Читать книгу The Best Of The Year - Modern Romance - Мишель Смарт, Annie West - Страница 25
ОглавлениеANA PRETENDED INTEREST in the scenery until darkness limited her view to the tall trees lining the road leading to Bastien’s château.
Château D’Or, he’d called it. The golden castle.
The place where they might be tempted to ‘do dirty little things to each other...’
Her fingers dug into her seat in a futile attempt to stop wondering what those dirty little things would entail, but her pulse continued to race, and that insistent throbbing between her legs was growing by the minute.
Shaking herself out of the weakening sensation, she turned to him, carefully averting her gaze from his confident hands gripping the steering wheel.
‘How much longer?’ she asked, thankful when her voice came out steady.
‘Another ten minutes should see us there. Tired?’
His genuine concern made her relax slightly.
‘It’s been a long day.’
She dragged a hand through her hair, lifted its heavy weight off her neck. Twirling it into a thick rope, she coiled it around her fingers. When he followed the movement she paused, but his gaze returned to the road in the next instant.
Releasing her breath, she continued playing with the strands. ‘I called around to find out if anyone knew more about what happened at the nightclub.’
Silver eyes briefly speared hers. ‘And?’
‘No one knows anything.’
His brows lifted. ‘Does that surprise you?’
‘Frankly, yes. Normally gossip like that spreads like wildfire.’
He didn’t reply for several minutes, his gaze glued to the dark, winding road. Finally, he nodded. ‘I have a firm of investigators I use for due diligence. I’ll have them look into it.’
The unexpected offer made her breath catch. ‘Really? Thank you, Bastien.’ On pure impulse she reached for his arm. ‘I really appreciate it.’
Packed muscle flexed beneath her touch, his cotton shirt and dark sweater no barrier against the warmth that seeped through to her fingers. Instant fiery desire made her fingers curl, and the irrational urge to keep touching him unfurled inside her like a driving, persistent hunger.
She didn’t know how long she stayed like that. Seconds. Minutes. Time lost meaning and rational thought fled as she stared at his profile—his gorgeous face, his taut cheekbones, those unspeakably long, golden lashes and the lush mouth that had taken such powerful control of hers. His strong throat...
And his tense jaw...within which a muscle flicked.
Dirty little things...dirty little things...
Ana snatched back her hand, certain she was sliding into madness. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have... I didn’t mean to—’
‘Don’t apologise, cherie. Believe it or not, I don’t hate it when you touch me. If anything, I like it a little too much.’
His husky rasp cut through her words. She gasped, but before she could reply he continued.
‘We’re here.’
They drove through tall iron gates housed in a stone arch that looked as if it had been around since medieval times. Endless trees stretched over them like silent sentinels as they made their way up the drive.
Unbidden, a shiver passed through her. The feeling of foreboding she’d experienced this morning returned—forcefully this time. Calling herself all kinds of fool for entertaining it, she brushed it away.
Once the photo shoot and her trial were over she’d be free of Bastien, free to fulfil her dreams. Perhaps this sense of standing on the edge of a precipice was merely subconscious exhilaration at her impending freedom.
Clinging to that, Ana straightened in her seat.
At her first glimpse, she knew why the château had gained its name.
It stood like a shimmering mirage on top of a small hill, a wonderful surprise at the end of a copse of trees. Bathed in mellow light, the yellow stone would look golden in any light—day or night.
‘Wow, it’s breathtaking.’
‘Yes, it is.’ He turned off the ignition. ‘Welcome to Château D’Or,’ he said, and thrust his door open.
She followed suit, unable to take her eyes off the stunning building. Set on three storeys, with elegant dormer windows that would give amazing views over the valley they’d just climbed out of, the château looked like every girl’s childhood dream castle. It came complete with a west-facing flagged and turreted tower built to capture the perfect sunset.
A large wooden door hewn from oak opened, drawing Ana’s attention from the tower. A small-framed woman greeted them, her smile warming when she saw Bastien.
‘This is Chantal. She manages the château and its gardens with her husband. Their son and daughter-in-law help in the stables and look after the horses.’
‘You have horses?’ Ana asked, after returning Chantal’s greeting.
Bastien paused where he was unloading their luggage. ‘You ride?’ Surprise tinged his voice.
‘I used to. We lived on a ranch in Brazil for six months.’
He tensed. ‘We?’
She ignored the tautness in his voice. ‘Lily and I spent time there.’ Until her mother’s Brazilian lover ditched her. But by then Ana had had a love of horses firmly entrenched in her heart.
‘Why did you leave?’ Bastien asked. The strain was gone from his voice, had been replaced by gentle speculation.
‘It didn’t work out. What kind of horses do you keep?’ she asked quickly, eager to escape the subject of her mother.
He slammed the boot shut, picked up their cases. ‘The best kind.’ He smiled. ‘If you’re really interested, I’ll show you in the morning.’
Again his unexpected offer threw her. ‘Yes, please.’
The next half-hour was spent touring the château, and each high-ceilinged, history-rich room revealed was even more spectacular than the last. By the time Chantal showed Ana to her room—complete with lace-curtained four-poster bed—she’d fallen in love with Château D’Or.
Bastien entered with her suitcase just as the housekeeper left. ‘Is everything satisfactory?’
‘More than—thanks.’
‘If you’re hungry Chantal can fix you a light meal?’ he offered.
‘No, I’m fine. Thanks.’
He stood there, hands in his back pockets. He’d changed after dinner into a pair of jeans and boots and over his shirt he wore a grey cashmere sweater. With his windblown hair he easily carried off a rugged look that might have graced the cover of any fashion magazine.
She looked up and her gaze collided with his. His lips quirked in a parody of a smile. She’d been caught staring again. Would she never learn?
‘I think I’ll have an early night.’
He nodded and turned for the door. ‘Good idea. Anything that keeps you out of trouble is most welcome,’ he drawled.
Unable to resist, she grabbed the nearest pillow and flung it at his back, then giggled madly when he turned, surprise darkening his grey eyes.
He picked up the pillow and walked back to her. ‘The trouble with pillow fights, cherie, is that they lead to so much else. So pick your battles carefully.’ He pressed the pillow into her chest and drew her arms around it. ‘Bon nuit, Ana,’ he murmured, then left.
Ana sank onto the bed, her breath fizzing out of her like a deflating balloon. Her body thrummed with a thousand volts of electricity, and her whirling mind was in no state to settle down to sleep.
He might have left her room, but she could still feel him—could still smell Bastien. His presence dominated her thoughts, charged the very air she breathed.
For a few hours Bastien had been civil, even gentle at times. His apology at dinner and his offer to investigate her drug charge had made her wonder what he might be like if they didn’t have such a chequered and miserable past.
But then the foreboding returned—thick and more urgent than before. Perhaps they were better off as they were, because she has an unshakable feeling that he would be much more dangerous to her emotional wellbeing unless she kept him at arm’s length.
* * *
The sound of a car door slamming woke her. Stretching, Ana opened her eyes, disorientated until memory rushed back.
Thrusting aside the sheets, she went to the window.
Lake Geneva gleamed like a silver ribbon, so close she could almost reach out and touch it. Its rich green banks meandered until they disappeared from view. On the other side stunning vistas gave way to a low mountain range behind which she spotted the familiar summit of Mont Blanc in France.
The sight of the departing car drew her attention back to the grounds.
An overnight guest? Realising she had no idea whether Bastien had a girlfriend or not, she stared after the car, the idea sending an inexplicable lance of pain through her.
A knock on her door made her jump.
Ana glanced down at herself. Her negligee was way too risqué for public consumption. Diving into the bathroom, she grabbed a robe, shrugged it on and answered the door.
Bastien held a large suitcase in his hand. He strode in and dropped it at the foot of the bed. ‘In here you’ll find a more favourable selection of clothes,’ he announced. ‘Make use of them and meet me downstairs in ten minutes.’
‘Excuse me?’
He faced her, his cool gaze conducting a leisurely survey of her before meeting her eyes. ‘Which bit needs further explanation?’
‘Er...all of it. Including the part where you say good morning, like most civilised people do.’
He leaned his shoulder against one bedpost, his gaze going to the rumpled bed before turning to hers. ‘Bonjour, Ana. Did you sleep well?’
Her heart lurched. He’d used her name again. With no hint of mockery. Okay, maybe a tiny hint of mockery.
‘Yes, I did—thanks for asking.’ She strove for a casual reply. ‘Did you?’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Oui, merci. Does that conclude our small talk?’
She nodded at the suitcase. ‘Maybe. Care to explain why you’ve brought me clothes?’
He straightened and headed for the door. ‘I would’ve thought there was no explanation needed. Get dressed and meet me downstairs.’
‘No.’
He gave a pained sigh and turned. ‘Are you always this trying first thing in the morning?’
Clutching the lapels of her robe together, she shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t be if you gave me a straight answer.’
‘You expressed an interest in my horses. Unless you expect to go riding wearing skimpy clothes, and risk catching your death of pneumonia, your only option is to wear more sensible attire.’
Something treacherous melted inside her. ‘So you went shopping this morning?’
He smiled and Ana’s heart galloped wildly.
‘Like most men, the thought of spending hours choosing clothes makes me want to stick pins in my eyes. No, you have Tatiana to thank for your little windfall.’
‘Oh...thanks, but I can’t accept them.’
His smile disappeared. Slowly he retraced his steps until he stood in front of her. ‘You wouldn’t be leaping to the same conclusions you did on the plane, would you?’ he asked softly.
Her face flamed. ‘No, of course not. But I’m not in the habit of accepting charity—’
‘What about gifts from friends?’ he demanded, and then he frowned, his nostrils flaring with a touch of discomfort.
She forced herself not to gape. ‘Are we friends, Bastien?’
‘I’m attempting to be less...ogre-like.’
She laughed. ‘That frown you’re wearing makes a mockery of the attempt.’
His lips pursed. ‘Fine. If you feel so strongly about my gift you can return the clothes when you leave.’
Ana bit her lip, trying and failing not to read too much into this change overcoming Bastien. He had gentleness in him. She knew that. But history had taught her that it was foolhardy to lower her guard.
Without warning he pressed his thumb over her mouth, stilling her action. Heat mushroomed inside her, stopping her breath as effectively as a kick to the solar plexus. She released her lip, unable to stop her mouth from pressing against his thumb.
His strong throat moved on a convulsive swallow. Slowly his thumb stroked her mouth, his eyes fiery and intense. Wanton desire tortured her, weakening her knees, leaving her trembling from head to toe.
Someone moaned. Absently Ana realised it had come from her throat. And somewhere along the way she’d loosened her hold on the robe.
Bastien’s gaze slid slowly over her, gleaming, darkening. He uttered something unintelligible in French. His thumb’s pressure increased. Ana’s lips tingled, heat rushing over her as she gave in to her need and sucked his thumb into her mouth.
‘Non!’ The denial was wrenched from his throat and he stepped back. He swallowed again. ‘I will not do this. I will not be like—’
He froze, shoved a hand through his hair before walking stiffly to the door.
‘Bastien...?’ She stopped, unsure of what to say.
With one hand on the handle, he paused. ‘The clothes are yours. Use them. Don’t use them. Your choice. But if you wish to ride with me be downstairs in five minutes.’
Ana clutched the bedpost, barely able to stand.
It was happening again. This blind desire, this unstoppable craving that dogged her every time she came within three feet of Bastien. At least he had a handle on his control—enough to stop himself before things went too far.
Whereas she...
Anxiety bit deep at the thought of putting herself in Bastien’s presence again so soon. But the fighter in her rebelled at hiding away in her room.
She would borrow the clothes and go for a ride with him. What better way to show him she was as unaffected as he was than by spending a few hours with him without making a fool of herself? Proving that she could control her wayward emotions?
She unzipped the case and found familiar labels neatly stacked. Ana lifted a pair of cream jodhpurs and slid them on, topping it with a camisole and sweater set in chocolate-brown. Black riding boots completed the ensemble, and for the first time in days she felt comfortable. Scraping back her hair into a neat ponytail, she picked up the riding jacket and left her room.
Bastien stood waiting at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Tatiana also brought your new contract. Come into my study. You can sign it there.’
Ana frowned ‘What new contract?’
‘The one that replaces your old one, whose terms you violated. A copy was faxed to your agency yesterday.’
‘What...what does it say?’ Old and familiar shame crawled up her spine as she followed him down the hall.
‘More or less what the old one said. You can read it for yourself. If you’re happy with it Chantal will witness it.’ He opened the study door and waved her in.
In the large, unashamedly male space, dominated by a huge antique desk, the scent of burning cedarwood drifted from a low fire. But Ana didn’t dwell on the charm or the warmth of the room. Her eyes were drawn hypnotically to the document on Bastien’s desk.
Her mother’s scathing words rushed into her mind.
‘You’ve got your looks. You don’t need an education!’
Sliding over the document, Bastien handed her a pen. ‘Sign on the last page after you’ve read it.’
Ana clenched her hand around the pen. ‘I won’t be rushed, Bastien. I’ll sign it once I’m satisfied with it.’
He frowned. ‘Organising a shoot on the scale of what the DBH ad needs doesn’t happen overnight. Relocating it to another country takes even more time.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Are you having second thoughts?’
‘No,’ she replied hurriedly, her insides churning.
She’d made progress with her disability, but not enough that she could confidently deal with her own paperwork. But the thought of revealing her deficiencies to Bastien made her stomach twist with humiliation.
She glanced down at the paper. Words were jumbled together, morphing into a taunting miasma of black and white that made the document tremble in her hands.
Large, warm hands closed over hers a second before Bastien sank onto his haunches beside her. Startled, she glanced at him. His frown had deepened.
‘What’s wrong?’
She licked her lips. ‘Nothing. I just don’t want to rush it in case I miss anything. I...I just need a few minutes. Do you mind getting Chantal?’
His gaze probed hers for several more seconds. Finally he nodded. His departure brought much needed respite. Desperately she tore through the document, but nothing made sense. Hands shaking, she thrust the contract back onto the desk.
Bastien had faxed a copy to Visual. All she had to do was call and double-check things with Lauren. About to reach for the phone, she stopped when Bastien walked in, followed by Chantal.
‘Did you say my agency had approved this?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘Yes, I spoke to Lauren this morning.’
Relief coursed through her. Opening the contract to where Bastien had indicated, she carefully signed her name. She felt Bastien’s intense gaze on her but refused to glance his way for fear he would see right through her to the heart of her disgrace.
Once the document had been witnessed, Bastien locked it in his drawer and held out his hand to her. ‘Now, let’s go and visit my horses.’
Pasting a smile on her face, she fell into step beside him.
The morning air was unexpectedly mild, but fresh. Inhaling deeply, she followed Bastien round the side of the château. Landscaped gardens lay to the east, absorbing most of the morning light. She barely had time to admire the profusion of flowers before they came to a large paddock.
Ana spotted the stables just before she caught the whiff of horseflesh. ‘How many horses do you own?’ she asked.
‘I keep six horses here. I have a bigger stable on my estate in Lucerne.’
A tall woman—Chantal’s daughter-in-law, she guessed—met them inside the stable. Peering into the semi-darkness, she saw a flash of white. ‘Oh, he’s magnificent!’
Bastien reached out and patted the horse’s nose. ‘He is a she. Her name is Storm.’
‘What breed?’
‘Lipizzaner. From Austria. Slightly smaller than Arabians, but just as swift and powerful.’
Ana leaned forward and stroked Storm’s soft nose. ‘You’re gorgeous. Yes, you are,’ she crooned. Her reward was a nudge of approval. She smiled and glanced at Bastien to find his gaze fixed on her.
‘She’s also very high-spirited, stubborn and reckless. She’s thrown more than one rider.’
Something in his voice made her pause. ‘Not you, though, right?’
One corner of his mouth tilted up. ‘Not me,’ he confirmed.
‘And what’s your secret, pray tell?’
‘I’ve learned to be patient with her—to know when to accommodate her tantrums and when to rein her in.’ Stepping forward, he slid a finger between Storm’s eyes. ‘We’ve learned to trust each other, but she knows who her master is.’
She couldn’t be jealous of a horse! And she certainly had no use for all that ‘master’ nonsense. So why, when Bastien continued to caress Storm, did she experience a pang of envy?
‘Come, I’ll introduce you to your horse.’
Ana followed, her sense of disquiet increasing as Bastien paused to greet each horse, his voice calm and soothing. Even the fiercest thoroughbred whickered with pleasure.
At the last stall the most beautiful horse she’d ever seen waited. Unlike the other horses, which had shades of grey, this horse was pure white.
‘His name is Rebelle,’ Bastien said softly. He stroked the animal’s neck, then inspected his hooves before instructing the stable hand to saddle him up. His own horse he saddled himself.
They took a path into the woods behind the château, where the smell of earth and dewed vegetation permeated the air. Grasping the reins, Ana tried not to stare at the powerful figure Bastien cut astride his horse, but the wide breadth of his shoulders beneath his tan riding jacket and the powerful thighs that gripped his horse’s flanks continually drew her eyes.
Realising she was in danger of losing the task she’d set herself, she cast around in her mind for something to say to ease the tight knot burning in her belly.
Leaning forward, she patted her horse’s long neck. ‘Does his name mean what I think it does?’
‘Rebel? Yes, he arrived prematurely. He was sick and never had a chance to bond with his mother. When she rejected him we thought he wasn’t going to make it, but he defied all the odds.’
Inexplicably, a lump lodged in her throat. Ana gave him another pat. ‘You’d be amazed how many children make it despite a parent’s rejection.’
Too late, she felt Bastien’s keen gaze. She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t pick up on her slip. Her hope was dashed.
‘You speak from experience.’ It was more a statement than a question.
‘I’m sure you’ve guessed Lily isn’t exactly the motherly type,’ she said breezily, hoping he’d drop the subject.
‘How close are you?’ he pressed.
‘One phone call every three months and a card at Christmas—that close.’ Pain darted through her chest and she rubbed at the spot.
He frowned. ‘So why does she manage your career?’
‘Believe it or not, she’s an astute businesswoman when the occasion demands it. As a former model herself, her insight into the business has come in handy on occasion.’
Expecting a censorious reply, she glanced at Bastien and saw him nod thoughtfully.
‘Have you been in touch with her lately?’
‘She called yesterday to offer advice on how to manage my predicament, as it happens.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘And what did that entail?’
‘She told me not to get emotionally involved with you.’ And for once Ana intended to take her mother’s advice.
He drew his horse to a halt. ‘And your response was...?’ he rasped.
‘To say there was little risk of that happening.’
A look crossed his face—part displeasure, part relief. Then he blinked his expression back into neutral. ‘Did she offer up any thoughts as who might have planted the drugs?’
Her head snapped up. ‘No—why would she?’
‘As you said, she has more experience in the modelling world than you do. I’d have thought she’d be fighting to prove your innocence, even if only professionally?’
‘Like I said, we don’t have the closest relationship. And, no, it’s not perfect, but as we both know life rarely ever is.’ Digging her heels into Rebelle’s side, she set off at a trot.
He caught up with her easily and they rode until they came to a small stream. Dismounting, he took her reins, tied them around a tree and then turned to her. Reading his intention, Ana tried to dismount quickly, but he beat her to it.
He caught her before she could lower herself to the ground. His hands easily encompassed her waist, and the heat of his touch dangerously whittled away her efforts to remain unaffected by him. His scent suffused her senses, his powerful aura closing over her.
‘The subject of your mother distresses you,’ he said into the still air.
Again that hint of gentleness that threatened to undo her.
She couldn’t look at him, so she concentrated on caressing Rebelle’s flank. ‘Before yesterday I didn’t find it easy to admit that she lacks the most fundamental maternal instincts.’
‘What happened yesterday?’
‘I’m not entirely sure, but she sounded almost...concerned.’
‘A child’s hope is a very tough thing to kill.’
‘Are you speaking of you or me?’
His mouth pursed. ‘Mine died a long time ago.’
A harsh laugh escaped her. ‘Are you sure? Sometimes the heart wants what the heart wants.’
He stilled completely. Ana could almost hear him clinically analysing her words. ‘Then perhaps you should listen to your head and not your heart.’
Unable to stop herself, she turned and looked into his eyes. ‘Is that what you do? Shut off your feelings whenever it suits you?’
His hand tightened, albeit imperceptibly. ‘I feel. I just don’t let blind emotion get in the way of my better judgement.’
‘Then bravo to you.’ She forced a teasing tone. ‘And I totally get the feeling that blind emotion wouldn’t try to get in your way. It would run screaming in the other direction when it saw you coming.’
‘I can live with that.’
She frowned at his bleak tone and glanced up to see a wave of pain wash over his face before his expression blanked again.
A wave of sadness surged out of nowhere. ‘Bastien, are you okay?’
His mouth twisted in a parody of a smile. ‘Of course. Come. There’s a view I want to show you.’
His breath whispered over her ear, his low voice a deep rumble over her sensitive nerve-endings.
She followed him through a tall stand of birches, trying to take pleasure in birdsong and warm sunshine. But all she could think of was Bastien’s expression and his bleak reply.
His long strides carried them along a narrow path to a small clearing where the trees ended on a wide natural ledge cut into the hillside. Moving alongside him, Ana took a stunned breath. The valley was spread out in picture-perfection below her. The view extended all way to the lake, with the château a golden vision amongst the rolling green. Dazzling in the morning light, with nothing around for miles, it resembled something out of a child’s fairytale. Or a woman’s dream come true.
Beside her, Bastien took a deep breath, a look almost of contentment on his face.
‘Why did you bring me here?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘I thought you might want to see it.’ His gaze met hers briefly before he looked away.
‘The château has stunning views at every turn. But this is your favourite view, isn’t it?’ she asked intuitively.
He smiled. ‘Yes,’ he said simply.
Something warm, soft, unfurled in her chest...she was inordinately pleased that he’d shared this moment with her.
She pointed to a summit in the distance. ‘What are those peaks? They look like...’
‘Horns? They’re called Les Diablerets—the devil’s horns.’
Ana grinned. ‘Very apt. Thanks for showing me this view. I think it would make a stunning backdrop for the shoot.’
His face blanked, his smile disappearing. ‘The shoot?’ he repeated coolly.
She gestured to the landscape. ‘Yes, the castle in Scotland was beautiful, but this is absolutely breathtaking. I think it’s perfect, actually.’
‘Of course,’ he intoned, his voice flat.
Ana glanced at him and her smile faltered. ‘It was your idea to relocate the shoot here, Bastien.’
‘I’m aware of that.’
‘Then why do I feel I’ve just stepped on a landmine by referring to it?’
His jaw clenched. ‘C’est rien. It’s nothing.’ He turned and headed back to the horses. He helped her up, handed over her reins, then mounted his horse.
Thick silence cloaked them until she couldn’t stand it any more.
‘Did you grow up here?’
At first she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he nodded. ‘When my grandfather bought the château it was in ruins. He restored it brick by brick and lived here his whole life. My father kept it because it was close to the city.’
‘Not because of its sentimental value?’ Ana joked, secretly wishing back the smile she’d glimpsed on the hilltop.
His face remained impassive. ‘Sentiment has little place in business in the twenty-first century.’
‘So why do you keep it, then?’
Her question seemed to surprise him. ‘It’s a good investment.’
‘Emotionally or financially?’
Cool grey eyes fastened on her. His horse, sensing his altered mood, whickered anxiously. ‘Don’t try to psychoanalyse me, Ana,’ he warned softly.
‘Because you’re such an enigma?’
His eyes glittered. ‘On the contrary, I’m a very simple man. I know what I want. I also know when the price is too high for me to pay. I cannot afford you, Ana Duval.’
With a kick of his horse’s flanks, he surged forward.
She caught up with him at the stables. ‘What did you mean by that?’
They both dismounted and he took her reins and stared down at her. ‘You live your life in unabashed emotion. Unbridled passion is great in the bedroom, but in the real world all it does is let you down. I prefer not to become embroiled in the inevitable messy aftermath. Once was enough.’
‘Since I don’t recall offering myself to you on a silver platter, I’m assuming your ego is once again in full residence? Or are you just too scared to take a chance on feeling anything other than bitterness for the rest of your life because your belief in love and happiness was shattered once?’
He inhaled sharply. ‘Love? Don’t confuse love with sex or duty, Ana. Sex has a limited shelf-life and duty is very easy to shirk when it becomes too burdensome.’
His face contorted into a mask of pain before he exhaled and blinked it away. But that wasn’t before her heart lurched at the stark insight into Bastien’s beliefs.
‘Bastien—’
‘Chantal will have breakfast ready. Go ahead. I’ll meet you in the dining room shortly.’
The content, smiling Bastien from the hilltop had disappeared. Impassive, corporate Bastien was back, his face giving nothing away as he led the horses off.
Ana walked slowly back to the château, Bastien’s words haunting her. Their bleakness lodged a thorn in her heart. Had the events of sixteen years ago affected him so much that he’d shut off his heart completely?
Wrenching the tie from her ponytail, she speared her fingers through her hair. She had no business feeling sorry for Bastien. Feeling sorry for the fact that he wouldn’t let himself feel, or want, or need. And she absolutely had no business wishing he would feel for her, or want or even need her.
