Innocent in His Diamonds (5 page)

‘I assure you, controlling my baser urges has never been my problem, Miss Duval. Right now you're more in danger of contracting pneumonia than attracting my attention.'

‘Watch it, Bastien, you're being vile again,' she snapped.

He shoved a hand through his hair, ruffling the smooth blond waves. ‘You drive me to it.' He stopped and breathed deep. ‘If you want to eat, come now. The food's getting cold.'

Tight-jawed, he stepped aside and waited for her to precede him.

Ana suppressed the impulse to refuse food, slid past him and hurried to her seat, keenly aware of his merciless scrutiny as he followed.

She polished off Caesar salad and a basket of warm French bread in record time, then sat back in her seat.

Exhaustion had sapped her strength. Their verbal wrangling on top of everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours was taking its toll. The warm shower had helped, but weariness still tugged relentlessly at her muscles.

When he moved away and opened his laptop again after their meal she breathed a sigh of relief and retreated to the farthest club chair, trying to formulate a plan of action on how to defend herself against her charges.

Within minutes she'd given up, her concentration having fractured every time she came within touching distance of a coherent thought. Instead her brain remained locked on the look on Bastien's face when she'd turned around in the bedroom. The naked hunger that had burned in his slate-grey eyes replayed itself over and over in her mind until breathing became difficult.

Desperate to escape the cloying atmosphere, she almost applauded when the stewardess announced that they were landing in fifteen minutes.

The plane had barely taxied to a halt when Bastien looked up and issued a command in French to the stewardess. She retreated to the back of the aircraft and returned with a long, faux-fur-lined coat, which she handed to Ana.

It was only after she'd gratefully shrugged into the warm coat that a distasteful thought occurred to Ana.

‘Who does this coat belong to?' she asked past the inexplicably jarring thought that it might belong to someone he'd been with, perhaps even touched with the same hunger he'd touched her with on his boat.

The sensation was so strong that she was halfway to tearing off the garment when his voice stopped her.

‘Mathilde keeps a selection of clothes to accommodate the different temperatures around the world. I suggest you wipe that sour look off your face and show some gratitude,' he mocked.

Heat suffused Ana's face. ‘I'm sorry...'

He waved her away. ‘Save it, Miss Duval. You can't help who you are.'

Without waiting for the pilot Bastien reached past her, pulled down the handle and thrust open the heavy plane door. Cold air rushed into the cabin, accelerating the freeze seizing her insides.

She rushed after him. ‘What's that supposed to mean?'

He turned and immediately the cold receded. She felt hot, stung alive by the heated censure blazing from his eyes.

‘You breathe your sexuality. I offered the use of my shower and immediately you thought of us, wet, sharing that confined space. When I came to the bedroom door your pulse thundered, and if I were a betting man I'd wager that you couldn't keep thoughts of us in my bed out of your mind. Even sharing a meal with me just now got you so hot and bothered you couldn't formulate a civilised conversation. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.'

She gasped. ‘Yes! No! That's totally out of— I dare you to tell me you weren't thinking those same thoughts!'

Surprise preceded a flare of heat across his cheekbones. Then he shrugged. ‘Perhaps. But I'm better at compartmentalising my emotions than you are. I don't rush to assumptions.'

‘Oh, really? You've rushed to find me guilty of everything so far.'

‘Because I can't ignore the evidence. To overlook it would be extremely naïve. And that is one thing I'm not.'

Her fingers clutched the lapels of her borrowed coat at her throat, as if she would keep his sharp words out. ‘Of course not. You're above reproach, above temptation, unlike the rest of us mere mortals. But you know what suppressing your feelings does to you eventually? It deadens you inside.'

His brow quirked in silent mockery. ‘You think I'm dead inside?'

He seized one of her hands and laid it flat against his chest. His heart beat heavy and steady beneath her palm before he drew it slowly down, past his belt, to the thick evidence of his manhood.

‘I don't think you want a reminder of how quickly I can refute that statement,
cherie
.'

She heard movement behind her and wrenched her hand free as the pilot and Mathilde approached. Bastien grasped her arm and propelled her down the short steps.

Ana forced one foot in front of the other, reeling from Bastien's words as they approached a black Bentley waiting on the tarmac.

‘Our last encounter confirmed to me that you're an intensely sexual creature, Miss Duval, with impulses that define who you are,' he whispered into her ear.

The sound of her name on his lips, spoken with that sexy French lilt, caused her stomach to flip in the most alarming way, making her miss the actual words he'd uttered.

‘Don't presume that you and I are the same.'

Anger finally loosened her tongue. ‘That's great—because I wouldn't wish to be anything like you if you paid me a billion dollars.' Snatching her arm away, she stalked to the car and slid into the seat.

He followed, and for the second time that day she found herself enclosed in the back of a luxury car with Bastien Heidecker. Only this time they weren't on opposite sides. This time he slid in next to her, his thigh coming to rest so dangerously close to hers that heat from his body surrounded her like a force field.

He started to reach for his seatbelt and her eyes dropped to the hard expanse of his chest underneath the fitted cotton shirt. She glanced up quickly and met his mocking gaze. Traitorously, another wave of heat crawled up her face.

‘Save the act, Miss Duval. Pretending outrage while your eyes devour me wears thin after a while,' he sliced at her.

‘God, you
are
full of yourself, aren't you? The outrage is real. I've never met anyone more infuriating than you. And there's nothing remotely sexual about that!'

She was so intent on congratulating herself with her comeback she didn't acknowledge the charged silence until his hand landed on her shoulder.

‘Then this shouldn't affect you too much.'

‘Wha—?'

His lips slanted over hers before the word could come out.

Ana's world imploded.

Every coherent thought, every ounce of outrage, fled as she experienced Bastien—up close and devastatingly personal.

His kiss started out as a ruthless lesson and very quickly became something else. Something that made her stomach muscles quiver.

His lips, hot and urgent, branded hers, evoking such electrifying reactions she could do nothing but cling on, open herself to the pleasure drenching her.

Never had she been kissed like this. Never had need pummelled her so relentlessly. The fist she aimed at his chest unfurled and slid over warm corded muscles to band around his neck. Thick, luxurious hair caressed her fingertips and she explored the strands, experiencing a whole new sensual feast as she moulded his scalp in her hands. She would never have imagined hair could be this sensual to touch...? Who was she kidding? Everything with Bastien held an extra-special edge that threatened to floor her.

Bastien had called her reaction to him an act. Except it wasn't an act. The world might think Ana Duval represented sex on legs, but the truth would shock them even more. The fact was that she was as far removed from being sexually promiscuous as was humanly possible.

‘You are an intensely sexual creature...'

No!

So why was she almost prone in the back of a car, with a bristling alpha male who made her panties damp with desire and her pulse hammer as his hot mouth kissed its way down her exposed cleavage?

Ice drenched her, stiffened her body and lent her the strength to push at Bastien's shoulders. Even so, she couldn't help a smothered groan when his lips grazed one tight, cashmere-covered nipple. The absence of a bra meant his touch manifested itself much more brazenly, its thrilling effect nearly sending her into orbit. Heat shot from her nipple to her clitoris, drenching her in even more shame.

‘Stop!'

Her frantic cry got through to him. The hands curled possessively around her waist stilled. In the darkness of the car he raised his head and speared her with gunmetal eyes. The hungry blaze in their depths made her quake. His gaze fell to her lips. As if he'd kissed them again they tingled and swelled.

Slowly he rose and settled back into his seat.

Ana struggled up and straightened her clothes. Minutes ticked by. He said nothing—just continued to stare at her.

Trying desperately to hide her flustered state, she fixed her hair and finally faced him. She tried not to think of how his fingers, now clenched into a fist on his thigh, had trailed fire on her skin, how quickly and devastatingly they'd evoked raw, turbulent feelings inside her.

Resolute, she cleared her throat. ‘If you were trying to prove a point with that...that display, I should warn you it proved nothing.'

His face remained impassive. ‘That you feel the need to caution me speaks for itself.'

‘Well, I'd appreciate it if you didn't pounce on me without warning like that in future.'

His low laugh infused the dark interior of the car with rich sound. ‘You think a gold-embossed request next time is going to make this insane chemistry between us more benign?'

‘I'd prefer it if you didn't touch me at all.' She pulled the coat tighter around her, chilled despite the warmth of the car.

Once again she'd let Bastien shake the foundations of her painfully constructed fortress of self-control and allowed her emotions to get the better of her.

How many times had she seen her mother succumb to the emptiness of lust and need, only to be left high and dry and even more embittered? And how many times had she borne the brunt of her mother's misery? She couldn't,
wouldn't
give in to whatever deceptive, tumultuous sensations Bastien elicited from her.

She was in control of her life, of her feelings. And she aimed for it to stay that way.

‘Promise me it won't happen again.' The slight edge to her tone made her suck in a breath and battle to remain calm.

For several seconds he remained silent. Then he hooked a finger under her chin.

* * *

Bastien had watched her struggle to bring herself under control and felt a strange kinship with her as he battled his own raging libido. Things had got out of hand far too quickly.

He knew the full cost of giving one's emotions free rein. He'd watched his mother wear her heart on her sleeve every day—only to have it exploited, twisted and broken apart until only a shell remained. A shell that had had no use for a son's presence, never mind his love.

His aim since that bleak winter had been to protect himself against that feeling at all costs. And he'd succeeded...for the most part. Until Ana.

His gaze dropped to her still-damp lips—lips that had tasted much sweeter than he'd remembered from that one other time when he'd lost control and let her slip beneath his guard. The day he'd almost stripped her naked on the deck of his yacht.

His groin hardened all over again as he recalled the smooth valley between her breasts, now fully covered with the wide lapels of a coat two sizes too big. His mouth had grazed the hard nub of her nipple only briefly, but the imprint remained vivid, branded on his lips.

With a swallowed groan he dropped his hand, willed his control back, and cast around wildly for a subject to kill the desire swirling inside him.

‘How's your mother these days?'

In the dim light her eyes widened warily at the change of subject before she glanced down at her hands. He knew very well that he hadn't answered her question, or given her the promise she sought. He had no intention of doing so.

Ana Duval had no right to seek promises from him. Certainly not ones he wasn't entirely sure he could keep. She unsettled him far too much, emotionally and physically, for him to be anywhere near certain about any damned thing.

When she looked up her anxious expression was gone, replaced by an icy hauteur that was meant to freeze him out. He almost laughed.

‘She's fine—but somehow I think you know that.'

She wasn't wrong. Lily Duval's thirst for the limelight made her impossible to ignore.

‘Since we're being polite, how's your father?' she returned, her tone conversational, as if she'd bounced back from the passionate storm that had so nearly ravaged them.

But the wild pulse beating at her throat betrayed her. He prided himself on his control, and even he hadn't brought his body to heel yet.

‘My father retired seven years ago. He and my mother live in Gstaad for most of the year now.'

His father was living with his guilt from sixteen years ago. Away from the shame he'd brought to his family and the chaos his actions had caused the company.

‘Do you see them often?' she asked in a low, tentative voice.

He shrugged and answered despite the unsettling ache thinking about his parents brought. ‘I make a trip when my father insists on seeing me.'

‘When was the last time?'

The ache intensified. ‘Three weeks ago.'

As usual his mother had barely known who he was, stoked up by the drugs prescribed for her condition. When his father had tried to prompt her memory he'd only succeeded in agitating her further. The visit had gone downhill very fast and Bastien had left, ignoring his father's pleas to stay.

‘I'm glad they're still together,' she ventured, a wary little smile teasing her lips. ‘Your father was nice to me.'