Читать книгу Daring to Date the Boss / The Tycoon Who Healed Her Heart - Melissa James - Страница 11

‘WHAT is this?’

Rachel looked at the electrical apparatus sitting in the centre of the table with vague suspicion. It looked like some sort of grill, with small-handled pots beneath the heating bars. A wonderful smell permeated the air: cheesy, but like no cheese she’d ever eaten. Bowls of food sat around the grill and a range of foods was sizzling on the rectangular grill-plate above.

‘You haven’t had this before?’ Armand asked, looking surprised. ‘You’ve been in Switzerland for weeks. Surely Max recommended it at least once?’

When she shook her head, he smiled with what looked like genuine pleasure. ‘Then I shall be the first to share this experience with you. This is raclette, a traditional Swiss food for winter—but usually it’s only served with potatoes and pickles. I like to switch it up a bit, add more to the menu.’

‘It smells divine.’

He used little wooden spade-like objects to flip the food over. ‘I order this for my first dinner whenever I return from being away.’

For a moment the impulse to ask where he’d been rose in her throat, but she forced it down. It wasn’t as if they were friends. They were strangers sharing a cabin and an agreement, no more. He’d respected her secrets; she would be showing the worst form of ingratitude if she didn’t do the same for him.

The trouble was that his patter, and the new food, had begun to relax her from the feeling of trepidation at his return tonight—that, and the jeans and sweatshirt he wore, both old but comfortable, by the looks of it. Everything felt informal, especially Armand himself—as if it was a deliberate ploy. She couldn’t help but wonder if there was something else he wanted from her.

But the way he moved in those clothes was so fluid, with such natural grace, she felt a surge of envy—and another emotion she didn’t want to identify. But she was a functioning woman, and any woman still breathing had to appreciate a man this masculine and this beautiful.

Although she’d showered this evening, she was still wearing a simple jeans and pullover. It was all she’d brought with her when she’d fled LA. She’d left everything behind: her name, her trademarks, any and all memories of Pete and her TV persona. And every day that she pulled on her comfy clothes, saw her natural brown hair, ring-free left hand, no make-up and didn’t have to endure another day of hunger to remain svelte for the camera was another happy day.

There was no way she’d play the perfect doll again. Not for any man.

But her half-hearted attempt at defiance died with her first sight of him in his jeans. Without that little surge of rebellion to protect her emotions, she felt naked. She’d never been happy without having some form of barrier. Her mother had taught her that. Her mother’s ladylike behaviour had been her protection from the hurt from her daddy’s careless philandering.

But no form of refined protest Rachel tried had ever stopped Pete from railroading her. Nor did it seem to work with Armand. She guessed she just didn’t have the way of it.

‘Please, come and sit down,’ he said with a smile, as if he hadn’t noticed her silence. ‘It’s ready to eat.’

‘Full points to Monika for the setting,’ she murmured as she sat down, anxious to give her new friends all the praise she could.

Armand moved her chair in. ‘Monika is finished for the day, but I will pass on thanks to the appropriate place.’

‘Thanks,’ she sighed, reflecting on Armand’s courtesy with a slightly uncomfortable feeling. Probably his good manners were ingrained in him, but it had the feel of subtle undercurrents, as seductive as they were dangerous. She felt as if she’d fallen into unfamiliar waters from the moment he’d come into her life, pulling her with gentle insistence out to sea.

Don’t think about it. Don’t look at him. Frowning, she looked beneath the grill plate and saw cheese bubbling in the little flat pans. ‘This looks delicious.’

‘It is, and so easy. Just cook what you like to eat, and when it’s ready pick what you want to eat, put it on your plate and pour the cheese over.’

The flavour burst on her tongue with the first mouthful. ‘Oh, this is superb, Armand,’ she murmured when her mouth was empty. ‘No wonder it’s a national dish—I’d eat it—’

‘Rachel?’

Her eyes snapped open at his tone of voice which, though quiet, held inexplicable warning. A tiny shiver ran through her spine and she forgot about the food. ‘What is it?’

He was looking only at his plate, seeming to enjoy the smell of his food. ‘Someone’s watching us through the terrasse door. She’s looking right at you.’

She heard one of her vertebrae snap into place as she straightened, but she didn’t look around. ‘You said she?’

‘Try to relax, Rachel,’ he said softly, still not looking at her. ‘It’s okay. I recognise her. It’s Amelia Heffernan, a regular visitor to the resort—she’s a widow, an incurable romantic, and also incurably nosy. She only arrived today. She must have heard the rumours of a woman staying here and came to check for herself.’

One by one, her vertebrae relaxed again. She drew in a breath, her first in almost a minute. She looked at him, trying not to show her fear. ‘Does she watch TV?’

‘She’s elderly—of course she does. And, yes, she loves the chat shows.’

Rachel turned cold all over. ‘Armand, if she recognises me and tells anyone …’

She couldn’t quite interpret his smile. ‘From where she’s standing, she can’t see your face. Stand up and come to me.’ He rose to his feet, moving to her. ‘Smile at me. Our ruse won’t work if you look like you’d rather walk into an iron maiden than into my arms.’

She looked down, shaking her head. ‘I can’t do it. I just can’t.’

He reached her chair, but didn’t touch it, only her shoulder. ‘Rachel,’ he murmured, ‘You don’t know me. You have no reason to trust me. But right now I’m all you have.’

Slowly she lifted her face, turning her neck so she looked into his eyes. In them she saw not the predatory male after dominance, not even tenderness, but a reluctant understanding. It made her breath catch.

‘Sometimes you have to leap,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s your choice.’

He was right. It had to be now or never.

Her heart beat a hard tattoo as she rose to shaky feet and he turned her body so she was in his arms. The look on his face was confident, a man sure of his welcome. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe …

‘It’s just like those days when the last thing you wanted was to be in front of the camera, Rachel. Remember? I’m smiling for her. If I must, I’ll kiss you for her. But none of it’s real. It’s all rehearsed. It’s not who we are. This man is not who I am. I’m helping you, nothing more.’

Rachel gulped, and nodded. Somehow his words made it easier to snuggle in. ‘It’s not real,’ she whispered to herself as she wrapped her arms around his neck. ‘It’s not real.’

‘This is the only way she won’t be able to see your face from any angle,’ Armand whispered, holding her against his body, her cheek against his heart.

Despite the tender reassurance, she suddenly rocketed back a few months in time, standing in Pete’s arms, waving to the audience the day after he’d first hit her. ‘Smile, Rachel,’ he’d muttered. ‘They all love us. Smile for them.’ He’d squeezed her waist, right where he’d hit her the night before after seeing that her fan rating was higher than his. He had been reminding her of who was in control, both in the show and in life.

‘Rachel?’

Her vision cleared, and she saw Armand looking down at her, tender and troubled. He wasn’t Pete, and she felt safer with this stranger than she had with anyone in a long time.

That gave her the courage to try. ‘Smile at me,’ she muttered through gritted teeth. ‘She’ll never believe it if you look at me like you’re scared I might break any second.’

He gave a soft chuckle and lowered his face to hers. Rachel jerked back before she could stop herself. ‘Make the leap, Rachel,’ he whispered, moving close again. ‘Trust me.’

She bit her lip, saw that look again, the sadness and the pain beneath the confident hunter—the wounded wolf. She gave permission in a tiny nod. ‘Do it.’

His lips barely touched one side of her mouth, and then the other side, in sweet mimickry of the real thing, leaving her heart banging like a jackhammer right up as high as her throat. Then he drew her closer still but, though it looked loving—seductive even—she was in his arms in a hold more gentle and protective than any she’d ever known. ‘I’m not him,’ Armand whispered into her hair.

Slowly, still trying to take air into lungs that wouldn’t behave and fill, she nodded. Not real? It was all too real, and something buried deep inside her came shimmering back to life. She could hardly remember the last time anyone had held her, unless it was for an audience. Though they had an audience of one now, Armand’s tender hold made her feel as if they were alone, that he was holding her because he wanted to …

He bent down to murmur against her ear. ‘Frau Heffernan has been coming to the resort since its reopening, and is very loyal. She just wants to know what’s going on. So, for now pretend to dance with me. She’ll interpret it as a private romance. She’ll love having the power of knowledge no one else has and, beyond teasing me about it in quiet moments, nothing will be said, certainly not in public.’

With a tender hand he moved her head so her face was buried against his chest as he hummed a song. He moved her in a slow shuffle, always keeping her face from the clear terrasse doors, protecting her with every movement he made.

She felt so safe. She felt his heart beating against her cheek, heard the swishing of his breath in and out as they danced. He wound his fingers through hers, held her waist with a light, reassuring clasp. How he managed to give her personal space when he held her like a lover, she couldn’t understand—but he did. Somehow he knew she couldn’t bear any form of male dominance.

He’d given her the choice in everything since he’d invaded her life.

It was a revelation to her as new and wondrous to her as a bud unfurling. Armand had walked away from the life Pete craved like a drug. Armand allowed her to hold her power without punishing her for it. And, yes, he let her know who was in control—she was.

His arms were so gentle, his hands so tender. She wanted to melt into him, to fall into this safe, beautiful place and never leave …

No. She’d been alone too long, that was all. Even on her wedding day part of her had felt lonely and lost. At nineteen she hadn’t known why; at thirty-two, she understood. Though Pete had always been extravagant with compliments and the words ‘I love you’, his self-love was all-absorbing, and allowed for nothing but the shallowest of affection for anyone else. The day she’d rebelled against his wishes, he’d shown her who was boss in punishing blows.

But now Armand had come into her life with his tender arms and his kindness, and he was a greater threat to her well-being than if he had been holding a sub-machine gun to her head.

And yet she couldn’t move from this hold, more seductive than any practiced caress could be. No wonder they called him the Wolf. He knew how to charm her into a state of hypnotic compliance, trusting him within hours of meeting him.

‘Is she gone?’ she whispered after what seemed like hours, minutes, seconds—she couldn’t work it out but, while it seemed too long, it wasn’t long enough.

He’s a stranger. She needed space now.

‘Not yet,’ he said quietly. ‘She’s got her heavy-weather gear on. She’s there until we notice her.’

Her fingertips were quivering as she fought against running, against holding on with all the strength she had. ‘What do you think?’

‘It’s your call, Rachel. I can look at her, embarrass her into leaving.’

About to assent, she thought of what it might cost him as the owner and hesitated. ‘Would you do that if I were a woman you—you …?’

‘Wanted to make love with?’ His voice sounded smoky now, and a hot shudder touched her skin with slow, sensuous fingertips. ‘No, I probably wouldn’t have noticed her at all. By now I’d have carried you to the bedroom.’

Gulp, gulp … The lump in her throat just wouldn’t go away. ‘I … Herr Bollinger …’

‘It’s Armand—and if I carry you to the bedroom tonight it will only be for show. I don’t abuse women, or persuade them against their will, Rachel Chase. Remember that.’

At that, she stilled so totally she felt her pulse in her throat—and then from somewhere inside her, the fighter came back. ‘Then don’t speak to me so intimately. We’re strangers sharing a cabin, no more than that—and, please remember, I’m still a paying guest.’

‘Touché, Ms Chase. That’s very good.’ A rumbling laugh rippled through his body and, though she fought against his power, he still infected her with his mirth. ‘And I will not point out that the fact that we’re in this situation is totally your own fault because you moved in on my private domain. My mother raised me to be a gentleman.’

She grinned against the windcheater he wore, which was as warm as his teasing comment. ‘And my mama raised me to be a southern lady. So don’t touch me without permission, Armand Bollinger. You might be a wolf, but I can become a she-bear without warning.’

‘Consider me appropriately chastened.’

The laughing tone made her feel absurdly happy. ‘How weird is this conversation, given our current circumstances?’ she whispered, feeling his skin touching hers. They were only hand to hand, cheek to cheek, but it moved with invisible fingertips into her soul.

‘That’s just what I was thinking.’ He relaxed his arms and looked down at her, smiling.

Oh, those silly hot shivers! ‘So, is she still there?’

He checked briefly without seeming to. ‘She is, in a covered corner of the terrasse, and watching us avidly. Time to implement plan B—the wolf must dare the she-bear and we’ll see who wins.’ He lifted her in his arms, his eyes twinkling as he smiled down at her. Slowly, he rubbed his cheek against hers with absolute gentleness. ‘You’re a very little bear. I can bearly feel you.’

Warm, safe and beautiful all at once—oh, this man was too seductive for his own good in making her feel this way, even when he was trying to reassure her with his teasing. ‘Ha ha. That’s because I’m fading away from hunger,’ she complained, trying to joke her way into a normal breathing pattern and heartbeat.

He sniffed and his face darkened. ‘The cheese is burning.’ He put her back down in her chair, turned back and strode over to the terrasse doors. After flashing a dark look at the elderly lady, he wound the built-in blinds down. He kept going even after the startled Frau Heffernan had scuttled away. ‘Good, now we can eat. I’ll clean the pans and be right back.’

Rachel was glad she was sitting down. Her knees really didn’t want to be straight at this point.

Armand’s knees seemed just fine. After he picked up the collection of little trays, he headed for the kitchen with a clean, confident stride. ‘Can you turn the heat down on the grill and take the food off the top while I clean these, please, Rachel? I’ll be back in a few minutes. Hopefully everything won’t get too cold.’

He spoke in his ordinary voice, as though nothing had happened.

Perhaps to him it hadn’t.

‘Okay, consider it done.’ After speaking as calmly as possible, Rachel drew a deep, slow breath, wondering how the world could turn upside down in a few hours. From feeling safely hidden away, she was out of her depth in waters as sweet as they were turbulent, and all because of one tycoon in shining armour …

Feeling a fervent kinship with the elderly woman—she wanted to scuttle away from Armand too, never come back and definitely never see him again—she made a noncommittal noise of assent and began moving the food from the grill.

‘Don’t think about it, just don’t think about it,’ she chanted beneath her breath. She shoved a crispy piece of bacon on her tongue and chewed on it despite the fact that it tasted like ashes in her mouth.

What just happened in there?

Armand leaned against the sink for a moment, just breathing. He tossed the raclette trays in the sink and ran warm, soapy water over them. Even as he cleaned out the hard cheese and washed them he was conscious of the crazy feeling that had sent him running in here. It hadn’t lessened, despite the space between them.

So stupid, to lose his temper over something as simple as burning cheese! He supposed he’d had to do something—and it was either take out his sudden anger on the raclette grill and Frau Heffernan, a rich widow without a life of her own, or give in to the consuming need to touch Rachel again.

How idiotic was it to touch a woman in his own home? And yet it felt so right.

He’d never brought a woman here, apart from Maman, Johanna and Carla. It was their home as much as his, since Papa had left it to them all equally. It had been almost all he’d had left to give after the fire destroyed the first resort, and he’d gambled away everything else. To Armand, this cabin was his home, a sacred place of refuge. He’d never brought a woman here until now.

At first, he’d thought it was simple pity. She was alone in a world turned against her, and her jerk of a husband had betrayed her publicly.

Then he’d seen the way she rubbed at her left wrist almost absently, as if in reminder. Maman had done the same thing, long after the breaks had healed from his father’s repeated beatings. When Rachel had caught him looking, she’d tried to hide it far too quickly, just as Maman had.

Armand seethed and burned still, just thinking about the shame and embarrassment on Rachel’s face. If that damned ‘doc with empathy’ had been here right now …

It came down to this: Rachel Chase needed protection from Rinaldi, and he could give it.

And you have to do it, because you didn’t protect your own mother.

There was the crux of it. More than twenty years ago, Armand had woken one night to see the truth he’d probably always known—his father had beaten Maman two shades too hard to hide the bruises; he’d broken her arm.

Armand couldn’t change the damage done to his family, but he’d stop Rinaldi from damaging Rachel any further. If Rinaldi showed up, he’d be here waiting.

Despite her spunk and her volatile changes, her inner strength and perception, Rachel was no she-bear. She couldn’t protect herself physically against the likes of Dr Pete, let alone stand against the media onslaught. Armand had the skills, the wealth and the place to protect her—and the reputation didn’t hurt. If Rinaldi showed his face here, he’d meet with the Wolf, all right—a wolf in protective mode. He didn’t care what it took right now, he’d keep Rachel safe.

But he could not and would not hold her again. It was too dangerous to the calm demeanour she needed from him. She needed to heal, not have her protector fantasising about making her his lover. And to make sure she was safe, he had to be in control of his emotions.

Damn it, when has touching a woman ever been this emotional for me?

‘So stop looking at her. Stop thinking about it,’ he growled to himself.

Stop remembering how it felt to hold her.

He had to remember instead that she’d called him Herr Bollinger, putting space between them the moment he’d shown her that his male imagination was running riot. She’s been through enough. She doesn’t want you for anything but protection. She needs a friend.

So a friend he’d be. Nothing had happened, really—just a new kind of male reaction to a sweet, curvy bundle of woman in his arms. End of story.

But every single one of the cheese trays had grooves in them from the steel wool he’d gouged into them with his cleaning efforts when he carried them back into the dining table.

When he glanced at her, she was sitting in her place with seeming calm, but her fingers were laced so tightly together they had white patches. Looking up, he saw the apprehension in those shimmering, far-too-expressive eyes, and the paleness of her cheeks.

Had he frightened her with his emotions? He smiled in rueful apology, but it felt as if he’d gouged his smile in place too. Reassure her; be gentle. A friend, only a friend.

This was going to be a very long few weeks.