belief in her innocence brought a lump to her throat. Taking a few seconds, she cleared it. ‘I intend to. Um...about the internship...’
‘Make things right in your world. I will make things right here.’
The lump threatened to choke her again. ‘Thank you, Papá.’
She returned to her room, still caught in a cross-current of emotion but forcing herself to shrug it off and deal with her predicament. She might be stuck in Switzerland for the time being, but she wasn’t helpless.
Two hours later she threw her phone down in frustration and hugged her knees. The few trusted friends she’d made in the business couldn’t shed any light on what had happened.
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she’d gone all day without a meal. She reached for the phone again just as a knock sounded on her door.
Glancing down at herself, she debated whether to change. The thought of donning her suit again made her grimace. Bastien had already seen her like this. And she was wearing a bra this time.
With a deep breath that failed to replenish her oxygen-deprived lungs, she pulled the door open.
He stood tall and imposing, his face impassive as he surveyed her. She’d expected another disparaging comment about her state of dress, but his gaze merely skimmed over her loose hair and unmade-up face.
‘Have you eaten?’ he asked.
‘No.’
‘Dinner is being delivered to my suite in ten minutes. Will you join me?’
‘I was just about to order Room Service.’ She didn’t want to risk going head to head with him again; their last exchange was still very vivid in her mind.
A smile flashed on and off. ‘I’ve saved you the trouble, then. We have things to discuss. I’ll see you in five minutes.’ Without waiting for a reply, he sauntered off.
Knowing it was pointless to argue, she returned to her bedroom, applied a coat of lip-gloss, slipped on high-heeled sandals and brushed her hair. Tucking her key card into her pocket, she left her suite.
His was the only other suite on this floor, and when she pushed the open door wider he motioned for her to enter.
Decorated in identical tones of gold and blue, his suite was much grander than hers. Gilt-edged mirrors adorned the walls and an impressive fireplace rested beneath an ornate mantelpiece. Gold velvet curtains had been caught back with blue velvet rope, and beyond the window the lights on the lake twinkled in the falling dusk. But what caught her eye, as it had earlier in the day, was the plume of water, now backlit with a stunning array of lights.
‘What is that fountain?’
‘The Jet d’Eau. The highest water fountain in the world.’ He spoke in a clipped staccato, as if he had other things on his mind.
About to comment on the jet’s beauty, Ana stopped and turned. The intensity of his stare made the hairs twitch on her nape.
‘This was left downstairs for you.’ He held a square brown envelope in his hand.
Ana’s mind blanked for a second, then she remembered. ‘Why do you have it?’
‘The concierge said it was delivered moments before I came. I told him I’d deliver it to you.’
‘How kind of you.’ She held out her hand. ‘Can I have it?’
‘What’s in the envelope, Ana?’ he asked tersely.
Shock battled with a sensation curiously similar to a delicious thrill of pleasure. A second later she realised Bastien hadn’t even noticed that he’d used her first name. Out of nowhere came a deep yearning to hear him call her Ana again. But not like that. She wanted him to say her name and mean it. She wanted him to say her name with pleasure.
Ruthlessly, she pushed the fanciful thought away. That was never going to happen. Desolation settled deep within her.
‘You open it,’ she prompted softly.
A flicker of surprise lit his eyes. Perhaps he’d been expecting her to fight him. But some time in the last few hours Ana had decided that if they were to spend the next three weeks together she couldn’t keep locking horns with him. Her control wouldn’t sustain the battering.
‘If you want to know what’s in the envelope, open it.’
He ripped it open immediately. Ana watched his eyes widen as he encountered the cold plastic. His gaze shot down and he stared at the object in his hand.
‘I asked your company doctor this morning if he could replace my inhaler. He promised to have it delivered here this afternoon.’
The doorbell rang. Bastien didn’t seem to hear it. He continued to stare at the inhaler.
Ana went to walk past him to get the door. His hand shot out and grabbed her arm. A frown creased his brow.
‘Ana...’
She sighed. ‘I’m sorry if that disappoints you. But it really is just an inhaler.’
The bell rang again. She pulled at her arm.
He let her go.
With a cold lump of despair lodged in her chest, Ana answered the door.
* * *
Bastien raked a hand through his hair, the unsettling feeling from this afternoon surging higher. He glanced down again at the inhaler. The stark reminder that Ana had a potentially life-threatening condition made his chest tighten.
All afternoon he’d tried not to think about their conversation—tried not to admit to himself that her words held any truth. No one had dared challenge him on why he refused to let emotion rule his life. Until her.
He’d remained in a foul mood right up until he’d been handed that package downstairs. Then it had taken a turn for the worse.
Remorse stung deep now, unnerving him further. When had he ever felt the need to apologise for anything? Yet now the urge to make things right needled him.
He stood aside to let the waiter wheel the trolley into the dining room. Ana followed, her lush figure swaying seductively. She was wearing those damned jeans again. The sight of the exposed lower curve of her bottom made him swallow. Hard. Fire roared through his blood as his gaze touched on more bare flesh.
His gaze travelled upwards, taking in the indentation of her slender waist and the golden triangles of skin exhibited there too. When he saw the straps of her flesh-coloured bra the fire raged into an inferno. Yesterday she’d forgone the bra—no doubt to avoid a fashion faux pas the way some women went without underwear to avoid a visible panty line. So why did the sight of the bra inflame his senses so much more than its absence had?
He forced his gaze away from temptation. Unfortunately the waiter had no such compunction, his gaze openly appreciative.
‘C’est tout,’ Bastien snarled. He stalked him to the door, barely resisting the urge to slam it, and returned to find Ana seated, lifting the lid on the dishes.
‘This looks delicious. I’m absolutely starving.’
‘Then help yourself,’ he replied. His voice was terse but he couldn’t help it. Shock, confusion and intense desire tended to do that to a man. Sustained for long periods of time, who knew its repercussions?
‘Would you like me to serve you?’
For one hot, inappropriate moment Bastien’s mind lit on a completely different interpretation of that question. The images that bombarded him made him suck in a strained breath. He looked down at the plate her hand, at the spoon poised over the rosti and grilled lamb.
Reeling his thoughts in under fierce guard, he sat down next to her and put her inhaler on the table.
‘I owe you an apology.’
The spoon wavered in her hand. Reaching across, he gently removed it from her grasp.
‘Let me.’ He spooned several helpings onto her plate, set it down in front of her and served himself. ‘I had no right to question you about the package. Je suis désolé.’
Her eyes widened and she nodded. ‘Apology accepted.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘The last two days have been little...challenging—although I can’t say I would’ve done the same in your shoes.’
Bastien grimaced. Knowing he deserved the barbed accusation, he picked up and held out the wine bottle. At her nod, he uncorked it and poured the rich burgundy into her glass. Filling his own glass, he drank deep.
She took a mouthful of food and groaned. ‘This is seriously good!’ Her gaze dropped to his plate. ‘You haven’t tasted yours yet.’
‘No,’ he replied, and drank more wine. Mon Dieu, he was turning into a raging alcoholic—and all because of the woman sitting across from him. The woman who challenged him, made him question himself and the presence of the ache deep inside he’d thought he’d smothered for good.
‘Well, don’t blame me if I eat all of it.’
‘Go ahead. A woman who doesn’t complain about piling on the pounds at the mere sight of food makes a refreshing change.’
Her husky self-conscious laugh played havoc with his equilibrium. ‘I didn’t actually mean that. I’m not that much of a pig.’
‘Trust me, a pig is the last thing I think of when I look at you.’
Her eyes rounded.
Advising himself that it was best not to keep looking into those captivating brown depths, he resolutely picked up his fork. ‘What’s likely to trigger an attack?’
‘My asthma?’
He nodded.
‘I’ve only suffered one serious attack, so I’d say I’m generally risk-free.’ She shrugged, causing one sleeve to slip off her shoulder. ‘But sometimes in the spring, if the pollen count is high, it gets a bit uncomfortable. Heavy smoke isn’t great for me either.’
Bastien frowned. ‘So you don’t know how susceptible you are?’
‘I know what to stay away from and what situations I’ll be okay in.’
‘Yet that didn’t stop you from putting yourself in danger by attending your friend’s party?’
‘I can’t live my life in fear of an attack,’ she said, after swallowing another mouthful.
Bastien abandoned his meal and picked up his glass. ‘No, but—’
‘I took my inhaler with me,’ she interrupted, glaring at him.
He was being heavy-handed again. He looked into his glass, slowly swirling his drink, and forced himself to calm down. ‘And we all know how that turned out.’
When she didn’t reply immediately, he looked up. Her lips were pursed into a firm line and she’d paled a little. One hand absently toyed with the stem of her glass as she stonily examined the contents of her plate.
‘We’re having a nice meal, Bastien. Don’t ruin it.’
Bastien cursed under his breath and set his glass down. ‘Have you packed yet?’
Her gaze returned warily to his. ‘I didn’t unpack because I didn’t think I’d be staying beyond today.’
‘Then we can leave directly after dinner.’
She nodded. ‘Fine by me. Where’s your château?’
‘It’s in Vaud—on the shores of Lac Léman.’
‘Will anyone else be there?’
‘My estate staff live on the grounds, but otherwise we’ll be alone. Does that concern you?’ Part of him wished that it would—that the notion would unsettle her the way he’d felt unsettled all day long.
She returned his gaze, her eyes wide. ‘No. Why would it?’
‘Because you’re biting your lip again. That tells me something’s bothering you. Are you worried that the moment we’re alone we’ll be tempted to do dirty little things to each other?’
‘Of course not. We’re perfectly capable of restraining ourselves.’
His smile felt tight. ‘If you say so.’
