Innocent in His Diamonds (9 page)

Two hours later she threw her phone down in frustration and hugged her knees. The few trusted friends she'd made in the business couldn't shed any light on what had happened.

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she'd gone all day without a meal. She reached for the phone again just as a knock sounded on her door.

Glancing down at herself, she debated whether to change. The thought of donning her suit again made her grimace. Bastien had already seen her like this. And she was wearing a bra this time.

With a deep breath that failed to replenish her oxygen-deprived lungs, she pulled the door open.

He stood tall and imposing, his face impassive as he surveyed her. She'd expected another disparaging comment about her state of dress, but his gaze merely skimmed over her loose hair and unmade-up face.

‘Have you eaten?' he asked.

‘No.'

‘Dinner is being delivered to my suite in ten minutes. Will you join me?'

‘I was just about to order Room Service.' She didn't want to risk going head to head with him again; their last exchange was still very vivid in her mind.

A smile flashed on and off. ‘I've saved you the trouble, then. We have things to discuss. I'll see you in five minutes.' Without waiting for a reply, he sauntered off.

Knowing it was pointless to argue, she returned to her bedroom, applied a coat of lip-gloss, slipped on high-heeled sandals and brushed her hair. Tucking her key card into her pocket, she left her suite.

His was the only other suite on this floor, and when she pushed the open door wider he motioned for her to enter.

Decorated in identical tones of gold and blue, his suite was much grander than hers. Gilt-edged mirrors adorned the walls and an impressive fireplace rested beneath an ornate mantelpiece. Gold velvet curtains had been caught back with blue velvet rope, and beyond the window the lights on the lake twinkled in the falling dusk. But what caught her eye, as it had earlier in the day, was the plume of water, now backlit with a stunning array of lights.

‘What
is
that fountain?'

‘The Jet d'Eau. The highest water fountain in the world.' He spoke in a clipped staccato, as if he had other things on his mind.

About to comment on the jet's beauty, Ana stopped and turned. The intensity of his stare made the hairs twitch on her nape.

‘This was left downstairs for you.' He held a square brown envelope in his hand.

Ana's mind blanked for a second, then she remembered. ‘Why do
you
have it?'

‘The concierge said it was delivered moments before I came. I told him I'd deliver it to you.'

‘How kind of you.' She held out her hand. ‘Can I have it?'

‘What's in the envelope, Ana?' he asked tersely.

Shock battled with a sensation curiously similar to a delicious thrill of pleasure. A second later she realised Bastien hadn't even noticed that he'd used her first name. Out of nowhere came a deep yearning to hear him call her Ana again. But not like that. She wanted him to say her name and mean it. She wanted him to say her name with pleasure.

Ruthlessly, she pushed the fanciful thought away. That was never going to happen. Desolation settled deep within her.

‘You open it,' she prompted softly.

A flicker of surprise lit his eyes. Perhaps he'd been expecting her to fight him. But some time in the last few hours Ana had decided that if they were to spend the next three weeks together she couldn't keep locking horns with him. Her control wouldn't sustain the battering.

‘If you want to know what's in the envelope, open it.'

He ripped it open immediately. Ana watched his eyes widen as he encountered the cold plastic. His gaze shot down and he stared at the object in his hand.

‘I asked your company doctor this morning if he could replace my inhaler. He promised to have it delivered here this afternoon.'

The doorbell rang. Bastien didn't seem to hear it. He continued to stare at the inhaler.

Ana went to walk past him to get the door. His hand shot out and grabbed her arm. A frown creased his brow.

‘Ana...'

She sighed. ‘I'm sorry if that disappoints you. But it really is just an inhaler.'

The bell rang again. She pulled at her arm.

He let her go.

With a cold lump of despair lodged in her chest, Ana answered the door.

* * *

Bastien raked a hand through his hair, the unsettling feeling from this afternoon surging higher. He glanced down again at the inhaler. The stark reminder that Ana had a potentially life-threatening condition made his chest tighten.

All afternoon he'd tried not to think about their conversation—tried not to admit to himself that her words held any truth. No one had dared challenge him on why he refused to let emotion rule his life. Until her.

He'd remained in a foul mood right up until he'd been handed that package downstairs. Then it had taken a turn for the worse.

Remorse stung deep now, unnerving him further. When had he ever felt the need to apologise for anything? Yet now the urge to make things right needled him.

He stood aside to let the waiter wheel the trolley into the dining room. Ana followed, her lush figure swaying seductively. She was wearing those damned jeans again. The sight of the exposed lower curve of her bottom made him swallow.
Hard
. Fire roared through his blood as his gaze touched on more bare flesh.

His gaze travelled upwards, taking in the indentation of her slender waist and the golden triangles of skin exhibited there too. When he saw the straps of her flesh-coloured bra the fire raged into an inferno. Yesterday she'd forgone the bra—no doubt to avoid a fashion
faux pas
the way some women went without underwear to avoid a visible panty line. So why did the sight of the bra inflame his senses so much more than its absence had?

He forced his gaze away from temptation. Unfortunately the waiter had no such compunction, his gaze openly appreciative.

‘C'est tout,'
Bastien snarled. He stalked him to the door, barely resisting the urge to slam it, and returned to find Ana seated, lifting the lid on the dishes.

‘This looks delicious. I'm absolutely starving.'

‘Then help yourself,' he replied. His voice was terse but he couldn't help it. Shock, confusion and intense desire tended to do that to a man. Sustained for long periods of time, who knew its repercussions?

‘Would you like me to serve you?'

For one hot, inappropriate moment Bastien's mind lit on a completely different interpretation of that question. The images that bombarded him made him suck in a strained breath. He looked down at the plate her hand, at the spoon poised over the rosti and grilled lamb.

Reeling his thoughts in under fierce guard, he sat down next to her and put her inhaler on the table.

‘I owe you an apology.'

The spoon wavered in her hand. Reaching across, he gently removed it from her grasp.

‘Let me.' He spooned several helpings onto her plate, set it down in front of her and served himself. ‘I had no right to question you about the package.
Je suis désolé
.'

Her eyes widened and she nodded. ‘Apology accepted.' She gave a short laugh. ‘The last two days have been little...challenging—although I can't say I would've done the same in your shoes.'

Bastien grimaced. Knowing he deserved the barbed accusation, he picked up and held out the wine bottle. At her nod, he uncorked it and poured the rich burgundy into her glass. Filling his own glass, he drank deep.

She took a mouthful of food and groaned. ‘This is seriously good!' Her gaze dropped to his plate. ‘You haven't tasted yours yet.'

‘No,' he replied, and drank more wine.
Mon Dieu
, he was turning into a raging alcoholic—and all because of the woman sitting across from him. The woman who challenged him, made him question himself and the presence of the ache deep inside he'd thought he'd smothered for good.

‘Well, don't blame me if I eat all of it.'

‘Go ahead. A woman who doesn't complain about piling on the pounds at the mere sight of food makes a refreshing change.'

Her husky self-conscious laugh played havoc with his equilibrium. ‘I didn't actually mean that. I'm not that much of a pig.'

‘Trust me, a pig is the last thing I think of when I look at you.'

Her eyes rounded.

Advising himself that it was best not to keep looking into those captivating brown depths, he resolutely picked up his fork. ‘What's likely to trigger an attack?'

‘My asthma?'

He nodded.

‘I've only suffered one serious attack, so I'd say I'm generally risk-free.' She shrugged, causing one sleeve to slip off her shoulder. ‘But sometimes in the spring, if the pollen count is high, it gets a bit uncomfortable. Heavy smoke isn't great for me either.'

Bastien frowned. ‘So you don't
know
how susceptible you are?'

‘I know what to stay away from and what situations I'll be okay in.'

‘Yet that didn't stop you from putting yourself in danger by attending your friend's party?'

‘I can't live my life in fear of an attack,' she said, after swallowing another mouthful.

Bastien abandoned his meal and picked up his glass. ‘No, but—'

‘I took my inhaler with me,' she interrupted, glaring at him.

He was being heavy-handed again. He looked into his glass, slowly swirling his drink, and forced himself to calm down. ‘And we all know how
that
turned out.'

When she didn't reply immediately, he looked up. Her lips were pursed into a firm line and she'd paled a little. One hand absently toyed with the stem of her glass as she stonily examined the contents of her plate.

‘We're having a nice meal, Bastien. Don't ruin it.'

Bastien cursed under his breath and set his glass down. ‘Have you packed yet?'

Her gaze returned warily to his. ‘I didn't
un
pack because I didn't think I'd be staying beyond today.'

‘Then we can leave directly after dinner.'

She nodded. ‘Fine by me. Where's your château?'

‘It's in Vaud—on the shores of Lac Léman.'

‘Will anyone else be there?'

‘My estate staff live on the grounds, but otherwise we'll be alone. Does that concern you?' Part of him wished that it would—that the notion would unsettle her the way he'd felt unsettled all day long.

She returned his gaze, her eyes wide. ‘No. Why would it?'

‘Because you're biting your lip again. That tells me something's bothering you. Are you worried that the moment we're alone we'll be tempted to do dirty little things to each other?'

‘Of course not. We're perfectly capable of restraining ourselves.'

His smile felt tight. ‘If you say so.'

CHAPTER SIX

A
NA
PRETENDED
INTEREST
in the scenery until darkness limited her view to the tall trees lining the road leading to Bastien's château.

Château D'Or, he'd called it. The golden castle.

The place where they might be tempted to ‘do dirty little things to each other...'

Her fingers dug into her seat in a futile attempt to stop wondering what those dirty little things would entail, but her pulse continued to race, and that insistent throbbing between her legs was growing by the minute.

Shaking herself out of the weakening sensation, she turned to him, carefully averting her gaze from his confident hands gripping the steering wheel.

‘How much longer?' she asked, thankful when her voice came out steady.

‘Another ten minutes should see us there. Tired?'

His genuine concern made her relax slightly.

‘It's been a long day.'

She dragged a hand through her hair, lifted its heavy weight off her neck. Twirling it into a thick rope, she coiled it around her fingers. When he followed the movement she paused, but his gaze returned to the road in the next instant.

Releasing her breath, she continued playing with the strands. ‘I called around to find out if anyone knew more about what happened at the nightclub.'

Silver eyes briefly speared hers. ‘And?'

‘No one knows anything.'

His brows lifted. ‘Does that surprise you?'

‘Frankly, yes. Normally gossip like that spreads like wildfire.'

He didn't reply for several minutes, his gaze glued to the dark, winding road. Finally, he nodded. ‘I have a firm of investigators I use for due diligence. I'll have them look into it.'

The unexpected offer made her breath catch. ‘Really? Thank you, Bastien.' On pure impulse she reached for his arm. ‘I really appreciate it.'

Packed muscle flexed beneath her touch, his cotton shirt and dark sweater no barrier against the warmth that seeped through to her fingers. Instant fiery desire made her fingers curl, and the irrational urge to keep touching him unfurled inside her like a driving, persistent hunger.

She didn't know how long she stayed like that. Seconds. Minutes. Time lost meaning and rational thought fled as she stared at his profile—his gorgeous face, his taut cheekbones, those unspeakably long, golden lashes and the lush mouth that had taken such powerful control of hers. His strong throat...

And his tense jaw...within which a muscle flicked.

Dirty little things...dirty little things...

Ana snatched back her hand, certain she was sliding into madness. ‘I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... I didn't mean to—'

‘Don't apologise,
cherie
. Believe it or not, I don't hate it when you touch me. If anything, I like it a little too much.'

His husky rasp cut through her words. She gasped, but before she could reply he continued.

‘We're here.'

They drove through tall iron gates housed in a stone arch that looked as if it had been around since medieval times. Endless trees stretched over them like silent sentinels as they made their way up the drive.

Unbidden, a shiver passed through her. The feeling of foreboding she'd experienced this morning returned—forcefully this time. Calling herself all kinds of fool for entertaining it, she brushed it away.

Once the photo shoot and her trial were over she'd be free of Bastien, free to fulfil her dreams. Perhaps this sense of standing on the edge of a precipice was merely subconscious exhilaration at her impending freedom.

Clinging to that, Ana straightened in her seat.

At her first glimpse, she knew why the château had gained its name.

It stood like a shimmering mirage on top of a small hill, a wonderful surprise at the end of a copse of trees. Bathed in mellow light, the yellow stone would look golden in any light—day or night.

‘Wow, it's breathtaking.'

‘Yes, it is.' He turned off the ignition. ‘Welcome to Château D'Or,' he said, and thrust his door open.

She followed suit, unable to take her eyes off the stunning building. Set on three storeys, with elegant dormer windows that would give amazing views over the valley they'd just climbed out of, the château looked like every girl's childhood dream castle. It came complete with a west-facing flagged and turreted tower built to capture the perfect sunset.

A large wooden door hewn from oak opened, drawing Ana's attention from the tower. A small-framed woman greeted them, her smile warming when she saw Bastien.

‘This is Chantal. She manages the château and its gardens with her husband. Their son and daughter-in-law help in the stables and look after the horses.'

‘You have horses?' Ana asked, after returning Chantal's greeting.

Bastien paused where he was unloading their luggage. ‘You ride?' Surprise tinged his voice.

‘I used to. We lived on a ranch in Brazil for six months.'

He tensed. ‘We?'

She ignored the tautness in his voice. ‘Lily and I spent time there.' Until her mother's Brazilian lover ditched her. But by then Ana had had a love of horses firmly entrenched in her heart.

‘Why did you leave?' Bastien asked. The strain was gone from his voice, had been replaced by gentle speculation.

‘It didn't work out. What kind of horses do you keep?' she asked quickly, eager to escape the subject of her mother.

He slammed the boot shut, picked up their cases. ‘The best kind.' He smiled. ‘If you're really interested, I'll show you in the morning.'

Again his unexpected offer threw her. ‘Yes, please.'

The next half-hour was spent touring the château, and each high-ceilinged, history-rich room revealed was even more spectacular than the last. By the time Chantal showed Ana to her room—complete with lace-curtained four-poster bed—she'd fallen in love with Château D'Or.

Bastien entered with her suitcase just as the housekeeper left. ‘Is everything satisfactory?'

‘More than—thanks.'

‘If you're hungry Chantal can fix you a light meal?' he offered.

‘No, I'm fine. Thanks.'

He stood there, hands in his back pockets. He'd changed after dinner into a pair of jeans and boots and over his shirt he wore a grey cashmere sweater. With his windblown hair he easily carried off a rugged look that might have graced the cover of any fashion magazine.

She looked up and her gaze collided with his. His lips quirked in a parody of a smile. She'd been caught staring again. Would she never learn?

‘I think I'll have an early night.'

He nodded and turned for the door. ‘Good idea. Anything that keeps you out of trouble is most welcome,' he drawled.

Unable to resist, she grabbed the nearest pillow and flung it at his back, then giggled madly when he turned, surprise darkening his grey eyes.

He picked up the pillow and walked back to her. ‘The trouble with pillow fights,
cherie
, is that they lead to so much else. So pick your battles carefully.' He pressed the pillow into her chest and drew her arms around it. ‘
Bon nuit
, Ana,' he murmured, then left.

Ana sank onto the bed, her breath fizzing out of her like a deflating balloon. Her body thrummed with a thousand volts of electricity, and her whirling mind was in no state to settle down to sleep.

He might have left her room, but she could still feel him—could still smell Bastien. His presence dominated her thoughts, charged the very air she breathed.

For a few hours Bastien had been civil, even gentle at times. His apology at dinner and his offer to investigate her drug charge had made her wonder what he might be like if they didn't have such a chequered and miserable past.

But then the foreboding returned—thick and more urgent than before. Perhaps they were better off as they were, because she has an unshakable feeling that he would be much more dangerous to her emotional wellbeing unless she kept him at arm's length.

* * *

The sound of a car door slamming woke her. Stretching, Ana opened her eyes, disorientated until memory rushed back.

Thrusting aside the sheets, she went to the window.

Lake Geneva gleamed like a silver ribbon, so close she could almost reach out and touch it. Its rich green banks meandered until they disappeared from view. On the other side stunning vistas gave way to a low mountain range behind which she spotted the familiar summit of Mont Blanc in France.

The sight of the departing car drew her attention back to the grounds.

An overnight guest? Realising she had no idea whether Bastien had a girlfriend or not, she stared after the car, the idea sending an inexplicable lance of pain through her.

A knock on her door made her jump.

Ana glanced down at herself. Her negligee was way too risqué for public consumption. Diving into the bathroom, she grabbed a robe, shrugged it on and answered the door.

Bastien held a large suitcase in his hand. He strode in and dropped it at the foot of the bed. ‘In here you'll find a more favourable selection of clothes,' he announced. ‘Make use of them and meet me downstairs in ten minutes.'

‘Excuse me?'

He faced her, his cool gaze conducting a leisurely survey of her before meeting her eyes. ‘Which bit needs further explanation?'

‘Er...all of it. Including the part where you say good morning, like most civilised people do.'

He leaned his shoulder against one bedpost, his gaze going to the rumpled bed before turning to hers. ‘
Bonjour
, Ana. Did you sleep well?'

Her heart lurched. He'd used her name again. With no hint of mockery. Okay, maybe a tiny hint of mockery.

‘Yes, I did—thanks for asking.' She strove for a casual reply. ‘Did you?'

He raised an eyebrow. ‘
Oui, merci.
Does that conclude our small talk?'

She nodded at the suitcase. ‘Maybe. Care to explain why you've brought me clothes?'

He straightened and headed for the door. ‘I would've thought there was no explanation needed. Get dressed and meet me downstairs.'

‘No.'

He gave a pained sigh and turned. ‘Are you always this trying first thing in the morning?'

Clutching the lapels of her robe together, she shrugged. ‘I wouldn't be if you gave me a straight answer.'

‘You expressed an interest in my horses. Unless you expect to go riding wearing skimpy clothes, and risk catching your death of pneumonia, your only option is to wear more sensible attire.'

Something treacherous melted inside her. ‘So you went shopping this morning?'

He smiled and Ana's heart galloped wildly.

‘Like most men, the thought of spending hours choosing clothes makes me want to stick pins in my eyes. No, you have Tatiana to thank for your little windfall.'

‘Oh...thanks, but I can't accept them.'

His smile disappeared. Slowly he retraced his steps until he stood in front of her. ‘You wouldn't be leaping to the same conclusions you did on the plane, would you?' he asked softly.

Her face flamed. ‘No, of course not. But I'm not in the habit of accepting charity—'

‘What about gifts from friends?' he demanded, and then he frowned, his nostrils flaring with a touch of discomfort.

She forced herself not to gape. ‘
Are
we friends, Bastien?'

‘I'm attempting to be less...ogre-like.'

She laughed. ‘That frown you're wearing makes a mockery of the attempt.'

His lips pursed. ‘Fine. If you feel so strongly about my gift you can return the clothes when you leave.'

Ana bit her lip, trying and failing not to read too much into this change overcoming Bastien. He had gentleness in him. She knew that. But history had taught her that it was foolhardy to lower her guard.

Without warning he pressed his thumb over her mouth, stilling her action. Heat mushroomed inside her, stopping her breath as effectively as a kick to the solar plexus. She released her lip, unable to stop her mouth from pressing against his thumb.

His strong throat moved on a convulsive swallow. Slowly his thumb stroked her mouth, his eyes fiery and intense. Wanton desire tortured her, weakening her knees, leaving her trembling from head to toe.

Someone moaned. Absently Ana realised it had come from her throat. And somewhere along the way she'd loosened her hold on the robe.

Bastien's gaze slid slowly over her, gleaming, darkening. He uttered something unintelligible in French. His thumb's pressure increased. Ana's lips tingled, heat rushing over her as she gave in to her need and sucked his thumb into her mouth.

‘Non!'
The denial was wrenched from his throat and he stepped back. He swallowed again. ‘I will not do this. I will not be like—'

He froze, shoved a hand through his hair before walking stiffly to the door.

‘Bastien...?' She stopped, unsure of what to say.

With one hand on the handle, he paused. ‘The clothes are yours. Use them. Don't use them. Your choice. But if you wish to ride with me be downstairs in five minutes.'

Ana clutched the bedpost, barely able to stand.

It was happening again. This blind desire, this unstoppable craving that dogged her every time she came within three feet of Bastien. At least he had a handle on his control—enough to stop himself before things went too far.

Whereas she...

Anxiety bit deep at the thought of putting herself in Bastien's presence again so soon. But the fighter in her rebelled at hiding away in her room.

She would borrow the clothes and go for a ride with him. What better way to show him she was as unaffected as he was than by spending a few hours with him without making a fool of herself? Proving that she could control her wayward emotions?

She unzipped the case and found familiar labels neatly stacked. Ana lifted a pair of cream jodhpurs and slid them on, topping it with a camisole and sweater set in chocolate-brown. Black riding boots completed the ensemble, and for the first time in days she felt comfortable. Scraping back her hair into a neat ponytail, she picked up the riding jacket and left her room.