Innocent in His Diamonds (3 page)

The shadows receded from her eyes. Sharp sensation pierced him at her grateful look but he squashed it.

Her generous lips curved in a small, cynical smile. ‘This is the modelling industry, Bastien. The number one rule is never to turn your back on a fellow model unless you want a knife buried in it.'

His name on her lips made that unnerving sensation pierce harder. He shifted in his seat, his jaw clenching, and rejected the feeling. ‘So you think someone's trying to jeopardise your position with DBH for their own ends?'

She shook her head, sending the silky tresses sliding over her shoulders. ‘I don't see why. If someone wanted the assignment that badly they would've tried something at the beginning of the campaign—not when it's almost finished. How about you?'

Shock darted up his spine at her firm challenge. Witnessing her healthy suspicion made him want to laugh out loud.
‘Excusez moi?'

‘Have
you
annoyed anyone lately? Anyone who'd want to see your business fail? I know I haven't done anything like that.'

‘Nice trick to try and shift the blame on to me, Miss Duval, but no.'

She shrugged. ‘It was worth a try. You're convinced I have skeletons in my closet. I merely wanted you to examine yours in case we were missing anything.'

‘But I'm not the one charged with drug possession, am I?'

‘Maybe a business rival is trying to get to you. What better way to bring down your company?'

He barely examined her line of reasoning before dismissing it. The last threatened takeover of one of the Heidecker companies had happened two years ago. He'd given the opposition a neat trouncing and sent them running with their tails between their legs.

‘Another thing—we've known each other since we were children, so what's with the
Miss Duval
? Can't you call me Ana?' she suggested with a tentative smile.

The slight softening he'd allowed himself to feel immediately hardened.

How casually she'd tossed that memory into his lap. As if he hadn't spent years trying to forget that time—as if the repercussions of those horrific weeks they'd spent together hadn't lasted to this day.

Bitterness coated his mouth. ‘We spent an unwelcome eight weeks together sixteen years ago—very much against our will—when your mother decided to seduce my father and he foolishly let his hormones get the better of him. You and I have crossed paths only once since that time. Do you need me to remind you of what happened then?'

She shook her head wildly but he ignored her.

‘You flaunted your semi-nude body at me and I nearly ended up screwing your brains out. Tell me—do either of those scenarios qualify us as childhood friends?'

Her smile disappeared, along with a healthy dose of colour. Her fingers curled around each other, her knuckles white against her green dress.

‘You're despicable!'

He felt no regret. From the success of the DBH campaign so far, and the meteoric rise in sales of the product, Bastien knew the power of Ana Duval's erotic thrall. Women wanted to be her. Men wanted to be
with
her. But she held no sway over him.

For her own sake he needed to make sure she knew that too.

‘Will your flatmate be at home by now?'

Her head snapped up, her gaze hurt and wary. He looked away.

‘She should be. Why?'

‘You need a change of clothes. You'll be attending a board meeting with me in a little under sixteen hours. I recommend you do not do so dressed as you are right now.'

‘What good will my presence there serve, exactly?'

He shrugged. ‘By morning we'll know the extent of the damage to the company. Maybe your presence at the board meeting will be a precursor to your being fired and sued for damages.'

That hurt look returned and she bit her lip again.

Tearing his gaze away from her mouth was even harder, and the effort sent another dart of unease through him. Silence reigned in the car—one he didn't feel like breaking. His phone buzzed. He ignored it, curiously unwilling to hear any more news, good or bad, about what was happening outside the sphere he and Ana were in.

He watched her fumble through her bag, retrieve and activate her own phone.

How delicate her wrists were: frail, almost fragile, as if they were to be handled with the utmost care.

Bastien reeled back his wayward thoughts in time to hear her shallow gasp. Her colour receded even more as she listened to her messages.

Henry had already informed him after the meeting that the scandal involving the star of the DBH campaign had gone viral. Even the top international news stations were now leading with the story. Her voicemail would be crammed with every sleazy journalist wanting a piece of her.

Her clear distress grated.

‘I suggest you turn off your phone and keep it turned off for the near future.'

For once she didn't protest. He watched one shaky finger press the power button. Then she went back to worrying at her lip with her perfect teeth.

Looking out of the window, she said woodenly, ‘Will Simone get here before our flight's called?'

‘We take off when I'm ready. Besides, your friend's not bringing your stuff here. I've sent someone to pick up the things you need. I didn't want her to be inconvenienced when my people turned up.'

Her head whipped round, a flash of anger widening her eyes. ‘What if she hadn't been in?'

‘Your landlady lives in the building. I'm sure she'd have accommodated my request.'

‘You'd have gone through my possessions without my permission?' Incredulity rang through her husky voice.

‘You owe my company a great deal of money, Miss Duval. I'd rethink any sense of misplaced anger, if I were you.'

‘Well, you're
not
me! You might feel all high and mighty in that Heidecker tower in which you live, but normal people tend to treat each other with more respect.'

He glanced pointedly at the door. ‘You're welcome to hop out again if you feel hard done by. But don't think for one minute that I won't come after you with everything I've got to make sure you honour our agreement.'

What little colour remained leached from her face. He watched her skim a shaky hand through her hair. The silky strands slid slowly through her fingers as she subsided into her seat. For several seconds she didn't speak, but her lips moved, formulating words with which to annihilate him. When she raised her eyes to his the chocolate-brown depths had darkened to almost black with the fierce fire burning within.

Raw, unfamiliar sensation gripped him, leaving a strong current rumbling along his nerves. The strange emotion made him feel disgruntled, made him shift in his seat. His eyes fell lower to her plump lips as they parted.

‘I hate you.'

CHAPTER THREE

‘H
ATE
IS
A
very powerful word,
mi pequeña
. Never use it lightly.'

Her father's words echoed through Ana's mind as she glared at Bastien. Not since the age of nine, when she'd sobbed to her father after her mother had burned all of Ana's dolls in another bout of senseless cruelty had she felt that emotion so strongly.

But right now she hated Bastien Heidecker.

She hated the power he held over her—hated that he didn't feel an ounce of guilt at mercilessly wielding it. And hated that she had no recourse to fight him.

Despite taking control of her career the moment she'd turned twenty-one, Ana was still tied in to the six-year contract her mother had agreed with the agency just before she'd turned eighteen. Between their fees and her mother's extortionate managerial expenses she had very little financial capital to fight anything Bastien or his company might throw at her.

She was completely at his mercy and he knew it. He'd remained completely unruffled by her outburst, his unblinking gaze fixed on her.

‘I can't afford that sum of money,' she added, just in case he'd missed her meaning before.

‘You're a top model and a tabloid darling. I find it intriguing that you don't even have the money to bail yourself out of jail.'

‘What I use my money for is none of your business. And surely you don't believe everything you read in the papers?'

His teeth bared in a mockery of a smile that made the hairs twitch on her nape. ‘I've learned, much to my regret, that there's almost never any smoke without fire. One way or the other, Miss Duval, you'll have to account to me at some point. Hate me all you like, but that's the reality.'

Without waiting for a reaction he flipped open his phone. The conversation flowed in rapid, flawless French. It carried on for almost fifteen minutes and the whole time Ana's heart pounded, the feeling of being completely immersed in her worst nightmare growing stronger by the minute.

In three weeks she had to return to court and fight drug possession charges. In the meantime she had to wait and see how the fall-out of this latest tabloid scandal would affect her. Not that she was a stranger to scandal. For as long as she could remember her mother had made sure to be caught in one on a regular basis—just to keep herself in the limelight. And if it happened to involve her supermodel daughter in some way, all the better.

Was it any wonder men like Bastien had the wrong idea about her?

Suddenly she yearned to speak to her father. To hear his calm, soothing voice. He was the one anchor she clung to when things got bad. But he was in the middle of the Amazonian jungle and their fortnightly phone call wasn't scheduled for several days.

‘We're here.'

Bastien thrust the door open and stepped out. Blinking at the brilliant sunlight pouring in, Ana looked out onto a private airstrip.

She'd been so engrossed in the turbulent emotions Bastien aroused in her he might have driven her all the way to Outer Mongolia and she would have been none the wiser.

She glanced at the huge, gleaming jet sitting metres from the car and her heart sank. The Heidecker Corporation's blue and gold logo emblazoned on the tail brought home to her just how easily she could be crushed by the entity she'd taken on.

But then David had triumphed against Goliath...

She suppressed a bubble of hysteria and watched Bastien's strong, lengthy stride to the foot of the plane's steps, where his pilot waited.

She'd never wanted to fight with Bastien. From their first meeting sixteen years ago she'd tried to find friendly common ground with him, despite the dreadful irony of their circumstances. She'd tried myriad ways to prove that she wasn't his enemy, that they could be friends even as her mother was tearing his family apart. Deep down she'd known he'd resented her—not for her presence in his life, but because behind his chilly façade she'd been able to see the pain that echoed her own. She'd desperately wanted to reach him, to soothe away his pain in the hope that he would do the same for her.

How foolish she'd been...

She stepped out of the car and paused when another vehicle screeched to a halt beside her.

An excited Simone sprang from the vehicle and raced towards her.

‘Oh, Ana, I'm so glad you're all right! When I heard what had happened I was horrified for you.'

Melodramatically she flung her arms around Ana. Two years younger than Ana, Simone Pascale had arrived in London six months ago from her native France and they'd ended up sharing a flat when Ana had accepted that living with her mother was no longer a viable option.

‘And then these strange men turned up. At first I didn't know what to think. I mean, I was still super-excited for you and everything, because it's not, like, every day your flatmate leaves to shack up with a multi-billionaire—'

Ana pulled away. ‘What? I'm not leaving to shack up with anyone. Whatever gave you
that
idea?'

Simone's over-bright blue eyes widened. ‘But the pictures outside the court... And the paps were outside the flat, asking me if I knew how long you two had been a couple. I mean,
c'est très romantique
,
non
?'

Dread crept up Ana's spine. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Bastien watching her, eyes narrowed. ‘Simone, what did you say to the reporters?' she whispered urgently.

‘I said it was the best news ever and that I wished you much happiness...
Mon Dieu
, are you all right?'

Ana swallowed the sickening bile that had risen in her throat. She reached blindly to reassure Simone and felt her wrist being taken in a firm hold. Heat sizzled up her arm, electrifying her senses and reminding her of her weakness when it came to Bastien.

She pulled at her wrist. He held on tighter.

‘What's going on here?' Steel underlined his voice.

‘Nothing,' Ana interjected quickly, before Simone got a chance to spread her unwelcome news.

Bastien had barely tolerated being linked to her professionally. A romantic link would be even more abhorrent to him.

‘I was just thanking Simone for helping me out.' Ana stared hard at Simone, who stood gaping at Bastien like a stunned fish.

‘Do you have Miss Duval's passport?' Bastien asked her.

Rummaging through her bag, Simone located it and handed it over to him.

‘
Merci.
That will be all.'

Ana glared at him for the pointed dismissal and turned to Simone. ‘I'll give you a call later.'

Simone nodded and hugged her again. ‘Hang on to him, Ana. He's absolutely
magnifique
!' she whispered feverishly.

‘Let's go. I don't want us to miss our flight slot.' Bastien's impatient tone matched his stride across the tarmac.

She hurried up the steps, acutely aware of the shortness of her dress.

Once inside, she just stopped and gaped.

She'd flown in a few private planes with her job, but nothing had come close to the level of luxury accosting her senses now.

Royal blue carpeting stretched as far as the eye could see. Cream club chairs flanked both sides of the aircraft, separated by smooth marble tables on which stood exquisite flower displays and stylish lamps. The shades had been half pulled down over the windows to limit the glare of the late-afternoon sun and the atmosphere inside the craft was one of superb and seriously lavish comfort.

Ana would have been excited at being in such surroundings but for the darts of apprehension racing up and down her spine as once again the sensation of stepping into danger engulfed her.

A stewardess approached, a smile on her face as she greeted them and relieved her of Bastien's jacket. Weirdly, she felt exposed both inside and out without it. Pushing the feeling away, she murmured her thanks.

Bastien guided her into a chair and sat opposite her, his long legs stretched out on either side of her, imprisoning hers. She clamped her thighs together immediately, her senses screeching their awareness of him.

She thought of changing seats, then impatiently dismissed the idea. As long as he was close there would be no getting away from the discordant emotions bubbling underneath her skin. He'd always had that effect on her. Same as she knew she had an unsettling effect on
him
. Besides, she refused to let him intimidate her.

She glanced out of the window, feigning interest in the cargo trucks moving around a short distance away. But all too soon they were in the air, with clouds blocking her view of the landscape and taking away her reason for ignoring Bastien.

Steeling herself, she glanced at him.

He lounged in his chair, completely relaxed, eyes fixed on her, an unopened briefcase in front of him. Flushing, she wondered how long he'd been staring at her.

‘Do I make you nervous?'

The laugh forced from her throat sounded false. ‘Of course not. What gave you that idea?'

‘You're skittish around me. I wonder why,' he said, almost conversationally.

‘I'm not skittish—just annoyed that I'm tied to you for the next three weeks.'

‘We all have a cross to bear, I suppose.'

She raised her chin. ‘You're obviously as displeased about this as I am, so why did you vouch for me with the judge? Why not just elect one of your subordinates?'

‘And make
them
liable should you decide to flee?'

‘You have a very low opinion of me.' She didn't know why that hurt so much. ‘Why is that, Bastien? What have I ever done to make you think so little of me?'

‘I think we both know the answer to that.'

Her face flamed. ‘What happened on the yacht—'

‘You mean when you tried to use your body to change my mind about firing you?'

‘That wasn't what I was doing...' She floundered and stopped as the memory tripped to life.

The moment she'd turned on the boat and seen Bastien standing on the deck, watching her, every nerve in her body had sprung to life.

The boy she'd known had grown into a breathtaking specimen of a man, with a commanding presence that had reached across the distance and held her captive. The smile she hadn't even been aware she'd given had slowly died as a deep, decadent awareness had arced between them. There'd been nothing boyish about the look in his eyes when he'd reached her.

‘What are you doing here?' Fierce, flaying words—whispered through incredibly sensual lips.

It had taken her a minute to gather her senses. ‘Hello to you too, Bastien.'

His mouth had compressed. ‘Answer me.'

‘I'm working—or at least I will be when you allow the crew to return. You've sent them away because...?' She turned away, because she couldn't look into those grey eyes without her midriff fluttering madly as if she was in the midst of a fever.

‘You shouldn't have been given this commission.'

A lance of unsettling anger made her whirl about. He stood right behind her, so close her hair slid across his jaw. ‘Why not? Because you still have a chip on your shoulder about our past?'

His nostrils flared. ‘No. Because the brief called for someone conservative—not someone who...'

His deliberate pause, the drift of his eyes over her scantily clad body had sent flares of awareness and dark arousal all over her.

Her body's reaction shamed her, but she didn't give him the benefit of knowing he unsettled her.

Using her best catwalk pose, she planted her hands on her hips and cocked one hip. ‘Someone who makes men want to drown their women in your diamonds? You don't want someone who makes wives, girlfriends and women who know what they want hit the speed dial for their nearest jeweller the moment the ads are aired? I'm sorry—I thought you were in this business to make money?'

Her smirk and her taunts were purely for self-preservation. The combination of magnetism, mild derision and lust she could see in his eyes deeply unsettled her.

As did his arctic smile.

‘My vision for the product you're promoting isn't quite what you have in mind.'

‘Really?' The tilt of her head had been well-practised for the camera. ‘I read a survey recently. Next to pure silk, women voted diamonds as the sexiest thing to wear against their skin. So perhaps your vision needs to be a little less...
Victorian
and more sexy.'

He raised an eyebrow and slowly stalked her, not stopping until she was backed against the railing that overlooked the lower deck. Silence cloaked the upper deck, the rest of the crew having been dispatched somewhere below deck. Above them, stars glittered in the sultry evening. All around her Bastien's scent and imposing presence sent her heart-rate soaring.

‘Are you telling me how to do my job, Miss Duval?' He caged her in, hands on either side of her, and treated her to narrow-eyed scrutiny.

‘Just a little friendly advice. Sex sells—or haven't you heard.'

‘And you're an expert in that field?'

She gasped, then tried to rein in her temper. ‘I'm an expert at what I do. If you weren't sure who your target audience were perhaps you should've stuck to heading banks and building hotels.'

His icy imprecation rumbled along her nerves. ‘You haven't stopped needing to play with fire,
ma petite
.'

‘And
you
haven't stopped staring down your nose at me like I'm some inconvenience you can't wait to be rid of. Would it hurt you to be nice for once in your life?'

He froze. ‘
Nice?
Believe me,
cherie
, when I look at you, “nice” is the last thing I feel.' The words were whisper-soft but filled with a mixture of censure, need and puzzlement.

Her next question was inevitable—as was her need to draw even closer to that electrifying orbit. Before she could stop herself, she'd lifted her hand to his taut cheek, traced that stern jaw to the corner of his mouth. His sharp exhale made her shudder.