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‘Well, well, Ms Moriarty, fancy meeting you here. Are you going to tell me where the hell I am?’ His voice dripped with ice.

Luc could see Jesse’s slim throat work as she swallowed. The fact that she wasn’t as cool as she was obviously striving to appear did nothing for his temper levels. Weakly she supplied, ‘Greece. This is a privately owned Greek island, which I’m renting.’

‘That’s nice. And you felt compelled to bring me along to join you on your holiday?’ Jesse didn’t answer immediately, and Luc inserted caustically, ‘If I’d known how desperate you were for my company we could have come to some arrangement.’

He could see her cheeks flush red, and she bit out, ‘It’s not … not like that. That’s not why you’re here.’

‘Well? Are you going to tell me what the hell I’m doing here?’

‘I …’ She gulped visibly, and then said more forcibly, ‘I’ve kidnapped you.’

About the Author

ABBY GREEN got hooked on Mills & Boon® romances while still in her teens, when she stumbled across one belonging to her grandmother in the west of Ireland. After many years of reading them voraciously, she sat down one day and gave it a go herself. Happily, after a few failed attempts, Mills & Boon bought her first manuscript.

Abby works freelance in the film and TV industry, but thankfully the four a.m. starts and the stresses of dealing with recalcitrant actors are becoming more and more infrequent, leaving her more time to write!

She loves to hear from readers, and you can contact her through her website at www.abby-green.com. She lives and works in Dublin.

Recent titles by the same author:

ONE NIGHT WITH THE ENEMY

THE LEGEND OF DE MARCO

THE CALL OF THE DESERT

THE SULTAN’S CHOICE

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Exquisite
Revenge
Abby Green

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This is especially for my father Martin Green

who is a poet, scribe and playwright.

He was also a publisher and a biographer.

Thank you for passing onto me, a love of words

and books and a smidgeon of your talent.

CHAPTER ONE

‘WHO is that?’ Luc Sanchis’s voice was artfully bored, belying his sudden irrational spiking of interest. The woman who had caught it wasn’t even remotely his type.

‘The short-haired strawberry-blonde?’

Luc nodded curtly, irritated that he’d even asked the question now, and by the fact that she’d caught his eye. Why? His solicitor knew him too well—knew that Luc never asked a question that wasn’t utterly relevant in some way.

‘That’s Jesse Moriarty. Of JM Holdings.’

Luc frowned, taking in the slim figure of below average height. She was turned sideways to him through the thronged room, and unlike every other woman there was dressed in a dark grey trouser suit. She stood out precisely because she was dressed differently and because she looked acutely self-conscious on her own.

Even from here he could see the pained expression on her face and the almost white-knuckled grip on her glass of champagne—which she wasn’t drinking. She was staring fixedly at something in the distance.

His solicitor must have assumed Luc hadn’t heard of JM Holdings and was explaining. ‘When she does decide to float it, the rumour is that it’ll be worth upwards of fifty-five million. Not bad for someone who emerged onto the jaded IT scene just a few years ago.’

Luc asked now, ‘What’s her background?’

‘She got a scholarship to Cambridge and while she was studying computer science and economics she patented the anti-hacking system that’s now being used as the highest level of security within companies across the globe—not to mention your own company. Some say she’s a genius.’

Luc’s eyes narrowed on the slight figure. She didn’t look like a genius. She looked lost, fragile. Alone in the crowd. He was surprised by a surge of something that felt curiously protective within him, as if he wanted to go over there and take her hand.

His solicitor was saying in a low voice, ‘She’s known by those who work for her as The Machine. In her personal dealings she’s rumoured to be positively arctic—no mention of love affairs … my money says she’s gay—’

His solicitor broke off as he was accosted by someone he knew; he shot Luc an apologetic glance as he was led away. Luc welcomed it. He didn’t care for that kind of lazy commenting on women, and wasn’t the kind of man who felt uncomfortable standing alone. He was aware of the sudden interest in the women nearby now that he was alone, but he still couldn’t take his eyes off Jesse Moriarty.

He’d heard of JM Holdings. Of course he had. The supposedly unhackable security system she’d devised was genius. He’d just never imagined that the notoriously publicity-shy person behind JM Holdings would be this slight and very young-looking woman.

At that moment she broke her gaze from whatever she’d been staring at and turned to face towards where Luc stood. His whole body tensed. In contrast to the slightly mannish clothes she wore she had a pretty face: heart-shaped, with huge eyes. She looked pale, slightly shellshocked. He saw her put the still full glass onto a passing waiter’s tray and she started to move towards him through the crowd.

He could see as she came closer that she wore a white shirt under her jacket. The look was very classic and cool, and yet utterly unfeminine—especially compared to the women decked out in haute couture finery around her. It was as if she’d wandered into the wrong place, and yet the intent in her expression told him she was definitely in the right place.

She was so close now that he could see just how tense she was, the faint sheen of perspiration on her brow. She wore no make-up, but she didn’t need it with that perfect skin, and that made a jolt of awareness run through his body. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a woman with no make-up. It was curiously intimate.

Luc didn’t move a fraction, but as Jesse Moriarty came alongside where he stood someone stepped backwards into her path and she pitched sideways helplessly. Luc’s hands had stretched out even before he knew what he was doing and wrapped around slender upper arms.

Huge eyes widened and stared up into his. They were so dark grey they looked almost navy blue, and for a second Luc forgot everything. Who he was. Where he was. All he could see were those huge eyes and this woman under his hands. He saw two pink flags of colour come into her cheeks, the way her eyes darkened even more. There was something so inexplicably appealing about her that it snuck right under the iron-clad guard Luc had built up over years, which had become like a second skin … When he realised that he jerked back, all but thrusting her away from him as he did so.

He was reacting on a very deep and primitive level to this moment and to how effortlessly she’d managed to enthral him. The only women who enthralled him were women he allowed to enthral him. There was little that was spontaneous about it. So this whole bizarre interlude with a complete relative stranger made his voice unintentionally harsh. ‘You should watch where you’re going.’

He saw hurt and chagrin flare in those huge eyes before her expression cleared and became completely cold. The words of his solicitor came back to him: positively arctic.

She stepped back. Her eyes darted up and down once, quickly, and then she said with a husky tone which caught at Luc’s pulse, ‘It was an accident.’

The look she left him with could have frozen over the Sahara. And then she disappeared into the heaving throng and Luc had an even more curious impulse to snatch her back and—what? Apologise? His conscience mocked him. Was he getting soft in his old age? He knew well that the women who populated his world, whether they be business colleagues or more mercenary types searching for a rich meal ticket, were not vulnerable creatures who wore their hearts on their sleeves or in their huge expressive eyes. Oh, he knew those kind of women existed, but more often than not they were an illusion designed to entrap. He had been entrapped once. But never again.

When he recalled the way Jesse Moriarty had frozen him out so effectively he knew for a fact that she was one of the most invulnerable kind. So why was it so hard for him to get those huge eyes and that slight figure in the unflattering suit out of his mind?

One Year Later …

‘Just what exactly is your interest in JP O’Brien Construction, Mr Sanchis?’

Luc Sanchis sat back in his chair and regarded the bristling woman in front of him, who had just marched into his office as if she owned it and now stood with her hands on his desk, chin stuck forward pugnaciously. The fact that no one ever did this caused a frisson of surprise to run through him.

It had been one year since he’d seen her, and in that year the huge eyes which were looking at him now, spitting dark grey sparks, had proved to be annoyingly memorable. But he was realising that his imagination didn’t live up to reality.

Irritation surged at the unwelcome reminder of momentary human weakness. Even though this was only their second meeting Jesse Moriarty was proving to have a knack for rubbing him up the wrong way. He too stood and placed his hands on his desk, effortlessly asserting his vastly superior height and strength.

‘Ms Moriarty, I suggest that you sit down if you want this conversation to go any further.’

Across the wide oak desk Jesse looked into brown eyes so dark they looked black, and just like last year, when she’d bumped into him at that function, she felt as if she were losing her balance.

The emotional turmoil that had galvanised her to come here and confront him seemed to dissipate, leaving her feeling shaky and very aware of her surroundings. She straightened up and then sat down abruptly in the chair behind her.

She watched as Luc Sanchis took his hands off the desk and sat down too, not taking those remarkable eyes off her for a second. All of a sudden Jesse felt boiling hot in her buttoned-up shirt and jumper. She’d only realised who he was when she’d seen him in a newspaper a few months ago and had put a name to the enigmatic stranger she’d bumped into at that function. The fact that his features had been memorable enough for that to happen had been very disconcerting.

Luc Sanchis.

He was half-French, half-Spanish. CEO of Sanchis Construction & Design, one of the most successful construction/architect design hybrid companies in the world. He was renowned globally for marrying innovative design with cutting edge, environmentally friendly construction practices.

She remembered how exposed she’d felt when he’d looked into her eyes more deeply than anyone ever had before. The cool distance she’d surrounded herself with for years had spectacularly deserted her for precious seconds when he’d caught her in his hands. She’d felt the brand of those hands on her arms for days afterwards. More disturbingly, she’d not been able to forget her curious hurt when he’d practically thrust her away from him, as if the very sight of her had repulsed him.

He was on his phone now, speaking in a deep, lightly accented voice, instructing his assistant to bring in some refreshments. She wanted to tell him not to bother with refreshments but she was afraid to speak; emotion was still high in her chest and she wanted to gather herself, not give him a hint of how badly he upset her equilibrium. Now and a year ago.

He put down the phone, those eyes still dark and unnerving. Unreadable.

‘So, Ms Moriarty, why don’t we start again?’

Jesse bristled at his tone, but quashed her reaction and forced words out. ‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean to appear rude.’

He arched a brow and she heard a noise which heralded the arrival of his assistant with a tray holding coffee. She welcomed the momentary respite and watched Luc Sanchis as he accepted coffee with a smile. Her heart kicked. His dark olive-skinned features were more rugged than prettily handsome, and that realisation sent a shockwave of sensation through the tense core of her body.

The assistant left and Jesse took a sip of coffee, willing her hand not to tremble. She put the cup back down, looked at Luc Sanchis and steeled herself.

‘I’d like to know what your interest is in JP O’Brien Construction.’

He put down his own cup and sat back in his big leather chair, steepling his hands over his chest. His shoulders were impossibly broad, and the white shirt and silk tie only gave the illusion of civility. Raw masculinity oozed from this man like a tangible force. It made Jesse feel very prickly.

‘With all due respect,’ he pointed out, ‘I don’t think that’s any of your business.’

He might as well have inserted the word damn into that sentence.

‘I think a far more pertinent question here, Ms Moriarty, is why the hell do you care about my interest in O’Brien Construction?’

Why indeed? Jesse was feeling pinned under his intent gaze, and it got worse when he sat forward. She stood up jerkily, needing to put some space between them. She never lost her cool like this. She had a reputation for being preternaturally collected. She grimaced inwardly. Along with a less flattering reputation for being emotionless. But in the past week all she seemed to have been feeling was emotions, and one very turbulent one in particular—which had led her here to this man’s office.

Agitated, Jesse walked over to the wall of windows which took in an astounding view of the London skyline. She could feel Luc Sanchis’s gaze boring into her back like a laser.

She heard movement behind her and then a very irritated sounding voice.

‘Perhaps you have time on your hands to pose questions that are none of your business, but I don’t.’

Jesse turned to see Luc Sanchis come around his desk and stand with an arm outstretched, indicating that she should leave. In that moment, to her absolute horror and chagrin, all she could see was his shirt pulled taut across his massive chest, the hard ridged muscles of his abdomen clearly delineated through the thin material.

Jesse was shocked to find herself so physically aware of a man she’d only recently discovered came with a reputed sexual prowess on a par with the world’s most legendary lovers. His fierce privacy only compounded those rumours, but from where she was standing right now it was far too credible.

Forcing herself to get a grip, she focused on those black eyes. She had no intention of moving now—not when he was the only thing that stood between her and seeing JP O’Brien punished for his crimes. She’d worked too hard for this.

She took a deep breath. ‘Whatever you’re planning on investing in O’Brien to save him, I’m willing to match it.’

Luc Sanchis’s arm dropped. His eyes narrowed and Jesse forced herself to stand strong. Now that she knew who he was, and just how powerful, she knew that if he was determined to save O’Brien then he would be an immovable force.

With a deceptively bland tone in his voice, which didn’t fool Jesse for a second, he asked, ‘Now, why on earth would JM Holdings, the most successful IT company to emerge in Europe for years, be interested in a construction company? Wasn’t your last acquisition a gaming consortium?’

Jesse flushed uncomfortably and had to struggle not to look away for a second. The last thing she wanted was this man’s far too incisive mind questioning her motives. She tried to disguise her rattled composure. ‘My interest in O’Brien Construction is not up for discussion. You’re either willing to let me match your offer or not.’

‘And yet it’s up for discussion when you want to find out my interests?’

Jesse flushed at having that glaring inconsistency pointed out. Something subtle changed in the air in that moment, and her skin puckered all over into goosebumps. Luc Sanchis had crossed his arms across that formidable chest and sat on the corner of his desk, one leg hitched up slightly. The material of his dark trousers stretched taut across one thigh, the awareness of which made Jesse’s hands clench into fists at her sides.

Luc looked at the woman who stood so tensely across his office. He could almost see her quiver with it. He hated to admit it, because little piqued his interest these days, but she was intriguing him on a lot of levels after his initial shock in seeing her again.

Physically she wasn’t his type at all, and yet he couldn’t deny that, much as last year, something about her compelled him to keep looking at her. He preferred statuesque voluptuous beauties who were confident and experienced. Jesse Moriarty was petite and athletically slim. She more closely resembled a pale shadow than a sexually confident woman. Her figure was completely obscured in a conservative uniform of narrow charcoal-grey trousers, and a white silk shirt buttoned up underneath a jumper. Her hair was cut almost militarily short, the strawberry-blonde strands feathered close to her skull.

So why was it that Luc felt the irritating urge to deny the frisson of something hot in his bloodstream? He was a red-blooded, sexual man, so her very ascetic non-appeal should not be triggering a flare of sensation along his nerve-endings.

He frowned inwardly and told himself that it was the memory of his last lover that was heating his blood—not this woman who looked as if she’d prefer to jump out of his window than be here facing him. Not a reaction he was used to having from a woman. He wondered idly if his solicitor had been right; perhaps she was gay?

Jesse wished that Luc Sanchis would stop looking at her as if she was a specimen on a lab table. He opened his mouth to speak and her eye was effortlessly drawn to his sensuous lower lip. She wondered helplessly when she had ever noticed a man’s mouth as being sensual before.

‘Ms Moriarty, unless you’re willing to give me an explanation as to why you don’t want me to invest in O’Brien then I’m afraid this meeting is over. I don’t deal in riddles.’

His voice rumbled through her and Jesse folded her arms across her chest tightly. Feeling unbelievably threatened, she blurted out, ‘He’s practically bankrupt … his business is in tatters … surely he has nothing to offer you?’

Luc Sanchis’s mouth tightened. ‘At the risk of repeating myself, once again I’m afraid the onus is on you to tell me why you’re so interested in him.’

When Jesse was obstinately silent for a long moment he said, with an icy bite of reluctance, ‘O’Brien still has stakes in Eastern European construction that I’m interested in acquiring before it’s too late to salvage anything.’ He shrugged one wide shoulder. ‘If that means saving O’Brien in the process then so be it. You have to admit that I can claim a far more legitimate interest in his concerns than you.’

Jesse’s brain hurt; what he said made perfect sense. At first she’d thought Luc Sanchis must be in league with O’Brien, but she’d checked him out and his reputation was pristine. Not a hint of misdeed or corruption, which an association with O’Brien might have indicated. And he had no previous connection to O’Brien. He’d literally come out of nowhere as a last-minute saviour.

Luc Sanchis shifted on the desk now, and Jesse felt his renewed interest with a shiver of foreboding down her spine.

‘Why haven’t you just gone directly to O’Brien with a better offer?’

Jesse paled, not wanting to remember her first face-to-face meeting with O’Brien the week before. She should have expected Luc Sanchis to ask the most logical question of all, but inside her head she was wondering hysterically what he would do if she was to blurt out the full, ugly and lurid truth of her relationship with O’Brien.

She avoided his eye. ‘I have my reasons.’ It was a pathetic non-answer, but she couldn’t explain that, having confronted O’Brien once already, she couldn’t approach him again. She’d burnt her bridges in that meeting but had only done it because she’d thought she was safe—that no one else would bail him out before it was too late.

The reason why she couldn’t be cool and calm and answer Luc Sanchis’s questions with logical answers was because this had nothing to do with business; this was about hurt and pain. Grief and suffering. And, above all, revenge. How could she even begin to make someone else understand the whirling cauldron of dark emotions inside her? She’d lived with this for so long …

Luc Sanchis unfolded his tall frame from the desk and stood up. Jesse couldn’t help her gaze going to him, as if pulled against her will. His face was stern. He’d had enough.

‘Whatever your mysterious reasons are, the question is this: who wants to invest in him more?’

Jesse could sense Luc Sanchis’s intractability. She might be powerful in her own right, having built up a multi-million-pound IT software business, but she couldn’t compete with this man if he chose to fight her.

She had to make him believe it didn’t mean that much to her. When it meant everything.

‘Look,’ she said now, with a studied nonchalance that belied the thumping of her heart and the bead of sweat forming between her breasts, ‘I’m willing to double the amount you’ve offered O’Brien if you’ll drop your plans to invest.’

Luc stared at Jesse Moriarty. He didn’t like the questions she was posing in his mind with this determination to match his offer—more than match it. She obviously desperately wanted O’Brien. Something inside him hardened. The problem was, so did he. He’d worked far too hard and long to let this opportunity pass. Especially not for some prickly slip of a woman who was starting seriously to irritate him with those huge eyes and the way colour flooded her cheeks so easily—as if she didn’t knowingly use that to good effect.

Women like Jesse Moriarty didn’t get to be successful in business by being nice or kind. They were ruthless and single-minded and didn’t care who they stepped on to get ahead. He’d learnt a valuable lesson early on at the hands of a woman determined to succeed at all costs, and he had no intention of letting Jesse Moriarty divert him from a path he’d set out on almost fifteen years before.

Resolutely he went towards her.

Jesse’s eyes grew wide when she saw Luc Sanchis move. She had to consciously battle the urge not to take a step back. Her arms dropped and her hands clenched into fists again. She felt inordinately threatened by the sheer size and presence of the man. He was built more like an athlete than a titan of industry. All six foot four of him towered above her, and she wished for the umpteenth time that she was taller and more formidable.

He held out a hand and said with the utmost civility, ‘You could quadruple the amount, Ms Moriarty, and I still wouldn’t back down. If you do go to O’Brien with a higher bid, even if it’s anonymous, I’ll just match it until I’ve priced you out. I’m sorry your journey has been a wasted one today.’

CHAPTER TWO

JESSE looked at Luc Sanchis’s hand dumbly; he’d just confirmed her worst fear. He would thwart her no matter what.

She had a burning urge to get out of there now. With the utmost reluctance she lifted her hand and slipped it into his to shake it. The physical effect was instantaneous; it was like a nuclear reactor exploding deep inside her, sending a mushroom cloud of devastating sensation to the far corners of her body.

Like a scalded cat, she pulled her hand free, even though they’d touched for less than a second. She saw belatedly that Luc Sanchis was also holding out her slim briefcase from where she must have dropped it onto the floor near the desk. She hadn’t even noticed and her cheeks burned. She grabbed it inelegantly and looked up at him, forcing her brain to work.

Stiffly she said, ‘I’m sorry that I can’t persuade you to rethink your plans to invest. Good day, Mr Sanchis.’

His voice took on a far more ambiguous tone. ‘Don’t be sorry. Meeting you was certainly … interesting.’

Mortification rushed through Jesse. Interesting felt like a slap in the face. She couldn’t be further removed from this man’s world, which she imagined to be peopled with all sorts of sensual pleasures and women to match. Never had she felt so gauche. Bitter gall rose in her throat, tasting of defeat, but she couldn’t deal with that now—not in such close proximity to this man.

She turned and walked blindly to the door across what felt like acres and acres of dark grey carpet. The door was heavy, and it was only when it shut behind her with a quiet thud that she breathed in again, light-headed from holding her breath.

The rather austere-looking middle-aged secretary stood up to show her to the outer door, saying politely, ‘Good day, Miss Moriarty, I trust you can find your way back to the lift?’

Jesse nodded and said her thanks. It was only when she’d stepped into the sleek lift to descend that the enormity of what had just happened and what it now meant hit her.

Luc stared at the closed door for an inordinately long moment. A delicate scent tickled his nostrils, and he realised it was her scent. It was somehow opulent and sexy. Totally at odds with the uptight image she portrayed. And yet the thought of that buttoned-up shirt sent a very unwelcome shot of desire through his lower body.

Luc scowled and shook his head, turning to face the spectacular view of London, digging his hands into his pockets. Jesse Moriarty was an enigma, all right, with her bizarre request for him not to invest in O’Brien Construction. What the hell was she up to? Why was it so important that she’d spend millions to stop him?

A disembodied voice came from the phone on his desk. ‘Luc, the video conference call is ready. They’re waiting in New York for you to join them.’

Luc turned and strode towards his desk. ‘Thanks, Deborah, just give me a minute …’

As Luc shifted his mind from Jesse Moriarty with more difficulty than he’d like to admit, he recalled the way she’d visibly flinched away from the barest of contacts with his hand. Definitely gay, he surmised, not liking the way something within him rebelled at that thought.

Cursing this uncharacteristic blip in his concentration, he turned his attention to the next item on his agenda.

Jesse sat in a huge armchair which was positioned right in front of the floor-to-ceiling window in her penthouse apartment. The view, much like the one in Luc Sanchis’s office today, encompassed London’s city centre. Her legs were curled up beneath her and she’d changed into loose sweats, a tank top and a cashmere V-necked jumper. Her hands were tightly clasped around a mug of tea. The rest of the apartment around her was dark, the only light coming from her kitchen which was off the main living area.

Jesse usually found this time of night and the view soothing. It always served to remind her of just how far she’d come: from the monosyllabic, grief-stricken, traumatised child she’d been to a woman who controlled a multi-million-pound company and who had been named Entrepreneur of the Year by a leading financial establishment.

She’d been a young girl filled with blind rage and grief who had discovered she could escape from real life into school and do better than everyone around her. It hadn’t earned her any friends in the series of grim comprehensives she’d gone to, but gradually she’d seen a way she could use her intelligence to climb out of her challenged circumstances and had earned a scholarship to university.

Her hatred had morphed into something more ambitious: a desire to be able to stand in front of her father one day and let him know that she was the architect of his downfall. To let him know that she hadn’t forgotten, and that he hadn’t escaped unscathed from the sins of his past. Jesse’s mother could have been saved if she’d received adequate medical treatment in time, but her father had been too drunk and self-absorbed to care.

He’d killed her as effectively as if he’d done it with his own bare hands.

Jesse’s hands tightened around her mug unconsciously as she recalled standing in front of her father last week. It had only been her second time seeing him in the flesh since she was a child. The first time had been at that function where she’d run into Luc Sanchis—literally—a year ago. Seeing her father that night had shaken her to her core, and she’d realised she needed to be a lot more prepared for when she came face to face with him.

Last week he’d had no idea that the JM in JM Holdings stood for Jesse Moriarty. She’d received an awful jolt to be reminded that she’d inherited her distinctive eye colour from him, but he hadn’t recognised her and she’d hated the dart of hurt when she’d realised that.

He’d blithely launched into a spiel about how he needed a sizeable investment to stay afloat, and all the while Jesse had battled waves of sickness as she’d been hurtled back in time to when he’d stood over her, sweating, his belt marked with her blood.

She’d cut short his obsequious appeal and stood up. When he’d realised who she was he’d morphed effortlessly back into a bully and tyrant. He’d stood up too, small eyes piggy in his fleshy face, and sneered at her. ‘Don’t tell me this is some sort of petty revenge; did you lie awake at night dreaming of this moment?’

Jesse had flushed, because she had. It was the only thing that had got her through years of loneliness and bullying. The long, unending and terrifying months of grief after her mother’s death. The way the world around her had become a place of deep hostility, insecurity and fear, peopled by faceless social workers and harried foster carers in the grimmest parts of England.

‘You’re pathetic,’ her father had spat out. ‘Just like your mother was pathetic and naive. I should have forced her to get rid of you when I had the chance, but she begged me to let her keep you … and this is how you repay me?’

Jesse had focused on the deep abiding grief she felt, drawing on it for strength. ‘This moment is only the culmination of my efforts to see you destroyed. No one will help you now, and when you descend into the hell of oblivion I’ll be there to witness every moment of it.’

Jesse shivered a little as the distasteful memory faded. She wanted a feeling of triumph to break through the numbness but it was elusive. All she did feel, in truth, was weary. As if she’d been toiling for a long time with nothing to show for it … Yet she’d succeeded beyond her wildest dreams and she’d finally begun to realise her most personal and fervent desire …

She put down her cup and walked to the window, leaning her forehead against it, her hands on the glass either side of her shoulders. The irony of the thick glass between her and the view struck her with a sad note. Her whole life she’d felt somehow separated from everything around her.

She could picture what lay behind her all too easily: the very bare and ascetic nature of her apartment, which mirrored her personal life. Even though she’d bought it three years before, the only furniture she owned was her bed, the armchair and some kitchen furniture. She’d bought nothing because despite the wealth she’d accrued and the success she’d garnered she still didn’t feel settled. She still feared her world being upended at any moment.

All she’d ever known was the certainty of inconsistency—every time she’d come to trust a social worker they’d moved on; every time she’d felt safe in a foster home she’d been moved. She’d long ago learnt to rely only on herself, trust only herself. The only constant in her life that she could depend on was her hatred of her father …

She hadn’t cultivated friends or a social life. Once she’d been vulnerable, and there had been a man. She’d succumbed to his seduction because on some level she’d craved human contact, some tenderness. But when he’d made love to her it hadn’t touched her. She’d felt like ice.

Afterwards he’d declared disgustedly, ‘It’s true what they say—you are like a machine.’

Jesse hadn’t made the same mistake again. It had been a weakness on her part to admit to that vulnerability. Since then she’d focused on two things: her work and seeing her father brought to justice.

And now, finally, she was seeing the light at the end of the tunnel—a chance to let go of the past and perhaps start to live. She scowled. More accurately, she had been seeing the light at the end of the tunnel until it had been blocked by the broad shoulders of Luc Sanchis.

Jesse turned around and faced her dark and lonely-looking apartment. The thought that her father would escape defeat now, would have a chance to become successful again thanks to an investment from Luc Sanchis, was untenable. Not only that, she’d now exposed herself to her father and he would be out for her blood.

She worried at her lower lip with small teeth. She’d prepared for this day so well. Knowing how dangerous her father was, she’d investigated him thoroughly and left nothing to chance. He was rotten to the core and had avoided being put in gaol before now only because of a prodigious amount of luck, his dubious connections and his vast fortune. However, with the protection of his fortune all but gone, it was only going to be a matter of time before all his misdeeds caught up with him.

Despite her own very personal vendetta against her father, when Jesse had become aware of the corrupt extent of his greed and excess, thanks to the private investigators she’d hired, it had become about avenging much more than just her and her mother. Hers was only one tiny sad story amongst many others.

In fairness, all Jesse had had to do was to systematically attack him in a very legal and above-board way. Over the years she’d slowly but surely been buying the stocks and shares of his various concerns under the guise of different companies. She’d been weakening him from the inside out, until his foundations had grown more and more flimsy.

He’d had a lot of enemies only too happy to help that process along; she’d merely provided the push … And yet now it looked as if it had all come to naught if Luc Sanchis was going to bail him out.

Resolve made Jesse’s spine tense. She couldn’t give up now—not when she was so close. She had to prevent Luc Sanchis from going ahead with the deal.

She shivered slightly when she remembered the sheer physicality of the man and his presence, not to mention the power that had oozed from every cell. He would be a formidable enemy. He could break her in two if he wanted, without even batting an eyelid … but to achieve her goal she had to take that risk.

Luc was distracted and irritated. And deadly tired. He ran a hand over his face. He’d been up for almost twenty-four hours straight, making sure that his deal with O’Brien had no possible loopholes or potential hitches. The snarly London traffic wasn’t helping his mood right now. At least, he thought to himself, he didn’t have to worry about making his flight on time. He’d chartered a private jet to take him to his meeting in Switzerland.

He’d met with JP O’Brien the previous day and, despite O’Brien’s clear desperation, had insisted on a ten-day grace period before signing the contracts. The ten days would bring them up to the last possible date of survival for O’Brien—twenty-four hours before the banks closed in if he didn’t come up with the funds. This suited Luc, as he wanted O’Brien nervous and desperate—he wanted to be O’Brien’s only hope.

He smiled to himself grimly. The tiredness was worth it. He’d made sure that no one could match his offer … this time O’Brien would be his.

Luc found that the memory of seeing O’Brien was leading him to a much more potent memory: that of Jesse Moriarty in his office a week ago. He frowned with displeasure at finding himself thinking of her again, but her delicate features slid into his mind with annoying persistence and vividness, and his insides tightened against a frisson of awareness.

He assured himself that he was only thinking of her again because he associated her with O’Brien. There was no way she could compete with him now. If O’Brien had a counteroffer Luc would know about it. O’Brien was too desperate not to be greedy and up the stakes by playing two bidders off against each other.

Much to Luc’s chagrin, his mind slid back to Jesse Moriarty like a traitor. He’d tried to get some information on her but she’d proved to be annoyingly elusive. The only details about her background were something sketchy about having been brought up in care. Maybe she was an orphan? Luc didn’t like the way that thought made him remember her inherent fragility, despite her chutzpah in storming into his office the way she had and demanding answers. He had to concede that it had been a long time since anyone had had the guts to do that. And it hadn’t been altogether unpleasant …

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that they’d left the city behind and were on the open road. The sooner he was airborne and onto his next meeting the better. It would mean welcome distraction from thinking about a pixie-sized, short-haired enigma. Just then his phone rang, and his mouth curved into a smile when he saw a familiar name.

He answered with affection, ‘Cherie … how are you today?’

What felt like a long time later, Luc became aware of waking up and feeling inordinately groggy. He opened his eyes and blinked at the bright sunlight streaming in the small window beside him. His surroundings were very quiet, but he could hear the sea in the distance and gulls overhead. The plane had obviously landed—the cabin door was open just a few feet away—but there was no sign of the air steward or pilot.

He remembered being on the phone as he’d boarded the plane, and then the flight attendant offering him coffee which he’d drunk with relish to perk up his tired mind. He’d drunk two cups, and after that remembered nothing—which was odd, because he’d intended working.

Slowly tendrils of lucidity came back into his brain, and with them finally came clarity. He looked around him. All his belongings were gone. His laptop that he’d been working on, his phone, his briefcase … He looked outside the window properly now, and the realisation hit him that he wasn’t looking at the mountainous peaks of Switzerland. He was looking at an altogether hotter vista.

Feeling increasingly as if he’d stepped into a twilight zone, Luc undid his seat belt and stood up. Shaking his head free of a residual fogginess, he went to the open door and squinted into the glaring sunlight. It was warm. And it was most certainly not Switzerland. A faint heat haze shimmered in the distance, and the cerulean blue sky showcased the glittering waters of the … Luc blinked disbelievingly. The Mediterranean?

A movement out of the corner of his eye made his head swivel round, and he saw a small Jeep parked near the plane. Someone was standing by its side. It was a slim, petite figure, with short strawberry-blonde hair. Faded jeans, running shoes and a white shirt. Dark glasses hid eyes which he could recall with all too disturbing ease, despite the lingering fog in his head.

Luc slowly descended the steps attached to the plane and as the warm salt-tangy air hit him all his synpases started firing again. This was real—not a dream or the twilight zone—and he took it from the slightly defensive stance of the small woman in the distance that she was entirely responsible for the fact that he wasn’t where he was meant to be.

Storming into his office demanding answers was one thing … This action had taken things to another level. The fact that Luc had underestimated someone for the second time in his life sent acrid anger to his gut. No one underestimated him any more.

He wasn’t aware of the hurried movements behind him when his feet touched the tarmac, but as soon as he walked away from the steps the air steward appeared in the plane’s doorway to haul the steps back up out of sight, and the door was closed. Luc went towards Jesse Moriarty and came to a stop just feet away, head thrown back, nostrils flaring, and he stared down at her from his considerable height advantage.

‘Well, well, Ms Moriarty, fancy meeting you here. Are you going to tell me where I am?’ His voice dripped with ice.

He could see Jesse’s slim throat work as she swallowed. The fact that she wasn’t as cool as she was obviously striving to appear did nothing for his temper levels.

Slowly she supplied, ‘Greece. This is a privately owned Greek island, which I’m renting.’

‘That’s nice. And you felt compelled to bring me along to join you on your holiday?’

Jesse didn’t answer immediately and Luc added caustically, ‘If I’d known how desperate you were for my company we could have come to some arrangement.’

He could see her cheeks flush red and she bit out, ‘It’s not … not like that. That’s not why you’re here.’

Somehow that had a more incendiary effect on Luc than finding himself landed in a different country from the one he’d been flying to. He closed the distance between them and grabbed Jesse’s arms in two hands, shaking her. She was so slight that her sunglasses fell off with the motion, revealing those huge grey eyes, stormy with swirling emotions, staring up at him.

‘Well? Are you going to tell me what the hell I’m doing here?’

‘I …’ She gulped visibly, and then said more forcibly, ‘I’ve kidnapped you.’

CHAPTER THREE

LUC Sanchis’s hands were painfully tight on her arms, but Jesse wouldn’t emit so much as a squeak to let him know. She looked up into those flashing dark brown eyes and noticed for the first time that he had the most absurdly long lashes. She blinked. This was crazy! She’d just kidnapped one of the world’s most influential men and she was noticing his eyelashes?

Jerkily, and with a lot of effort, Jesse pulled free of Luc Sanchis’s tight grip; she knew she’d be bruised. He was still staring at her, stunned. Fear pierced Jesse for a second. He looked okay, but what if he’d been allergic to—?

Suddenly his slightly stunned look changed to something much cooler and angry. ‘I presume you had them slip something into my coffee?’

Jesse flushed. She could see the small plane now almost at the other end of the runway out of the corner of her eye. Neither of them had even noticed the low throb of the engine.

‘I asked them to put a herbal sleeping aid into your coffee. I was hoping it would make you too groggy to notice the detour in your flight, and also give them time to take your things. We didn’t know it would knock you out.’

Grimly Luc surmised that that was because they hadn’t known how tired he was. He wasn’t feeling any lingering effects of the herbal remedy now, so he knew it hadn’t been anything stronger.

He heard the throttle of the plane roar behind him as it geared up to make its dash back down the runway. Luc turned around and saw it start its run, gathering speed. As he watched it come closer and closer and faster incredulity kept him immobile. He realised that this was the first time in a long time that things had deviated off the tracks of his well-ordered life, and along with the incredulity was something much more ambiguous.

The small plane sped past him, bringing a small tornado of wind and hot air in its wake, and he watched with a hand over his eyes as it lifted up into the clear blue sky and banked to the right, with the sunlight glinting mockingly off its black wings.

That fleeting feeling of something ambiguous dissolved as the enormity of what had happened hit Luc. He looked down at Jesse Moriarty now, his insides tensing at the reality of how petite she was—especially in flat shoes. Her short hair had been whipped up by the wind, leaving it tousled and surprisingly sexy against her delicate skull. Then he remembered her arrogance in his office last week—her proposal to match his buy-out. Luc crossed his arms and felt the acrid burn of anger in his gut.

Jesse gulped; she had seen the way Luc Sanchis’s disbelieving eyes had followed the plane’s ascent. He was looking down at her now, though, and his eyes were flat and hard. Completely emotionless. Jesse knew that along with her father she’d just made possibly the worst enemy of her life.

As the noise of the plane became fainter and fainter silence surrounded them again, only broken by the sound of small chirruping insects in the distance, stopping and starting.

Luc Sanchis’s voice was silky when it came, disconcerting and jarring.

‘You do know that you’re looking at possibly eight years’ imprisonment for this stunt?’

Jesse nodded slowly. She’d had to weigh up all the possible consequences, but the main one would be that her father wouldn’t be bailed out by Luc Sanchis—and that was all that mattered.

‘I know what I’m doing,’ she said now, as much to herself as to Luc Sanchis.

His face was tight, the lines starkly beautiful against the blue sky. ‘Where are my things—my laptop, phone … passport?’

Jesse fought not to quail under his censorious gaze and tone. She swallowed. ‘They’re in a safe place … and will be given back to you on the day you leave.’

The sound of tension was evident in his voice. ‘And when will that be?’

Jesse felt the tightness in her chest. ‘When the deadline has come and gone on your deal with O’Brien.’

When it would be too late to make sure that he had O’Brien where he wanted him.

Luc reeled, and his mind almost closed down at that unpalatable prospect. Fury gripped him like a physical force. To be rendered so powerless, helpless. For the first time in his life he felt capable of violence.

He stepped back. He forced air into his lungs and shook his head. ‘Unbelievable … You want him this badly yourself?’

Jesse felt hard inside. No one else had come forward to save O’Brien, and if she could hold Sanchis off until it was too late her father would effectively be a sinking ship that no one would touch. He’d be mired in legal red tape for years, and Jesse knew that once people started looking into his affairs his years of tax evasion, corruption and fraud would catch up with him. He’d most certainly be facing a gaol sentence.

Luc Sanchis wouldn’t touch him then, for fear of being embroiled in his mess. Everything she’d learned about his pristine ethics and business practices told Jesse that. In a way, if he’d turned out to be as corrupt as her father it would have made this easier …

‘Yes,’ Jesse said firmly, ‘I want him this badly.’

Luc Sanchis stepped closer again, and Jesse couldn’t help a small faltering step backwards, hating herself for showing him the slightest weakness.

‘You’ve made a very grave error in deciding to fight me on this matter.’

Jesse forced steel into her spine and looked straight into those dark eyes. ‘I offered you an opportunity to step aside and you didn’t take it.’

Luc Sanchis stepped even closer, intimidating, his scent woodsy and distracting.

‘All you’ve done here is make yourself a foe for life. When I’m done with you, you’ll be lucky to get work in an internet café.’

Luc welcomed the rage simmering inside him. It was distracting him from how delicate Jesse Moriarty appeared even when she’d just kidnapped him! He’d spent so long dreaming of the moment when he’d have O’Brien exactly where he wanted him, and now he was looking at years of plans gone to waste.

He had to step away from Moriarty and her faux vulnerability and turn around. Spiking his hands in his hair, his muscles bunched with angry tension, Luc wanted to smash his fist into something solid. Preferably a wall. But nothing surrounded him except the mocking silence of this mystery island.

He whirled round again, taking in her pale features. That angered him even more. ‘Where the hell are we? And don’t just say “a Greek island” again.’

Jesse bit her lip so hard she could feel blood. When Luc Sanchis had turned away from her just now she’d had a very real sense that he wanted to hit something.

She quickly considered his question and decided that there was nothing he could do about it anyway. ‘We are on a small uninhabited island called Oxakis. It’s privately owned. It’s one of the most remote islands in the Greek archipelago.’

Sanchis bit back a curse. Out of the thousands of islands and islets in Greece he knew only a few hundred were inhabited. They could literally be anywhere right now, and there was no land in sight. And nothing that signified any other kind of habitation on this island.

‘That’s handy, then, isn’t it?’

It was rather, Jesse thought a little hysterically. As was the fact that the very security-conscious owner had made his sumptuous villa—the only dwelling on the island—practically impregnable once you were within the alarmed fence … which was where she needed to get Luc Sanchis now, so she could be assured of his location at all times.

More jerkily than she liked, Jesse moved back towards the Jeep and the driver’s side. Luc Sanchis just stood there, staring at her. Jesse’s conscience struck her hard and she had to force down the feeling. From what she’d read about him, this man was one of the least vulnerable on the planet.

She’d unearthed the infamous story of how he’d wreaked revenge on an ex-lover who had betrayed him by decimating her reputation so comprehensively that the woman had suffered a very public nervous breakdown. It had sent out a clear message to anyone who thought they could play Luc Sanchis: they couldn’t.

And yet here she was, doing exactly that.

When he didn’t immediately follow her to the Jeep, panic struck Jesse. She was no match physically for this man, and at that thought an insidious burn began in her belly, the effortless awareness she seemed to have around him intensifying.

She bit out, more caustically than she’d intended, ‘There’s nothing else on the island except the villa. You can stay here if you want, but it’ll be a long wait and it gets cold at night.’ She added, ‘We’re not under a flight path, and no boats or ships sail close to this island.’

Jesse could see his hands clench into fists. He should have looked incongruous against this backdrop, in his dark suit, shirt and tie, but he seemed to meld with the harsh rock formations in the distance. And the searing sunlight only made his olive skin seem more exotic. He’d run his hands through his hair and it was slightly tousled, giving him a devilish air.

That angry tension was practically vibrating off him now, but after a tense inner struggle that Jesse could practically feel he bit out, ‘Damn you, Moriarty.’

He ripped off his jacket, taking it in one hand, and with his other hand reached up to undo the top button of his shirt under the tie. He strode towards the passenger side of the Jeep and almost pulled the door off its hinges. It visibly sagged under his weight when he got in and sat down.

Wiping suddenly sweaty hands on her jeans, Jesse picked up her fallen sunglasses and opened her own door and got in too, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tremor in her hand as she put the key in the ignition. The engine fired to life. When she pressed on the accelerator too hard and they jerked forward her cheeks burned under his scathing look, which she could feel like a brand on her skin.

Taking a deep breath, Jesse navigated the Jeep out of the airfield and onto the one very narrow road which led around to the other side of the island and the villa.

Luc’s hand was clenched tight around the handle above the door. The Jeep felt like a prison cell—compounded by the fact that he wasn’t in the driving seat. He hated not driving unless he was in the back of his chauffeur-driven car. He winced as Jesse changed gear and they screeched. The Jeep was new and luxurious, but his long legs were still cramped. He was uncomfortably aware of how stretched out her legs had to be to reach the pedals.

She was like a doll. He imagined that he could wrap one hand all the way around one taut jean-clad thigh. Her hands were tiny on the steering wheel. The sleeves of her shirt were rolled up, revealing slim arms and slender wrists.

Luc felt himself turning so he could scrutinise her even closer, almost unaware of what he was doing. The top button of her shirt was open, revealing pale skin at the bottom of her throat and long neck. The seat belt cut across her chest, making the small swells of her breasts appear more prominent.

Suddenly her head turned and she cast him a quick suspicious glance. ‘What are you looking at?’

With more effort than he cared to admit he dragged his gaze up to see pink cheeks and those long-lashed dark grey eyes. He noticed that her lips were soft and surprisingly full—especially the bottom lip. Luc felt very peculiar for a fleeting moment, and then cursed himself and swung back to face the road.

‘A way out,’ he muttered acerbically, telling himself that this awareness of her was a pure side effect of the extraordinary circumstances. He could feel the shock wearing off, and suddenly thought of something.

He looked back at her grim profile and tried not to notice her stubborn chin or the straight line of her nose. Crossing his arms across his chest, he sat back against the door and regarded her. ‘I’m expected in Switzerland for a meeting at the economic forum; people will already be wondering where I am and asking questions. My security staff on the ground there will be mounting a search as soon as I don’t arrive.’

Jesse’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. She could see the huge wrought-iron gates of the villa up ahead and breathed a sigh of relief. She really didn’t want to have the next part of this conversation in a confined space when she needed all her concentration. Her driving wasn’t assured at the best of times.

She ignored Luc Sanchis and once they were through the gates pressed a button in the Jeep which activated their closure behind them. Finally she felt a little bit more secure.

The driveway was a steep climb up to the villa, which rested on a high rocky outcrop overlooking the sea. On either side a wall of lush bougainvillaea bushes with pink and purple flowers lined the route.

She saw out of the corner of her eye that Luc Sanchis had glanced back too, to see the gates close, and felt a fresh wave of enmity coming from him.

The villa that came into view was a stunning example of the old style—nothing jarring or modern. The classic, elegant lines of the two-storey house drew the eye down to floor level, with three long French windows and a patio. Wooden shutters were painted a faint eggshell, offset by walls painted a warm cream colour. Traditional terracotta tiles on the roof were faded from the sunlight. Trees and bushes slightly obscured the steps leading up to a green lawn, which led to the patio outside the French doors.

Gravel crunched under the wheels of the Jeep as Jesse bypassed the steps up to the patio and drove to the main door. A glorious profusion of flowers bloomed everywhere from pots and trellises. But Jesse was blind to the magical beauty of the place.

She brought the Jeep to a stop outside the main door and cut the engine.

Sarcastically Luc Sanchis asked, ‘No butler to greet us and open the door?’

Jesse was so tense she felt as if she might snap. ‘There are no staff. Just us.’ She got out quickly, before Luc Sanchis’s blistering anger and energy could make her feel even more claustrophobic.

He got out too, and faced her across the bonnet of the Jeep. Jesse pressed the button to lock the Jeep and carefully pocketed the keys. Luc Sanchis’s eyes tracked her movements. And then he looked back up.

‘Well? You haven’t answered my question. What are you going to do when my security team locate the GPS signal on my mobile phone and track me to here?’ He glanced at the heavy platinum watch encircling one broad wrist. ‘I’d say all hell is breaking loose right about now …’

Jesse sent up a sigh of relief that she’d had enough time to store his personal effects in a locked security box which was now locked inside the boot of the Jeep.

She hitched up her chin and faced him. ‘I disabled the GPS device on your phone and laptop. There’s no other way your location can be centred to here.’ She could see his jaw clench ominously and rushed on. ‘And I hacked into your account to send e-mails to your assistant and your security team, to alert them to a change of plan in your schedule. I said that you were not to be disturbed under any circumstances until you contacted them.’

Jesse could see his brain clicking into gear … sorting through what she’d said … searching for a way out. Then she saw realisation hit, and he stalked around the front of the Jeep, seriously intimidating now.

‘You’re one of the only people in the world who could do such a thing because you devised the software.’

Jesse gulped. She might have felt proud in other circumstances, but not right now, when she said, ‘Yes.’

If he hadn’t already gone nuclear this just might have done it.

Jesse spoke again—as much to distract him as anything else. ‘I’m aware that you are known for abrupt changes in plan—as much to keep your employees on their toes as to keep an eye on your myriad business interests—so I don’t think your staff will be too surprised at your sudden deviation.’

Jesse could see how his cheeks suffused with colour, making his cheekbones stand out even further, only adding to his intensely masculine appeal. His voice was supremely controlled when he spoke, but it wasn’t fooling Jesse for a second. She could see a muscle twitching in his hard jaw.

‘You certainly seem to have thought of everything. For now.’

‘For the next ten days, Mr Sanchis. I’ve … you’ve already sent out instructions to back out of the deal with O’Brien.’

‘Kidnapping; hacking into my accounts; pretending to be me … Your crimes are mounting, Ms Moriarty. And all because you’re so desperate to be the one to save O’Brien from the abyss.’

No! Jesse wanted to scream. I want to be the one to send him into the abyss. For ever!

She lifted one shoulder in a small movement, scared of that flat, emotionless look in Luc Sanchis’s eyes. With his tie rakishly askew and his shirt open he might have been a pirate. He spat out words contemptuously, taking Jesse by surprise.

‘Women like you make me sick. You’re more ruthless than any man. In light of your determination to succeed in this matter I don’t doubt you’d buy and sell a family member to get what you want.’

Jesse was unaware of how she paled in that instant, or of how Luc Sanchis’s eyes narrowed on her. She stepped back abruptly avoiding his eyes, more than aghast at how easily he’d cut her to the quick. It was because of treacherous family that she was in this position. That she even knew what ruthlessness felt like.

‘Let me show you around the villa.’

Tension quivered between them, and Jesse knew that Luc Sanchis was realising he simply had no option right now except to do as she said. She walked around him and up some steps into the main hall.

The house throughout was white, with exposed stone walls, bright and comfortable furnishings. The main hall floor was marble, but the rest of the ground level had wooden floors, softened by faded oriental rugs. It was truly a home, loved and tended by its owners—a Greek billionaire named Alexandros Kouros, his wife, Kallie, and their three children.

Jesse had done some business with Kouros in the past, and he’d told her about his island and villa and suggested that she use it if she ever felt like getting away, if it was free. She’d automatically said thanks but no thanks; leisure was not something she indulged in.

She’d remembered the island when she’d thought of this audacious plan to stop Luc Sanchis, and had wondered where on earth she could take him.

She gestured to the vast expanse of a plush living room, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along one wall and comfortable couches and chairs. ‘This is the main living area. There’s a TV and DVDs in the cabinet …’

His voice dripped sarcasm. ‘You mean I’m allowed to move freely throughout the house? You’re not locking me in the tower with only a daily bowl of gruel to keep me alive?’

Jesse tensed at his dark humour. She was surprised … she’d not been sure what to expect. In her experience billionaires and titans of industry could be petulant when things didn’t go their way. And Luc Sanchis so far had barely balked at his fate … he was very angry, yes, but not disconcerted. As if he was merely biding his time, getting the lie of the land.

She didn’t fool herself into believing she could be complacent. Luc Sanchis was preternaturally intelligent and cunning. She wouldn’t trust for a second that he wasn’t looking for a way out, or a way to manipulate her.

She turned around to face him, struck all over again at his immense physicality. She didn’t like how it made her feel weak. He had to understand how futile any attempt on his part to leave would be.

‘There is a perimeter fence around this villa that is permanently electrified and alarmed with infra-red sensors. That airstrip is the only way on and off the island.’

Jesse crossed her fingers behind her back, because she knew there was a small boathouse tucked away on the southern tip which held a speedboat. She didn’t like the way Luc Sanchis’s eyes narrowed on her contemplatively.

He crossed his arms, legs spread. Supremely comfortable in his skin even now. ‘I’m a champion swimmer.’

Why am I not surprised? Jesse thought caustically.

She crossed her arms too. ‘The waters here are treacherous, known for their volatile currents. I checked the weather forecast and a storm is possible. Even if you did make it through the perimeter fence, no matter how good a swimmer you are you’d never last.’

Luc cast a glance through the open French doors and the gently billowing white curtains. The scene outside was idyllic, but even as he thought that the faintest whisper of a cool breeze whistled through the room. He knew only too well from his experience as a seasoned sailor how the weather could change in an instant.

He looked back down into those serious grey eyes and had a fleeting thought: why so serious?

He shook his head, as if that would obliterate the insidious question. ‘How did you persuade my pilot to change course?’ He had been wondering about that. He had still been on the phone when he’d embarked on the plane, right up until they’d been about to take off. Undoubtedly that had added to the ease with which they’d carried out their subterfuge.

Jesse avoided his eye again, looking down for a moment, blushing furiously. ‘I … ah … sent his company an e-mail too. From you … explaining that you wanted to change your flight plan from Switzerland to here. And that you didn’t want to discuss it once you got on board … because the trip was of a romantic nature.’

She looked back up. ‘I contracted the steward separately and paid him to administer the sleeping aid, and he took your things as well,’ she admitted. ‘It was all done under the impression that it wasn’t serious but for a romantic …’ Jesse’s voice trailed off with embarrassment, but then she got herself together. ‘I also said that you’d inform them when you wanted to book your return flight.’

Luc gritted his jaw so tightly it hurt. She’d simply but effectively re-routed his entire schedule—and with the best anti-hacking software protecting his systems who would assume for a second the messages weren’t coming from him? He was hoist by his own petard because, exactly as she’d pointed out, his staff were used to his last-minute changes. She’d obviously sent all these missives at the last possible moment, and worded them in such a way that they didn’t encourage discussion. Something he was apt to do when he wanted to focus on something.

Jesse had no idea what was going on in his head now, but she was sure it wasn’t pretty and had a lot to do with hating her. She backed away towards the stairs, which led up to the upper rooms and away from the living space. After a few taut seconds she heard Luc Sanchis sigh and come after her.

A carpeted runner led up the stairs to a corridor on the first level that had rooms leading off in each direction. Jesse stopped outside one and opened the door, standing aside so Sanchis could look inside.

She’d felt funny about using the Kouroses’ master bedroom, so she’d picked the next largest for Luc Sanchis and taken a modest one for herself, instinctively feeling more comfortable in less opulent surroundings. Although, she thought wryly, modest in this villa meant a palatial bedroom with plush carpets and a queen-sized bed. Her huge en suite bathroom had a decadent sunken bath, and led out to a balcony with a stunning view of the Mediterranean Sea.

She walked into the bedroom she’d assigned for Luc Sanchis, her feet sinking noiselessly into the carpet. The view from this room and its en suite bathroom were even more spectacular than that from Jesse’s room.

She was cursory when she spoke, suddenly uncomfortable here with this man in such luxurious surroundings. ‘This is the main bedroom with en suite bathroom. It’s stocked with all the necessary toiletries.’

Jesse fought not to flinch when Luc Sanchis joined her in the bathroom and inspected the shelves, picking things up and putting them down again. She noticed that he must have dropped his jacket and tie somewhere. A minute ago the rooms had felt enormous. Now Jesse felt positively claustrophobic. All she could see were those big hands and long fingers making everything look tiny.

She backed out into the bedroom and noticed the jacket and tie strewn on the bed. She looked away hurriedly, suddenly hot when she thought of him ripping that tie off.

She walked over to the doors leading into a walk-in closet. She could sense Luc Sanchis and his bristling energy close behind her, and hated the little shiver of something she felt inside.

With the doors open wide she indicated to where a vast array of clothes was laid out. Suits, trousers, shoes. Casual clothes, pyjamas. Luc Sanchis stepped up to the door and his mouth opened … and closed again. Eyes flashing he looked at Jesse and muttered grimly, ‘I suspected you might be gay, but not if these belong to the last gigolo you brought here.’

Jesse’s face flamed and she fought for control. He thought these were for her lovers? The idea would have been laughable if Jesse had been in the mood to laugh. And she was stung somewhere very vulnerable to think that he’d assumed she was gay.

Luc watched Jesse. Myriad expressions chased across her face—uppermost something looking like shock. He was surprised at this prudish aspect of her but then recalled the buttoned-up look she’d sported in his office. She was more casual now, but equally unrevealing. He didn’t like to admit to the stab of something incomprehensible in his gut when he thought of these clothes belonging to another man.

She got out in a slightly strangled-sounding voice, ‘They’re all new. For you. I knew your meeting was only for a couple of hours and you wouldn’t have clothes with you … so I ordered some.’

Luc walked into the space and fingered some of the clothes. There was enough to dress him for a month, encompassing the entire spectrum of casual to formal wear.

Jesse said hesitantly from behind him, ‘Mr Sanchis, I know I’ve brought you here against your will, but it really is my intention to let you go … just as soon as I’m assured you won’t be in a position to resurrect your deal with O’Brien …’

Sounding more hopeful than he’d ever heard her, she went on, ‘If you could tell me now that you’re willing to sign a contract stating that you’ll walk away from the deal then I can have a plane or a helicopter here within the hour.’

Luc held the material of a black tuxedo jacket between thumb and forefinger. He stopped himself from gripping the material in his fist and squeezing with all the strength in his body. He looked at her.

‘No way.’

And then he dismissed her by looking back to the clothes. Most disturbingly, they were all in his exact size.

‘Don’t tell me—you hacked into my assistant’s brief on what to order from my tailor?’

Luc could hear Jesse shift uncomfortably.

‘The information was easy to find. I wanted to make sure you’d be as comfortable as possible, Mr Sanchis.’

Luc dropped the jacket and stalked towards Jesse. He placed an arm above her head against the doorframe and saw how her eyes widened. Her cheeks flushed and her breathing grew more rapid. Interesting. Much to his chagrin, his own breathing felt a tiny bit more laboured.

Disgusted with himself, Luc dropped his arm and said curtly, ‘I think we’ve skipped enough levels of social niceties to earn first-name status don’t you? Luc is my name.’

Jesse felt as if she was floundering badly. When he’d stalked over to her just now she’d felt a drowning sensation. Her insides had tightened while simultaneously feeling as if they were melting. And her nipples were as hard as bullets against the lace of her bra.

Before she could react he was stalking away from her and out of the room. Jesse started after him, calling, ‘Where are you going?’

He said, without turning around, ‘To find a phone so I can call someone and arrange to get off this godforsaken island and away from you. This ridiculous charade has gone on long enough.’

He stopped abruptly at the bottom of the stairs and Jesse almost careened into his back. She stopped herself just in time. He was looking from left to right and then he strode off, opening and closing doors to various rooms. Jesse’s heart was thumping, and she held her breath when he came to the door of the study. He opened it and went in, and she winced when she heard a very crude curse.

He came back out, hands on hips, expression thunderous. ‘You’ve removed any means of internet communication—I take it the landline too?’

Jesse nodded slowly. She’d locked everything securely into the villa’s safe. She had her own phone, of course, but that was safely tucked away where Sanchis couldn’t find it.

He came close to Jesse and she fought to hold her ground—even when he came so close that all she could smell was his scent and she had to tip her head back to look at him.

‘You will pay for this, Jesse … you know that, don’t you? I’ll do whatever it takes to get off this island.’

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