Читать книгу The Best Of The Year - Modern Romance - Мишель Смарт, Annie West - Страница 29

CHAPTER TEN

ANA STRUGGLED TO BREATHE. ‘What?’

‘You heard me,’ he rasped, his voice raw and pain-filled.

‘But I thought... Oh, Bastien, I’m so sorry.’ Her chest felt tight, but it had nothing to do with her asthma. All she felt was overwhelming compassion for what Bastien had suffered.

‘Forget it.’ He dismissed her words with a shrug.

She tried to take a breath but only a distressed wheeze emerged.

Bastien’s gaze sharpened. ‘What’s wrong?’ he demanded.

She tried to shake her head but he was already taking her arm. One finger urged her face up to his, where concern was etched.

‘Nothing. I’m fine. When did your mother try to take her own life?’

He dropped his hand. ‘Not now. We need to get back.’

‘Bastien, please talk to me—’

‘Unless you want to get caught in the rain we need to get moving.’

She glanced up at the sky, surprised to notice storm clouds rolling over the lake. Whilst they’d been locked in the past the weather had changed.

She helped him pack their picnic away, despite his terse instruction to let him do it. They returned to the boat in silence, even though she felt his concerned glance more than once.

Placing the basket in the tiny galley, he led her to the single cabin. ‘Stay down here. If the rain hits the journey back might be a little bumpy.’

‘I’ll stay here if you’ll promise me we’ll talk when we get back.’

He blew out an exasperated breath. ‘Oui, we’ll talk,’ he said. And left.

Ana tried to relax, but her thoughts churned. Bastien’s parents had stayed together but the circumstances she’d imagined, the assumptions she’d made, were very far from the truth. Another wave of empathy surged through her.

She headed for the door, but paused and groaned when she caught her image in the mirror beside the bed.

Her skin was pale, her eyes wide pools of anguish. And some time between leaving the château and now her hair had become a tangled web. She thought of repairing the mess, but gave up.

The outward mess she could deal with later. It was the inner mess that terrified her—because she feared the path her heart had taken was fraught with danger.

* * *

Bastien steered the boat alongside the pier, his thoughts grim. What the hell had happened on that hill in Villeneuve? How had he let go of his control so much that he’d spilled the cause of his deepest pain to Ana?

Revealing what his mother’s ultimate rejection had done to him was inexcusable. He’d thought that particular fear was buried deep, unreachable.

But all it had taken was one softly voiced challenge to send him back to that dark, harrowing place.

Jumping onto the pier, he secured the rope with a vicious twist, silently thankful that the production crew were arriving tomorrow. The earlier he wrapped the ad campaign, the earlier he could end this enforced hiatus and return to his life. A life devoid of Ana, devoid of heated looks from sultry chocolate-brown eyes. No more second-guessing the choices he’d made for a life without emotion. A life that stretched out bleak and empty at the thought of Ana not being a part of it...

With a muted curse, he turned. She stood at the top of the steps leading to the galley, one hand lifted to catch her hair as the breeze played with it.

Bastien’s breath strangled in his chest. Just looking at her made his world fracture, threatening to splinter into a million pieces. No matter how much he tried to wrestle back control everything in him wanted to stride over to her, snatch her tiny waist in his hands and devour her lips. Maybe then they’d both forget what he’d let slip on the hillside.

As if she’d read his thoughts she parted her lips. Desire arrowed straight to his groin, leaving him as weak as a day-old kitten. That in itself was such a shock he couldn’t move for several seconds.

In all his affairs no woman had ever brought such an intense, debilitating feeling to him. Such...freedom. As if he was poised on the brink of some cataclysmic discovery.

Pour l’amour de Dieu. He stepped back into the boat and retrieved the basket. All this idle time was addling his brain. Facts. Figures. Cut-throat negotiations. That was what he needed. Not Ana back in his bed. That was not going to happen.

They entered the château through the kitchen, where Chantal was putting groceries away in the large pantry. He thanked her for the picnic and left the basket on the counter.

As he turned to leave, he caught sight of a tiny picture by the window. Stunned, he moved towards it, even though the image was one he remembered very well.

It was his father, his mother and himself on the pier, taken when he was five or six. They all looked so...happy. He picked up the picture, rubbing his hand across the dusty surface.

‘I kept it from...before,’ Chantal said from just behind his shoulder. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

Before... When he’d moved back here and ordered everything that reminded him of his parents to be boxed up and shipped to Gstaad.

Without warning, Ana’s words echoed in his mind. ‘You’re letting the sins of your parent shape the way you live your life.’

He set the picture down, fighting endless waves of disquiet. But this time the righteous anger that usually fuelled his bitterness was missing. Was she right? Had he let what had happened sixteen years ago dictate the way he lived?

He turned. Ana stood in the doorway, her eyes seeking, her skin pale.

That jolt came again—harder than before. The chocolate depths were clear, fringed by lashes so thick and luxurious most women would kill to own them.

As if she couldn’t stand his blatant scrutiny she dropped her lids. That didn’t stop the arresting power of her face. His gaze moved down to the sensual curve of her lips and his chest tightened. How many times during the night had he tasted their sweetness? Yet he craved another taste so badly he could barely breathe.

He watched as colour rose in her cheeks. Knowing she wasn’t over this crazy chemistry between them either did nothing to ease his suffering.

Get a grip.

‘I need to clean up,’ she said.

Relief poured through him. ‘Okay. We’ll talk later.’

When he’d had a chance to regroup.

He went straight to his study and poured himself a brandy. Taking it to the terrace, he watched the sun set on his favourite lake. Nothing in the scene soothed him the way it normally did.

Prowling to the edge of the terrace, he lifted his face to the cool breeze washing in from the water.

His work was his life. Had been for as long as he could remember. Yet what he yearned for now, above everything else, was to be upstairs with Ana, losing himself in her body. Even the ‘we need to talk’ that normally sent him running didn’t eradicate this intense need to be with her.

He was definitely losing it!

Knocking back the rest of the drink, he returned to his study.

He entered the words into the search engine of his laptop and read through the information that came up. Satisfied he’d found what he needed, he closed the programme, then paused mid-stretch as he heard Ana’s voice in the hallway.

He’d lunged towards the door before he’d fully recognised his intentions.

She’d changed into a dark orange shift dress that set off her golden skin so spectacularly he had to shove his hands into his pockets to stop them from reaching for her. Her loose dark hair rippled with vitality, caressed one cheek as she turned. Slim fingers tucked the strands behind her ears, a small smile appearing on her lips when she saw him.

‘Are you hungry?’

She grimaced. ‘Not really. My appetite seems to have taken a hike.’

She started walking towards the library. He fell into step beside her, opened the door and let her precede him, trying not to get too lost in her subtle perfume. Feeling like a geeky teenager caught gawping at the hottest girl in class, he plucked the nearest book from the shelf and cleared his throat.

‘I have something for you. Come.’

She glanced at him, but said nothing as she followed him to his study. A smaller laptop sat next to his large one. He turned it towards her.

‘Sit down,’ he said.

Too surprised to protest, she sat. He pressed a button on the small laptop and the screen flickered to life. ‘I’m not sure what your tutor was using before, but I’ve found a programme to tutor you in basic reading and writing. Do you use a laptop at home?’ he asked.

Flushing slightly, she nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Good.’ He guided her through the simple programme until she could manage on her own. Then he handed her the laptop. ‘This one’s yours. We’ll have a lesson every morning after breakfast. Make no mistake: I will be hard on you if I think you’re slacking— Why are you biting your lip?’

‘Because I’m trying to stop myself from crying, you idiot.’

That protective instinct he’d been trying to stave off washed over him when her eyes filled. He found himself crouching before her, cupping her cheek before he could stop himself. Hell, there was no denying it. Ana undid him like no other person on earth.

‘If you’re trying to find a way to make me go softer on you, forget it.’

She laughed and the sound suffused his veins with happiness. When she bent her head and a swathe of hair covered part of her face he tucked it behind her ear.

‘Why are you doing this, Bastien?’

He stilled, searched for a flippant answer but failed. ‘Because you’re a generous, talented person and you deserve someone in your corner.’

Her beautiful eyes filled again and he cursed under his breath.

‘But on the hill you said—’

‘I shouldn’t have ripped into you like that.’ His smile felt strained. ‘Truth is, no one has ever dared to examine my baggage so closely. No one has ever been allowed close enough to try. Except you. Hell, I even called my mother today because of your pushing. I’m thinking of heading to Gstaad when the shoot is over. Will you come with me?’

Her eyes lit up. ‘If you want me to.’ She reached out and touched his knee. ‘Tell me what happened with her. Please—I want to know,’ she implored softly.

Bastien swallowed. That he was even considering sharing any more of his painful past with her surprised the hell out of him.

‘Are you sure? It gets a little messy,’ he warned, aware that his voice was huskier than usual.

She pursed her lips and waited.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. ‘Do you remember that last day at Verbier? You may have been too young—’

‘I remember.’ Her smile was poignant. ‘Your mother turned up out of the blue and demanded to see your father. Lily was screaming vile things at your father...’

He clenched his jaw. ‘And he was busy taking out his anger on my mother. They spoke in French, so you didn’t understand, of course. He told her she had no right to be there. That he was done with her pathetic, needy clinging.’

Ana flinched. He smoothed his thumbs down her cheeks.

‘He said was leaving her—divorcing her as soon as they returned to Geneva.’

‘Oh, Bastien...’

He shook his head, a cold, icy hand clamping over his chest where for a long time he’d remained frozen. ‘Here’s the kicker. He told her if she intended to fight for me he wouldn’t stand in her way. And she...’ An old wound, never really healed, split open, throwing him back sixteen years, so that his parents’ voices were as clear as if they were in the room with him now, ‘She said if she couldn’t have my father then she didn’t want me.’

Ana gasped and threw her arms around him. He held her tight, reeling from the remembered rejection even as he acknowledged that the pain he’d felt all these years was considerably less this time around. As if baring his soul to Ana had washed away the rough edges of anguish.

‘Oh, my God, Bastien. I’m so sorry. I had no idea,’ she murmured softly.

He finally pulled back, focused on her crouched before him. One hand touched his cheek and he exhaled noisily. She was offering comfort. When had that ever happened to him? He’d forged his way through life on his own after that stark double rejection sixteen years ago. And he’d succeeded. Hell, he’d more than succeeded. He’d excelled at everything he’d ever set his mind to.

He glanced into Ana’s face, ready to tell her to save her pity for someone else. Tears shone in her eyes.

‘You’re crying again.’

‘No child should hear that from anyone—most of all their parent.’

‘You cry for me even after all you’ve suffered?’

His voice sounded strange in his own ears, and that tight band around his chest loosened. Shaken by the feelings rolling over him, he caught a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

‘Maybe I cry for both of us.’ Slowly she raised herself up on her knees and kissed his cheek—one, then the other. ‘I’m sorry for both of us.’

Bastien wanted to catch her to him, to hold her tight and never let her go. And that thought above everything else unsettled him, shook him to his core, made him pull away from her.

‘Don’t be. It was a lesson well learnt. People use love as a tool to hurt each other. My mother tried to take her own life because she loved my father too much to watch him with another woman. She never once stopped to think of her son or how her actions would affect him.’

She rocked back. ‘You think she betrayed you?’

‘No, I don’t. In fact I don’t think she was thinking about me at all. She was thinking only of herself—obsessed with living in fairytales, searching for that elusive happy-ever-after.’

Clenching her hands in her lap, she swallowed. ‘Love isn’t a fairytale.’

‘No, it’s an excuse people use to hurt to each other. Every time I think I can forgive her I remember that she chose the most dramatic way possible to demonstrate her so-called love. A love that didn’t include me.’

* * *

Ana swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump of pain that had taken root there since Bastien had started speaking. Her heart ached for him. The thought of the toll his mother’s action had taken on him tore at her insides.

‘Did you...were you the one who found her?’

He frowned down at her. ‘No. Don’t you remember?’

Puzzled, Ana shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t think so...’

‘You don’t the remember the chaos after my father and Lily returned a few hours later?’

‘Yes, I do, but—’ Shock stopped her breath. ‘Are you saying that’s when your mother tried to...?’

Bitterness twisted his lips. ‘And she almost succeeded. The doctors said another half an hour and she’d have been dead.’

‘But how?’

Ana remembered the sad, broken figure of Solange Heidecker. Ana had been in one of the guest rooms, hiding after the screams had lapsed into an eerie silence, when the door had opened. Solange had walked in, looked around, and immediately turned to leave. At the last moment she’d seen Ana and slowly approached. Even at her young age the melancholy surrounding Bastien’s mother had struck her.

‘Which is your mother’s room, mon enfant? Come and show me.’ She’d held out her hand.

Ana had shown her, had stood in the doorway as she’d inspected every item of clothing, every shoe, every trinket in the room. Finally she’d sunk onto the bed, tears coursing down her face. Ana remembered her own sadness, remembered feeling in some way responsible for the woman’s pain.

She’d watched Solange take her shoes off slowly and lie back on the bed. ‘I’m not feeling very well, cherie.’ She’d smiled another sad, heartbreaking smile. ‘Please ask the housekeeper to bring me something for my headache, would you?’

Icy fingers of dread clamped around Ana’s heart. Her vision clouded, a dizzying faintness overcoming her.

No! No, no—

‘Ana!’ Bastien’s voice came from a far distance, from beyond the vacuum closing around her.

Oh, please God, no...

Her whole body had gone numb and her heart was beating dully, as if preparing to stop beating altogether. Bastien’s hands gripped her shoulders, but even his firm shake couldn’t force Ana from the dark fog of the past.

What had she done? Dear God, what had she done?

‘Ana, talk to me. What is it?’

The urgency in his voice finally scraped the edges of her consciousness. Slowly his face swam into view. Her heart ached at its perfect beauty, at the hard, impassive edge he portrayed to the world, at the concern he couldn’t help but feel—because deep down Bastien was just a man whose heart ached for love, just as hers did.

Most of all her heart was ripped open at the knowledge that she was the cause of his pain. That she had helped shape him into the hardened cynic he was today.

Tears blistered the back of her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry, Bastien. Oh God, I...I’m so sorry.’ Her voice broke and a sob dredged from the very depths of her pulverised soul erupted through her lips.

‘For what?’

‘Your mother. She took pills, didn’t she?’ The words scraped her throat, as if rebelling against being aired.

A frown slowly gathered on his brow. ‘Yes, but how...?’

‘She... Oh, God, Bastien... She didn’t try to commit suicide. I think she overdosed by accident. And I...I gave her the pills.’