About the Authors

Irish author ABBY GREEN threw in a very glamorous career in film and TV—which really consisted of a lot of standing in the rain outside actors’ trailers—to pursue her love of romance. After she’d bombarded Mills & Boon with manuscripts they kindly accepted one, and an author was born. She lives in Dublin, Ireland, and loves any excuse for distraction. Visit abby-green.com or email abbygreenauthor@gmail.com.

LOUISE FULLER was a tomboy who hated pink and always wanted to be the Prince—not the Princess! Now she enjoys creating heroines who aren’t pretty pushovers but are strong, believable women. Before writing for Mills & Boon she studied literature and philosophy at university, and then worked as a reporter on her local newspaper. She lives in Tunbridge Wells with her impossibly handsome husband, Patrick, and their six children.

Also By Abby Green

An Heir Fit for a King

Awakened by Her Desert Captor

An Heir to Make a Marriage

Married for the Tycoon’s Empire

Claimed for the De Carrillo Twins

Rulers of the Desert miniseries

A Diamond for the Sheikh’s Mistress

A Christmas Bride for the King

Also By Louise Fuller

Vows Made in Secret

A Deal Sealed by Passion

Claiming His Wedding Night

Blackmailed Down the Aisle

Kidnapped for the Tycoon’s Baby

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

The Virgin’s Debt to Pay/Surrender to the Ruthless Billionaire

The Virgin’s Debt to Pay

Abby Green

Surrender to the Ruthless Billionaire

Louise Fuller

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09560-0

THE VIRGIN’S DEBT TO PAY/SURRENDER TO THE RUTHLESS BILLIONAIRE

The Virgin’s Debt to Pay © 2018 Abby Green Surrender to the Ruthless Billionaire © 2018 Louise Fuller

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

The Virgin’s Debt to Pay

Back Cover Text

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

Surrender to the Ruthless Billionaire

Back Cover Text

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

About the Publisher

The Virgin’s Debt to Pay

Abby Green

Indebted to the billionaire...

And he will collect!

Nessa must appeal to notorious tycoon Luc’s better nature to exonerate her brother of theft. But Luc is the most merciless—and sinfully attractive—man Nessa’s ever met! Until the debt is settled, he’ll hold her as his captive. And when undeniable attraction overwhelms them both, it becomes clear that Nessa’s innocence is the real price to pay...!

I’d like to dedicate this story to my go-to Equestrian Experts, Peter Commane and Nemone Routh. Any inaccuracies are all my own fault! And I’d like to thank Heidi Rice, who gave me the moment of inspiration I needed while walking down Pall Mall in London. x

CHAPTER ONE

NESSA O’SULLIVAN HAD never considered herself capable of petty crime, and yet here she was, just outside a private property, under the cover of moonlight, about to break and enter to steal something that didn’t belong to her.

She grimaced. Well, to be accurate, she wasn’t really going to be breaking and entering, because she had her brother’s keys to his office in the Barbier stud farm offices. Luc Barbier. Just thinking of the owner of this stud and racing stables made a shiver of apprehension run through Nessa’s slim frame. She was crouched under an overhanging branch, on the edge of a pristine lawn in front of the main reception buildings. She’d left her battered Mini Cooper a short distance away from the gates and climbed over a low wall.

Nessa’s own family home was not far away, and so she knew the land surrounding this stud farm very well. She’d played here as a child when it was under different ownership.

But any sense of familiarity fled when an owl hooted nearby, and she jumped, her heart slamming against her breastbone. She forced herself to suck in deep breaths to calm her nerves, and cursed her hot-headed older brother again for fleeing like he had. But then, could she really blame Paddy Junior for not standing up to Luc Barbier—the intimidating French enfant terrible of the thoroughbred racing world, about whom more was unknown than known?

His darkly forbidding good looks had rumours abounding...that he had been orphaned by gypsies, and that he’d lived on the streets, before becoming something of a legend in the racing world for his ability to train the most difficult of horses.

He’d progressed in a very short space of time to owning his own racing stables outside Paris, and now he owned this extensive stud farm in Ireland attached to another racing stables, where his impressive number of successful racehorses were trained by the best in the world, all under his eagle-eyed supervision.

People said his ability was some kind of sorcery, handed down by his mysterious ancestors.

Other rumours had it that he was simply a common criminal who had grown up on the wrong side of the tracks, and had managed to climb out of the gutter to where he was now by using a fluke talent and ruthless ingenuity to get ahead.

The mystery of his origins only added to the feverish speculation surrounding him, because along with his racing concerns, he had invested in myriad other industries, tripling his fortune in a short space of time and securing his position as one of the world’s wealthiest entrepreneurs. But racing and training remained his main concerns.

Paddy Jnr had talked about the man in hushed and awed tones for the last couple of years, since Barbier had employed Nessa’s brother as Junior Stud Manager.

Nessa had seen him herself, once or twice, from a distance at the exclusive Irish horse sales—where there was a regular attendance of the most important names in racing from all over the world. Sheikhs and royalty and the seriously wealthy.

He’d stood out, head and shoulders above everyone around him. Inky black hair, thick and wild, touching his collar. A dark-skinned, hard-boned face and a stern expression, his eyes hidden by dark glasses. Thickly muscled arms were folded over his broad chest, and his head had followed the horses as they’d been paraded for the prospective buyers. He’d more resembled the taciturn security guards surrounding some of the sheikhs, or a mysterious movie star, than an owner.

He’d had no obvious security around him, but even now Nessa could recall the faint air of menace keeping people away. He would be well capable of protecting himself.

The only reason she was even here tonight, indulging in this hare-brained exercise for her brother, was because he’d assured her that Luc Barbier was currently in France. She had no desire to come face to face with the man himself, because on those occasions when she had glimpsed him from a distance she’d felt a very disconcerting sensation in her belly—a kind of awareness that was totally alien to her, and very inappropriate to feel towards a complete stranger.

She took another deep breath and moved forward from under the tree, across the lawn to the buildings. A dog barked and Nessa halted, holding her breath. It stopped, and she continued moving forward. She reached the main building and went under the archway that led into a courtyard, around which the administrative offices were laid out.

She followed Paddy’s directions and found the main office, and used the bigger key to unlock the door. Her heart was thumping but the door opened without a sound. There was no alarm. Nessa was too relieved to wonder why that might be.

It was dark inside, but she could just about make out the stairs. She climbed them to the upper floor, using the torch app on her phone and breathed a sigh of relief when she found his office. She opened the door with the other key, stepping inside as quietly as she could, before shutting it again. She leant against it for a second, her heart thumping. Sweat trickled down her back.

When she felt slightly calmer she moved further into the office, using her phone to guide her to the desk Paddy had said was his. He’d told her that his laptop should be in the top drawer, but she pulled it open to find it empty. She opened the others but they were empty too. Feeling slightly panicky, she tried the other desks but there was no sign of the laptop. Paddy’s frantic words reverberated in her head: ‘That laptop is the only chance I have to prove my innocence, if I can just trace the emails back to the hacker...’

Nessa stood in the centre of the office biting her lip, feeling frantic now herself.

There was no hint of warning or sound to indicate she wasn’t alone, so when an internal door in the office opened and light suddenly flooded the room, Nessa only had time to whirl around and blink in shock at the massive figure filling the doorway.

It registered faintly in her head that the man filling the doorway was Luc Barbier. And that she was right to have been wary of coming face to face with him. He was simply the most astonishingly gorgeous and intimidating man she’d ever seen up close, and that was saying something when her brother-in-law was Sheikh Nadim Al-Saqr of Merkazad, as alpha male and masculine as they came.

Luc Barbier was dressed all in black, jeans and a long-sleeved top, which only seemed to enhance his brooding energy. His eyes were deep-set and so dark they looked like fathomless pools. Totally unreadable.

He held up a slim silver laptop and Nessa looked at it stupidly.

‘I take it this is what you came here for?’

His voice was low and gravelly and sexily accented, and that finally sent reality slamming back into Nessa like a shot of adrenalin to her heart. She did the only thing she could do—she pivoted on her feet and ran back to the door she’d just come through and pulled it open, only to find a huge burly security guard standing on the other side with a sour expression on his face.

The voice came from behind her again, this time with an unmistakable thread of steel. ‘Close the door. You’re not going anywhere.’

When she didn’t move, the security guard reached past her to pull the door closed, effectively shutting her in with Luc Barbier. Who patently wasn’t in France.

With the utmost reluctance she turned around to face him, very aware of the fact that she was wearing black tracksuit bottoms and a close-fitting black fleece with her hair tucked up under a dark baseball cap. She must look as guilty as sin.

Luc Barbier had closed the other door. The laptop was on a desk near him and he was just standing there, arms folded across his chest, legs spread wide as if to be ready for when she bolted again.

He asked, ‘So, who are you?’

Nessa’s heart thwacked hard. She kept her mouth firmly closed and her gaze somewhere around his impeccably shod feet, hoping the cap would hide her face.

He sighed audibly. ‘We can do this the hard way, or the harder way. I can have the police here within ten minutes and you can tell them who you are and why you’re trespassing on my property...but we both know it’s to get this, don’t we?’ He tapped the laptop with long fingers where it sat on the desk. ‘You’re obviously working for Paddy O’Sullivan.’

Nessa barely heard the last phrase. Totally ridiculously, all she could seem to focus on were his beautiful hands. Big and masculine but graceful. Capable hands. Sexy hands. The quiver in her belly became something far more disturbing.

Silence lengthened between them again and suddenly Barbier issued a low, violent-sounding curse in French and picked up the laptop, moving towards the door. He was almost there before Nessa realised that involving the Irish Gardaí would be even more of a disaster. The fact that Barbier hadn’t called them yet left a sliver of hope that something of this situation could be salvaged.

‘Wait!’ Her voice sounded very high in the silence.

He stopped at the door, his back to her. It was almost as intimidating as his front. He slowly turned around. ‘What did you say?’

Nessa tried to calm her thundering heart. She was afraid to look up too much, using the lip of her cap to keep herself hidden as much as possible.

‘I said wait. Please.’ She winced. As if a nicety like please would go over well in this situation.

There was more silence and then an incredulous-sounding, ‘You’re a girl?’

That struck Nessa somewhere very vulnerable. She knew she was dressed head to toe in black and wore a hat, but was she really so androgynous? She was well aware of her lack of feminine wiles, having spent much of her life knee deep in muck and wellies. She hitched up her chin and glared at him now, too angry to remember to try and stay hidden. ‘I’m twenty-four, hardly a girl.’

He looked sceptical. ‘Crawling through undergrowth to trespass on private property is hardly the activity of a grown woman.’

The thought of the kind of women a man like this would know—a world away from Nessa—made her skin prickle with self-consciousness and her vulnerability turned into defensiveness. ‘You’re meant to be in France.’

Luc Barbier was shocked. And he was not a man who was easily shocked. But this slip of a girl—woman?—was talking back to him as if she hadn’t just flagrantly invaded his private property with clearly criminal intentions.

‘I was in France, and now I’m not.’

He allowed his gaze to inspect her more closely, and as he did he felt something infuse his blood...interest. Because he could see it now. Yes, she was a woman. Albeit slim and petite to the point of boyishness. But he could see her breasts, small and perfectly formed, pushing against the form-fitting fleece of her black top.

He could make out a jaw too delicate to be a man’s, and wondered how he hadn’t noticed it before. He also saw a very soft lower lip, which was currently caught between white teeth. He felt a very unwelcome stirring of desire and a need to see more.

‘Take off your cap,’ he heard himself demand before he’d even registered the impulse.

The small chin came up and that soft lip was freed from white teeth. He saw the tension in her. There was a taut moment when he wasn’t sure what she would do. Then, as if realising she had no choice, she raised a small hand and pulled the cap from her head.

For a moment Luc could only stare stupidly as a coil of long, dark red hair fell over her shoulder from where it had been stuffed under the cap.

And then he took in the rest of her face and felt even more foolish. He’d seen countless beautiful women, some of whom were considered to be the most beautiful in the world, but right now they were all an indistinct blur in his memory.

She was stunning. High cheekbones. Flawless creamy pale skin. A straight nose. Huge hazel eyes—flashing green and gold, with long dark lashes. And that mouth, lush and wide.

His body hardened, and the shock of such a reaction to this whippet of a girl made Luc reject the rogue reaction. He did not react to women unless it was on his terms. He was reacting because she was unexpected.

His voice was harsh. ‘Now, tell me who you are, or I call the police.’

Nessa burned inwardly from the thorough once-over Barbier had just given her. She felt very exposed without her cap. Exposed to the full impact of him up close. And she couldn’t look away. It was as if she were mesmerised by the sun. He was simply...beautiful, in a very raw, masculine way, all hard angles and sharp lines. But his mouth was provocatively sensual—the only softness in that face. It was distracting.

‘I’m waiting.’

Nessa flushed, caught out. She diverted her gaze, focusing on a picture of a famous racehorse on the wall behind him. She knew she really didn’t have a choice but to give him the information. The alternative was to give it to the Gardaí and, coming from such a small, close-knit community, she knew that word would go around within minutes as to what she had been doing. There was no such thing as privacy or anonymity here.

‘My name is Nessa...’ She hesitated and then said in a rush, ‘O’Sullivan.’ She snuck a glance back at Barbier and saw that he was frowning.

‘O’Sullivan? You’re related to Paddy?’

Nessa nodded miserably at what a disaster this evening’s escapade had become. ‘I’m his younger sister.’

Barbier took a moment to digest this and then he said, with a curl to his lip, ‘He’s sending his baby sister to do his dirty work?’

Nessa instantly rose to her brother’s defence. ‘Paddy is innocent!’

Luc Barbier looked unimpressed by her impassioned outburst. ‘He’s made a bad situation worse by disappearing, and the facts haven’t changed: he facilitated the purchase of a horse from Gio Corretti’s Sicilian stud. We received the horse a week ago and the one million euros duly left my account but never reached Corretti’s. It’s clear that your brother diverted the funds into his own pocket.’

Nessa blanched at the massive amount of money, but she forced herself to stay strong, for Paddy. ‘He didn’t divert funds. It wasn’t his fault. He was hacked—they somehow impersonated the stud manager in Sicily and Paddy sent the money through fully believing it was going to the right place.’

The lines in Barbier’s face were as hard as granite. ‘If that is the case then why isn’t he here to defend himself?’

Nessa refused to let herself crumble in the face of this man’s seriously intimidating stance. ‘You told him he would be prosecuted and liable for the full amount. He felt as if he had no choice.’

Paddy’s frantic voice came back into her head.

‘Ness, you don’t know what this guy is capable of. He fired one of the grooms on the spot the other day. There’s no such thing as innocent till proven guilty in Barbier’s world. He’ll chew me up and spit me out! I’ll never work in the industry again...’

Barbier’s mouth thinned. ‘The fact that he fled after that phone conversation only makes him look even guiltier.’

More words of defence sprang to Nessa’s lips but she swallowed them back. Trying to explain to this man that her brother had been entangled with the law when he’d gone through a rebellious teenage phase was hardly likely to make him sound less guilty. Paddy had worked long and hard to turn over a new leaf, but he’d been told that if he was ever caught breaking the law again he’d serve time and have a criminal record. That was why he’d panicked and run.

Luc Barbier regarded the woman in front of him. The fact that he was still indulging in any kind of dialogue with her was outrageous. And yet her vehemence and clear desire to protect her brother at all costs—even at her own expense—intrigued him. In his experience loyalty was a myth. Everyone was out for their own gain.

Something occurred to him then and he cursed himself for not suspecting it sooner. He’d been too distracted by a fall of thick red hair and a slender frame. It was galling.

‘Maybe you’re in on it? And you were trying to retrieve the laptop to ensure that any evidence was taken care of?’

Nessa’s limbs turned to jelly. ‘Of course I’m not in on anything. I just came here because Paddy—’ She stopped herself, not wanting to incriminate him further.

‘Because Paddy...what?’ Barbier asked. ‘Was too much of a coward? Or because he’s no longer in the country?’

Nessa bit her lip. Paddy had fled to America, to hide out with her twin brother, Eoin. She’d entreated him to come back, tried to assure him that his boss couldn’t be such an ogre. Paddy’s words floated back.

‘No one messes with Barbier. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got criminal links...’

For a moment Nessa had a sickening sensation. What if Barbier really was linked to—? She quickly shut that thought down, telling herself she was being melodramatic. But then a sliver of doubt entered her mind—what if Paddy was guilty?

As soon as that registered she lambasted herself, aghast that she could have thought it for a second. This man was making her doubt herself, and her brother, who she knew would never do something so wrong, no matter what his trangressions had been in the past.

Nessa’s jaw was tight. ‘Look. Paddy is innocent. I agree with you that he shouldn’t have run, but he has.’ She hesitated for a second, and then mentally apologised to her brother before saying, ‘He has a habit of running away when difficult things happen—he ran away for a week after our mother’s funeral.’

Barbier looked utterly remote and then he said, ‘I’ve heard the Irish have a gift for talking their way out of situations, but it won’t work with me, Miss O’Sullivan.’

Anger spiked again. ‘I’m not trying to get out of anything.’ She forced herself to calm down. ‘I was just trying to help by retrieving his laptop. He said that he could prove his innocence with it.’

Barbier picked up the slim silver laptop and held it up. ‘We’ve looked at the laptop extensively and there is no evidence to support your brother’s innocence. You’ve done your brother no favours. He now looks even guiltier and you’ve possibly implicated yourself.’

Luc watched as colour washed in and out of the woman’s expressive face. That in itself was intriguing, when so many people he encountered kept their masks firmly in place. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt free enough, if ever, to allow his real emotions to be seen.

Still, he wouldn’t believe this award-worthy display of innocence. He’d be a fool if he did and her brother had already taken him for a fool.

Nessa sensed any sliver of hope dwindling. Barbier was about as immovable as a rock. He put the laptop down and folded his arms again, settling his hips back against the desk behind him, legs stretched out, for all the world as if they were having a civil chat. There was nothing civil about this man. Danger oozed from every pore: Nessa just wasn’t sure what kind of danger. She felt no risk to her personal safety, in spite of Paddy’s lurid claims or the security man outside the door. It was a much more personal danger, to the place that throbbed with awareness deep inside her. An awareness that had been dormant all her life, until now.

Barbier’s tone was mocking. ‘So you really expect me to believe that you’re here purely out of love for your poor innocent brother?’

Fiercely she said, ‘I would do anything for my family.’

‘Why?’

Barbier’s simple question took her by surprise and Nessa blinked. She hadn’t even questioned Paddy when he’d called for help. She’d immediately felt every protective instinct kick into place even though she was younger than him.

Their family was a unit who had come through tough times and become stronger in the process.

Their older sister Iseult had kept them all in one piece—pretty much—after the tragic death of their mother, while their father had descended into the mire of alcoholism. She had shielded Nessa and her two brothers from their father’s worst excesses, and had slowly helped him to recovery even as their stud farm and stables had fallen apart around them.

But Iseult wasn’t here now. She had a much deserved happy life far away from here. It was up to Nessa to shoulder this burden for the sake of her brother, and her family.

She looked at Barbier. ‘I would do anything because we love each other and we protect each other.’

Barbier was silent for a long moment. Then he said, ‘So now you’re admitting that you’d go so far as to collude in a crime.’

Nessa shivered under the thin covering of her fleece. She felt very alone at that moment. She knew she could contact Sheikh Nadim of Merkazad, Iseult’s husband and one of the richest men in the world. He could sort this whole thing out within hours, if he knew. But she and Paddy had agreed they wouldn’t involve Iseult or Nadim. They were expecting a baby in a few weeks and did not need to be drawn into this mess.

She squared her shoulders and stared at Luc Barbier, hating his cool nonchalance. ‘Don’t you understand the concept of family and doing anything for them? Wouldn’t you do that for your own family?’

Barbier suddenly looked stony. ‘I have no family, so, no, I’m not familiar with the concept.’

A pang of emotion made Nessa’s chest tighten. No family. What on earth did that mean? She couldn’t fathom the lack of a family. That sense of protection.

Then he said, ‘If your family are so close then I will go to whoever is capable of returning either your brother or my money.’

Panic eclipsed Nessa’s spurt of emotion. ‘This just involves me and Paddy.’

Barbier raised a brow. ‘I will involve whoever and whatever it takes to get my money back and ensure no adverse press results from this.’

Nessa’s hands clenched to fists at her sides as she tried to contain her temper and appeal to any sense of decency he might have. ‘Look, not that it’s any business of yours, but my sister is going to have a baby very soon. My father is helping her and her husband and they don’t have anything to do with this. I’m taking responsibility for my brother.’

I’m taking responsibility for my brother.

There had been a tight ball of emotion in Luc’s chest ever since she’d asked if he understood the concept of family. Of course he didn’t. How could he when his Algerian father had disappeared before he was born, and his feckless, unstable mother had died of a drugs overdose when he was just sixteen?

The closest he’d ever come to family was the old man next door—a man broken by life, and yet who had been the one to show Luc a way out.

Luc forced his mind away from the memories. He was beyond incredulous that this sprite of a girl—woman—was insisting on standing up to him. And that she wasn’t using her beauty to try and distract him, especially when he couldn’t be sure that he’d hidden his reaction to her. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he felt a twinge of respect.

She was defiant, even in the face of possible prosecution. If she was calling his bluff she was doing it very, very well. He could still have the police here within minutes and she would be hauled off in handcuffs with the full weight of his legal team raining down on her narrow shoulders before she knew what was happening.

But it wasn’t as if the police were ever first on Luc’s list of people to turn to in this kind of situation. Not because he had more nefarious routes to keeping the law—he knew about the rumours surrounding him, and as much as they amused him, they also disgusted him—but because of his experiences growing up in the gritty outskirts of Paris. Surviving each day had been a test of endurance. The police had never been there when he’d needed them, so to say he didn’t trust them was an understatement.

He liked to take care of things his own way. Hence the rumours. Added on top of more rumours. Until he was more myth than man.

He forced his mind back to the task at hand. And the woman. ‘Where do we go from here, then, Miss O’Sullivan? If you’re prepared to take responsibility for your brother, then perhaps you could be so kind as to write me a cheque for one million euros?’

Nessa blanched. One million euros was more money than she was ever likely to see in her lifetime, unless her career as a jockey took off and people started giving her a chance to ride in big races and build her reputation.

She said, as firmly as she could, ‘We don’t have that kind of money.’

‘Well then,’ Barbier said silkily, ‘that gets us precisely no further along in this situation. And in fact it gets worse. Thanks to your brother’s actions, I will now have to hand over another one million euros to Gio Corretti to ensure that he doesn’t ask questions about why he hasn’t received the money yet.’

Nessa felt sick. She hadn’t considered that. ‘Maybe you could talk to him? Explain what happened?’

Barbier laughed but it was curt and unamused. ‘I don’t need to fuel the gossip mill with stories that I’m now claiming fraud to renege on payments.’

Nessa wanted to sit down. Her legs were wobbly again and she felt light-headed.

‘Are you all right?’ Barbier’s sharp question was like a slap to her face. She sucked in a deep breath. He’d taken a step towards her and suddenly the room felt even smaller. He was massive. And so dark. Possibly the most intimidating person she’d ever met.

She couldn’t fight this man. He was too rich, too successful. Too gorgeous. She swallowed. ‘I wish I could hand you over your money right now, Mr Barbier, believe me. But I can’t. I know my brother is innocent no matter what his actions look like.’

Nessa wracked her brains as to what she could do to appease Barbier so he wouldn’t go after Paddy. At least until Paddy had a chance to try and prove his innocence. But what could she offer this man? And then something struck her. ‘Look, all I can do is offer my services in his absence. If you have me, then can’t you accept that I’m willing to do all I can to prove his innocence?’

For a moment, Nessa’s words hung in the air and she almost fancied that she might have got through to him. But then he straightened from the desk and the expression on his face darkened. He spat out, ‘I should have known that veneer of innocence was too good to be true.’

That unnervingly black gaze raked her up and down, disdain etched all over his face. ‘I must admit, I might have felt differently if you’d come via the front door dressed in something a little more enticing, Miss O’Sullivan, but even then I can’t say that you’d be my type.’

Nessa struggled to understand—he couldn’t possibly mean...but then she registered what she’d said and how it might have sounded. And, she registered that he was looking at her with disgust, not disdain. Her gut curdled as a wave of mortification rushed through her whole body, along with hurt, which made it even worse. She burned with humiliation and fury.

‘You know I did not mean that.’

He raised an imperious brow. ‘What did you mean, Miss O’Sullivan?’

Nessa had started to pace in her agitation and she stopped and faced him. ‘Please stop calling me that—my name is Nessa.’

His voice was hard. ‘Nessa.’

The way he said her name impacted her physically, like a punch to her gut. She instantly regretted opening her mouth but Miss O’Sullivan was beginning to get under her skin. This man. This...meeting...was veering so far off course that she wasn’t even sure what they were talking about any more, or what was at stake.

She tried to force herself to stay focused, and calm. ‘What I meant, Mr Barbier, is that I will do everything in my power to convince you that my brother is innocent.’

CHAPTER TWO

LUC STARED AT Nessa O’Sullivan.

I will do everything in my power to convince you that my brother is innocent.

What kind of an empty suggestion was that? And why had it given him such an illicit thrill to see her act so shocked when he’d called her bluff? She’d blatantly offered herself to him—and then pretended that she hadn’t!

He wanted to laugh out loud. As if she were an innocent. There was no innocence in this world. Perhaps only in babies, before they grew up to be twisted and manipulated by their environment.

His conscience smarted to think of how he’d told her she wasn’t his type. He couldn’t deny the pounding of his blood right now. He told himself it was anger. Adrenalin. Anything but helpless desire.

Luc knew he should have walked away long ago and left her at the mercy of the authorities, no matter what he thought of them. He had enough evidence now to damn her, and her brother. But he knew that wasn’t necessarily the best option. Not for him.

She was staring at him, as if bracing herself for whatever he was going to say. She was throwing up more questions than answers and it had been a long time since anyone had piqued Luc’s interest like this.

What did he have to lose if he contained this himself? It wasn’t as if the local law enforcement could do any better than the private security company he’d already hired to investigate the matter and track down Paddy O’Sullivan.

One thing was clear. This woman wasn’t going to be walking away from here. He didn’t trust her. Not one inch of her petite form. Not after he’d seen how far she was prepared to go. And she wasn’t going anywhere until he had his money returned and he knew there was no damage to his reputation. If she was involved in this crime, then keeping her close would surely lead him back to the thief.

He folded his arms and saw the way her body tensed, as if to steel herself. In that moment she looked both defiant and vulnerable, and it caught at Luc somewhere he wasn’t usually affected. More acting. It had to be. He would not allow her to make a fool of him.

* * *

‘You say you want to convince me your brother is innocent?’

Nessa still felt sick to think that Barbier had taken her words to mean that she was offering herself up, like some kind of—She forced the thought out of her head. Of course this man would never look at someone like her in that way, but she didn’t need to be humiliated.

She tipped up her chin. ‘Yes.’

He was looking at her with unnerving intensity. She really couldn’t read him at all. Her mouth felt dry and instinctively she licked her lips. His gaze dropped to them for a second and her insides flipped. She ignored it, telling herself her reaction to him was due to the heightened situation.

His eyes met hers again. ‘Very well, then. You’re not leaving my sight until your brother accounts for his actions and my money is returned.’

Nessa opened her mouth but nothing came out for a moment. Then she said, ‘What do you mean, not leaving your sight?’

‘Exactly that. You’ve offered your services in place of your brother, so until he or my money returns you’re mine, Nessa O’Sullivan, and you will do exactly as I tell you.’

Nessa struggled to comprehend his words. ‘So you’re going to hold me as some kind of...collateral? As a prisoner?’

He smiled but it was mirthless. ‘Oh, you’re quite free to walk out this door, but you won’t make it to your car before the police catch up with you. If you want me to believe that you have nothing to do with this, and that your brother is innocent, then you will stay here and do your utmost to make yourself useful.’

‘How do you know about my car?’ Nessa asked, distracted for a moment and not liking the way panic had her insides in a vice grip.

‘You were tracked as soon as you parked that heap of junk outside my perimeter wall.’

Fresh humiliation washed over Nessa to think of her stealthy progress being watched in some security room. ‘I didn’t hear any alarms.’

He dismissed that with a curl of his lip. ‘Security here is silent and state of the art. Flashing lights and sirens would unsettle the horses.’

Of course it would. Hadn’t Nadim insisted on installing a similarly high-tech system on their own farm? Nessa searched in vain for some way to avoid being forced to spend an unknown amount of time under this man’s punitive command, even though she’d all but asked for it. ‘I’m a jockey and I work at our family farm—I can’t just walk away from that.’

Barbier’s black gaze flicked dismissively over her body again before meeting her eyes. ‘A jockey? Then how have I never heard of you?’

Nessa flushed. ‘I haven’t run many races. Yet.’ In recent years she’d gone to university and got a degree, so that had taken her out of the circuit for some time. Not that she was about to explain herself to Barbier.

He made a scathing sound. ‘I’m sure. Being a jockey is gritty, hard work. You look as if a puff of wind would knock you over. Somehow I can’t really see you rousing at dawn and putting in a long day of the back-breaking training and work that most jockeys endure. Your pretty hands would get far too dirty.’

Nessa bristled and instinctively hid her hands behind her back, conscious of how unpretty they were, but not wanting to show Barbier, even in her own defence. She still felt raw after his stinging remark, I can’t say that you’d be my type.

The unfairness of his attack left her a little speechless. Her family had all worked hard at their farm for as long as she could remember, getting up at the crack of dawn every day of the week and in all kinds of weather. Her family had certainly never lived a gilded life of leisure. Not even when Nadim had bought them out and pumped money into their ailing business.

‘Who do you ride for, then?’

She forced down the surge in emotion and answered as coolly as she could, ‘My family stables, O’Sullivans. I’m well used to doing my share of the work, believe it or not, and I’ve been training to be a jockey since I was a teenager. Just because I’m a woman—’

He held up a hand stopping her. ‘I have no issue with female jockeys. What I do have an issue with are people who get a free pass on their family connections.’

If Nessa had bristled before, now she was positively apoplectic. She’d had to work twice as hard to prove herself to her own family, if not even more. But she was aware that to really prove herself she’d have to get work with another trainer. It was a sensitive point for her.

‘I can assure you,’ she said in a low voice full of emotion, ‘that my being a jockey is not a vanity project. Far from it.’

She might have laughed if she were able to. Vanity—what was that? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn make-up.

Barbier looked unimpressed. ‘Well, I’m sure the family farm will cope without you.’

Nessa realised that she was damned if she walked out the door and and damned if she didn’t. But there was only one way of containing the situation and making sure that the rest of her family weren’t dragged into it, and that was doing as Barbier said. She wished she could rewind the clock and be safe at home in bed...but even as she imagined that scenario something inside her rejected it. Rejected the possibility of never having had the opportunity to see this man up close. The shock of that revelation made her stop breathing for a second, its significance terrifying to contemplate.

But the fact was that Nessa’s blood was throbbing through her veins in a way she’d never experienced before. Not even after an exhilarating win on a horse.

Shame bloomed deep inside her. How could she betray her own brother, her family, like this? By finding this man so...compelling? Telling herself that stress was making her crazy, she asked, ‘What will I be doing here?’ She tried to quash lurid images of herself, locked in a tower being fed only bread and water.

Barbier’s eyes flicked up and down over her body as if gauging what she might be capable of. Nessa bristled all over, again.

‘Oh, don’t worry, we’ll find something to keep you occupied, and of course any work you do will be in lieu of payment. Until your brother resurfaces, his debt is now yours.’

Barbier straightened up to his full intimidating height and Nessa’s pulse jumped.

‘I will have Armand escort you back to your home to retrieve what you need. You can give me your car keys.’

This was really happening. And there was nothing she could do about it. Nessa reluctantly reached into her pocket for her keys and took the car key off the main ring, all fingers and thumbs. Eventually she got it free, skin prickling under the laser-eyed scrutiny of Barbier.

She handed it over, a little devil inside her prompting her to say, ‘It’s a vintage Mini. I doubt you’ll fit.’ Even the thought of this man coiling his six-foot-plus frame into her tiny battered car was failing to spark any humour in the surreal moment. She really hadn’t expected the night to turn out like this...and yet she could see now that she’d been supremely naive to assume it would be so easy to infiltrate the Barbier stud.

He took the key. ‘It won’t be me retrieving your car.’

Of course. It would be a minion, despatched to take care of the belongings of the woman who was now effectively under house arrest for the foreseeable future.

Not usually given to dramatics, Nessa tried to quell her nerves. She was within five kilometres of her own home, for crying out loud. What was the worst this man could do to her? A small sly voice answered that the worst he could do had nothing to do with punishment for Paddy’s sins, and everything to do with how he made her feel in his presence. As if she were on a roller coaster hurtling towards a great swooping dip.

Barbier turned away and opened the office door to reveal the huge burly man still standing outside. They spoke in French so rapid that it was beyond Nessa’s basic grasp of the language to try and understand what they were saying.

Barbier turned back to her, switching to English. ‘Armand will escort you home to collect your things and bring you back here.’

‘Can’t I just return in the morning?’

He shook his head, looking even more stern now, and indicated for her to precede him. Mutely, Nessa stepped over the threshold and followed the thick-set security man back out the way she’d come. In the courtyard there was a sleek four-by-four car waiting. Armand opened a car door for her.

For a second Nessa hesitated. She saw the entrance to the courtyard and a glimpse of freedom, if she moved fast. From behind her she heard a deep voice. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

She turned around. Barbier was right behind her and looked even more intimidating in the dark. Taller, more austere. His face was all hard bones and slashing angles. Not even the softness of that provocative mouth visible.

Nessa put her hand on the car door, needing something to hold onto. ‘What happens when I come back?’

‘You’ll be informed when you do.’

Panic made her blurt out, ‘What if I refuse?’

She saw the gallic shrug. ‘It’s up to you but you’ve made it clear you don’t want to involve your family. If you refuse to return I can guarantee that that will be the least of your worries. You would be an accessory to a crime.’

Nessa shivered again in the cool, night-time air. She had no choice, and he knew it. Defeated, she turned and stepped up into the vehicle, and the door closed behind her.

The windows were tinted and Nessa was enclosed in blackness as the bodyguard came around the front of the vehicle and got into the driver’s seat. Barbier strode away from them towards the main building and she felt suddenly bereft, which was ridiculous when the man was holding her to ransom for her brother. You put yourself up for that ransom, a voice reminded her.

As they approached the main gates Nessa reluctantly gave Armand directions to her own home. They passed her lonely-looking car on the side of the road and she sucked in a deep breath, telling herself that if she could endeavour to persuade Paddy to return to prove his innocence, and prevent anyone else from getting involved, then this—hopefully!—brief punishment at the hands of Barbier would be worth it.

Nessa tried to call up her usually positive disposition. Surely if Barbier saw how far she was willing to go to prove her brother’s innocence, he’d be forced to reconsider and give Paddy a chance to explain, wouldn’t he?

But why was it that that seemed to hold less appeal than the thought of seeing Luc Barbier again? Nessa scowled at herself in the reflection of the tinted window of the car, glad she wasn’t under that black-eyed gaze when her face got hot with humiliation.

* * *

When Nessa returned a short while later the stud was in darkness and quiet. Armand handed her over to a middle-aged man with a nice face who looked as if he’d just been woken up, and he was not all that welcoming. He introduced himself as Pascal Blanc, Barbier’s stud and racing stables manager, his right-hand man, and Paddy’s one-time immediate boss.

He said nothing at first, showing her to a small spartan room above the stables. Clearly this was where the most menial staff slept. But still, it was clean and comfortable, when Nessa had almost expected a corner of the stables.

After giving her the basics of the Barbier stud schedule and informing her that, naturally, she would be assigned to mucking out the yard and stables, and to expect a five a.m. wake-up call, he stopped at her door. ‘For what it’s worth, I would have given Paddy the benefit of the doubt based on what I thought I knew of him. We might have been able to get to the bottom of this whole nasty incident. But he ran, and now there’s nothing I can do except hope for his sake and yours that he either returns himself or returns the money. Soon.’

Nessa couldn’t say anything.

Pascal’s mouth compressed. ‘Luc... Mr Barbier...does not take kindly to those who betray him. He comes from a world where the rule of law didn’t exist and he doesn’t suffer fools, Miss O’Sullivan. If your brother is guilty, then Luc won’t be gentle with him. Or you.’

Somehow these words coming from this infinitely less intimidating man made everything even bleaker. But all Nessa could find herself doing was asking, ‘You’ve known Mr Barbier for long?’

Pascal nodded. ‘Ever since he started to work with Leo Fouret, the first time he came into contact with a horse.’

Nessa was impressed. Leo Fouret was one of the most respected trainers in racing, with hundreds of impressive race wins to his name.

‘Luc didn’t grow up in a kind world, Miss O’Sullivan. But he is fair. Unfortunately your brother never gave him that chance.’

Luc didn’t grow up in a kind world... The words reverberated in Nessa’s head for a long time after she’d been left alone in the room. She eventually fell into a fitful sleep and had dreams of riding a horse, trying to go faster and faster—not to get to the finish line but to escape from some terrifying and unnamed danger behind her.

* * *

What on earth did she have to laugh about? Luc was distinctly irritated by the faint lyrical sound emanating from his stableyard, which was usually a place of hushed industry in deference to the valuable livestock. It could only be coming from one person, the newest addition to his staff: Nessa O’Sullivan.

Her brother had stolen from him and now she laughed. It sent the very insidious thought into Luc’s head that he’d been a total fool. Of course she was in on it with her brother and now she was inside the camp. It made him think of the Trojan Horse and he didn’t find it amusing.

He cursed and threw down his pen and stood up from his desk, stalking over to the window that looked down over the stables. He couldn’t see her and that irritated him even more when he’d deliberately avoided meeting her since her arrival, not wanting to give her the idea that their extended dialogue the other night would ever be repeated. Now he was distracted. When he couldn’t afford to be distracted.

He’d only just managed to convince Gio Corretti that the slight delay in money arriving to his account was due to a banking glitch.

Luc’s reputation amongst the exclusive thoroughbred racing fraternity had been on trial since he’d exploded onto the scene with a rogue three-year-old who had raced to glory in four consecutive Group One races.

Success didn’t mean respect though. He was an anomaly; he had no lineage to speak of and he’d had the temerity to invest wisely with his winnings and make himself a fortune in the process.

Everyone believed his horses were better bred than he was, and they weren’t far wrong. The rumours about his background merely added colour to every other misconception and untruth heaped against his name.

But, as much as he loved ruffling the elite’s feathers by making no apology for who he was, he did want their respect. He wanted them to respect him for what he had achieved with nothing but an innate talent, hard work and determination.

The last thing he needed was for more rumours to get around, especially one suggesting that Luc Barbier couldn’t control his own staff. That he’d been stupid enough to let one million euros disappear from his account.

Even now he still felt the burn of recrimination for finding Paddy O’Sullivan’s open expression and infectious enthusiasm somehow quaint. He should have spotted a thief a mile away. After all, he’d grown up with them.

Luc tensed when he heard the faint sound of laughing again. Adrenalin mixed with something far more ambiguous and hotter flooded his veins. Nessa O’Sullivan was here under sufferance for her brother—and that was all. The sooner she remembered her place and what was at stake, the better.

* * *

‘Who were you talking to?’

Nessa immediately tensed when she heard the deep voice behind her. She turned around reluctantly, steeling herself to see Barbier for the first time since that night. And she blinked.

The skies were blue and the air was mild but, in that uniquely Irish way, there seemed to be a mist falling from the sky and tiny droplets clung to Barbier’s black hair and shoulders, making him look as if he were...sparkling.

His hands were placed on lean hips. Dark worn jeans clung to powerful thighs and long legs. He was wearing a dark polo shirt. The muscles of his biceps pushed against the short sleeves, and the musculature of his impressive chest was visible under the thin material.

He couldn’t look more virile or vitally masculine if he tried. Nessa’s body hummed in helpless reaction to that very earthy and basic fact.

‘Well?’

Nessa was aghast at how she’d just lost it there for a second, hypnotised by his sheer presence.

She swallowed. ‘I was just talking to one of the grooms.’

‘You do realise you’re not here to socialise, don’t you, O’Sullivan?’

Tendrils of Nessa’s hair escaped the hasty bun she’d piled on her head earlier, and whipped around her face in the breeze. Her skin prickled at her reaction to him and irritation made her voice sharp. ‘It’s hard to forget when I’ve been assigned little more than a cell to sleep in and a pre-dawn wake-up call every day.’

She was very conscious of the unsubtle stench of horse manure clinging to her. And of her worn T-shirt tucked into even more worn jeans. Ancient knee-high boots. She couldn’t be any less his type right now.

A calculating glint turned his eyes to dark pewter. ‘You assured me you were accustomed to hard work and you did offer your services in the place of your brother—if this is too much for you...’ He put out a hand to encompass the yard around them.

Nessa stiffened at the obvious jibe. He was clearly expecting her to flounce out of here in a fit of pique. And yes, the work was menial but it was nothing she hadn’t done since she’d started walking and could hold a broom. That, and riding horses. Not that he’d believe her.

She squared her shoulders and stared him down. ‘If you don’t mind, the yard has to be cleaned by lunchtime.’

Barbier looked at the heavy platinum watch encircling his wrist, and then back to her. ‘You’d better keep going then, and next time don’t distract my employees from their own work. Flirting and gossiping won’t help your brother out of his predicament or make things any easier for you here.’

Flirting? For a second Nessa’s mind was blank with indignation when she thought of the groom she’d been talking to—a man in his sixties. But before she could think of anything to say in her own defence, Barbier had turned his back and was walking away.

In spite of her indignation, Nessa couldn’t stop her gaze following his broad back, seeing how it tapered down to those slim hips and a taut behind, lovingly outlined by the soft worn material of his jeans. He disappeared around a corner and Nessa deflated like a balloon. She turned around in disgust at herself for being so easily distracted, and riled.

Feeling thoroughly prickly and with her nerves still jangling, Nessa turned the power-hose machine back on and imagined Barbier’s too-beautiful and smug face in every scrap of dirt she blasted into the drains.

* * *

‘She’s totally over-qualified, Luc. She’s putting my own staff to shame, doing longer hours. I shouldn’t even be saying this but the yard and stables have never been so clean.’ Luc’s head groom laughed but soon stopped when Luc fixed him with a dark look.

‘No, you shouldn’t. Maybe you need new staff.’

Simon Corrigan swallowed and changed the subject. ‘Can I ask why we’re not paying her? It seems—’

‘No, you can’t.’ Luc cut him off, not liking the way his conscience was stinging. He was many things, but no one had ever faulted him on his sense of fairness and equality. But only he and Pascal Blanc knew what was behind Paddy O’Sullivan’s sudden disappearance, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Nessa had been working at his stables for a week now. She hadn’t turned tail and run or had a tantrum as he’d expected. He could still see her in his mind’s eye—standing in the yard the other day, her back as straight as a dancer, face flushed, amber-green eyes bright and alive. That soft lush mouth compressed. Long tendrils of dark red hair clinging to her hot cheeks as she’d obviously struggled to keep her temper in check.

Her T-shirt had been so worn he could make out the shape of her breasts—small, lush swells, high and firm.

He could also remember the feeling that had swept through him when he’d heard her carefree laugh. It hadn’t been anger that she might be up to something. It had been something much hotter and ambiguous; a sense of possessiveness that had shocked him. It wasn’t something he felt for anything much, except horses or business acquisitions.

‘Where is she now?’ Luc asked Corrigan abruptly.

‘She’s helping to bring the stallions in from the paddocks. Do you want me to give her a message?’

Luc shook his head. ‘No, I’ll do it.’

But when Luc got to the stallions’ stables Nessa was nowhere to be seen and all the stallions had been settled for the evening. Feeling a mounting frustration, he went looking for her.

* * *

‘You are a beautiful boy, aren’t you? Yes, you are...and you know it too. Yes, there you go...’ The three-year-old colt whinnied softly in appreciation as he took the raw carrot from Nessa’s hand and she rubbed his nose.

She knew she shouldn’t be here in the racing section of Barbier’s stables, where the current thoroughbreds resided, but she hadn’t been able to resist. She felt at peace for the first time in days, even as her body actually ached with the need to feel a horse underneath her with all that coiled power and strength and speed. But she wouldn’t be riding again for a while.

‘You were told to stay away from this area.’

And just like that Nessa’s short-lived sense of peace vanished and was replaced by an all-too predictable jump in her heart-rate. She turned around to see Barbier standing a few feet away, arms folded. He was wearing a white shirt, and it made his skin look even darker. His hair touched the collar, curling slightly.

‘I’m on a break,’ she responded defensively, wondering if he was this autocratic with all his employees. But she had to admit that, so far, everyone seemed pretty content to be working here. She’d found out that the employee who’d been fired on the spot had been smoking weed and she’d had to concede that he would have suffered a similar fate on their own stud farm. Barbier had also enrolled the employee on an addiction course. It was disconcerting to realise that perhaps he wasn’t as ruthless as she’d like to believe.

Barbier moved now and closed the distance between them before she could take another breath. He snatched the rest of the carrot out of her hand, frowning. ‘What are you feeding Tempest?’

‘It’s just a carrot.’ She pulled her hand back into her chest disconcerted by the shock his fleeting touch had given her.

He glared at her, and he was far too close, but Nessa’s back was against the stall door and the horse. She was trapped.

‘No one is allowed to feed my horses unless they’re supervised.’

Her mouth dropped open and then she sputtered, ‘It’s just a carrot!’

He was grim. ‘A carrot that could contain poison or traces of steroids for all I know.’

Nessa went cold. ‘You think I would harm your horses?’

His jaw was as hard as granite. ‘I’m under enough scrutiny as it is. I don’t need the possible accomplice of a thief messing around with my valuable livestock. I don’t know what you’re capable of. How did you know that this is the horse?’

Nessa struggled to keep up. ‘What horse?’

Now Barbier was impatient. ‘The horse I bought from Gio Corretti.’

Nessa swallowed. ‘I had no idea, I just came in for a visit. He seemed agitated.’

Barbier’s gaze went from her to the horse behind her and she took the opportunity to slide sideways, putting some distance between them. He put out a hand and stroked the side of Tempest’s neck, murmuring soft words in French. Nessa’s gaze locked onto his big hand stroking the horse, and she had to struggle not to imagine how that hand might feel on her. She’d never in her life imagined a man stroking her—she must be losing her mind.

The horse pushed his head into Barbier’s hand and Nessa glanced at Barbier to see his features relax slightly. For a heady moment she imagined that there was no enmity between them and that he might not always look at her as if she’d just committed a crime. She wondered what he’d look like if he smiled and then she glanced away quickly, mortified at herself and afraid he would read her shameful thoughts on her face.

Barbier said, ‘He’s been agitated since he arrived, not settling in properly.’

Welcoming the diversion from her wayward imagination, Nessa replied, ‘He’s probably just pining for his mother.’

Barbier looked at her sharply, his hand dropping away. ‘How would you know such a thing?’

Nessa flushed and kept avoiding his eye. How could she explain the weird affinity for horses that she shared with her sister and father? She shrugged. ‘I just guessed.’

Barbier’s voice was harsh. ‘Gio Corretti told me and your brother that we might have issues settling the colt because he hadn’t been separated from his mother until recently, which is unusual. That’s how you know.’

Nessa looked at Barbier and saw the condemnation and distrust in his eyes. How could she defend a gut feeling? She shrugged and looked away. ‘If you say so.’

Without realising it, Nessa’s hand had instinctively lifted up to touch the horse again, until suddenly Barbier reached out and took it. Nessa jumped at the weird electricity that sparked whenever they got too close. She tried to pull her hand back but his grip was too firm. And warm.

He was holding her palm facing upwards, and asked grimly, ‘What is this?’

She looked down and saw what he saw: her very unpretty hands, skin roughened from her training as a jockey and blistered from the last few days of hard work. Humiliated at the thought that he’d see this as proof she wasn’t used to work, she yanked her hand back and cradled it to her chest again. ‘It’s nothing.’

She backed away towards the entrance. ‘I should go—my break is over.’ She turned and forced herself to walk and not run away, not even sure what she was running from. But something about the way he’d just taken her hand and looked so disapproving to see the marks of her labour made her feel incredibly self-conscious and also a little emotional, which was truly bizarre.

Nessa couldn’t recall the last time anyone had focused attention on her like that. Her sister had done her best but she wasn’t their mother. Their father hadn’t been much use while he’d drowned his sorrows.

So they’d had to fend for themselves mostly. She hadn’t even realised until that moment how much another’s touch could pierce her right to the core. And for it to have been Luc Barbier was inconceivable and very disturbing. She didn’t have an emotional connection with that man—the very notion was ridiculous.

* * *

Luc watched as Nessa walked quickly out of the stables and around the corner with an easy athletic grace that made him wonder what she’d be like on a horse. Excellent, his instincts told him, as much as he’d like to ignore them.

He was still astounded at the apparent ease with which she’d calmed Tempest, who was one of the most volatile horses Luc had ever bought. But also potentially one of the best, if his hunch about the colt’s lineage was right. Certainly Gio Corretti had asked for top dollar, so he’d clearly suspected potential greatness too.

Luc turned back to the horse, who pushed his face into Luc’s shoulder, nudging. Did Luc really believe Nessa would poison the horse? He held up the innocuous, gnarled carrot and eventually fed it to the horse with a sigh.

The answer came from his gut: no, she wouldn’t poison his horse. She’d looked too shocked when he’d said it. But the fact was that, until her brother reappeared or the money did, the jury was out on Nessa O’Sullivan and he had to keep her under close scrutiny. He’d be a fool not to suspect that brother and sister were working in tandem.

Luc told himself it was for this reason, and not because her raw hands had twisted something inside his gut, that he was about to move her to where she could be kept under closer scrutiny.

CHAPTER THREE

‘I’M MOVING YOU out of the stables and into the house.’

Nessa looked at Luc Barbier where he stood behind his desk. She’d been summoned here a few minutes ago by the head groom, Simon Corrigan, and she’d tried not to let the understated luxury of the grand old Irish country house intimidate her.

This was where Barbier’s suite of private offices were based and now she stood on thick sumptuous carpet and was surrounded by dark oak panelling. Books filled floor-to-ceiling shelves. In contrast to the rather conservative decor, there was modern art on the walls that tickled at Nessa’s curiosity. And behind Barbier, a massive window where Nessa could see the training gallops in the distance. An amazing view and one that made her yearn to be on a horse.

But she dragged her attention back to what he’d said. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I said, I’m moving you into the house.’ He enunciated the words slowly, which only made his accent more noticeable. Nessa still couldn’t get over the raw, untameable energy that emanated from the man, in spite of the luxe surroundings.

She felt a bit dense. ‘Why?’

‘My housekeeper has lost one of her household assistants and so I told her you would fill in.’

‘Household assistant,’ Nessa said slowly as it sank in. ‘You mean a cleaner?’

Barbier grimaced faintly. ‘I think they prefer the term household assistant.’

A faint burn of humiliation washed up through her body. ‘This is because I went to see your racehorses.’

Barbier’s jaw tightened. ‘I’m not so petty.’

Nessa thought of being cooped up indoors cleaning floors and already felt claustrophobic. ‘You accused me of potential sabotage.’

Barbier’s jaw got even tighter. ‘At this point in time I have no idea what you’re capable of. You’ve put yourself in this position in a bid to convince me your brother is innocent. Mrs Owens, my housekeeper, needs someone to help her out—’

‘And I’m just the handy house-arrest guest you can move about at will to wherever it suits you,’ Nessa interrupted, feeling frustrated and angry.

‘You’re the one who is here by choice, Nessa. By all means you’re free to walk out this door at any time, but if you do I won’t hesitate to involve the local police.’

Nessa tipped up her chin, feeling reckless. ‘So why don’t you do it, then? Just call them!’

Barbier didn’t look remotely fazed at her outburst. ‘Because,’ he said easily, ‘I don’t believe it serves either of our interests to involve the law at this point. Do you really want to drag your family name into the open and inform everyone of what your brother has done?’

Nessa went cold inside when she thought of the lines of pain already etched into her father’s face. Indelible lines that would never fade even in spite of his much better mental state. She thought of Iseult’s frantic worry and her husband, Nadim, who would undoubtedly storm in to take over—just weeks before their baby was due.

Nessa looked at the man in front of her and hated him at that moment. Hated the way he was able to hold her to ransom so easily, and then that hatred turned inwards. She only had herself to blame. And Paddy.

She had taken responsibility and she couldn’t crumble now.

She forced down an awful feeling of futility and said, ‘No, I don’t want anyone to know what has happened. If I stay and do as you ask, can you promise that you won’t report what Paddy has done?’

Barbier inclined his head slightly. ‘Like I said, it serves us both to keep this to ourselves for the time being.’

Nessa wondered why he was so reluctant to let this get out, but then she realised that he would hardly like it to be known that payment for a horse had gone astray. It would put off potential sellers everywhere.

For a fleeting moment Nessa considered threatening to leak this news in return for Barbier’s assurance that Paddy wouldn’t be prosecuted. But she realised, without even testing him, that Barbier was not a man who could be so easily manipulated.

Apart from which, she didn’t have the stomach for blackmail, and there would be no way that Paddy’s reputation could remain unsullied. He might never get the chance to prove his innocence, and with the stain of possible theft and corruption on his record he’d never get a job in the industry he loved again. It would ruin him. Not to mention the disappointment of their father and sister...

As if privy to her thoughts, Barbier said, ‘You’re the only insurance Paddy has at the moment. His only guarantee of any kind of protection. You walk out of here and that’s gone, along with any sliver of doubt I may have about his guilt.’

Nessa’s heart thumped hard at that. So there was a chance that Barbier might believe in Paddy, if she could just convince him to return and explain what had happened. She had to cling onto that.

Not even sure what she wanted to say but wanting to capitalise on any sliver of mercy she could, she started, ‘Mr Barbier—’

‘It’s Luc,’ he cut her off. ‘I don’t stand on ceremony with anyone, not even a suspected thief.’

He didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her, yet he would still allow her to call him by his first name. Nessa didn’t like how his bad opinion of her affected her. She’d never done a dishonest thing in her life—apart from creeping onto this property on that fateful night.

She told herself that she just didn’t like anyone thinking badly of her—and that Barbier’s opinion of her wasn’t important. But that felt like a lie.

‘Fine, I’ll work in the house.’

The corner of his mouth tipped up ever so slightly in a mocking smile. ‘I like how you give yourself the illusion of having a choice.’

Nessa controlled her facial expression, not wanting to let him know how much he got to her. ‘Was that all?’

Now he looked slightly frustrated, as if he’d expected something else from her. After a moment he just said coolly, ‘Yes, Mrs Owens will send for you and show you what she needs. You’ll move into one of the staff bedrooms here.’

So she was to be completely removed from the realm of the stud farm and racing stables. Her heart contracted at the thought of being away from the horses, but at the same time an illicit fizz started in her body at the realisation that she’d be sleeping under the same roof as Barbier—Luc.

She’d never be able to say his name out loud; it felt far too intimate.

And not that she’d even see him, she assured herself. Not that she wanted to see him! She’d probably be confined to cleaning bathrooms and vacuuming hallways. Nessa left his office with as much dignity as she could muster.

En route back to her own quarters, she diverted and went to the paddocks where the stallions idly grazed the lush grass.

One of the huge beasts came over and whinnied, pushing his face into Nessa’s shoulder. She dutifully pulled out the ubiquitous carrot she always carried and fed it to him, stroking his soft nose and feeling ridiculously at sea.

Being sequestered indoors and kept away from the bucolic expanse and the animals was more of a punishment than mucking out stableyards and stables ever could be. But Nessa couldn’t convince herself that Barbier was doing it out of spite. He really didn’t seem that petty.

Instead, she couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d taken her hand in his and looked at her rough skin so fiercely the other day. She’d felt self-conscious ever since then. She curled her hands inwards now and shoved them back into her pockets, backing away from the horse.

As she walked back to the main buildings she told herself it was ridiculous to imagine for a second that Barbier had moved her away from the stables for any other reason than just because she was bound to serve out her time here however he willed it.

The man couldn’t care less about her labour-worn hands, and, anyway, hot soapy water and housework were hardly going to be any less taxing or more gentle! She just had to get on with it and make the best of this situation until they could prove Paddy’s innocence.

* * *

It took a long time for the heat in Luc’s body to die down after Nessa had left his office. He’d had to battle the urge to push his desk aside and take that stubborn chin in his thumb and forefinger, tipping it up so that she presented her lush mouth to his. Silencing her in a way that would be unbelievably satisfying.

It was confounding. And irritating as hell. Especially as she was wearing nothing more provocative than a worn T-shirt, jeans and boots, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and no make-up. Yet there was something very earthy and sensual about her that made her all woman.

That, and the defiant tilt of her jaw and the look in her eyes, effortlessly enflamed him. He had the same impulse when he was around her that he had with an unbroken horse. A desire to tame it, and make it bend to his will.

He’d never before become so interested in one woman. Women had never enthralled Luc beyond the initial attraction, and it usually waned quickly. He’d be the first to admit his experience of women hadn’t been the most rounded. His mother had shown only the briefest moments of motherly love, before her addictions had swallowed her whole.

The girls in his milieu had been as gritty and tough as him, broken by their surroundings and circumstances. And if they weren’t broken then they got out and went far away, exactly as he had done.

Sometimes, the women who frequented the social sphere he now inhabited reminded him of the girls and women of his youth. They were hard and gritty too, but hid it under a shiny, expensive sheen.

But Nessa was none of those things, which intrigued him in spite of his best instincts. And she was out of bounds, for many reasons, not least of which was her suspected collusion with her brother.

He knew without arrogance that she was attracted to him. He saw it in her over-bright eyes and pink cheeks, her taut body that quivered slightly in his presence. He felt fairly sure she must know that he was attracted to her—in spite of his words that first night. I can’t say that you’d be my type. Apparently she was.

Yet she wasn’t testing him by using their chemistry to try and leverage any advantage. He didn’t think a woman existed who wouldn’t. Unless she was playing some game. That was far more probable.

He stood at his window now, the view encompassing the gallops in the distance where his thoroughbreds were being exercised, and the stud farm just out of sight on the other side.

He had both sides of the industry here—racing and breeding. It gave him immense satisfaction to see it all laid out before him, except today, for the first time, there was a slight dilution of that satisfaction. As if something had taken the sheen off it. As if something was reminding him that he hadn’t made it yet. Not really.

Luc scowled. He knew he hadn’t made it yet, not completely. No matter how many winners he had or sired with his stallions.

He wouldn’t have made it until he was respected by his peers, and not looked at with varying degrees of suspicion.

It was the only fulfilment he wanted. He had no desire for the things most normal people wanted—family, security, love. What was love anyway? It was a foreign concept to Luc that came far too close to believing in trust, and such notions as fate and chance.

He couldn’t understand Nessa’s blind defence of her brother—unless she was getting something out of it too. It was inconceivable she was doing it out of pure affection or loyalty.

All that existed for him were the solid successes he’d manifested out of sweat and dogged ambition. The legacy he would leave behind would tell a different story from the one he’d been handed at birth. His name would endure as a gold standard in racing.

And yet now, for the first time, he had the disquieting suspicion that even if every one of his peers were to look him in the eye with the utmost respect, he’d still feel less than them.

A movement to the far right in the stud stableyard area caught Luc’s eye and he welcomed the distraction. He turned his head just in time to catch a flash of dark red hair coiling down a slim back before Nessa disappeared around a corner. His reaction was instant and intense, making him scowl even harder at his body’s lack of control.

His body pulsed with need. He should be pushing this woman further away, leaving it to his staff to keep her in check. But instead he was bringing her closer.

He was experiencing a kind of hunger he’d only felt once before, when he’d had his first taste of the wider world outside the gloomy Parisian suburbs and had made the vow to never end up back there again. He’d taken that hunger, and used it.

This hunger, however, would be crushed. Because it could do nothing to enhance his success, or his life. Resisting her would be a test of his will to not demean himself.

* * *

‘Here—last job of the day, love, go up and do the boss’s private suite. He’s due back from Paris later this evening and I never had a chance to get around to it, what with the preparations for the party this weekend.’

Nessa took the basket containing cleaning products from Mrs Owens and hated that her skin got hot just at the mention of the boss and that he was returning soon. He’d been at his Paris stables for the past three days, which hadn’t felt as much of a respite as Nessa had thought it would.

Angry with herself for still being so aware of him when he wasn’t even here, she focused on feeling relieved that the day was nearly over. There was something particularly soul-sucking about doing housework all day, every day, and as Nessa had polished the silver earlier she’d revised her opinion that Luc Barbier wasn’t petty.

They’d also been busy preparing for a huge party that was being thrown at the house that weekend, to launch the most prestigious racing event in the Irish season.

Just as the homely housekeeper was turning away she stopped and said, ‘I’ve left fresh bedlinen in his room, so just strip the bed and remake it. Once you’re done with that you’re off for the evening.’

Nessa went upstairs to the second floor of the villa-style country house, still marvelling at the opulence. It was about two hundred years old. All the bedroom suites were on the second floor. The first floor was taken up with Barbier’s—Luc’s—office and a gym. There was also a vast media room with a private cinema and informal meetings rooms.

The ground floor held the grand ballroom—prepared for the party now—with French doors opening out onto exquisite manicured gardens. It also had the main, and less formal, dining rooms and reception rooms.

The basement was where the vast kitchen and staff quarters were laid out. All in all a very grand affair. It certainly put Nessa’s family farmhouse to shame, even though it too had been refurbished to a high standard since Iseult had married Nadim. It was a far more modestly sized house, though.

Nessa reached the second floor, and walked to the end of the corridor past all the guest rooms to where Luc’s rooms were based. He had one entire wing, and she found she was holding her breath slightly as she opened the door.

His scent hit her instantly. Woody and musky. It curled through her nose and deep into the pit of her belly. Cursing herself for her reaction, she strode into the main reception room, dumping the basket of cleaning supplies and resolutely opening the sash windows to let some air in. She told herself the room was musty, not musky and provocative.

Still, she couldn’t help but look around. The room was huge and open plan, with soft grey furnishings in muted tones. The same stunning modern art that she’d seen in his office was dotted around the walls, along with sculptures, huge coffee-table books on photography, art, and movies. More books than she’d ever seen in her life, ranging from thrillers to the classics.

The decor and objects reflected a far more cerebral man than Nessa would have guessed existed under Barbier’s brooding, sexy exterior.

She had to force herself to remember why she was here and not give into the impulse to pluck out a book from the shelves and curl up on one of the sumptuous couches to read. She realised that she was more weary than she’d realised—the stress of the situation and hard work, mixed with nights of fitful sleep, wasn’t a good combination. But she wasn’t a wilting lily, and normally worked harder than most, so it annoyed her to find herself feeling tired now.

She scooped up the cleaning supplies and set to work dusting and cleaning. Eventually, as if she’d been putting it off, she went into the bedroom area. She opened the doors and the first thing that hit her eyeline was the bed. It was massive, dominating the room. Much like the man.

It was a modern bed with a dark grey headboard that reminded her ridiculously of his eyes and how they could turn dark silver. A detail she shouldn’t even be aware of.

Apart from the bed there were some built-in wardrobes, a sleek chest of drawers and bedside tables. What was striking was the absence of anything of particularly personal value. No photos. No stuff. Just some clothes draped on one of the chairs and the rumpled bedsheets, which she avoided looking at.

Then she spied two more doors that revealed a walk-in closet and a luxurious bathroom complete with wetroom shower and a tub that looked big enough to take a football team.

Nessa set about cleaning the bathroom, trying not to breathe in his scent, which was everywhere. She picked up a bottle of cologne and guiltily sniffed it before putting it down again hastily.

Disgusted with herself, she finished cleaning and went back into the bedroom, pulling off the crumpled sheets and trying not to imagine that they were still warm from his body. Would he sleep naked? He seems like the kind of man who would...

Nessa stopped dead for a moment, shocked at the vivid turn of her imagination, and at the way she suddenly hungered to know what he would look like—imagining the sexy naked sprawl of that big bronzed body all too easily, and knowing her imagination probably fell far short of reality. Her pulse became slow and hot.

She had to face the unpalatable fact that Luc Barbier had succeeded where no other man had. He’d awoken her hormones from their dormant state. Their virginal state. And it was beyond humiliating that the first man she should feel lust for was the last man who would ever look at her like that.

She’d often wondered why she’d never felt particularly roused by other boys’ kisses at university, and her lack of response had earned her a reputation of being standoffish. She’d closed inwards after that, choosing to avoid exposing herself and risk being mocked.

Nessa made the bed as clinically as she could, ignoring the faint dent near the centre that indicated where he slept. When she was done she made one more sweep of the rooms to make sure she hadn’t missed anything and collected all the cleaning materials. She stepped inside the bedroom one last time to run her eye over the now-pristine bed and was about to step back out and shut the door when something caught her eye outside.

She went over to the window, putting the basket down for a moment. The view took her breath away; the sun was setting over the gallops, bathing everything in a lush golden light. There were no horses being exercised now, but Nessa could remember how it felt to harness a thoroughbred’s power as it surged powerfully beneath her. There was a wide window seat and Nessa sat down, curling her legs underneath her, enjoying the view for an illicit moment.

Nessa suspected that she knew exactly why she had avoided physical intimacy until now. Their mother’s death had profoundly affected everyone in her family: Iseult had grown up overnight to become their mother and much more, and the boys had gone off the rails in their own ways but had always turned to each other. Even though Nessa was a twin to Eoin, they’d never had that bond people spoke of.

Their father had gone to pieces.

But Nessa had been too young to do much but internalise all of her own pain and grief, too acutely aware of everyone else’s struggles to let it out. She’d always been terrified of what might come out of her if she did. It had been easier to retreat emotionally, and concentrate on her dreams of being a great jockey.

But sometimes the pain in her chest—her unexpressed grief—took her breath away. And sometimes, when she looked at her sister Iseult with her husband and she saw their incredibly intimate bond, she felt envious of that relationship, even as it made her heart palpitate with fear. She couldn’t imagine ever allowing herself to love someone that much, for fear of losing them. For fear of the devastation the loss would cause.

Up until now she’d avoided sex because getting close to someone had seemed like too high a price. And yet, when she thought of Luc Barbier, the last thing on her mind was the emotional price.

* * *

Luc was tired and frustrated. He’d spent the last three days working intensively with one of his brightest hopes, a horse called Sur La Mer. He was due to race in a few weeks in France but none of his jockeys seemed capable of getting the horse to perform to his maximum ability. Luc would ride the horse himself if he weren’t six feet four and two hundred pounds.

Luc was also frustrated in a far more difficult area—sexually. It was not a state he was used to. He didn’t do sexual frustration. He desired a woman, he had her and he moved on.

But only one woman had dominated his thoughts in France. Nessa O’Sullivan. He’d gone to a glitzy charity auction in Paris that was abounding with beautiful women. Not one had piqued his interest. Instead he’d found himself wondering what Nessa would look like out of those jeans that seemed to be shrink-wrapped to her taut thighs. Or the series of worn T-shirts that did little to conceal her lithe body and firm breasts. Or what her hair would look like teased into luxurious waves, rippling down a bare back.

Dieu. He cursed himself as he strode down the corridor to his bedroom, relishing the prospect of a cold shower and bed.

But when Luc opened the door to his bedroom all of his instincts snapped onto high alert. An old habit from when his environment had spelled danger from sunrise to sunset.

He saw the basket of cleaning supplies first, on a table near the door. And then he saw her and his breath stopped in his chest. He wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

She was curled up on the wide window seat, fast asleep. Her knees were leaning to one side, and her head was leaning against the window as if she’d been looking at the view of the gallops.

He moved closer and his hungry gaze tracked down over her body—he was disappointed that she wasn’t wearing the jeans and T-shirt combination that had enflamed his imagination. She was wearing the plain black trousers and black shirt that all his household staff wore. Flat, functional sneakers.

The shirt had untucked from her trousers, and he could see the tiniest bare patch of her waist and her paler than pale skin. Blood roared to his head and groin in a simultaneous rush.

He was incensed at her effect on him, and at his growing obsession with her.

As if finally becoming aware of his intense scrutiny, she shifted slightly and Luc looked at her face to see long dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks for a moment before her eyes opened sleepily. He watched as she slowly registered where she was, and who was in front of her.

Her cheeks flushed and those huge eyes widened until all he could see was dark, golden green. He wanted to slip right into those pools and lose himself...

A tumult raged inside him as she looked up and blinked innocently, as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. He might have almost believed for a second that she hadn’t planned this little set-up.

‘Well, well, well, what do we have here?’ He looked her over slowly and thoroughly, fresh heat flooding his veins when he saw the thrust of her breasts against the shirt. It made his voice harsh. ‘You would have been much more comfortable and made it easier for both of us if you’d stripped naked and waited in my bed.’

CHAPTER FOUR

NESSA LOOKED UP at Luc Barbier, who was towering over her with a dark scowl on his face and stubble on his jaw. For a blessed foggy moment, just before the adrenalin kicked in, his words hung harmlessly in the air between them.

His hair was tousled, as if he’d been running a hand through it, and he was wearing a white shirt, open at the neck, revealing a glimpse of dark skin. Awareness sizzled to life, infusing her with an urgency she felt only around him.

And then his words registered. It was like an electric shock or a slap across the face. Nessa was wide awake, and she scrambled off the window seat to stand on wobbly legs.

Her hair was coming loose from where it had been piled messily on her head to keep it out of the way. She was thoroughly rumpled, she smelled of cleaning products and he really thought...? Bile rose in her throat.

‘How dare you insinuate such a thing?’ Her voice was scratchy from sleep and she was burningly aware—even as she said that—of how bad this looked. She cursed herself for allowing her weariness to get the better of her.

Luc’s head reared back, arms folded across his chest. ‘I walk into my bedroom and find a woman, pretending to be asleep, waiting for me...like I said, they’re usually in my bed and wearing a lot less but the message is essentially the same. They’re here for one thing.’

Nessa was speechless at his sheer arrogance. Eventually she managed to get out, through waves of indignation and far more disturbing physical reactions, ‘Well, I hate to burst your ego bubble but that was the last thing on my mind. I was cleaning your room, then I sat down for a minute and I fell asleep. I apologise for that. But I did not come here to...to...’

He raised a brow. ‘To seduce me?’

Before she could respond to that, he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘I might as well tell you now that kinky role-play doesn’t really do it for me. I’m a traditionalist that way. When I make love it’s intense, thorough and without the need for embellishment.’

A flash of heat went up Nessa’s spine to imagine just how intense his lovemaking would be. Little beads of sweat broke out between her breasts and in the small of her back. Anger rose too. Anger that it was him who was firing up all her nerve-endings.

‘I am not here to make love with anyone. My only crime was to fall asleep on the job and if you’ll excuse me now I’ll leave you in peace.’

She went to step away and out of his orbit but he caught her arm after muttering something that sounded very French and rude under his breath. His hand encircled her whole upper arm and his fingers were brushing the side of her breast. Nessa’s pulse rocketed, and in the dim lights of the room—night had fallen outside...just how long had she been asleep?—all she could see were the forbiddingly gorgeous lines of Luc’s face.

‘Peace?’ He almost spat the word out. ‘I’ve had precious little peace since your brother absconded with one million euros and then his temptress of a sister turns up to play sidekick. Just what is your agenda, Nessa? What game are you playing here? Because I warn you now that you will get burned if you think you can play with me and get away with it.’

His dark intensity was totally intimidating, but somehow Nessa managed to pull her arm free and step away. Shakily she said, ‘I’m not playing any games. I wouldn’t know how. I really didn’t come here with some nefarious intention to seduce you.’

She bit her lip to stop a semi-hysterical giggle from emerging. She wouldn’t know how to seduce her way out of a paper bag, never mind a man like Luc Barbier. The very notion was ridiculous.

His mouth thinned. ‘You really expect me to believe that you fell asleep like Sleeping Beauty in the fairy tale, waiting for her prince?’

Heat rushed into her cheeks—she had been mooning about his suite like some lovelorn teenager earlier. It wasn’t like her at all. ‘I don’t believe in fairy tales,’ she said stiffly. ‘And don’t worry, I know you’re no prince.’

He put two hands on her arms now, swinging her around to face him properly. His eyes had turned to cold steel. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I...’ Words got stuck in Nessa’s throat. She couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything but Luc’s face above hers. The sensual lines were mesmerising. ‘I didn’t mean anything.’

Except she had, she realised. She’d just articulated it badly. This man was no prince, he was a marauding sultan, or a king. Uncultivated and suave all at once. Infinitely hard but also soft, as when he’d put a hand to his horse.

His mouth twisted. ‘I might never be a prince, but you’re in no position to look down on me, the sister of a common thief who thought she could seduce her way to paying back her brother’s debt. Like I said, you could have saved a lot of conversation if you’d been waiting in my bed naked instead of playing out this elaborate charade of innocence.’

Nessa’s hand had lifted and connected with Luc’s cheek before she even realised what she’d done. Shock coursed through her system as the sting registered on her hand and Luc’s face turned from the blow. All her anger drained away instantly.

He turned back slowly, face even darker now, a livid handprint showing on his cheek. Horrified, Nessa used his name for the first time. ‘Luc, I’m so sorry. But I didn’t mean it like that, and Paddy’s not a common thief. He’s really not—’

‘Stop talking, you little hellcat, I don’t want to hear another word.’ His voice was rough.

Before Nessa could even think of uttering another word, Luc had pulled her right into him, so that her body was welded to his. All she could feel was whipcord strength and heat.

All she could see were his eyes, fathomless and like molten steel. She realised he was livid and yet she felt no fear. She only felt an intense excitement. She opened her mouth but he said, ‘Not another word.’

And then his mouth covered hers, and words were the last thing on Nessa’s mind as heat fused with white light and poured into every vein in her body to create a scorching trail of fire.

Shock rendered her helpless to Luc’s savage sensuality and her own immediately rampant response.

Luc’s arm went around her back, arching her into him even more, and his mouth began to move over hers. But this was no gentle exploration, and it left any other kisses she’d shared with boys in a far distant universe. This did not leave her cold, or unmoved. This was igniting her very soul.

It was mastery, pure and simple. And domination. And punishment. And yet despite all those things that should have had Nessa tensing and squirming to be free, she strained to be even closer, raising her arms to twine them about Luc’s neck. If she could have climbed into his skin, she would have.

She opened her mouth under his, instinctively seeking a deeper kiss, wanting to taste him with every fibre of her being. His fingers threaded through her hair, catching her head, angling it so that he could give her exactly what she wanted, but on his terms.

He consumed her, demanding nothing less than total surrender, and Nessa knew only one thing: that she wanted to surrender, with no doubt or hesitation in her mind. It was as if every moment in her life had been building up to this conflagration.

She was drowning in liquid heat and could feel it, slippery, between her legs. Luc’s mouth left hers and she heard a soft moan emanating from her mouth. He trailed kisses over her jaw and down her neck. Her head fell back, too heavy.

The only sounds in the room were harsh breathing and the thump thump of her heart. Luc’s hand was on her shirt, deftly opening the buttons. Cool air hit her bare skin and her nipples drew into tight, hard points.

The world tipped on its axis and Nessa only realised moments later that Luc had sat down on the edge of the bed, bringing her with him so that now she sat on his lap. She was dizzy, and thought that this must be how it felt to be drunk: light-headed and euphoric.

He was pushing her shirt open, and she looked at him and saw an almost feral expression on his face. He cupped one of her lace-covered breasts. Breasts that had always felt very inadequate to Nessa. But now when she looked down she could see how she perfectly filled his palm. As if she’d been made for his hands alone.

He pulled down the lace cup, baring her flesh, and she bit her lip to stop from moaning, pleading. His thumb skated over one small hard nipple and it sent electric shocks through her whole body.

He looked at her and smiled and Nessa realised that he hadn’t smiled at her once until now. And it was as devastating as she’d suspected it might be. Wicked, seductive, gorgeous and irresistible.

Lust and need cocooned them from reality, and for one wild second Nessa could almost convince herself that perhaps she was still asleep and this was all just a very vivid dream.

But she knew it wasn’t a dream, and she knew that it was very important that she stand up and stop this.

Luc’s head was dipping towards her breast and Nessa had never wanted anything more than to surrender completely to this moment, but something within her, some small sane voice, broke through. She put her hands on Luc’s shoulders and levered herself off his lap, feeling like a foal trying to stand for the first time.

Luc just looked at her as if he couldn’t quite believe she’d moved away, and Nessa realised she was half naked. She pulled at her shirt, scrambling to do up at least one or two buttons. The bare flesh of her breast chafed against the material, sensitised by his touch.

She forced out, through the clamour of her own desire, ‘I didn’t come here for this. I really didn’t.’

Luc’s body was hard and throbbed with a need to claim and possess, things he’d never felt for a woman before. Nessa was looking at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, and hair coming loose.

I didn’t come here for this. Something slid into Luc’s mind: the very rogue possibility that she had just fallen asleep while on the job. And then he dismissed it. She was playing with him and he would not be manipulated like this. He’d already exposed himself far too much. And the fact that she’d been the one to pull away, signalling she was more in control than he was, was even more exposing.

Luc forced his blood to cool, and stood up in a fluid motion. Nessa took a step back. The thought that she was stepping back from him in case he touched her again sent something dark into his gut. And something far more unwelcome: a feeling of vulnerability, something that Luc had rejected long ago. He was invulnerable.

‘Sleeping with me isn’t going to improve your, or your brother’s, situation. I told you already that I don’t play games, Nessa, so unless you’re willing to admit that we both want each other with no strings attached then get out of here.’

His voice was so cold and remote it skated over Nessa’s skin like ice. She hated his obvious cynicism, and wanted to deny his claim that she would manipulate him to gain favour for her brother, but self-preservation kicked in at the last moment. She fled, taking the basket of cleaning supplies with her.

* * *

When Nessa finally made it back to her room she closed the door behind her and rested against it. Her heart was still thumping out of time, and her whole body ached for a fulfilment she’d never needed before.

And she reeled with the knowledge that she’d almost lain back for Luc Barbier and handed him something she’d never handed anyone else. Her innocence. She’d almost tipped over the edge of allowing Luc to see her at her most vulnerable. A man who had shown her nothing but disdain and distrust.

Thank God she’d pulled back from the brink. She shivered now at the prospect of Luc looking at her when he’d discovered her virginity. She could already imagine the mocking look on his face, and how he would spurn her with disgust.

But then she thought of how he’d said, Unless you’re willing to admit we both want each other with no strings attached, and she shivered again. But this time it wasn’t with trepidation or humiliation. It was with an awful sense of illicit excitement.

* * *

Luc had turned the shower to cold, but that still hadn’t cooled the lingering heat in his body. He couldn’t believe how close he’d come to stripping Nessa O’Sullivan bare and taking her in a haze of lust.

She’d been the one to pull back. And even though Luc hadn’t imagined the chemistry between them, it still got to him somewhere very vulnerable that she’d had more control than him.

He couldn’t trust her, and yet he’d been about to sleep with her, complicating an already complicated situation even more. He shuddered to think of the hold she could have had over him after sleeping together. He hadn’t yet known a woman who didn’t try to capitalise on intimacies shared, even when they were only physical. And he had no doubt—in spite of her protestations otherwise—that she’d had an agenda.

He looked at himself in his bathroom mirror and scowled. If she thought that she could whet his appetite like this, and he would come running after her like a dog in heat, she was mistaken. Luc wouldn’t be caught offguard again. She was resistable. Even if the pounding of his blood told him otherwise.

He pulled a towel around his waist and knotted it roughly, finding his mobile phone and picking it up. Within seconds he was issuing a terse instruction to the security firm he’d hired to seek out Paddy O’Sullivan, to step up their efforts.

Afterwards he threw the phone down and surmised grimly that the sooner they found Paddy and his money, the sooner he could get rid of the all too distracting Nessa O’Sullivan too.

* * *

Two nights later, Nessa was holding a tray full of champagne flutes filled to the brim, serving them at Luc’s glitzy party. She was dressed in a white shirt and black skirt. The uniform of waiters everywhere. Hair up in a tight bun.

She could appreciate the breathtaking scene even as her arms felt as if they were about to drop out of the shoulder sockets. The unusually mild Irish spring day was melting into a lavender-hued dusk. Candles imbued the guests and room with a golden light.

She smiled in relief as some guests stopped and helped themselves to drinks on her tray, lightening her load marginally. And then her gaze tracked back inevitably to where one man stood out from the crowd—dark head and broad shoulders visible from every corner of the room.

Her main objective was to avoid coming face to face with Luc Barbier at all costs. The enormity of what had almost happened still sent shock waves through her body every time she thought of it. So did the thought of a no-strings encounter, added a wicked voice.

And even though she was trying to avoid him, she couldn’t look away. Much like most of the women in the room, she’d noticed with a spurt of something suspiciously...possessive. He was dressed in a tuxedo and he was simply breathtaking. He was the epitome of virile beauty, but with that undeniable edge of something dark and dangerous.

As if reading her mind, two women stopped nearby and, in that way of seeing but not seeing Nessa, because she was staff, they were whispering loudly enough for Nessa to catch snippets.

‘Apparently he’s an animal in bed...’

‘They say he was found on the streets...’

‘Petty crime...’

‘Only got to where he has because he slept with Leo Fouret’s wife and the husband bought him off to keep him quiet...’

Nessa went still at that, something cold trickling down her spine. She hadn’t heard that final, particular rumour before. Although, he had apparently left Leo Fouret’s stables under less than amicable circumstances, before blazing a trail on his own.

The women moved away and then more guests approached Nessa, relieving her of her remaining drinks. She was only too happy to escape back to the kitchen to stock up. Just before she left, she cast one last glance in Luc’s direction, but his head was bowed towards someone in conversation.

Lambasting herself for having listened to gossip, no matter how inadvertently, Nessa forged a path through the crowd and away from Luc. She told herself that she wasn’t remotely interested in what the women had been saying. And that she was truly pathetic to be feeling the tiniest bit sorry for him that he was surrounded by such fervent gossip in the first place.

There was no smoke without a fire, as her father loved to say on a regular basis. And from what she’d seen of Luc in action, she could almost forgive a married woman for falling under his spell.

* * *

‘What on earth is Nessa O’Sullivan doing serving drinks at your party, Barbier? I’d hardly think she’s short of a few bob!’

It took a second for Luc to register what the man beside him had said and when he did his wandering attention snapped into sharp focus. ‘You know her?’

The man snorted. ‘Of course I do—you forget Ireland is a small place. Her father is Paddy O’Sullivan, one of this country’s best trainers—at one time. Before he hit the bottle and almost lost everything. Now of course they’re back on top of the world, although I don’t think Paddy will ever repair the damage to his reputation. Still, he doesn’t need to now, not with the goldmine he’s sitting on thanks to his son-in-law.’

Luc usually had an aversion to gossip but not this time. ‘What are you talking about?’

Percy Mortimer, a well-known English racing pundit, turned to Luc. ‘Nessa O’Sullivan is related to royalty—her older sister—who incidentally is also a very talented amateur trainer—is married to the supreme Sheikh Nadim Al-Saqr of Merkazad. He bought out their stud a few years back. Nessa’s not a bad rider. I’ve seen her in a couple of races over the years, but she doesn’t seem to have made a proper impression yet.’

What the hell? Luc barely heard that last bit. Sheikh Nadim was a very serious contender in racing circles, and a billionaire. And Luc had had no idea that he owned a stables just down the road. Nessa’s family stud. He reeled, although he didn’t show it.

Percy was saying something else but Luc wasn’t listening. His gaze was already scanning the crowd for a dark redhead. He’d seen her earlier—looking once again as if butter wouldn’t melt, dressed in her white shirt and skirt. Even that small glimpse had been enough to cause a spike in his heart-rate.

Damn. Where was she, anyway?

Luc tried to move away but saw a group headed for him with Pascal leading the way. The look on Pascal’s face told Luc that he had to stay exactly where he was.

Nessa would have to wait, for now. But he would track her down and this time there would be no games. Only answers to his questions. Like what the hell was she playing at, working for nothing to pay off her brother’s debt when presumably she could ask for a handout from her billionaire brother-in-law?

* * *

Nessa’s feet and arms were aching, and she knew she shouldn’t be here, but after the party had finished and they’d been released, she found herself gravitating towards the stallions’ stables. As if pulled by some magnetic force. As if that could help to ground her and fuse her scattered energies back together.

She’d been acutely conscious of Luc’s every movement, all evening.

At one stage she’d caught his eye and it had seemed as if he was trying to communicate something telepathically. From the grim look on his face it hadn’t been something particularly nice. And then, even though she’d skirted around the edges of the room, keeping far out of his orbit for the rest of the evening, she could have sworn she felt his dark gaze boring into her periodically.

She came to a stop in the middle of the stables when she realised that they were empty. She looked around and remembered belatedly that the stallions had been moved up to different paddocks and stables for a few days while these were being repainted and renovated.

There were white sheets piled high in a corner along with painting and cleaning paraphernalia. Nessa told herself it was just as well as she turned around to leave. The last thing she needed was to be caught again in the wrong place—

Her heart stopped when she saw the tall broad figure blocking the doorway, with only the moon behind him as a silhouette. Too late. Luc.

She could see that his bow-tie was undone and top button open, his jacket swinging loose and his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

He moved forward into the stables and she saw his stern expression revealed in the dim lighting. Immediately the space felt claustrophobic. Nessa’s body tingled with awareness as he came close enough for her to see that there was also barely leashed anger in his expression.

She swallowed. ‘I know I shouldn’t be here—’

‘That’s not important. We need to have a little chat.’

Surprise robbed her voice for a moment and then she said, ‘About what?’

Luc folded his arms. ‘About why you’ve omitted to mention the not inconsequential fact that your sister is married to Sheikh Nadim Al-Saqr of Merkazad, and that he owns your stud farm.’

He continued, ‘I’d imagine one million euro is short change to Sheikh Nadim Al-Saqr, so what the hell is Paddy doing jeopardising his career for a handout he could’ve begged off his brother-in-law, and why didn’t you just pick up the phone to Nadim to sort this mess out?’

Nessa went hot and then cold as the significance of this sank in, and the realisation that someone must have recognised her at the party.

She said carefully, ‘I didn’t think it was relevant.’

Luc looked even more stern. ‘Not good enough.’

Nessa swallowed. She knew she couldn’t avoid an explanation. ‘Nadim did buy our farm but he put it back into our name as a wedding gift for Iseult, my sister. It’s ours again, he’s just one of the shareholders. And I didn’t want to involve him because this has nothing to do with Nadim or Iseult. My sister is due to have a baby in a couple of weeks and they don’t need the stress.’

Luc stepped closer but Nessa was trapped, with a stable door at her back and nowhere to go. She was acutely aware of his tall, lean body and his scent.

‘There’s more to it than that,’ he said. ‘You and your brother avoiding asking for help just proves you’re both involved in something that’s gone beyond your control. I’m guessing Nadim wouldn’t approve, and you don’t want to bite the hand that feeds you.’

In a fierce low voice Nessa replied, ‘No. It’s nothing like that. Why must you be so cynical and mistrustful?’

‘Because,’ he answered smoothly, ‘I was born that way and nothing I’ve experienced has ever proved me wrong. Life favours the opportunistic. I should know.’

I was born that way. Nessa couldn’t stop a rush of curiosity and pity. The second time she’d pitied him this evening. But then she crushed it. Luc Barbier was the last man on the planet who needed anyone’s pity.

He said, ‘You could be free to walk away if you asked Nadim for help.’

Luc heard himself say the words even as something inside him rejected it immediately. Let her walk away? A hot surge of possessiveness rose up inside him. He wanted her.

She was looking at him, eyes huge, and for a second he could almost have imagined that she looked...hurt. A ridiculous notion.

Nessa shook her head and some long tendrils of red hair framed her face. ‘No. I will not take the easy way out and cause my family distress. I promised Paddy that I wouldn’t go to Nadim or Iseult.’

Luc was intrigued by this apparent loyalty. ‘Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t go to Nadim myself.’

An expression of panic crossed her face. ‘I thought you didn’t want this news to get out either!’

‘I don’t. But from what I know of the Sheikh, I think he would appreciate the need for discretion on his family’s behalf. It would affect his name and reputation too.’

Nessa wrung her hands in front of her and it only drew Luc’s attention to where the shirt strained slightly over her breasts. He dragged his gaze up.

‘You have no right to involve them.’

Now he really wanted to know why she was being so stubborn on this. ‘Give me one reason, Nessa, and make it a good one.’

She looked at him as if he was torturing her and then she answered with palpable reluctance. ‘When our mother died Iseult was only twelve; I was eight. Our father couldn’t cope with the grief. He went off the rails, and developed a drink problem. Iseult went to school, but she did the bare minimum so that she could take care of the farm, the horses and all of us.’

Nessa glanced away for a moment, her face pale. Luc felt at an uncharacteristic loss as to what to say but she looked back at him and continued. ‘If it wasn’t for Iseult shielding us from the worst of our father’s excesses and the reality of the farm falling to pieces, we never would have made it through school. She shouldered far too much for someone her age...and then Nadim came along and bought the farm out and she felt as if she’d failed us all at the last hurdle.’

Nessa drew in a breath. ‘But then they fell in love and got married, and for the first time in her life she’s really secure and happy.’

‘Married to a billionaire, conveniently enough.’ The cynical comment was said before Luc had even properly thought about it, and it felt hollow on his lips.

Nessa’s hands clenched to fists by her sides. ‘Iseult is the least materialistic person I know. They love each other.’

Luc was a bit stunned by her vehemence. ‘Go on.’

She bit her lip for a moment, and he had to stop himself from reaching out to tug it free of those small white teeth.

‘My sister is truly happy for the first time in a long time. The only responsibility she now bears is to her own family. They had problems getting pregnant after Kamil so this pregnancy has been stressful. If she knew what was going on she’d be devastated and worried, and Nadim would do everything he could to help her. He might even insist on coming all the way over here, and she needs him with her now.’

She added impetuously, ‘If you do talk to Nadim, I’ll leak it to the press about the money going astray. Maybe they’ll be easier on Paddy than you’ve been.’

Luc just looked at Nessa for a long moment, and he had to admit with grudging reluctance that her apparent zeal to protect her family was very convincing. He’d never seen a mother bear with cubs, but he had an impression of it right now. And he didn’t like how it had affected him when she’d mentioned her sister’s happy family. For a second he’d actually felt something like envy.

It reminded him uncomfortably of when he’d been much younger and he and other kids from the flats would go into Paris to pick pockets or whatever petty crime they could get away with. Stupid kids with nothing to lose and no one at home to care what they got up to.

One day Luc had been mesmerised by a family playing in a park—a mother, father and two children. The kids had looked so happy and loved. An awful darkness had welled up inside him and he’d tasted jealousy for the first time. And something far more poignant—a desire to know what that would be like.

His friends had noticed and had teased Luc unmercifully, so he’d shoved that experience and those feelings deep down inside and had vowed never to envy anyone again. And he wasn’t about to start now.

But eclipsing all of that now was the carnal hunger building inside him. He’d thought of little else but that incendiary kiss the other night. When he’d sought Nessa out after the party he’d told himself he could resist her. But the thick sexual tension in the air mocked him.

She called to him, even in those plain, unerotic clothes. She called to him, deep inside where a dark hunger raged and begged for satisfaction.

Suddenly it didn’t matter who she was related to. Or if she was playing mind-games. She threw up too many questions, but there was only one question he was interested in knowing the answer to right now, and that was how she would feel when he sank deep inside her.

Luc closed the distance between them, and reached out to slide a hand around Nessa’s neck, tugging her closer. Her eyes went wide and her cheeks bloomed with colour. She put a hand up to his and said, ‘What are you doing?’

Luc’s gaze was fixated on her mouth and he had to drag it away to look into those huge hazel eyes. ‘Do you really expect me to believe that you’re just an innocent who would do anything for her family? And that the other night was pure chance and chemistry?’

For a taut moment, Luc held his breath because he realised that some small kernel of the little boy he’d once been, yearning for something totally out of his orbit, was still alive inside him. He waited for Nessa to gaze up at him with those huge eyes and move closer, to tell him in a husky voice, Yes, I’m really that innocent. The worst of it was, he wasn’t entirely sure that he wouldn’t believe her.

But she didn’t. She tensed and pulled back, jerking free of Luc’s hand. Glaring up at him. ‘I don’t expect you to believe anything, Luc Barbier. You’ve got eyes in your head and if you choose to view the world through a fog of cynicism and mistrust then that’s your prerogative.

‘As for the other night—it was madness and a mistake. You won’t have to worry why it happened because it won’t happen again.’

Nessa had almost moved past Luc when his shocked brain kicked into gear and he caught her hand, stopping her. Every cell in his body rejected what she’d just said. She was walking away again. A savage part of himself rose up, needing to prove that she wasn’t as in control as she appeared.

He pulled her back in front of him. ‘You want me.’

She bit her lip and looked down. She shook her head. Luc tipped her chin up feeling even more savage. ‘Say it, Nessa.’

She looked at him, eyes huge and swirling with emotion but Luc couldn’t draw back now. Eventually she said with a touch of defiance, ‘I might want you but I don’t want to.’

Something immediately eased inside him. She glanced down again as if by not looking at him she could avoid the issue.

‘Look at me, Nessa.’

For a long moment she refused but then she looked up, eyes spitting golden sparks, and it ignited the fire inside him to a burning inferno of need. He pulled her closer again. She put her hands up to his chest. ‘No, Luc. I don’t want—’

But he stopped her words with his mouth and used every ounce of his expertise to show her how futile her resistance was. Whatever else was happening around them, whatever she was saying, he could trust that this was true at least.

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