Читать книгу The Virgin's Debt To Pay - Эбби Грин, Louise Fuller - Страница 13

CHAPTER THREE

‘I’M MOVING YOU out of the stables and into the house.’

Nessa looked at Luc Barbier where he stood behind his desk. She’d been summoned here a few minutes ago by the head groom, Simon Corrigan, and she’d tried not to let the understated luxury of the grand old Irish country house intimidate her.

This was where Barbier’s suite of private offices were based and now she stood on thick sumptuous carpet and was surrounded by dark oak panelling. Books filled floor-to-ceiling shelves. In contrast to the rather conservative decor, there was modern art on the walls that tickled at Nessa’s curiosity. And behind Barbier, a massive window where Nessa could see the training gallops in the distance. An amazing view and one that made her yearn to be on a horse.

But she dragged her attention back to what he’d said. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I said, I’m moving you into the house.’ He enunciated the words slowly, which only made his accent more noticeable. Nessa still couldn’t get over the raw, untameable energy that emanated from the man, in spite of the luxe surroundings.

She felt a bit dense. ‘Why?’

‘My housekeeper has lost one of her household assistants and so I told her you would fill in.’

‘Household assistant,’ Nessa said slowly as it sank in. ‘You mean a cleaner?’

Barbier grimaced faintly. ‘I think they prefer the term household assistant.’

A faint burn of humiliation washed up through her body. ‘This is because I went to see your racehorses.’

Barbier’s jaw tightened. ‘I’m not so petty.’

Nessa thought of being cooped up indoors cleaning floors and already felt claustrophobic. ‘You accused me of potential sabotage.’

Barbier’s jaw got even tighter. ‘At this point in time I have no idea what you’re capable of. You’ve put yourself in this position in a bid to convince me your brother is innocent. Mrs Owens, my housekeeper, needs someone to help her out—’

‘And I’m just the handy house-arrest guest you can move about at will to wherever it suits you,’ Nessa interrupted, feeling frustrated and angry.

‘You’re the one who is here by choice, Nessa. By all means you’re free to walk out this door at any time, but if you do I won’t hesitate to involve the local police.’

Nessa tipped up her chin, feeling reckless. ‘So why don’t you do it, then? Just call them!’

Barbier didn’t look remotely fazed at her outburst. ‘Because,’ he said easily, ‘I don’t believe it serves either of our interests to involve the law at this point. Do you really want to drag your family name into the open and inform everyone of what your brother has done?’

Nessa went cold inside when she thought of the lines of pain already etched into her father’s face. Indelible lines that would never fade even in spite of his much better mental state. She thought of Iseult’s frantic worry and her husband, Nadim, who would undoubtedly storm in to take over—just weeks before their baby was due.

Nessa looked at the man in front of her and hated him at that moment. Hated the way he was able to hold her to ransom so easily, and then that hatred turned inwards. She only had herself to blame. And Paddy.

She had taken responsibility and she couldn’t crumble now.

She forced down an awful feeling of futility and said, ‘No, I don’t want anyone to know what has happened. If I stay and do as you ask, can you promise that you won’t report what Paddy has done?’

Barbier inclined his head slightly. ‘Like I said, it serves us both to keep this to ourselves for the time being.’

Nessa wondered why he was so reluctant to let this get out, but then she realised that he would hardly like it to be known that payment for a horse had gone astray. It would put off potential sellers everywhere.

For a fleeting moment Nessa considered threatening to leak this news in return for Barbier’s assurance that Paddy wouldn’t be prosecuted. But she realised, without even testing him, that Barbier was not a man who could be so easily manipulated.

Apart from which, she didn’t have the stomach for blackmail, and there would be no way that Paddy’s reputation could remain unsullied. He might never get the chance to prove his innocence, and with the stain of possible theft and corruption on his record he’d never get a job in the industry he loved again. It would ruin him. Not to mention the disappointment of their father and sister...

As if privy to her thoughts, Barbier said, ‘You’re the only insurance Paddy has at the moment. His only guarantee of any kind of protection. You walk out of here and that’s gone, along with any sliver of doubt I may have about his guilt.’

Nessa’s heart thumped hard at that. So there was a chance that Barbier might believe in Paddy, if she could just convince him to return and explain what had happened. She had to cling onto that.

Not even sure what she wanted to say but wanting to capitalise on any sliver of mercy she could, she started, ‘Mr Barbier—’

‘It’s Luc,’ he cut her off. ‘I don’t stand on ceremony with anyone, not even a suspected thief.’

He didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her, yet he would still allow her to call him by his first name. Nessa didn’t like how his bad opinion of her affected her. She’d never done a dishonest thing in her life—apart from creeping onto this property on that fateful night.

She told herself that she just didn’t like anyone thinking badly of her—and that Barbier’s opinion of her wasn’t important. But that felt like a lie.

‘Fine, I’ll work in the house.’

The corner of his mouth tipped up ever so slightly in a mocking smile. ‘I like how you give yourself the illusion of having a choice.’

Nessa controlled her facial expression, not wanting to let him know how much he got to her. ‘Was that all?’

Now he looked slightly frustrated, as if he’d expected something else from her. After a moment he just said coolly, ‘Yes, Mrs Owens will send for you and show you what she needs. You’ll move into one of the staff bedrooms here.’

So she was to be completely removed from the realm of the stud farm and racing stables. Her heart contracted at the thought of being away from the horses, but at the same time an illicit fizz started in her body at the realisation that she’d be sleeping under the same roof as Barbier—Luc.

She’d never be able to say his name out loud; it felt far too intimate.

And not that she’d even see him, she assured herself. Not that she wanted to see him! She’d probably be confined to cleaning bathrooms and vacuuming hallways. Nessa left his office with as much dignity as she could muster.

En route back to her own quarters, she diverted and went to the paddocks where the stallions idly grazed the lush grass.

One of the huge beasts came over and whinnied, pushing his face into Nessa’s shoulder. She dutifully pulled out the ubiquitous carrot she always carried and fed it to him, stroking his soft nose and feeling ridiculously at sea.

Being sequestered indoors and kept away from the bucolic expanse and the animals was more of a punishment than mucking out stableyards and stables ever could be. But Nessa couldn’t convince herself that Barbier was doing it out of spite. He really didn’t seem that petty.

Instead, she couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d taken her hand in his and looked at her rough skin so fiercely the other day. She’d felt self-conscious ever since then. She curled her hands inwards now and shoved them back into her pockets, backing away from the horse.

As she walked back to the main buildings she told herself it was ridiculous to imagine for a second that Barbier had moved her away from the stables for any other reason than just because she was bound to serve out her time here however he willed it.

The man couldn’t care less about her labour-worn hands, and, anyway, hot soapy water and housework were hardly going to be any less taxing or more gentle! She just had to get on with it and make the best of this situation until they could prove Paddy’s innocence.

* * *

It took a long time for the heat in Luc’s body to die down after Nessa had left his office. He’d had to battle the urge to push his desk aside and take that stubborn chin in his thumb and forefinger, tipping it up so that she presented her lush mouth to his. Silencing her in a way that would be unbelievably satisfying.

It was confounding. And irritating as hell. Especially as she was wearing nothing more provocative than a worn T-shirt, jeans and boots, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and no make-up. Yet there was something very earthy and sensual about her that made her all woman.

That, and the defiant tilt of her jaw and the look in her eyes, effortlessly enflamed him. He had the same impulse when he was around her that he had with an unbroken horse. A desire to tame it, and make it bend to his will.

He’d never before become so interested in one woman. Women had never enthralled Luc beyond the initial attraction, and it usually waned quickly. He’d be the first to admit his experience of women hadn’t been the most rounded. His mother had shown only the briefest moments of motherly love, before her addictions had swallowed her whole.

The girls in his milieu had been as gritty and tough as him, broken by their surroundings and circumstances. And if they weren’t broken then they got out and went far away, exactly as he had done.

Sometimes, the women who frequented the social sphere he now inhabited reminded him of the girls and women of his youth. They were hard and gritty too, but hid it under a shiny, expensive sheen.

But Nessa was none of those things, which intrigued him in spite of his best instincts. And she was out of bounds, for many reasons, not least of which was her suspected collusion with her brother.

He knew without arrogance that she was attracted to him. He saw it in her over-bright eyes and pink cheeks, her taut body that quivered slightly in his presence. He felt fairly sure she must know that he was attracted to her—in spite of his words that first night. I can’t say that you’d be my type. Apparently she was.

Yet she wasn’t testing him by using their chemistry to try and leverage any advantage. He didn’t think a woman existed who wouldn’t. Unless she was playing some game. That was far more probable.

He stood at his window now, the view encompassing the gallops in the distance where his thoroughbreds were being exercised, and the stud farm just out of sight on the other side.

He had both sides of the industry here—racing and breeding. It gave him immense satisfaction to see it all laid out before him, except today, for the first time, there was a slight dilution of that satisfaction. As if something had taken the sheen off it. As if something was reminding him that he hadn’t made it yet. Not really.

Luc scowled. He knew he hadn’t made it yet, not completely. No matter how many winners he had or sired with his stallions.

He wouldn’t have made it until he was respected by his peers, and not looked at with varying degrees of suspicion.

It was the only fulfilment he wanted. He had no desire for the things most normal people wanted—family, security, love. What was love anyway? It was a foreign concept to Luc that came far too close to believing in trust, and such notions as fate and chance.

He couldn’t understand Nessa’s blind defence of her brother—unless she was getting something out of it too. It was inconceivable she was doing it out of pure affection or loyalty.

All that existed for him were the solid successes he’d manifested out of sweat and dogged ambition. The legacy he would leave behind would tell a different story from the one he’d been handed at birth. His name would endure as a gold standard in racing.

And yet now, for the first time, he had the disquieting suspicion that even if every one of his peers were to look him in the eye with the utmost respect, he’d still feel less than them.

A movement to the far right in the stud stableyard area caught Luc’s eye and he welcomed the distraction. He turned his head just in time to catch a flash of dark red hair coiling down a slim back before Nessa disappeared around a corner. His reaction was instant and intense, making him scowl even harder at his body’s lack of control.

His body pulsed with need. He should be pushing this woman further away, leaving it to his staff to keep her in check. But instead he was bringing her closer.

He was experiencing a kind of hunger he’d only felt once before, when he’d had his first taste of the wider world outside the gloomy Parisian suburbs and had made the vow to never end up back there again. He’d taken that hunger, and used it.

This hunger, however, would be crushed. Because it could do nothing to enhance his success, or his life. Resisting her would be a test of his will to not demean himself.

* * *

‘Here—last job of the day, love, go up and do the boss’s private suite. He’s due back from Paris later this evening and I never had a chance to get around to it, what with the preparations for the party this weekend.’

Nessa took the basket containing cleaning products from Mrs Owens and hated that her skin got hot just at the mention of the boss and that he was returning soon. He’d been at his Paris stables for the past three days, which hadn’t felt as much of a respite as Nessa had thought it would.

Angry with herself for still being so aware of him when he wasn’t even here, she focused on feeling relieved that the day was nearly over. There was something particularly soul-sucking about doing housework all day, every day, and as Nessa had polished the silver earlier she’d revised her opinion that Luc Barbier wasn’t petty.

They’d also been busy preparing for a huge party that was being thrown at the house that weekend, to launch the most prestigious racing event in the Irish season.

Just as the homely housekeeper was turning away she stopped and said, ‘I’ve left fresh bedlinen in his room, so just strip the bed and remake it. Once you’re done with that you’re off for the evening.’

Nessa went upstairs to the second floor of the villa-style country house, still marvelling at the opulence. It was about two hundred years old. All the bedroom suites were on the second floor. The first floor was taken up with Barbier’s—Luc’s—office and a gym. There was also a vast media room with a private cinema and informal meetings rooms.

The ground floor held the grand ballroom—prepared for the party now—with French doors opening out onto exquisite manicured gardens. It also had the main, and less formal, dining rooms and reception rooms.

The basement was where the vast kitchen and staff quarters were laid out. All in all a very grand affair. It certainly put Nessa’s family farmhouse to shame, even though it too had been refurbished to a high standard since Iseult had married Nadim. It was a far more modestly sized house, though.

Nessa reached the second floor, and walked to the end of the corridor past all the guest rooms to where Luc’s rooms were based. He had one entire wing, and she found she was holding her breath slightly as she opened the door.

His scent hit her instantly. Woody and musky. It curled through her nose and deep into the pit of her belly. Cursing herself for her reaction, she strode into the main reception room, dumping the basket of cleaning supplies and resolutely opening the sash windows to let some air in. She told herself the room was musty, not musky and provocative.

Still, she couldn’t help but look around. The room was huge and open plan, with soft grey furnishings in muted tones. The same stunning modern art that she’d seen in his office was dotted around the walls, along with sculptures, huge coffee-table books on photography, art, and movies. More books than she’d ever seen in her life, ranging from thrillers to the classics.

The decor and objects reflected a far more cerebral man than Nessa would have guessed existed under Barbier’s brooding, sexy exterior.

She had to force herself to remember why she was here and not give into the impulse to pluck out a book from the shelves and curl up on one of the sumptuous couches to read. She realised that she was more weary than she’d realised—the stress of the situation and hard work, mixed with nights of fitful sleep, wasn’t a good combination. But she wasn’t a wilting lily, and normally worked harder than most, so it annoyed her to find herself feeling tired now.

She scooped up the cleaning supplies and set to work dusting and cleaning. Eventually, as if she’d been putting it off, she went into the bedroom area. She opened the doors and the first thing that hit her eyeline was the bed. It was massive, dominating the room. Much like the man.

It was a modern bed with a dark grey headboard that reminded her ridiculously of his eyes and how they could turn dark silver. A detail she shouldn’t even be aware of.

Apart from the bed there were some built-in wardrobes, a sleek chest of drawers and bedside tables. What was striking was the absence of anything of particularly personal value. No photos. No stuff. Just some clothes draped on one of the chairs and the rumpled bedsheets, which she avoided looking at.

Then she spied two more doors that revealed a walk-in closet and a luxurious bathroom complete with wetroom shower and a tub that looked big enough to take a football team.

Nessa set about cleaning the bathroom, trying not to breathe in his scent, which was everywhere. She picked up a bottle of cologne and guiltily sniffed it before putting it down again hastily.

Disgusted with herself, she finished cleaning and went back into the bedroom, pulling off the crumpled sheets and trying not to imagine that they were still warm from his body. Would he sleep naked? He seems like the kind of man who would...

Nessa stopped dead for a moment, shocked at the vivid turn of her imagination, and at the way she suddenly hungered to know what he would look like—imagining the sexy naked sprawl of that big bronzed body all too easily, and knowing her imagination probably fell far short of reality. Her pulse became slow and hot.

She had to face the unpalatable fact that Luc Barbier had succeeded where no other man had. He’d awoken her hormones from their dormant state. Their virginal state. And it was beyond humiliating that the first man she should feel lust for was the last man who would ever look at her like that.

She’d often wondered why she’d never felt particularly roused by other boys’ kisses at university, and her lack of response had earned her a reputation of being standoffish. She’d closed inwards after that, choosing to avoid exposing herself and risk being mocked.

Nessa made the bed as clinically as she could, ignoring the faint dent near the centre that indicated where he slept. When she was done she made one more sweep of the rooms to make sure she hadn’t missed anything and collected all the cleaning materials. She stepped inside the bedroom one last time to run her eye over the now-pristine bed and was about to step back out and shut the door when something caught her eye outside.

She went over to the window, putting the basket down for a moment. The view took her breath away; the sun was setting over the gallops, bathing everything in a lush golden light. There were no horses being exercised now, but Nessa could remember how it felt to harness a thoroughbred’s power as it surged powerfully beneath her. There was a wide window seat and Nessa sat down, curling her legs underneath her, enjoying the view for an illicit moment.

Nessa suspected that she knew exactly why she had avoided physical intimacy until now. Their mother’s death had profoundly affected everyone in her family: Iseult had grown up overnight to become their mother and much more, and the boys had gone off the rails in their own ways but had always turned to each other. Even though Nessa was a twin to Eoin, they’d never had that bond people spoke of.

Their father had gone to pieces.

But Nessa had been too young to do much but internalise all of her own pain and grief, too acutely aware of everyone else’s struggles to let it out. She’d always been terrified of what might come out of her if she did. It had been easier to retreat emotionally, and concentrate on her dreams of being a great jockey.

But sometimes the pain in her chest—her unexpressed grief—took her breath away. And sometimes, when she looked at her sister Iseult with her husband and she saw their incredibly intimate bond, she felt envious of that relationship, even as it made her heart palpitate with fear. She couldn’t imagine ever allowing herself to love someone that much, for fear of losing them. For fear of the devastation the loss would cause.

Up until now she’d avoided sex because getting close to someone had seemed like too high a price. And yet, when she thought of Luc Barbier, the last thing on her mind was the emotional price.

* * *

Luc was tired and frustrated. He’d spent the last three days working intensively with one of his brightest hopes, a horse called Sur La Mer. He was due to race in a few weeks in France but none of his jockeys seemed capable of getting the horse to perform to his maximum ability. Luc would ride the horse himself if he weren’t six feet four and two hundred pounds.

Luc was also frustrated in a far more difficult area—sexually. It was not a state he was used to. He didn’t do sexual frustration. He desired a woman, he had her and he moved on.

But only one woman had dominated his thoughts in France. Nessa O’Sullivan. He’d gone to a glitzy charity auction in Paris that was abounding with beautiful women. Not one had piqued his interest. Instead he’d found himself wondering what Nessa would look like out of those jeans that seemed to be shrink-wrapped to her taut thighs. Or the series of worn T-shirts that did little to conceal her lithe body and firm breasts. Or what her hair would look like teased into luxurious waves, rippling down a bare back.

Dieu. He cursed himself as he strode down the corridor to his bedroom, relishing the prospect of a cold shower and bed.

But when Luc opened the door to his bedroom all of his instincts snapped onto high alert. An old habit from when his environment had spelled danger from sunrise to sunset.

He saw the basket of cleaning supplies first, on a table near the door. And then he saw her and his breath stopped in his chest. He wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

She was curled up on the wide window seat, fast asleep. Her knees were leaning to one side, and her head was leaning against the window as if she’d been looking at the view of the gallops.

He moved closer and his hungry gaze tracked down over her body—he was disappointed that she wasn’t wearing the jeans and T-shirt combination that had enflamed his imagination. She was wearing the plain black trousers and black shirt that all his household staff wore. Flat, functional sneakers.

The shirt had untucked from her trousers, and he could see the tiniest bare patch of her waist and her paler than pale skin. Blood roared to his head and groin in a simultaneous rush.

He was incensed at her effect on him, and at his growing obsession with her.

As if finally becoming aware of his intense scrutiny, she shifted slightly and Luc looked at her face to see long dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks for a moment before her eyes opened sleepily. He watched as she slowly registered where she was, and who was in front of her.

Her cheeks flushed and those huge eyes widened until all he could see was dark, golden green. He wanted to slip right into those pools and lose himself...

A tumult raged inside him as she looked up and blinked innocently, as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. He might have almost believed for a second that she hadn’t planned this little set-up.

‘Well, well, well, what do we have here?’ He looked her over slowly and thoroughly, fresh heat flooding his veins when he saw the thrust of her breasts against the shirt. It made his voice harsh. ‘You would have been much more comfortable and made it easier for both of us if you’d stripped naked and waited in my bed.’