Best of the Year Modern Romance

The Secret His Mistress Carried

Lynne Graham

Innocent in His Diamonds

Maya Blake

At the Count’s Bidding

Caitlin Crews

Olivero’s Outrageous Proposal

Kate Walker

At Her Boss’s Pleasure

Cathy Williams

The Bride Fonseca Needs

Abby Green

The Ruthless Greek’s Return

Sharon Kendrick

The Perfect Cazorla Wife

Michelle Smart

Bound to the Warrior King

Maisey Yates

Seducing His Enemy’s Daughter

Annie West

Brazilian’s Nine Months’ Notice

Susan Stephens

The Price of His Redemption

Carol Marinelli

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

The Secret His Mistress Carried

Introduction

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

Innocent in His Diamonds

Excerpt

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

At the Count’s Bidding

Introduction

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Olivero’s Outrageous Proposal

Introduction

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

At Her Boss’s Pleasure

Introduction

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

The Bride Fonseca Needs

Introduction

Billionaire Brothers

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

The Ruthless Greek’s Return

Introduction

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

The Perfect Cazorla Wife

Introduction

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Bound to the Warrior King

Introduction

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Seducing His Enemy’s Daughter

Excerpt

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Brazilian’s Nine Months’ Notice

Introduction

HOT BRAZILIAN NIGHTS

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

The Price of His Redemption

Introduction

Irresistible Russian Tycoons

About the Author

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

The Secret His Mistress Carried

‘Gio … you told me I needed to wise up when you informed me you were getting married and I did exactly like you said … the way I always did,’ Billie muttered tartly. ‘I wised up—and that means not listening to a word you have to say.’

‘I don’t know you like this.’

‘Why would you? It’s been two years since we were together and I’m not the same person any more,’ Billie told him with pride.

‘It might help if you could actually look me in the eye and tell me that,’ Gio quipped, scrutinising her rigid back.

Reddening, Billie finally spun round and collided dangerously with stunning dark deep-set eyes, heavily fringed with lashes. The very first time she had seen those eyes he had been ill, running a high temperature and a dangerous fever, but they’d been no less mesmerising.

She swallowed hard. ‘I’ve changed—’

‘Not convinced, moli mou.’

Gio gazed steadily back at her, enjoying the burst of sexual static now thickening the atmosphere. That her tension mirrored his told him everything he needed to know. Nothing had changed—certainly not the most basic chemistry of all.

‘I want you back.’

LYNNE GRAHAM was born in Northern Ireland and has been a keen Mills & Boon® reader since her teens. She is very happily married, with an understanding husband who has learned to cook since she started to write! Her five children keep her on her toes. She has a very large dog, which knocks everything over, a very small terrier, which barks a lot, and two cats. When time allows, Lynne is a keen gardener.

CHAPTER ONE

THE GREEK OIL BILLIONAIRE, Giorgios Letsos was throwing the party of the year at his London town house. Yet, instead of socialising, he was answering his emails, escaping the predatory females who had dogged his every footstep since the news of his divorce became public.

‘I heard,’ a female voice murmured outside the library door, which stood ajar after a maid had served her employer with a drink and failed to close it, ‘that he got rid of her because she did drugs.’

‘I heard,’ another voice piped up, ‘that he dumped her back on her father’s doorstep in the middle of the night with all her things.’

‘I heard,’ a third voice interposed,.‘that the pre-nup was so tight she didn’t get a cent.’

Gio was sardonically amused that speculation was keeping his neglected guests entertained. His cell phone pulsed and he answered it.

‘Mr Letsos? It’s Joe Henley from Henley Investigations...’

‘Yes?’ Gio asked absently, assuming it was the usual quarterly callback to report a negative result, his attention still on his laptop as he mulled over the purchase of another company with the kind of concentration and enjoyment he would never find at any party.

‘We’ve found her...er, at least I’m ninety per cent certain this time,’ the older man carefully framed because neither of them would ever forget the mistake he had once made when Gio had gone racing across the city in his limo only to find himself looking at a complete stranger. ‘I took a photo and emailed it to you. Perhaps you’d like to check it out before we go any further.’

We’ve found her... Suddenly, Gio was galvanised into action, springing out of his chair to his full imposing height of six feet four inches, squaring his wide shoulders while he flicked back to the emails. Fierce intensity had fired his dark golden eyes while he identified the right email before clicking on the attachment.

It wasn’t a great photo but the small curvaceous figure in the floral raincoat was instantly recognisable to his hard, searching gaze. Excitement and satisfaction roared in an intoxicating wave through Gio’s lean, powerful length.

‘You will be generously paid for this piece of detection,’ Gio breathed with rare warmth as he stared at the picture as though it might disappear at any moment. As she had done. She had contrived to lose herself so completely he had honestly begun to believe that even with all the resources he had at his disposal he would never track her down.

‘Where is she?’ he pressed.

‘I have the address, Mr Letsos, but I haven’t yet acquired sufficient info to make up a proper background report,’ Joe Henley explained. ‘If you give me a couple of days, I’ll proceed the usual way—’

‘All I need, all I want,’ Gio stressed with rippling impatience at the thought of waiting even an hour, ‘is her address.’

And suddenly, Gio was smiling for the first time in a very long time. He had finally found her. Of course that didn’t automatically mean he intended to forgive her, he swiftly qualified, straightening his muscular shoulders. His wide, sensual mouth compressed in a manner that would have made his chief executives quail, for he was a tough man, an inflexible, stubborn man, very much feared in the business world. After all, Billie had walked out on him, was, in fact, the only woman ever to pull that stunt on Gio Letsos. But there she was on screen, his Billie, still wearing flowery clothes like a nature explosion, a shock of caramel-coloured blonde curls flowing round her heart-shaped elfin face, her wide green eyes unusually serious.

‘You’re not a very active host,’ a voice remarked from the doorway. The speaker was as short as Gio was tall and as fair as Gio was dark but Gio and Leandros Conistis had been friends since their schooldays, both of them born into wealthy, privileged and pedigreed, if dysfunctional, Greek families and sent to England to board at exclusive fee-paying schools.

Gio closed down his laptop and studied his old friend. ‘Did you expect anything different?’

‘Even for you, that sounds arrogant,’ Leandros countered.

‘We both know that even if I threw a non-alcoholic party in a cave, it would be packed,’ Gio said drily, well aware of the pulling power of his vast wealth.

‘I didn’t know you were going to throw a divorce party.’

‘That would be tasteless. It’s not a divorce party.’

‘You can’t fool me,’ Leandros warned him.

Gio’s lean, strong face was expressionless, his famed reserve kicking in hard and fast. ‘Calisto and I had a very civilised divorce—’

‘And now you’re back on the market and the piranhas are circling,’ Leandros commented.

‘I will never marry again,’ Gio declared grimly.

‘Never is a long time...’

‘I mean it,’ Gio emphasised darkly.

His friend said nothing and then tried to lighten the atmosphere with an old joke, ‘At least you could trust Calisto to know that Canaletto isn’t the name of a race horse!’

Momentarily, Gio froze, his lean, dark, devastating features tightening, for that gag had worn thin years before he stopped hearing it. Sadly, not Billie’s most shining moment.

‘I mean...’ Leandros was still grinning ‘...I don’t blame you for ditching that one...what an airhead!’

Gio said nothing. Even with his oldest friend Gio was not given to making confidences or baring his soul. In actuality, Gio had not ditched Billie; he simply hadn’t taken her out with him in public again.

* * *

In the garage, Billie was going through garments and costume jewellery that she had acquired during the week to sell in her vintage clothes shop. She was sorting items into piles for washing, repair or specialist cleaning while dumping anything past its prime. While she worked, she talked non-stop to her son. ‘You’re absolutely the most cute and adorable baby ever born,’ she told Theo warmly as he kicked his legs in his high chair, smiled beatifically and happily got on with eating his mid-morning snacks.

With a sigh, she straightened her aching back, reflecting that all the bending and stretching had at least started knocking off a few pounds of the extra baby weight she had been carrying for months. The doctor had told her that that was normal but Billie had always had to watch her weight and she knew that while putting it on was easy, getting it back off again was not. And the problem with being only five feet two inches tall with an overly large bust and hips was that it only took a few surplus pounds and a thicker waistline to make her look like a little barrel.

She would take all the kids to the playground and walk round and round and round the little park with the pram, she decided ruefully.

‘Coffee?’ Dee called out of the back door.

‘I’d love one,’ Billie told her cousin and housemate, Dee, with a smile.

Thankfully, she hadn’t been lonely since she had rediscovered her friendship with Dee, yet they might so easily have missed out on meeting up again. Billie had been four months pregnant when she attended her aunt’s funeral in Yorkshire and got talking to Dee, whom she had gone to primary school with although Dee was several years older. Her housemate was a single parent as well. At her mother’s funeral her cousin had sported a fading black eye and more bruises than a boxer. Back then Dee had been living in a refuge for battered women with her twins. Jade and Davis were now five years old and had started school. For all of them life in the small town where Billie had bought a terraced house was a fresh start.

And life was good, Billie told herself firmly as she nursed a cup of coffee and listened to Dee complain about the amount of homework Jade was getting, which related more to Dee’s inability to understand maths in any shape or form than the teacher overloading Dee’s daughter with work. This life was ordinary and safe, she reasoned thoughtfully, soothed into relaxation by the hum of the washing machine and the silence of the children while they watched television in the sitting room next door. Admittedly there were no highs of exciting moments but there were no gigantic lows either.

Billie would never forget the agonies of her own worst low, a slough of despair that had lasted for endless weeks. That phase of her life had almost destroyed her and she could still barely repress a shudder when she recalled the depression that had engulfed her. She had been hurting so badly and there had seemed to be no way of either stopping or avoiding that pain. In fact, in the end it had taken an extraordinary and rather frightening development to show Billie a light at the end of the tunnel and a future she could actually face. She contemplated Theo with glowing satisfaction.

‘It’s not healthy to love a baby so much,’ Dee warned her with a frown. ‘Babies grow up and eventually leave you. Theo’s a lovely baby but he’s still just a child, Billie, and you can’t continue building your whole life round him. You need a man—’

‘I need a man like a fish needs a bicycle,’ Billie interposed without hesitation, reckoning that the disaster zone of her one and only real relationship was quite sufficient to have put her off men for life. ‘And who are you to talk?’

A tall, whip-thin blonde with grey eyes, Dee grimaced to concede the point. ‘Been there, done that.’

‘Exactly,’ Billie agreed.

‘But I don’t have the options you have,’ Dee argued. ‘If I were you, I’d be out there dating up a storm!’

Theo clutched Billie’s ankles and slowly levered himself upright, beaming with triumph at his achievement. Considering her son had had both legs in a special cast for months to cure his hip dysplasia, he was catching up on his mobility fast. For a split second he also reminded her powerfully of his father and she didn’t like that, didn’t go there in her mind because she didn’t allow herself to dwell on the past. Looking back on the mistakes she had made was counterproductive. Those experiences had taught her hard lessons and she had forced herself to move on past them.

Dee studied her cousin in frank frustration. Billie Smith was the equivalent of a man magnet. With the figure of a pocket Venus, a foaming mane of dense toffee-coloured curls and an exceptionally pretty face, Billie exuded the kind of natural warm and approachable sex appeal that attracted the opposite sex in droves. Men tried to chat Billie up in the supermarket, in car parks or in the street and if they were behind a car wheel they honked their horns, whistled out of the window and stopped to offer her lifts. Had it not been for Billie’s modest take on her own assets and her innate kindness, Dee was convinced she would have been consumed with envy. Of course she would have been the last to envy Billie’s unfortunate long-term affair with the ruthless, selfish swine who had broken her tender heart, she thought guiltily. Like Dee, Billie had paid a high price for falling in love with the wrong man.

The knocker on the front door sounded loudly. ‘I’ll get it,’ Billie declared because Dee was doing the ironing and Billie hated ironing with a passion.

Davis hurtled out of the sitting room, almost tripping over Theo, who was crawling earnestly in his mother’s wake. ‘There’s a big car...a really big car on the street!’ the little boy exclaimed.

It was probably a lorry with a delivery, Billie assumed, aware that any vehicle with wheels fascinated Dee’s son. She unlocked the door and then took an immediate and very abrupt step back, astonishment and panic shooting up inside her like a sudden jarring surge of adrenalin.

‘You’re a hard woman to track down,’ Gio murmured with supreme assurance.

Billie’s facial muscles were locked tight by shock. She couldn’t have shown him an expression to save her life but her wide green eyes were huge and anxious. ‘What are you doing here? Why would you have wanted to track me down, for goodness’ sake?’

Gio feasted his shrewd, dark gaze on her. Twenty four freckles adorned her nose and her upper cheekbones: having once counted them, he knew that for a fact. Her clear eyes, delicate features and lush mouth were utterly unchanged, he was relieved to note, his attention sliding inexorably down over her in a staged appraisal because he was strictly rationing himself. A faded blue cotton tee shirt stretched to capacity over her high, rounded breasts and his attention lingered there against his will, lust sending his libido leaping for the first time in a long time.

Relief rather than irritation consumed Gio because it had been far too long since he had experienced that reaction to a woman, so long indeed that he had feared that his marriage had stripped him of his essential masculinity in some peculiar fashion. But then, he would have been the first to acknowledge that he had never wanted any woman the way he had always wanted Billie. He had once flown her out to New York for a single night because he literally could not get through another week without her in his bed.

Billie was so worked up, so horrified that Gio Letsos had come looking and found her, that her feet were glued to the hall carpet. She stared at Gio, unwilling to credit that he was really there in the flesh in front of her, the man she had once loved, the man she had believed she would never see again. Her heart started to thump very, very hard and she sucked in a sudden snatch of oxygen, flinching as Theo drew her back to reality by hauling on her jeans-clad legs with his little fat hands to pull himself upright.

‘Billie...?’ Dee asked from the kitchen doorway. ‘Who is it? Is there something up?’

‘Nothing.’ Billie rescued her voice from her convulsed throat and stooped down in a jerky movement to scoop up Theo, her dazed gaze roaming over her cousin’s children who were studying Gio as though he had just dropped in from Mars. ‘Dee...could you take the kids?’

Her voice emerged all husky and shaken and she had to force herself to direct her attention back to Gio while Dee put out her arms for Theo and urged her own children into the kitchen with her. The kitchen door closed, sealing the hall into a sudden claustrophobic silence.

‘I asked you why you were here and why you would have looked for me in the first place,’ Billie reminded her unwelcome visitor doggedly.

‘Are you really planning to stage this long-overdue meeting on the doorstep?’ Gio drawled, all velvety smoothness and sophistication. He was taking control the way he always did and it unnerved her.

‘Why not?’ Billie whispered helplessly, struggling to drag her eyes from his devastatingly handsome features, remembering all the many times she had run her fingers through his thick black hair, loving him, loving each and every thing about him, even his flaws. ‘I don’t owe you the time of day!’

Gio was disconcerted by that comeback from a woman who had once respected his every word and done everything possible to please him, and his lean, strong face set taut and hard. ‘You’re being rude,’ he told her icily.

Billie’s hand clutched at the edge of the front door while she wondered if its support was all that was keeping her upright. He was so cool, so collected and such a bully, really couldn’t help being one. Life had spoilt Gio Letsos although he had never seen it that way. People flattered him to an extraordinary degree and went out of their way to win his approval. And once she had been the same, she acknowledged wretchedly. She had never stood up to him, never told him how she really felt, had always been far too afraid of spoiling things and then losing him. Only a very naïve woman would have failed to foresee that naturally Gio would choose to walk away from her first.

Her abstracted gaze took in the fact that her neighbour was staring over the fence at them, possibly even close enough to catch snippets of the conversation. Embarrassment made her step back from the door. ‘You’d better come in.’

Gio strode into the tiny sitting room, stepping with care round the toys strewn untidily about the room. He swallowed up all the available space, Billie thought numbly as she hastily switched off the television, which was playing a noisy children’s cartoon. He was so tall, so broad and she had forgotten the way he dominated any room he occupied.

‘You said I was rude,’ she said flatly as she carefully shut the sitting room door, ensuring their privacy.

She kept her back turned to him as long as possible, shielding herself from the explosive effects of Gio’s potent charisma as best she could. It wasn’t fair that just being in the same room with him should send a shower of sparks tingling through her and give her that oh, so dangerous sense of excitement and anticipation that had once seduced her into behaving like a very stupid woman. He was so very, very good-looking that it hurt to look at him and the effect of seeing him on the doorstep had stimulated her memories. In her mind’s eye, she was seeing the straight black brows, the utterly gorgeous dark golden eyes, the distinctly imperious blade of his nose, the high cheekbones, the bronzed Mediterranean skin, the beautiful, wide, sensual mouth that had made seduction an indescribable pleasure.

‘You were rude,’ Gio told her without hesitation.

‘But I was entitled to be. Two years ago, you married another woman,’ Billie reminded him over her shoulder, angry that it could still hurt her to have to force that statement out. Unhappily there was no escaping the demeaning truth that she had been good enough to sleep with but not good enough to be considered for anything more important or permanent in Gio’s life. ‘You’re nothing to do with me any more!’

‘I’m divorced,’ Gio breathed in a raw-edged undertone because nothing was going as he had expected. Billie had never attacked him before, never dared to question his behaviour. This new version of Billie was taking him by surprise.

‘How is that my business?’ Billie shot back at him, quick as a flash, while refusing to think that startling declaration of divorce through or react to it in any way. ‘I still remember you telling me that your marriage was none of my business.’

‘But then you made it your business by using it as an excuse to walk out on me.’

‘I didn’t need an excuse!’ A familiar sense of wonderment was gripping Billie while she listened, once again, to Gio vocalise his supremely selfish and arrogant outlook. ‘The minute you married, we were over and done. I never pretended it would be any other way—’

‘You were my mistress!’

Colour lashed Billie’s cheeks as though he had slapped her. ‘In your mind, not mine. I was only with you because I fell in love with you, not for the jewellery and the clothes and the fancy apartment,’ she spelled out thinly, her hands curling together in front of her in a defensive, nervous gesture.

‘But there was no reason for you to leave. My bride had no objection to me keeping a mistress,’ Gio stressed with growing impatience.

My bride. Even the label still hurt. The back of her eyelids stung with tears and she hated herself but she hated him more. Gio was so insensitive, so self-centred. How on earth had she ever contrived to love him? And why the heck would he have tracked her down? For what possible reason?

‘Sometimes I honestly think you talk like an alien from another planet, Gio,’ Billie countered, tightly controlling her anger and her pain. ‘In my world decent men do not marry one woman and continue sleeping with another. That is not acceptable to me and the idea that you found a woman to marry who didn’t care who you slept with just depresses me.’

‘But I am free now,’ Gio reminded her, frowning while he wondered what the hell had happened to Billie to change her so much that she could start arguing with him the minute he reappeared.

‘I don’t want to be rude but I’d like you to leave,’ Billie admitted unevenly.

‘You haven’t even heard what I have to say. What the hell is the matter with you?’ Gio demanded, shaken into outright disbelief by her aggressive attitude.

‘I don’t want to hear what you have to say. Why would I? We broke up a long time ago!’

‘We didn’t break up—you walked out, vanished,’ Gio contradicted with harsh censorious emphasis.

‘Gio...you told me I needed to wise up when you informed me you were getting married and I did exactly like you said...the way I always did,’ Billie muttered tartly. ‘I wised up and that means not listening to a word you have to say.’

‘I don’t know you like this.’

‘Why would you? It’s been two years since we were together and I’m not the same person any more,’ Billie told him with pride.

‘It might help if you could actually look me in the eye and tell me that,’ Gio quipped, scrutinising her rigid back.

Reddening, Billie finally spun round and collided dangerously with stunning deep-set dark eyes, heavily fringed with lashes. The very first time she had seen those eyes he had been ill, running a high temperature and a dangerous fever, but those eyes had been no less mesmerising. She swallowed hard. ‘I’ve changed—’

‘Not convinced, moli mou.’ Gio gazed steadily back at her, enjoying the burst of sexual static now thickening the atmosphere. That her tension mirrored his told him everything he needed to know. Nothing had changed, certainly not the most basic chemistry of all. ‘I want you back.’

In shock, Billie stopped breathing, but within seconds his admission made a crazy kind of Gio-based sense to her. By any standards, his marriage had lasted a ludicrously short time and she knew Gio didn’t like change in his private life. To his skewed way of thinking, reconciling with his former mistress might well now seem the most attractive and convenient option. ‘No way,’ she said breathlessly.

‘I still want you and you still want me—’

‘I’ve built a whole new life here. I can’t just abandon it,’ Billie muttered, wondering why on earth she was stooping to making such empty excuses. ‘You and me...it didn’t work—’

‘It worked brilliantly,’ he contradicted.

‘And your marriage didn’t?’ Billie could not resist asking.

His hard facial bones locked in an expression she remembered from the past. It closed her out, warned she had crossed a boundary. ‘Since I’m divorced, obviously not,’ he fielded, smooth as glass.

‘But you and I,’ Gio husked, reaching out to grasp her hands before she could guess his intention, ‘did work very successfully—’

‘Depends on your definition of successful,’ Billie parried, her hands trembling in his, perspiration dampening her entire skin surface. ‘I wasn’t happy—’

‘You were always happy,’ Gio had no hesitation in asserting, because her chirpy, sunny nature was what he remembered most about her.

Billie tried and failed to draw her hands free of his without making a production out of it. ‘I wasn’t happy,’ she repeated again, shivering as the almost forgotten scent of him assailed her nostrils: clean, fresh male overlaid with tones of citrus and something that was uniquely Gio, so familiar even after all the time that had passed that for a charged and very dangerous split second she wanted to lean closer and sniff him up like an intoxicating drug. ‘Please let go, Gio. Coming here was a waste of your time.’

His hot urgent mouth swooped down on hers and he feasted on her parted lips with fiery enthusiasm, plundering and ravishing with a hunger she had never forgotten. Electrifying excitement shot through Billie like a lightning bolt to stimulate every skin cell in her body. The erotic thrust of his tongue into her mouth consumed her with burning heat and a crazy urge to get even closer to that lean, virile body of his. Wild hunger started a glow of warmth in her pelvis and made her nipples tighten and strain. She wanted, she wanted...and then sanity returned like a cold drop of water on her overheated skin when Theo wailed from the kitchen, jarring every maternal sense she possessed back to wakefulness.

Wrenching her mouth free of his, Billie looked up into the smouldering dark golden eyes that had once broken her heart and said what she needed to say, what she owed it to herself to say. ‘Please leave, Gio...’

Billie stood at the window watching Gio climb into his long black limousine on the street outside, her fingernails biting into her palms like sharp-pointed knives. Without even trying he had torn her in two, teaching her that her recovery was not as complete as she had imagined. Letting Gio walk away from her had almost killed her and there was still a weak, wicked part of her that longed to snatch him back with both hands. But she knew it was pointless, because Gio would be furious if he ever found out that Theo was his child.

Right from the start, Billie had known and accepted that truth when, finding herself accidentally pregnant, she had chosen to give birth to a baby fathered by a male who had only wanted her for her body. There would be no support or understanding from Gio on the score of an illegitimate child, whom he would prefer not to have been born. She had only been with him a few weeks when he had told her that if she ever fell pregnant he would regard it as a disaster and that it would destroy their relationship, so she couldn’t say she hadn’t been warned. She had finally decided that what he didn’t know about wouldn’t hurt him and she had so much love to give their son that she had convinced herself that Theo would not suffer from the lack of a father.

Or so she had thought...until after Theo’s birth when concerns began to steadily nibble gaping holes in her one-time conviction that she had made the right decision. Then she had guiltily asked herself if she was the most selfish woman alive to have chosen to have a child in secrecy who would never have a father and she had worried even more about how Theo might react when he was older to what little she would have to tell him.

Would her son despise her some day for the role she had played in Gio’s bed? Would Theo resent the fact that although his father was rich he had grown up in comparative poverty? Would he blame her then for having brought him into the world on such terms?

CHAPTER TWO

BILLIE STUFFED HER FACE in the pillow and sobbed her heart out for the first time in two long years and once again Gio had provided the spur. When she had finally cried out all the pain and the many other unidentifiable emotions attacking her, Dee was by her side, seated on the edge of the bed and stroking her head in an effort to comfort her.

‘Where’s Theo?’ Billie whispered instantly.

‘I put him down for his nap.’

‘Sorry about this,’ Billie mumbled, sliding off the bed to go into the bathroom and splash her face with cold water because her eyes and her nose were red.

When she reappeared, Dee gave her an uncomfortable look. ‘That was him, wasn’t it? Theo’s dad?’

Billie didn’t trust herself to speak and she simply nodded.

‘He’s absolutely gorgeous,’ Dee remarked guiltily. ‘I’m not surprised you fell for him but what’s with the limousine? You said he was well off, not that he was minted...’

‘He’s minted,’ Billie confirmed gruffly. ‘Seeing him again was upsetting.’

‘What did he want?’

‘Something he’s not going to get.’

* * *

Rejection was the very last thing Gio had anticipated. After assigning two of his security team to watch Billie round the clock and ensure that she did not disappear again, it occurred to him that perhaps there was another man in her life. The idea sent him into such a violent maelstrom of reaction that he couldn’t think straight for several rage-charged minutes. For the very first time ever he wondered how Billie had felt when he had told her about Calisto and he groaned out loud. He didn’t do complicated with women but Billie was certainly making it that way.

How had he believed it would be when he turned up out of nowhere? he asked himself impatiently. Billie had asked him to leave: he still couldn’t believe that. She was angry with him: that reality had sunk in. He had married another woman and she was holding that against him but how could she? Gio raked long brown fingers of frustration through the curly black hair he kept close cropped to his skull. She could not possibly have believed that he might marry her...could she?

He was the acknowledged head of his family owing to his grandfather’s long-term ill health, and it had always been Gio’s role and responsibility to rebuild the aristocratic, conservative and hugely wealthy Letsos clan. He had vowed as a boy that he would never repeat the mistakes his own father had made. His great-grandfather had had a mistress, his grandfather had had a mistress but Gio’s father had been less conventional. Dmitri Letsos had divorced Gio’s mother to marry his mistress in a seriously destructive act of disloyalty to his own blood. Family unity had never recovered from that blow and the older man had forfeited all respect. Gio’s mother had died and he and his sisters’ childhoods had been wrecked while Dmitri had almost bankrupted the family business in an effort to satisfy his spendthrift second wife’s caviar tastes.

Well, if there was another man in Billie’s bed, he would soon find out, Gio rationalised with clenched teeth and a jaw line set rock hard with tension. In twenty-four hours he would have the background report from Henley Investigations. Regrettably he was not a patient man and he had assumed she would throw herself back into his arms the instant he told her that he was divorced. Why hadn’t she?

Her response when he’d kissed her had been...hot. In fact Gio got hard just thinking about it, his libido as much as his brain telling him exactly what and who he needed back in his life. He wondered if he should send her flowers. She was crazy about flowers, had always been buying them, arranging them, sniffing them, growing them. It had been selfish of him not to buy her a house with a garden, he conceded darkly, wondering what other oversights he must’ve made when the woman who had once worshipped the ground he walked on now felt able to show him the door. No woman had ever done that to Gio Letsos. He knew he could have virtually any woman he wanted but that wasn’t a consolation when he only wanted Billie back where she belonged: in his bed.

* * *

After a disturbed night of sleep, Billie rose around dawn, fed all the kids and tidied up. It was only at weekends that she and Dee saw much of each other. On weekdays, she took the kids to school to allow Dee, who worked evenings as a bartender in a local pub, a little longer in bed. Theo went to work with Billie in the mornings and Dee collected him at lunchtime and minded the three kids for the afternoon. After the shop closed, they all ate an early evening meal together before Dee went off to do her shift. It was an arrangement that worked very well for both women and Billie was fond of Dee and her company because her two years in a city apartment where Gio was only an occasional visitor had been full of lonely days and nights.

Of course, in those days she had learned to make good use of her free time, she acknowledged wryly. In those two years with Gio she had acquired GCSEs and two A-levels, not to mention certificates in various courses ranging from cordon-bleu cookery and flower arranging to business start-up qualifications. Gio might not have noticed any of that or have shown the smallest interest in what she did when he wasn’t around, but making up for the education she had missed out on while she was acting as her grandmother’s carer throughout the teenage years had done much to raise Billie’s low self-esteem. After all, when she had first met Gio she had been working as a cleaner because she had lacked the qualifications that would have helped her to aspire to a better-paid job.

As she placed the new pieces of costume jewellery on display in the battered antique armoire she had bought for that purpose, she was a thousand mental miles away on an instinctive walk down the memory lane of her past. Unlike Gio, Billie did not have a proper family tree or at least if she did it was unknown to her. Her mother, Sally, had been an only child, who had reputedly gone wild as a teenager. As Billie’s only source of information about her mother had been her mean-spirited grandmother she was inclined to take that story with a pinch of salt. Billie had no memory of ever meeting Sally and absolutely no idea who had fathered her, although she strongly suspected that his name had been Billy.

Billie’s grandma and her mother had lived separate lives for years before the day Sally turned up without warning on her parents’ doorstep with Billie as a baby. Her grandfather had persuaded her grandmother to allow Sally to stay for one night, a decision she had had Billie’s lifetime to loudly and repeatedly regret because when the older woman got up the next morning she had discovered that Sally had gone, leaving her child behind her.

Unfortunately, Billie’s grandma had neither wanted nor loved her and, even though she received an allowance from social services for raising her grandchild, her resentment of the responsibility had never faded. Billie’s grandpa had been more caring but he had also been a drunk and only occasionally in a fit state to take an interest in her. Indeed, Billie had often thought that her background was the main reason why she had been such a pushover for Gio. His desire for her, his apparent need to look after her, had been the closest thing to love that she had ever known. So, although she would never have admitted it to him, she had been madly, insanely happy with Gio because he had made her feel loved...right up until the dreadful day he’d told her that he had to get married and father a child for the sake of his all-important snobby Greek family and his precious business empire.

Chilled by the sobering and humiliating recollection that Gio had not even considered her a possible candidate for a ring, Billie brought out the new garments she had prepared at home and began to price the stock. Theo was napping peacefully in his travel cot in his little cubbyhole at the back of the shop. Customers browsed, purchased and departed as she served them while she worked. Only a month earlier, she had hired her first employee, a Polish woman called Iwona, who did part-time hours when Billie couldn’t be at the shop. In fact, the business was doing well and was steadily fulfilling all Billie’s hopes. But then she had always loved the character and superior workmanship of vintage clothes and she was careful only to stock quality items. Slowly but surely she had built up a list of regular customers.

Gio climbed out of his limo while his chauffeur argued with the traffic warden and his security team were disgorged from the vehicle behind. He scanned the shop front, adorned with the name, ‘Billie’s Vintage’, and frowned, positively transfixed by the idea that Billie could have opened up her own business. Yet there was the proof in front of him. Theos! He shook his arrogant dark head, thinking that women were strange, unpredictable creatures and finally wondering if he had ever really known Billie at all because nothing that she had done or said so far had appeared on his list of her potential reactions. His frown grew even darker, lending a saturnine quality to his hard, dark features. He had important projects to manage and people to see and yet here he was still stuck after twenty-four exceedingly boring hours in a back-end-of-nowhere Yorkshire town chasing Billie! What kind of sense did that make?

Dee and Iwona arrived at the shop within minutes of each other. Dee strapped Theo into his pram and asked Billie what she fancied eating for supper while Iwona wrapped a purchase for a customer. That was when Gio strode in, utterly frying Billie’s brain cells because she stopped mid-conversation with Dee and totally forgot what she had been about to say.

Garbed in a charcoal designer pinstripe suit that sheathed his tall, muscular body like a tailor-made glove, Gio simply took her breath away. His white shirt accentuated his bronzed complexion and the very masculine black stubble already beginning to shadow his handsome jaw line. A startling sunburst of honeyed heat blossomed between Billie’s thighs and she pressed them tight together, her colour steadily climbing. She was even more painfully aware of the swelling heaviness of her breasts and the sudden tightening of her nipples. She was appalled that Gio could still have that immediate an effect on her, an effect that was markedly more intense than the day before when she had blamed her surrender to that kiss on the fact that he had caught her unprepared. What was her excuse this time?

‘Billie...’ Gio breathed in his dark, velvet drawl, poised several feet away and acting as if his appearance in her shop were the most natural thing in the world.

‘G-Gio...’ she stammered half under her breath, quickly closing the space between them, fearful of being overheard. ‘Why are you here?’

‘You’re not stupid, don’t act it,’ Gio advised, glancing around. ‘So, you left me to open a shop—’

‘You. Left. Me,’ Billie spelt out with a bitterness she could not restrain but it was the truth: he had left her to place a wedding ring on another woman’s finger.

‘We can’t talk here. We’ll catch up back at my hotel over lunch,’ Gio decreed, closing a hand round her arm.

‘If you don’t let go, I’ll slap you!’ Billie hissed, determined not to be railroaded by his overpowering personality and drive.

His dark eyes glittered like pyrite as if the prospect of a good slap was an entertaining challenge. ‘Lunch, pouli mou?’

‘We’ve got nothing to say to each other,’ Billie told him, noting that his entire hand was still wrapped round her arm, forcing her to stay by his side.

His sensual mouth quirked as he studied her full pink mouth. ‘Then you can listen—’

Butterflies danced in her tummy as she looked up at him. ‘Don’t want to talk, don’t want to listen either—’

‘Tough,’ Gio pronounced and then he did something she would never ever have dreamt he would do in public. He just bent down and scooped her up off her feet and headed for the door.

‘Put me down, Gio!’ she gasped, making a wild grab at the flouncy skirt of her dress, which had flown up to expose her thighs. ‘Have you gone crazy?’

Gio glanced at the two women standing together behind the counter. ‘I’m taking Billie out for lunch. She’ll be back in a couple of hours,’ he explained with complete cool.

‘Gio!’ Billie launched in disbelief, catching a glimpse of Dee’s laughing face before Gio shouldered open the door and hid her cousin from view.

The chauffeur swept open the passenger door as if they were royalty and Gio shoved her into the back seat with scant ceremony. ‘You should’ve known that I wouldn’t stand there arguing with an audience,’ he pointed out smoothly. ‘In any case, I’m out of patience and I’m hungry.’

In a series of angry motions, Billie smoothed down her dress, tugging it over her knees. ‘Why didn’t you go back to London yesterday?’

‘You should know by now that saying no to me only makes me try harder.’

Billie rolled her bright green eyes in mockery and said angrily, ‘Well, how would I know that when I never did say no to you?’

Disconcertingly Gio laughed, genuine amusement illuminating his darkly handsome face. ‘I’ve missed you, Billie.’

Her annoyance fell away and she turned her head in a sharp movement, both shaken and hurt by that claim and by how very empty it was. ‘You got married. How could you possibly have missed me?’

‘I don’t know but I did,’ Gio ground out truthfully. ‘You were so much a part of my life.’

‘No, I was like one tiny little drawer in a big busy cabinet of drawers,’ Billie countered. ‘I was never part of the rest of your life.’

Gio was sincerely astonished by that statement. He had phoned her twice a day every day no matter where he was in the world and no matter how busy he was. Her soothing happy-go-lucky chatter had provided him with necessary downtime from a hectic schedule. In truth he had never had so close a relationship with any woman either before or after her. He had trusted her and he had been honest with her, which was a very rare thing between a single man and a single woman in Gio’s world. But it was steadily sinking in on him that none of that mattered because he had married Calisto. Billie, who had never shown a jealous, distrustful streak in her life, had clearly been jealous and distressed by that development. He didn’t like that idea, he didn’t like it at all, and he kicked out that thought so fast it might never have existed.

Gio had constructed a protective shell while he was still a child to ensure that he could remain untouched by emotional reactions. Emotion didn’t need to get involved. Emotion complicated and only exacerbated an already difficult situation. Calm, common sense and control had always worked far more efficiently for Gio in every field of his life, only not with Billie, he acknowledged grudgingly. But the past was the past and he couldn’t change it, while life had taught him that with enough money, energy and purpose he could form the future into any shape he wanted.

Billie, however, was not practical; she was all about emotion and perhaps that essential difference between them had been one of the things that attracted him to her and which was now sending her in the wrong direction. His shrewd, dark eyes rested on her angry, flushed face and suddenly he wanted to flatten her to the seat of the limo and teach her that there were far more satisfying responses. Inky spiky lashes lowering, he scanned her from her bright eyes to her lush mouth right down over the glorious breasts he had loved to play with and the long shapely legs he had loved to slide between. Sex with Billie was amazing. Just thinking about her made heaviness stir at his groin. Being with her without being able to reach out and take what he wanted, what he had once taken for granted, not only felt weird, but also struck him as a form of refined torture.

‘I want you back,’ Gio declared with stubborn force. ‘I’ve been looking for you ever since you disappeared.’

‘Your wife must’ve liked that.’

‘Leave Calisto out of this...’

Even the sound of her name on Gio’s lips stung Billie like a whip across tender skin. She knew she was being too sensitive. He had married another woman two years ago and she needed to move on. Even if he hadn’t moved on? That was too complex for her, shouted too loudly of wishful thinking. And, my goodness, she had done enough of that while she was still with him and what had those optimistic hopes got her? A broken heart and, right now, the pieces of that foolish heart were rattling like funeral bells. This was the guy she had loved as she had never dreamt she could ever love anyone and he had damaged her beyond forgiveness. Even walking away as she had known she must had almost destroyed her, but not even for him would she have sunk low enough to sleep with another woman’s husband.

‘I can’t believe you’re wasting your time with this,’ Billie admitted abruptly, her soft full mouth compressed to a flat, tense line. ‘I mean, what are you doing here? Why do you even want to see me again? It makes no sense for either of us!’

Gio searched her animated face and wondered what made her seem so beautiful to him. In some corner of his brain, he knew that from a purist’s point of view she never had met and never would meet the standard tenets of beauty because her nose turned up at the end and her eyes and her mouth were too big for her face and in a sudden shower of rain her hair turned into an unbelievably frizzy mess. But dry it fell in a silky tangle of curls the colour of toffee halfway to her waist and that hair had cloaked his body many, many times on occasions so intimate it hurt to remember them and still be deprived of the right to repeat them.

‘Stop looking at me like that,’ Billie told him thinly, the colour of awareness mantling her cheeks, a warm glow unfurling low in her body to remind her of how much time had passed since she had last been touched. She had got pregnant, become a new mother, set up a new home and business and kept so busy-busy-busy for months on end that she fell into bed exhausted every night. It took Gio’s reappearance to remind her that life could offer more self-indulgent pastimes.

‘Like what?’

‘Like we’re still...you know,’ she completed, eyelashes lowering.

‘Like I still want to be inside you?’ Gio queried thickly. ‘But I do and right at this very minute I’m aching for you...’

A tiny clenching sensation in a place she refused to think about forced Billie to shift uneasily on the seat. ‘I really didn’t need to know that, Gio. That was a very inappropriate comment to make—’

Gio skated a long forefinger down over the back of the hand she had tautly braced to the leather seat. ‘At least it was honest and you’re not being honest—’

‘I’m not coming back to you!’ Billie interrupted loudly. ‘I’ve got another life now—’

‘Another man?’ Gio slotted in, deep accented voice raw with unspoken vibrations.

And Billie seized on that convenient excuse like a drowning swimmer thrown a lifebelt. ‘Yes. There’s someone else.’

Every lean, long line of Gio’s big body tensed. ‘Tell me about him.’

Billie was thinking about her son. ‘He’s extremely important to me and I would never do anything to hurt or upset him.’

‘There’s nothing I won’t do to get you back,’ Gio warned as the limousine drew up outside his country-house hotel and the chauffeur leapt out to open the door. He also grasped at that same moment that he was not as law-abiding as he had always assumed because he knew that he was willing to break rules in order to get Billie back.

Billie stole a reluctant glance at his lean, hard face, clashing with the golden glitter of his stunning eyes. She froze in consternation at that expression of menace she had never seen there before. ‘Is there some reason you can’t let me be happy without you?’ she asked suddenly. ‘I think I’ve paid my dues, Gio.’

Gio’s nostrils flared at that declaration, exasperation roughening the edges of an anger he knew he had no right to express. If she had another man, she would naturally get rid of him because he refused to credit that any other man could set her on fire the way he did. But nothing could assuage his bone-deep ferocious reaction to being forced to imagine Billie in bed with someone else. Billie had always been his alone, indisputably his.

As they crossed the foyer of the opulent hotel a familiar voice hailed Billie and she stopped dead and flipped round with a smile as a tall blond man in expensive country casuals moved towards her eagerly to greet her.

‘Simon, how are you?’ she said warmly.

‘I’ve got an address for you.’ Simon dug into his wallet to produce a piece of paper. ‘Got a pen?’

Billie realised her bag had been left behind at the shop and looked expectantly at Gio. ‘Pen?’ she pressed.

Totally unaccustomed to being ignored while others went about their business around him, Gio withdrew a gold pen from his pocket with pronounced reluctance, his beautiful obstinate mouth sardonic.

Simon borrowed the pen and wrote the address on the back of a business card. ‘There’s a heap of stuff there you’ll like and it won’t cost you much either. The seller just wants the house cleared.’

Impervious to the reality that Gio was standing by her side like a towering and forbidding pillar of black ice, Billie beamed at the taller man. ‘Thanks, Simon. I really appreciate this.’

Simon studied her with the same appreciation Gio had often seen on male faces around Billie and his perfect white teeth gritted. ‘Maybe you’ll let me treat you to lunch here some day soon?’

Gio shot an arm like a statement round Billie’s slender spine. ‘Regrettably she’s already taken.’

Ignoring that intercession, Billie reddened but kept on valiantly smiling. ‘I’d like that, Simon. Call me,’ she suggested while knowing that she was only encouraging the other man to make a point for Gio’s benefit and feeling guilty about that because Gio was making her behave badly as well.

‘What was that all about?’ Gio demanded grittily as he urged her into the lift.

‘Simon’s an antique dealer. He tips me off about house clearances. I know a lot of dealers. That’s how I built up my business,’ Billie advanced with pride.

‘You can open a shop in London. I’ll pay for it,’ Gio told her grimly.

Unimpressed, Billie glanced wryly at him. ‘Well, in a roundabout way you paid for this one and my house, so I don’t think it would be right for you to pay anything more.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I sold a piece of jewellery for cash. It was something you gave me.’

Gio frowned. ‘You left everything I ever gave you behind.’

‘No, I took one piece. Your very first gift,’ Billie extended. ‘I had no idea how much it was worth. That was a surprise, I can tell you.’

‘Was it?’ Gio couldn’t even remember his first gift to her and he would have been prepared to swear, having checked the jewellery she left behind, that she had taken nothing with her when she walked out.

‘Yes, you’re so extravagant it’s a wonder you’re not broke. You hardly knew me and yet you spent an absolute fortune on that diamond pendant,’ Billie told him critically. ‘It paid for my house and setting up the shop. I couldn’t believe how valuable it was!’

Gio thrust open the door of his suite. And just like that, the memory of the gift returned to him. He had bought the pendant after their first night together and he was furious that she had just sold it as if it meant nothing to her. ‘I don’t believe that there’s another man in your life.’

‘I’m not coming back to you,’ Billie told him in the most ludicrously apologetic tone. ‘Why would I want a shop in London? Why would I want to move? I’m happy here. And believe it or not there are men out there who would take me out with them into a public restaurant instead of hiding me inside their suite!’

Billie had served a direct hit. Gio paled beneath his Mediterranean tan. ‘We’re in my suite only because we need a private setting in which to talk.’

Billie gave him a wry smile. ‘Maybe that’s true this one time, Gio, but when it went on for almost two years, even I got the message. You might as well have been married from the moment I met you. I was like a guilty, dirty secret in your life.’

‘That is not true.’

‘No point arguing about the past now,’ Billie parried with determination. ‘It’s not worth it.’

‘Of course it is...I want you back.’ A spasm of open exasperation crossed Gio’s lean dark face when a knock sounded on the door, announcing the arrival of two waiters pushing a rattling trolley: lunch had arrived.

Billie folded her arms, thinking of her grandpa’s favourite winning racehorse, Canaletto, and the reality that just four years ago she had never heard of the artist called Canaletto before. Recalling that blunder still made Billie cringe and die inside herself, for the moment she had entered the conversation she had known her mistake but it had been far too late to cover it up. Unhappily for her, the one and only time Gio had taken her out to mix with his friends she had made an outsize fool of herself...and him.

Although he had reacted with neither anger nor criticism, he had dismissed her attempts to talk about the incident and explain that she had grown up more at home in betting shops than museums. But she had known that she had seriously embarrassed him in public in a way that would not be forgotten and, even worse, in a manner that had literally signposted the reality that she and Gio came from worlds and educational backgrounds that were light years apart.

That was why she had never complained about being excluded from his social life and why she had happily settled for dinners out alone in discreet locations where he was unlikely to meet anyone he knew. She had guessed that he was worried she would let him down again and without his awareness she had swiftly set about a self-improvement course in the hope that eventually he would notice and give her another chance. Sadness filled Billie when she recalled that naivety born in the early months of their relationship before she had reached the daunting moment of discovery and slow, painful acceptance that she was not Gio’s girlfriend but instead his mistress, there to dispense sexual entertainment and not much else and never ever to be taken seriously.

‘You’re so quiet. I’m not accustomed to you being quiet with me,’ Gio confessed in growing frustration, closing his hands over her slender, taut shoulders, massaging the tense muscles there as the door flipped shut behind the waiters. ‘Talk to me, Billie. Tell me what you want.’

Feeling the warm tingling of his touch snaking down her rigid spine and the pinching tautness of her nipples while resisting a powerfully seductive urge to lean back into the strong, sheltering heat of Gio, Billie pulled away and quickly sank down into one of the chairs by the beautifully set table. Talk to me. That was an insanely perplexing invitation to receive from a male like Gio, who didn’t like serious conversations and who smoothly sidestepped or downright ignored emotional moments and phrases.

‘We’ve got nothing to discuss,’ she pointed out, tucking into the first course with sudden appetite because while she ate she did not have to speak and had less excuse to be looking at Gio. Gio, surely one of the most beautiful men ever born? She glanced at him from below her lashes, roaming with helpless appreciation across his sculpted features to relish the spectacular slash of his high cheekbones and the tough masculine angle of his jaw. He was out of her reach. He was rich and successful, handsome and sophisticated, educated and pedigreed, everything she was not. He had always been out of her reach. If only she had had the wit to accept that obvious fact, she would never have got involved and never have got hurt.

‘Is there really another man?’ Gio asked very quietly, the rich velvety depth of his accented drawl filling her with pleasure, no matter how hard she tried not to react that way. But that was the same voice she had once lived to hear on the phone when he was away from her, and she could not break her instinctive appreciation.

Billie worked out the question and flushed as she collided with stunning tigerish golden eyes surrounded by ebony lashes. She breathed in, intending to lie, breathed out, knew that for some reason she didn’t want to lie. Perhaps it was because if she lied he would come down on her like a granite block to get further information about the supposed man in her life and would eventually cleverly trip her up and learn that she was lying, which would only make her look stupid. ‘No, there isn’t,’ she admitted grudgingly. ‘But that doesn’t change anything between us.’

‘Then we’re both free,’ Gio murmured lazily, topping up her glass with the bottle of wine.

‘I have no intention of getting involved with you again,’ Billie declared, taking a hasty gulp of the mellow red, wondering if he would laugh if she told him what the flavour reminded her of. After all, she had once attended a wine course as well as an art-appreciation course and had never had the opportunity to show off what she had learned there.

‘But we work well together.’

Billie shook her head in vehement rejection of that statement and concentrated on her food again.

Sipping his wine, Gio watched her. He suspected she was wearing vintage clothes and the pale green linen dress she wore teamed with a light blouse-like jacket embroidered with flowers didn’t bear any resemblance to what he deemed to be current fashion, but the colours and plain styling had an understated elegance. The minute she sat down, however, the fabric of the dress pulled taut across the swell of her ample bosom. Gio tensed, hunger stabbing through him while he wondered how he was supposed to tempt a woman so utterly lacking in greed. She didn’t want his money, had never wanted his money, had once told him in no uncertain terms that he didn’t need a yacht because he would never take the time off to use it. His yacht, sitting idle and costing a fortune to maintain, was currently moored at Southampton.

The waiters came back to serve the main course. She saw their sidewise glances and recognised their curiosity about her. By now the hotel staff would have established who Gio was—Giorgios Letsos, the oil billionaire was a legend the world over. The press loved him because he lived a rich man’s life and looked great in print. Calisto had looked brilliant in print too with her sleek straight blonde hair, her perfect features and her terrifyingly tiny size-zero body. Beside her, Billie would have appeared plump, short and ungainly and, from seeing that first photo, Billie had accepted that no comparison could ever be made between them. After all, she and Calisto weren’t even on the same page in the looks department.

Gio wound down the tension by talking about his recent travels round the world. She asked small, safe, impersonal questions about some of his staff, a couple of whom she had met and some she had only got to know by speaking to them often on the phone.

While eating her dessert, a glorious concoction of fresh berries and meringue, she enquired whether or not he still had the apartment.

‘No...like you, it’s long gone,’ he stated.

Billie took that to mean that he had not installed a more malleable woman in her place and when a sense of relief filtered through her she gulped more of her wine and tried hard to direct her thoughts to safer topics. It was no longer her business to wonder who he slept with. Once he had married Calisto the question had become academic. Billie had been replaced in every way. Calisto had been chosen to sit at the other end of the dining table in his probably very beautiful Greek home, which Billie had naturally never visited. Gio would have socialised with Calisto because they were a real couple and obviously he had planned to make Calisto the mother of his children...

CHAPTER THREE

AS THE PAIN of that never-to-be-forgotten reality pierced Billie, she suddenly reached the limits of her tolerance. Her attempt to be civilised for the sake of appearances was shattered and, forced cruelly out of her comfort zone, she thrust her hands down on the edge of the table and suddenly stood up. ‘I can’t do this!’ she told Gio with ragged abruptness. ‘I want to go home right now!’

Taken aback, Gio sprang upright, a frown line drawing his ebony brows together, his lustrous dark eyes locked to her flushed and unhappy face with wary, searching curiosity. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Only you would ask that in this set-up!’ Billie exclaimed helplessly. ‘I didn’t want to see you ever again. I don’t want to be reminded of the past!’

‘Billie...’ Gio murmured, closing strong hands over her shaking shoulders while his keen gaze collided with her translucent green eyes. ‘Calm down...’

‘I can’t...I’m not like you...I never was. I’m no good at avoiding the obvious and pretending!’ She gasped strickenly, tears clogging up her throat and terrifying her because in the past she had always contrived to hide her emotional breakdowns from Gio and she was proud of the restraint she had demonstrated in spite of the provocation and the pain he had put her through. ‘You really shouldn’t be here...you should’ve left me alone in my new life.’

Gio trailed a blunt forefinger along the lower line of her lush bottom lip. ‘I would if I could. I had to see you again.’

‘Why?’ Billie demanded baldly.

‘Because we weren’t done when you walked away.’

A great scream of agonising hurt and frustration was rising up inside Billie. ‘Of course we were done—you were getting married!’ she reminded him doggedly.

‘I had to see you again to find out if I still wanted you.’ Long brown fingers rose to cup her cheekbones. ‘And the answer to that is that I do still want you.’

In a sudden rage at his nerve in admitting that, Billie jerked her head back out of reach to detach his fingers. ‘That means nothing.’

‘It means a hell of a lot more to me than you seem to appreciate!’ Gio growled, patience splintering, because he was well aware that he was fighting blind in the sort of emotional confrontation he had absolutely no experience of dealing with.

‘Not enough to make a difference!’ Billie snapped back, a kind of madness in the strong emotions powering her while she fought a humiliatingly defensive urge to just race out of the door and run away like a scared kid.

Gio imprisoned her in the strong circle of his arms in an unforewarned movement that jolted her. Brilliant dark eyes blazed pure gold fire down at her. ‘There’s more than enough for both of us,’ he spelt out, marvelling that she was still fighting him when it was more normal for him to be fighting off the women who ceaselessly pursued him with flirtation and flattery.

‘Let me go!’ she told him shakily.

‘No.’ Gio studied her with smouldering determination. ‘You’ll only run away again. I can feel it in you and I won’t let you do something that stupid again.’

‘You can’t make me do anything I don’t want to—’

‘But what about what you want to do?’ Gio savoured the comeback, bending his handsome dark head to run his tongue along the seam of her closed lips.

Taken by surprise, Billie jerked, her blood running heavily and slowly through her veins as if time itself had slowed down to give her the chance to catch up. His breath fanned her cheek and his lips connected with hers in a heart-stopping collision that tripped her ability to breathe. His lips were smooth and unusually gentle and soft and somehow she couldn’t prevent herself from turning up her chin to ask for more of the same.

Gio smiled against her lush mouth, hunger beating through him like a jackhammer. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything or anybody in his life and he was all fired up to fight hard for what he wanted because he knew she would restore the oasis of peace he needed in his private life. Long fingers smoothed over her back, his other hand curving to her waist. He nipped at her soft lower lip and then glided his sensual mouth over hers in a move that swallowed her tiny cry of surprise. His hand moved up to tangle in her mane of curls and the pressure of his mouth increased until her head tilted back, allowing him greater access.

Her breasts crushed against the solid wall of his broad chest, Billie was struggling to breathe and being bombarded by sensations she had forced herself to forget. She had forgotten how gentle he could be and how inventive and her heartbeat was racing like an express train because it had been too long since she had been touched, too long since she had allowed herself to be the passionate woman that she was.

His tongue darted between her teeth, searching out the moist welcome beyond and then tasting her deep and slow with a rough sensuality that lit a string of firecrackers low in her pelvis. She squirmed as the heat of his mouth on hers grew and the hunger she had tried to deny leapt up inside her in explosive response. The rhythmic plunge of his tongue was matched by the small rocking motions of his hips against hers and her body went nuclear on memories she had suppressed for two years. The barrier of their clothing could not conceal the fact that Gio was erect and ready for her.

Billie felt him lift her but she was so drunk on the taste and texture of his passionate kisses she ignored the fact. He was more intoxicating than wine and her head swam while powerful pulses of reaction were coiling up from the tight knot forming at the heart of her body. Her back connected with a soft yielding surface and he lifted his proud, dark head, black cropped hair ruffled by her seeking fingers, burnished dark golden eyes holding hers in an exchange so familiar it shook her to her very depths.

‘My tie’s choking me,’ he confided huskily, yanking at the offending item, ripping loose the collar of his shirt and, in his impatience, sending the button flying.

That comment was typical of Gio: an emotional moment instinctively avoided. When she looked at him, though, everything else melted away for her. It was a desire so all-encompassing it thrummed through Billie like a sensual drugging pulse. He shrugged out of his jacket, used his feet to push off her shoes.

‘I can’t let you go again, pouli mou.’

‘You have to...we can’t do this,’ Billie whispered unevenly, her awareness returning to encompass the giant bed and the elegant furnishings of what was obviously the bedroom of his suite. She was stunned, still dimly wondering how she had got there.

‘Open your mouth for me,’ Gio urged with stubborn single-minded zeal. ‘Theos, I love your mouth—’

Just one more kiss, she bargained with herself frantically, her body coming alive in the most fatally seductive fashion because with the life came the cravings she had successfully shut down. And he tasted like heaven, a banquet for the starving, a delicious drink for the terminally thirsty. Her hands kneaded his bulging biceps and, brushing aside his collar, she pushed her mouth against the corded strength of his neck, licking the salt from his skin. His big body shifted in a jerk against hers, sealing every line of his muscled mass to hers, and the awesomely familiar weight of him and the scent of his skin plunged her back into the past.

Gio rolled onto his side to drag off her jacket and locate the zip of the dress. He ran it down, stroked it down her arms and fell on the heavenly globes of her full breasts with a hunger he could no more have controlled than he could have stopped breathing.

Billie surfaced from her sensual spell as her bra fell away and Gio cupped her breasts, thumbing the straining strawberry-pink peaks into swollen buds and then using his mouth, the gliding caress of his teeth and the lash of his tongue to stimulate the sensitive nubs beyond bearing. She couldn’t stay still. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she was going to have regrets but she couldn’t listen to them, couldn’t detach herself long enough from the scorching urgency of Gio’s passion or the staggering strength of her own increasing need.

With a skilled hand he traced the taut triangle of lace stretched between her restive thighs and an inarticulate sound of helpless encouragement broke from her lips. He ravaged her mouth with a wild, devouring kiss and her hips rose, her hands clawing in frustration down the lithe, strong length of his shirt-clad back. Wetness surged to the tender flesh that throbbed. He teased her, stroked her in a sensual torment that drove her to the edge...

‘Stop messing about, Gio!’ she suddenly gasped in stricken reproach, her body on such a high it was aching and hurting.

Unholy amusement lit up neon signs inside Gio’s head and he laughed against her mouth, recalling that she was the only woman who had ever made him laugh in bed. She was also most probably the only woman who could reduce him to the juvenile level of having sex with half his clothes still on. He blanked the thought, the barometer of his mood suddenly darkening, lean, strong face shadowing, but it was no use because he wasn’t in control at that moment, didn’t even want to be in control, simply craved the hot, wet oblivion of burying himself in her as deeply as possible.

Billie arched up and suddenly he was there, nudging against her indescribably sensitive entrance before driving his long, hard thickness into her tight channel. She cried out, flung her head back and her back arched as she convulsed around him, her cries of helpless pleasure filling the air as he angled back from her and plunged again with dominant force. The hot excitement of his every virile thrust consumed her, sending out eddying ripples of ever-growing pleasure from her womb. The pace became fast and frantic and the friction of his powerful rhythm stimulated her response to an unbearable height, and she bucked before he sent her flying into another powerful climax, ecstasy flooding every inch of her body.

Within seconds of satiation, Gio turned cold, pushing off the bed and grabbing what little clothing he had removed to head for the bathroom. He was outraged and downright unnerved by the sheer intensity of his own need. Without a doubt, Billie was special, terrific in bed but nothing more, nothing greater, for nobody knew better than Gio Letsos that any form of attachment endangered a man’s power and control. He could keep his hands off her if he had to; obviously he could exist perfectly well without her. Billie was an indulgence, not a necessity.

As he ripped off what remained of his clothes he rested his hot, damp forehead against the cold tiled wall for several tense seconds, hands coiled into tight fists of angry restraint. For an instant images from the worst day of his life reclaimed him and he broke out into a cold sweat, his quick and clever brain reacting accordingly. Wanting or needing a woman too much was weak and foolish; enjoying good sex was normal: he had just enjoyed very, very good sex.

CHAPTER FOUR

LIKE AN ACCIDENT VICTIM, Billie sat up in the tangled and creased remnants of her clothes. She blinked and then the realisation of what had just happened kicked in and she hated herself with a virulence that literally hurt. In shock, she struggled to deal with a colossal self-betrayal. Gio would never believe she wanted to be left alone now, would he? Not when she glugged down a couple of glasses of wine over lunch with him as if they were old and dear friends and then got upset and still went to bed with him!

How could I have? Theo’s trusting little face below his mop of black curls swam inside her head. What had happened to her self-respect? She had wanted Gio with a desperate hunger that in retrospect shook her inside out. Had she missed sex that much? She fought her way into her knickers with clumsy, trembling hands. The bathroom door opened and she froze before sliding off the bed, gathering up her discarded clothing, locked in a cocoon of almost-sick mortification.

‘I didn’t plan for this to happen...’ Gio breathed curtly.

Engaged in getting her bra back on, it was as much as Billie could do to even spare a glance in his direction. She was surprised that he wasn’t sporting a triumphant smile because he had won and Gio liked to win much more than most people. It was the high-voltage combination of that essential drive, innate aggression and competitiveness that made Gio Letsos a global success.

‘Like I believe that,’ Billie framed dully while she slid into her dress because she knew how intensely manipulative and devious he could be. He used those qualities in business. She was quite sure he had used them on her and was still doing so. Conscience didn’t get much of a look-in with Gio when it came to anything he wanted.

‘Let me...’ He strode round the foot of the bed to run up her zip and she wanted to slap his hands away and scream, only that would have humiliated her even more by exposing just how much he had wounded her. ‘I didn’t plan it,’ he repeated.

‘Right, you didn’t plan it,’ Billie echoed like a well-taught parrot, pushing her feet into her shoes, wanting a shower badly but desperate to escape his presence and reach the sanctuary of her home and her son.

‘Next week you have your twenty-fifth birthday,’ Gio told her.

Billie grimaced. ‘My twenty-third—’

Gio looked back at her in bewilderment. ‘Twenty-fifth—’

‘I lied when we first met,’ Billie volunteered carelessly. ‘You said you didn’t date teenagers and I was nineteen, so I said I was two years older.’

Taken aback, Gio stared at her. ‘You lied? You were only nineteen?’

Billie nodded and shrugged. ‘What does it matter now?’

Biting back a sharp retort, Gio compressed his handsome mouth, his absolute trust in her taking a severe hit because right from the start of their acquaintance he had been disarmed by her apparent honesty. Aside of that he was less than pleased that he had taken a teenager to his bed without even realising it. It had been a much more unequal relationship than he had ever appreciated, he recognised grudgingly. He had been twenty-six years old and about a thousand years of sexual savoir faire and sophistication ahead of her.

‘Call me a taxi,’ she prompted in the strained silence. ‘I want to go home.’

‘We haven’t agreed anything yet—’

‘And we’re not going to,’ Billie interposed. ‘What just happened was an accident, a mistake...a case of familiarity breeding contempt, whatever you choose to call it. But it didn’t mean anything to either of us and it didn’t change anything...’

Billie waited for Gio to protest but the silence stretched and she was suddenly wretchedly, unhappily aware of how much that silence of agreement hurt. He had travelled from hot-pursuit mode to apparent indifference: it seemed the sex had acted like a miracle cure. And why was she surprised? She had always been surprised that Gio stayed interested in her. She had been surprised throughout their relationship, had never contrived to work out what he saw in her that he could not find in a more beautiful and glossier woman.

‘The limo will drop you back,’ Gio breathed flatly, his spectacular eyes veiled. ‘I have work to catch up on. My business team are joining me here within the hour. I’ll call you tomorrow.’

Shot from the conviction that she was being rejected to the news that once again she had read him wrong, Billie slowly shook her head. ‘There’s no point. End it here, Gio. Leave me alone. You go your way, I go mine. It’s the only sensible option after all this time.’

A sliver of dark fury shot through Gio that Billie should still feel detached enough to believe that she could easily walk away from him. This was the woman he had once believed loved him. This was the woman he had spent a fortune tracking down. Well, so much for love, he reflected without wonder at that change in her and her lack of appreciation for a persistent and flattering pursuit that many women would have killed to receive from him. Was his less-than-stellar performance between the sheets at fault? Shorn of his usual cool, he had been too fast and too eager. His perfect white teeth gritted.

‘You’re starting to offend me,’ Gio admitted with the disconcerting honesty he could occasionally employ to unsettle the opposition. He tugged out his phone and voiced terse instructions in Greek. ‘Perhaps it’s better that you leave now and think over what you’re doing.’

Billie flushed, hands linking tightly in front of her. ‘I’ve already thought—’

‘If I leave, I never come back,’ Gio spelt out in pure challenge. ‘Think carefully before I give you what you say you want.’

A pang of dismay shot through Billie. She wanted him to go away and leave her alone, of course she did. She didn’t have a single doubt. She had to protect Theo because Gio would hit the roof if he found out about him. His Greek family was very traditional and old-fashioned and children born on the proverbial wrong side of the blanket were not welcomed. She knew his father had had an illegitimate child with a lover, a half-sister of Gio’s, whom his family did not acknowledge or accept into their select circle.

Gio was finally coming round to her arguments, she decided, striving to feel pleased that her objections were finally getting through to him and being taken seriously. But just then, as Gio showed her back out to the lift and turned away again without a backward glance to vanish into his suite, it was impossible for Billie to feel good about anything that had happened. She was a mess inside and out and she hadn’t even brushed her hair. The mirrored wall in the lift showed a woman with a reddened swollen mouth, a wild torrent of tousled curls and guilty troubled eyes gritty with the tears she was denying. Did she blame the wine? Being sex-starved? Old memories and familiarity? Or did she have a fatal weakness called Gio Letsos? And without any warning, time was sweeping her boldly back to their very first meeting.

Billie’s grandfather had died when she was eleven. Seven years later, her grandma had passed away after a very long illness. The older woman had willed her house to a local charity and had essentially left Billie homeless. Billie had travelled down to London with another girl, moved into a hostel and found work as a cleaner in a luxury block of apartments. She had cleaned Gio’s palatial apartment daily for several months before she met him.

Before she’d entered any apartment she had rung the bell to check whether anyone was at home and there had been no answer that day. Billie had been dusting shelves in the vast open-plan living area when a sudden unexpected noise had made her jump in fright. Whirling round, she had belatedly realised that there was a man lying slumped on one of the sofas. For an instant she had believed he was asleep, but his dark golden brown eyes had opened to stare at her and he had immediately begun trying to sit up, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. She had watched in shock as, instead of standing, he had ended up rolling off the sofa and falling heavily to the polished wooden floor.

‘For goodness’ sake...are you all right?’ she had exclaimed, wondering if he was in a drunken stupor.

But having grown up with a grandfather and school friends who liked to overindulge in alcohol at every opportunity, Billie had trusted her ability to recognise when someone was drunk. Gio had tried and failed to lift his head and he had groaned. She had noted that there was no sign of a bottle or a glass anywhere and no smell of drink before she had finally risked moving closer to see if he was simply ill.

‘Flu...’ he had mumbled, ridiculously long black lashes dropping back down over his stunning eyes as if even the effort of speech was too much for him.

Billie had rested cool fingers fleetingly on his forehead and registered that he was running one heck of a fever. ‘I think you need an ambulance,’ she had whispered.

‘No...doctor...phone,’ he had framed with difficulty, patting the pocket of his business suit jacket.

Billie had dug out the phone for him and slotted it into his hand. He had fumbled with buttons and cursed. ‘No, you do it.’

But the contacts list had been written in some weird script that was definitely not the alphabet and most probably a foreign equivalent. She had had to shake his shoulder to bring that to his attention and with some difficulty at focusing he had stabbed out the name for her and she had had to make the call to the doctor for him. Mercifully the doctor had spoken English and, sounding very concerned about the male he’d referred to as ‘Gio’, he had promised to be with them in twenty minutes.

Feeling uncomfortable but knowing she had to wait to let the doctor into the apartment, Billie had got on with the cleaning while Gio had lain there on the floor. She had felt helpless and useless because he was simply too big and heavy in build for her to lift him in an effort to make him more comfortable. The doctor, young and fit, had been shocked to see Gio lying on the floor and had immediately hauled him up and practically carried him into the first bedroom off the corridor.

Ten minutes later, the doctor had sought her out in the kitchen. ‘He’s a workaholic and he’s exhausted, which is probably why he’s ill. It’s a bad dose of the flu and he won’t go to hospital. I’ll bring back his prescription and look into getting a private nurse...in the short term, can you stay for a while? He shouldn’t be alone but I’m on emergency call—’

‘I’m only here to clean and I’m already behind,’ Billie had explained apologetically. ‘I should be starting on the apartment next door—’

‘Gio owns the building. He’s probably the man who signs your pay cheque through the management company. I wouldn’t worry about the place next door,’ the doctor had told her drily. ‘He asked for you to go in and see him—’

‘But why?’

The doctor had shrugged on his way out. ‘Maybe he wants to thank you for being a good Samaritan. You could’ve run and left him lying there.’

She had knocked on the bedroom door and when it wasn’t answered had peeped in, seeing Gio sprawled naked but for a pair of black silk pyjama trousers on the biggest bed she had ever seen. Even ill, pale below his olive skin and fast asleep, he had been the most beautiful specimen of masculinity she had ever seen, from his ruffled black curly hair to his unshaven chin and his incredibly impressive bronzed and muscular torso and flat stomach.

She had cleaned the guest bathrooms, waited an hour and then gone back into the bedroom, finding him awake.

‘Do you need anything?’

‘Water would be welcome...what’s your name?’ he had asked limply, breathing heavily as he’d tried to sit up but had lurched sideways instead.

‘Billie.’

‘Short for?’

‘Billie. Do you want me to fix your pillows?’

And she had fixed the pillows and straightened the sheet and fetched him a glass of water. He had seemed stunned by the discovery that she cleaned his apartment regularly sight unseen.

‘There’s never much to do here,’ she had admitted. ‘You don’t seem to use the kitchen.’

‘I travel a lot, eat out or order in when I’m here.’

The bell had buzzed. ‘That’ll be the nurse the doctor mentioned,’ she remarked.

‘I don’t need a nurse.’

‘You’re too weak and sick to be left alone,’ Billie had informed him bluntly.

‘I was hoping you’d hang around...’

‘I have other apartments to cleanI’ll be working late tonight as it is,’ she had said before she hurried to answer the door to a beautiful uniformed blonde with the face of a madonna.

The next morning when she had clocked in, her manager had emerged from his office to say, ‘You’ve been seconded full-time to Mr Letsos’ apartment until further notice.’

‘But how...why on earth? Full-time?’ she had queried in astonishment.

‘The order came down from higher up. Maybe the guy had a party last night and needs the place gutted,’ he had muttered without interest. ‘It’s not our business to question why.’

She had used the bell but nobody had answered and she had let herself in with her pass key, moving quietly round the silent apartment before knocking on the bedroom door.

‘Where’s the nurse?’ she had asked straight away.

Even more badly in need of a shave and still flat on the pillows, Gio had given her a wry look. ‘She tried to get into bed with me... I told her to leave.’

Thoroughly disconcerted by that bald admission, Billie had surveyed him wide-eyed, recognising the level of his primal male attraction even in sickness. He was gorgeous. Just looking at him had made butterflies take flight in her tummy.

‘For that reason, I hope you don’t mind that I arranged for you to take care of me because you haven’t demonstrated any desire to get into bed with me—’

Billie had reddened to the roots of her hair. ‘Of course not...how did you arrange it?’

‘Do you mind?’

‘What would taking care of you entail?’ Billie had prompted suspiciously. ‘I’m no nurse—’

‘I haven’t eaten since breakfast yesterday,’ Gio had confided, stunning lustrous dark eyes locking onto hers in clear search of sympathy. ‘Food would be very welcome.’

She had felt sorry for him, had even contrived to feel guilty that she hadn’t offered him a meal the day before. And after all, taking care of the sick was pretty much all Billie had done from the age of eleven right up until her grandmother had passed away. For the following three days, Billie had done what came naturally without fuss or fanfare. She had looked after Gio, shopping for him, cooking meals, changing the bed, passing out his medication and arguing with him every time he prematurely announced that he was well enough to get out of bed because his state of exhaustion was still etched in his pallor and sunken eyes. Indeed she had established an amazingly easy camaraderie with Gio Letsos that took no note whatsoever of their divergent status in life and she had laughed out loud when he had announced that he would take her out to dinner as a thank you as soon as he was stronger.

‘What age are you?’ he had suddenly demanded, staring at her. ‘I don’t date teenagers.’

And the minute that Billie had appreciated that the dinner suggestion could actually be described as a date, she had lied without shame to fulfil the conditions of acceptance because any kind of a date with a male like Gio had struck her as a dream come true.

As the images of the past receded, Billie swallowed hard, shaken up by those recollections and her own innocence, for in those days she had very definitely viewed Gio as a knight on a white horse. He had seemed so perfect to her, so very considerate and courteous. Well, she conceded painfully, she knew how well that belief had turned out... Gio could say the most dreadful things in the politest way without even raising his voice. He could graciously open the door for you while saying something that flayed the skin from your bones and ripped your heart to shreds. His superb manners and self-control had only added another layer of pain to the end game because he was clever enough to voice intolerable expectations in an acceptable, seemingly civilised way.

* * *

That same day the head of Gio’s security, Damon Kitzakis, came to see him after dinner. Wearing a rare air of discomfiture for a man who was generally very relaxed with his employer, Damon hovered and took his time about speaking up.

‘Something worrying you?’ Gio encouraged with a frown.

‘As you instructed, Stavros has been keeping an eye on Miss Smith and in the course of doing that he got chatting to one of her neighbours,’ Damon volunteered stiffly. ‘Quite accidentally he picked up something you probably already know about...of course, but—’

Gio was steadily becoming very still behind the desk, his broad shoulders taut. ‘What is this something?’

‘Miss Smith has a child.’

Gio shot him a startled look. ‘The woman she lives with has kids.’

Damon winced. ‘Apparently when...Miss Smith moved in when she was pregnant. The youngest kid...the baby...is hers.’

Suddenly something was buzzing in Gio’s head, interfering with his ability to think clearly. He blinked rapidly, fighting to clear his thoughts. Billie had a baby, another man’s child. There had been another man. Theos, he should never have approached her in advance of seeing the background report he had yet to receive from Henley. This was his reward for his ridiculous impatience, he reflected grimly. The least she could have done was tell him, he thought then with the dull, unfeeling anger of shock.

Pallor framed his mouth as he compressed his lips hard and phoned Joe Henley. Yes, there was a child, the older man confirmed without hesitation, but he hadn’t yet got hold of a copy of the birth certificate and couldn’t offer any further details until he did.

Why the hell hadn’t Billie just told him that she was a mother? After all, she had had the perfect excuse for not resuming their relationship, so why hadn’t she used it? Surely she would have guessed that he would no longer want her with a kid in tow? Gio sprang upright. His anger, cold from sheer shock, was heading towards sizzling temperatures very fast indeed because Billie had achieved a feat few people lived to boast about: she had made Gio feel foolish. He would never have gone to bed with her again had he known she had a child. Was Billie playing some silly waiting game, planning to entrap him with the lure of sex before admitting that she now had a kid?

* * *

Billie sank into a deep bath and whisked her fingers through the bubbles coating the surface of the water. It was treat night, when she spoiled herself with her favourite things. The children were in bed fast asleep. The kitchen was clean. She would curl up on the sofa and watch a romantic movie and have some chocolate. Even if she no longer quite believed in true love or the staying power of romance she could still enjoy the fantasy, she acknowledged ruefully.

The doorbell went when she was drying herself. And she grimaced, hurriedly reaching for her robe and tying the sash tight round her waist as she sped barefoot down the stairs, keen to prevent her caller from pressing the bell again and disturbing the children. Jade was a light sleeper and once she was up she would be up and there would be no prospect of peace and tranquillity. No, then it would be cartoons and endless chatter until Jade got sleepy again.

Billie yanked open the door and stiffened in dismay. It was Gio, shorn of his usual business suit, wearing black jeans and a leather jacket. She dragged her attention from the rare sight of him in casual clothing up to his lean, hard-boned face. Dark eyes glittered like golden fireworks at her and colour surged up in a hot wave over her cheeks because all she could think about at that instant was the thrusting potency of him over and in her and the earth-shattering pleasure that had followed.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you had a child?’ Gio demanded in a raw undertone.

Billie jerked and lost colour even faster than she had gained it at the recollection of how they had spent the afternoon. She pushed the door wider, immediately recognising that this was not a conversation she could keep outdoors. ‘You’d better come in.’

‘You’re damned right I’m coming in,’ Gio all but snarled at her, striding past her and thrusting open the sitting-room door with all the annoying assurance of a regular and more welcome visitor.

He knew. Oh, dear heaven, he knew, and that was why he was furious, Billie assumed in consternation.

Gio swung round from the window, all fluid grace and driving aggression, stunning eyes blistering over her as if she had deeply offended him in some way. ‘I’d never have touched you if I’d known you’d had some other man’s child!’

Some other man’s child. The worst of the tension holding Billie uncannily still evaporated as she realised that by some mysterious good fortune her secret was still a secret. Evidently it had not even occurred to Gio that her child might be his, but she was disconcerted by the unexpected flash of sexual possessiveness he was revealing. ‘Yes, I have a child,’ she confirmed flatly. ‘But I don’t see that as your business—’

‘Theos... Of course it was my business when I was asking you to come back to me!’ he flung back at her, his spectacular bone structure rigid with condemnation.

So, he didn’t want her with the encumbrance of a child. That was no surprise to Billie. He might have wanted a legitimate heir from Calisto but that want had been firmly rooted in his pride in his family line and his apparent desire to have a child to inherit his business empire. He had no particular fondness for children or interest in them that she had ever noticed. He had nephews and nieces because at least two of his sisters had married and produced but he had never mentioned those kids in a positive way, choosing instead to complain about the noise, inconvenience and indiscipline they displayed at adult gatherings.

‘But I didn’t owe you the information that I had a child when I had no plans to come back to you,’ Billie countered evenly, slight shoulders setting straight now that she no longer felt threatened, green eyes bright with defiance.

‘Then what was this afternoon all about?’ Gio demanded with cutting derision.

‘A mistake, as I said earlier,’ she reminded him doggedly. ‘A mistake we will obviously never repeat.’

Gio studied Billie, all pink and tousled and undoubtedly naked below the robe. As she moved her breasts swayed, pointed nubs making faint indents on the fabric, and within seconds he was hard as iron and furious that the hunger he had so recently assuaged could return without his volition. ‘Who was the guy?’

‘That’s not relevant,’ Billie fielded.

The fury still powering Gio wouldn’t quit. He breathed in slow and deep, disturbed by the level of anger still burning through him, questioning its source. ‘What age is the kid?’ he asked, although he didn’t know why he was asking because he could see no reason why he should want to know.

‘A year old,’ Billie answered, trimming a couple of months from Theo’s tally for safety’s sake, fearful of rousing Gio’s curiosity and making him wonder if there was the smallest possibility that her child might also be his child.

Involved in fast mental calculations as he counted the months, Gio compressed his wide sensual mouth into a hard line of distaste. ‘So, it was some kind of rebound thing after me,’ he assumed.

‘Not everything in my life is about you!’ Billie snapped back defensively.

‘But obviously the kid’s father isn’t still around—’

‘Not all men are cut out to be fathers,’ she parried.

‘The least a man should do is stand by his own child,’ Gio pronounced, startling her with that opinion. ‘It’s his most basic duty.’

‘Well, mine didn’t...’ and she almost reminded him that his father hadn’t either but that felt like too sensitive a point to raise in the mood he was in.

‘Whatever.’ Gio shifted a broad shoulder sheathed in butter-soft leather in a Mediterranean shrug as he moved past her to the door, clearly eager to be gone this time around. ‘You should’ve told me about the child the minute I reappeared. It’s a game changer, not something I could accept.’

Once, Billie would have assumed that she would experience a certain bitter satisfaction from Gio, in his ignorance, rejecting his own child, but instead guilt bit deep into her uneasy conscience. The passage of time had softened her outlook. Nothing was as black and white as she had believed when she had given birth to Theo without Gio’s knowledge. Less emotional now than she had been then, she knew that Gio had wronged her but that Gio’s wrong did not necessarily make her decisions right. A child wasn’t a trophy or a payback for an adult’s unkindness. A child was only a small human being, who might well not appreciate the choice she had made when he was old enough to have an opinion.

* * *

For Gio the next morning started with a bang when the fax spewed out a document and kept on printing. He scooped up the first page on the way to the shower and froze when he realised that he was looking at a facsimile of a birth certificate.

Theon Giorgios, a little boy aged fifteen months, had been born to Billie Smith. Theon was his grandfather’s name and the child’s age left no doubt of when conception had occurred.

Gio swept up the other pages of the report that had come through. His hands were trembling with rage. He was so angry, so incredulous that he wanted to smash something. He had trusted Billie and yet self-evidently she had betrayed his trust. He struggled to cool down for long enough to take a rational appraisal of the facts. No method of birth control was fool proof. He knew that intellectually, but he had always been careful, determined never to be caught in that net by something as basic as biology.

Billie had been on the contraceptive pill but side effects had led to her trying several brands before finally choosing to have an implant put in her arm instead. In short he had allowed her to take contraceptive responsibility and it was very possible that she had simply fallen victim to the failure rate. He set down the report, strode into the shower and, below the pounding beat of the overhead power shower, he thought with an incredulous wonder that was entirely new to his experience, I have a son.

An illegitimate son. He didn’t like that; he didn’t like that aspect at all. Gio was rigid in his views in that line and was well aware that his half-sister had suffered from having neither a father nor the acceptance and support of her own family. Times had changed since then and the world in general was much less concerned about whether or not children were born within marriage. In the Letsos family, however, such formal acknowledgements of inheritance, status and honour still mattered a great deal.

That Billie had lied outright to him shocked Gio the most and by the time he had finished reading that report and had learned about his son’s surgery, Billie’s unacceptable childcare arrangements and the unsavoury character of the woman she was living with, he wasted no time in setting up a video-conference meeting with his legal team in London to get advice. That discussion concluded, Gio knew what his options were and they were very few and the fierce temper he usually kept under wraps was boiling up like lava below his calm surface. He was in a situation he would never have chosen and, worst of all, a situation he could not necessarily control. He would fight dirty if he had to, very dirty if need be. Billie might have taken him by surprise but Gio knew where his priorities lay.

That same morning, Billie felt washed out because she had tossed and turned through the night and she got up early and was sitting with a cup of tea when Dee came downstairs smothering a yawn and swearing she was going straight back to bed.

‘I’ve done something awful,’ she confided to her cousin, quickly filling in the details and wincing when Dee looked at her in surprise and dismay. ‘I know, it was totally wrong of me to tell Gio that Theo was another man’s child—’

‘What came over you?’

Billie groaned. ‘I felt cornered and threatened. I didn’t get the chance to think anything through. I know Gio’s going to be furious when he finds out the truth.’ She pushed away the curls flopping on her brow and groaned. ‘I’m going to text him and ask him to come over.’

‘I think you’d better. I mean...the minute you realised that he knew you had a child, you should’ve come clean. After all, if you don’t tell Gio, what happens if Theo decides that he wants to meet his father ten or fifteen years from now?’ the blonde woman asked anxiously. ‘I know Gio hurt you but that doesn’t mean that he couldn’t be a good father.’

Dee wasn’t telling Billie anything she hadn’t thought herself during the long lonely hours of the night. Gio walking back into her life had changed everything. It was no longer acceptable to conceal the truth of Theo’s paternity and pretending that some other man was responsible for his conception had been downright unforgivable, she acknowledged with eyes that ached from the tears she was holding back. Ashamed of that moment of cowardice, she swallowed hard and lifted her phone, selecting the number she had never deleted, hoping it remained unchanged, texting...

I have to speak to you today. It’s very important.

Gio texted back.

Eleven, your house.

Clearly, Billie was planning to tell him the truth. Gio’s mouth curled; he wasn’t impressed. The truth would still be coming fifteen months and more too late...

CHAPTER FIVE

RESTIVE AS A cat on hot bricks, Billie peered out of the window as Gio sprang out of the limo and she tensed up even more at the sight of his formal attire. He wore a faultlessly tailored black business suit teamed with a white shirt and purple tie. This was Gio in full tycoon mode, eyes veiled, lean, strong face taut with reserve, and unsmiling.

‘I have something to tell you,’ she said breathlessly in the hall.

Gio withdrew a folded sheet of paper from his jacket and simply extended it. ‘I already know...’

Her heart beating very fast, Billie shook open the sheet, lashes fluttering in disconcertion when she saw the photocopy of the birth certificate. ‘I don’t know what to say—’

‘There’s nothing you can say,’ Gio pronounced icily. ‘You lied last night. You deliberately concealed the truth from me for well over a year. Evidently you had no intention of ever telling me that I was a father.’

‘I never expected to see you again,’ Billie muttered weakly.

‘I want to see him,’ Gio breathed in a driven undertone.

‘He’s having a nap—’

Poised at the foot of the stairs, Gio sent her a sardonic appraisal. ‘I will still see him...’

Billie breathed in deep and started up the stairs, brushing damp palms down over her jeans. If she was reasonable, even a touch conciliating, they could deal with this situation in a perfectly civilised fashion, she told herself soothingly. Naturally, Gio’s first reaction was curiosity and, since he was divorced, Theo’s existence was probably less of an embarrassment than it might otherwise have been.

‘We need to be quiet,’ she whispered. ‘Dee’s very tired and she went back to bed. I don’t want to wake her.’

Billie pressed open the door of the room that the three children shared. Theo’s cot was in the corner. Gio strode up to the rails and gazed down with a powerful sense of disbelief at the baby peacefully sleeping in a tangle of covers. His son. Even at first glance, the family resemblance was staggering. Theo had a shock of black curls, a strong little nose and the set of his eyes was the same as Gio’s. Gio breathed in deep and slow, his broad chest tightening on a surge of emotion unlike anything he had ever felt. This was his little boy and he had gone through serious surgery without Gio. Any sort of surgery on babies was risky. His child could have died without Gio ever having known of his existence. Rage shot through Gio like a rejuvenating drug, ripping through the carapace of uncertainty and shock. Not trusting himself to remain quiet, he swung away from the cot and walked back to the door.

Billie studied him uneasily. Colour scored along the high blades of his cheekbones. His eyes were a glossy brilliant black she couldn’t read and his wide sensual mouth was clenched into a hard line.

‘Theos...I will never ever forgive you for this,’ Gio ground out at the top of the stairs, his dark velvety drawl as chilling as an icicle shot into her flesh.

Consternation winging through her at that inflexible assurance, Billie’s tummy flipped and her legs felt hollow and clumsy as she descended the stairs.

In the sitting room she turned round to face him. ‘Why won’t you forgive me?’ she prompted. ‘Because I got pregnant?’

A tall, dark, brooding figure in the doorway, Gio stared across the room at her. ‘I’m not that stupid. It takes two people to make a baby. I know you couldn’t have schemed behind my back to have him because if that had been the case your goal would have been to claim child support. As you made no attempt to contact me to tell me that you had had my child, I can, at least, absolve you of a motive of greed.’

‘Am I supposed to say thank you for that vote of confidence?’ Billie asked with raised brows.

‘No.’ Gio closed the door behind him. ‘You’re supposed to explain why you chose not to tell me.’

‘I’m surprised you can ask me that.’

‘Are you really?’ Gio prompted in a gritty undertone.

‘Yes...you were getting married,’ Billie pointed out flatly.

‘That’s not an excuse,’ Gio declared harshly. ‘Whether I was single, married or divorced that child upstairs was my business and will always be my business and that’s why you should have told me the minute you realised that you were pregnant.’

‘I didn’t think you’d want to know,’ Billie admitted uncomfortably, wondering exactly what he expected her to say. ‘You once warned me that if I got pregnant it would be a disaster and the end of our relationship.’

‘That’s not an excuse either, particularly as, according to you, our relationship was already at an end,’ Gio reminded her staunchly.

‘Gio, you know you would’ve been furious and that you probably would’ve blamed me for it. I knew you wouldn’t want me to have your child!’ she exclaimed in frustration, resenting his refusal to acknowledge the limits of their relationship at the time.

‘What you want and what you get in life are often two very different things,’ Gio pointed out cynically. ‘I’m adult enough to accept that reality.’

‘Oh, thanks a bundle!’ Billie snapped back at him, her face flaming. ‘How dare you sneer at me because I have your child? I believed that if I’d told you back then, you would have asked me to have a termination—’

Gio shot her a chilling appraisal. ‘On what grounds do you base that assumption?’

Aware of the rise of hostile vibrations in the atmosphere, Billie fumbled to find the right words. ‘Well, obviously—’

An ebony brow lifted. ‘Did I ever make any comment about expecting you to have a termination if the situation arose?’

Put so unerringly on the spot, Billie shifted her feet uneasily. ‘Well, no, but once you had admitted what your attitude would be to an unplanned pregnancy it was a natural assumption for me to make.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘So, you’re saying that you wouldn’t have suggested a termination?’ Billie prompted.

‘That’s exactly what I’m saying. And considering that we only once briefly discussed how I would feel about you getting pregnant, you made one hell of a lot of assumptions about how I would react to having a child!’ Gio condemned.

‘At the time you were getting married to have a child with another woman. My being pregnant was nothing but bad news on every level!’ Billie proclaimed emotively. ‘And maybe I didn’t care to be the bearer of such bad news, maybe I didn’t want to tell you what I knew you didn’t want to hear, maybe, just maybe, I had a little pride of my own...’

‘I would never have married Calisto had I known you were pregnant,’ Gio declared grimly. ‘I would always have put the needs of my child first.’

Billie was rocked by that blunt announcement and she frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

Gio was beginning to grasp that reality for himself and his temper was on a hair trigger. ‘No, you don’t understand what you’ve done,’ he told her flatly. ‘Do you?’

‘What have I done?’ Billie fired back defensively. ‘I brought Theo into the world and I’ve looked after him ever since to the best of my ability. He has everything that he needs—’

Gio’s eyes flared golden as luminous torches, the force of his anger obvious in the harsh angular lines stamped on his darkly handsome features. ‘No, he has not. He has no father—’

Her brow furrowed. ‘If you want to play a part in Theo’s life, I’ll support that...if that’s what you’re worrying about—’

‘You think it’s acceptable to offer me a part?’ Gio derided in a tone that cracked like a whiplash in the silence. ‘You think it’s acceptable to let my son go through surgery without even telling me? To raise him here in a dump? To drag him to a shop while you work? To keep him ignorant of my language, his heritage, his father’s family, when you don’t even have a family of your own to offer him? Let me tell you now that nothing you have done is acceptable to me!’

Shaken by that comprehensive denunciation of what she had to offer her child and the fury he couldn’t hide, Billie backed off a step. ‘My home is not a dump—’

‘It is on my terms,’ Gio fired back unapologetically.

‘How did you know that Theo had to have surgery?’ Billie asked, thrown by Gio’s attitude, which was the exact opposite of what she had expected, and then finally making the leap to guess the most likely source of his information. ‘Oh, you’ve had us investigated, haven’t you?’

‘Why was my son over six months old before he received surgery?’ Gio demanded. ‘Hip dysplasia is usually recognised early.’

‘His wasn’t and when it was other treatments were tried first. You seem to know something about it—’

‘Of course I do—there’s a genetic link to the condition in my family. My half-sister and one of my full sisters were born with it as well as one nephew and one niece. It’s less common in boys. Theo having suffered it was almost as good as a DNA test,’ Gio spelt out with sardonic bite. ‘He is a Letsos in all but name—’

Billie lifted her chin. ‘No, he’s a Smith.’

Ramping down his anger, Gio looked at her, lustrous dark golden eyes semi-veiled by the thickness of his lashes. Even dressed in old jeans and a blue cotton top, her lush feminine curves sang a siren’s song to him. He hardened, knowing that, no matter how angry he was with her, he still wanted her on the most visceral level. Once had not been enough; once had not sated him. ‘I want my son,’ he said simply.

Billie turned pale, eyes flickering uncertainly over his lean, tight face, skimming uneasily over the lithe, lethal power of his very well-built body. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It means exactly what I said—I want my son. I want to be there for him as my father was not there for me,’ Gio extended curtly, wide sensual mouth compressing on the grudging admission, reminding her that his background and his family had always been a thorny topic on which he was only prepared to offer the barest details.

‘And how do you propose to do that?’

‘By fighting you for custody,’ Gio countered, throwing his big shoulders back, standing tall. ‘My son deserves no less from me.’

Her brow furrowed, consternation and disbelief running through her in a debilitating wave as she collided with his fiery gaze. That visual connection seemed to make the very blood in her veins move sluggishly even while her heartbeat quickened. In turmoil, she shivered. ‘You can’t be serious. You can’t mean that you would try to take Theo away from me?’

‘I will not allow him to stay here.’

Anger powered by a deep sense of fear smashed through the wall of Billie’s astonishment. ‘It doesn’t matter what you allow. I’m Theo’s mother and what you have to say has nothing to do with it!’

‘You’re wrong,’ Gio told her succinctly. ‘I have every right to object to the manner in which you care for my son and I will be happy to fully explain to the children’s authorities why I believe my son’s current living conditions are unacceptable.’

Gio was threatening her. Gio was actually telling her that he was prepared to report her to the social services for what he evidently saw as inadequate or neglectful childcare. The very thought made Billie shake with rage, a flush running across her cheekbones, her chin up, her green eyes defiant. ‘Well, maybe you’d be happy to tell me because quite frankly I don’t know what your problem is!’

‘You are living with a prostitute and leaving my child in her care. I will not tolerate that,’ he asserted with icy precision.

Off-balanced by that condemnation coming at her out of nowhere, Billie sank weakly down on the sofa, her legs suddenly giving way beneath her. It had not occurred to her that a routine investigation of her life would also dig up Dee’s biggest secret. Pale, her clear eyes reflecting her strain and distress, she stared back at Gio. ‘Dee’s a bartender now. She’s put her past behind her...’

‘I don’t put a time limit on a past like that, nor do I want such a woman in close contact with my son or taking care of him,’ Gio delivered with inflexible cool.

‘People make mistakes, people change, turn their lives around. Don’t be so narrow-minded!’ Billie urged, stricken, appalled that he had uncovered her cousin’s troubled history and leapt straight to a disparaging conclusion.

Dee had got involved with an older man in her teens and had dropped out of school and ended up as a drug addict on the streets. Dee had been brutally honest with Billie about her past and Billie had tremendous respect for the amount of work and effort the other woman had put into making a fresh start for her and the twins.

‘I’m glad for her sake that she’s turned her life around but I still don’t want her anywhere near my son,’ Gio growled without apology. ‘How do you know she’s not still turning tricks at the bar where she works at night?’

‘Because I know her and how much she values what she has now!’ Billie slammed back furiously.

‘I want my son out of this house right now,’ Gio admitted. ‘I want the two of you to move into my hotel with me until we get this situation sorted out.’

Wildly disconcerted by that demand, Billie stared back at him. ‘No,’ she said straight away.

‘Say no and take the consequences,’ Gio drawled softly, chillingly.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘That I will use whatever I have against you to make the case for gaining custody of my son,’ Gio advanced with measured force. ‘I will go to social services with my concerns and they are bound by law to investigate.’

‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this!’ Billie exclaimed jerkily, appalled by what he was telling her and cringing at the prospect of Dee being investigated once again by suspicious hypercritical officials, who would disinter the past that Dee had worked so hard to leave behind her. ‘You’re threatening me and my cousin!’

‘If it is in my son’s best interests, there’s nothing I won’t do for his benefit,’ Gio intoned harshly. ‘He is my primary concern here. I don’t care what it takes or who else it hurts but I will always do my absolute best for him by whatever means possible.’

‘How can you feel like that about a son you haven’t even met yet?’ Billie demanded shakily.

‘Because he has my blood in his veins. He is mine, he is a Letsos and I must fight his battles for him because it is my duty to do that while he is still too young to have a voice.’ Gio glanced down at the wafer-thin gold watch barely visible below his immaculate white shirt cuff. ‘You have fifteen minutes to pack.’

‘Leaving here is absolutely out of the question.’

‘No, it is your one chance to escape the penalty for defying me. If I leave this house without my son today, I will fight to win custody and I will use whatever means are at my disposal,’ Gio warned her with chilling bite.

Her eyes rounding, Billie’s upper lip parted company from her lower. ‘You’re not being reasonable!’

‘Why would I be? You’ve stolen the first fifteen months of my son’s life from me,’ Gio pronounced with lethal cool. ‘How can you be surprised that I refuse to allow you to steal one day more?’

In receipt of that caveat, Billie could feel the blood draining slowly from below her skin, shock smacking through her in a dizzy wave. He was angry, he was bitter, but he couldn’t possibly be thinking through what he was doing. ‘Are you crazy? Theo needs both of us,’ she told him tightly.

His lean, strong face clenched hard. ‘Of course he does...in a perfect world. And this, I need hardly remind you, is not a perfect world.’

‘Where are you planning to make time for a baby in your schedule?’ Billie demanded with scorn. ‘You won’t. You don’t really want him. You’re behaving as if Theo is some kind of a trophy.’

‘Pack,’ Gio urged, one long brown forefinger tapping his watch face. ‘You need only bring what you need for twenty-four hours. Naturally I will cover any necessities you need.’

Frozen to the spot, Billie stared at him, unwilling to believe that he could threaten everything she held dear in her life on the strength of what could only be a whim. ‘Gio—’

‘Not one word,’ Gio cut in fiercely. ‘I want my son. You’ve had all the time with him that you ever wanted. It’s my turn now and I’m taking it.’

Billie reached a sudden decision. She would go to the hotel and allow Gio the time and space to get acquainted with Theo. Surely that major concession would cool his temper and calm him down? Sadly, she couldn’t feel sure of the outcome. Gio’s anger was shockingly new to her and she could still feel that anger sizzling from him in invisible sparks that could ignite into an explosion. Right now, opposition would probably only make him angrier and given a few hours’ respite he would surely cool off and develop a more practical outlook, she reasoned frantically.

Billie withdrew a case from the hall cupboard and carried it up to her room. She packed the basics for herself and her son and then went downstairs to throw Theo’s feeding essentials into a holdall. In the kitchen she scribbled a note to Dee, telling her where she had gone and that she would phone.

‘Dee won’t be able to work tonight if I’m not here to babysit for her,’ Billie protested as she pulled on a light cotton jacket. Beneath the onslaught of Gio’s appraisal she suddenly felt like a complete mess and she turned her head away, stiff with self-loathing. Her toffee-coloured corkscrew curls were never going to compare to Calisto’s blade-straight blonde locks. Her hips were never going to be boyishly lean, nor would her boobs ever be dainty handfuls. Short of a body transplant, she was what she was. Wearing only a smattering of make-up, she looked very ordinary. It was ironic that she was so casually dressed because she hadn’t wanted Gio to think that she had made a special effort for him. It was not a comfort that looking less than her best now felt like striking an own goal.

‘I’ll hire a babysitter for your cousin.’

‘I can’t let her down like this, Gio. It took so long for her to find a job with hours that suited.’

‘I said I’ll take care of it and I will,’ Gio incised, grabbing her case from the hall and yanking open the front door, determined to let nothing come between him and his ultimate objective. ‘Trust me.’

His chauffeur was waiting on the step to collect her case. After a moment’s hesitation, Billie passed over her holdall as well, snatched a tiny jacket off the handles of the pram below the stairs and went up to lift Theo out of his cot. Trust me! Perhaps the strangest thing was that she did trust Gio because he had told her the truth even when she didn’t want to hear it and he had never broken his word to her.

Her son was sleepy and warm as toast. She nuzzled her cheek against his smooth skin and breathed in his glorious baby scent before threading his short little arms into the jacket. Even in the very dark mood he was in, Gio had stated that their son needed both of his parents, she reminded herself staunchly. He wasn’t trying to split them up; he was only making threats to make her listen and do what he wanted. Possibly all he really wanted was a couple of days with free access to Theo so that he could get to know him and he couldn’t have that opportunity without including Billie in the arrangements.

A built-in safety seat for a child sat in the rear seat of the limousine. Billie settled Theo in and did up the buckle while her son craned his head to stare at Gio with big brown eyes. Silence fell while the two of them sized each other up. Gio had a cell phone in his hand and the light danced across the metallic finish. Theo stretched out a hand to grab the phone and Billie was incredulous when Gio handed it over.

‘You can’t give him that!’ Billie exclaimed as the phone went straight into Theo’s mouth to be chewed. ‘He tries to eat everything.’

Billie filched the phone back. Theo looked at his empty hand and wailed while Billie passed the phone back to Gio out of her son’s view. She dug a toy out of the holdall to give her son. He studied it with a jutting lower lip and threw it down.

‘He wants the phone back,’ Gio breathed in wonderment.

‘Of course he does...it’s got lots of buttons. The brightest, shiniest new toy always gets his interest.’

They drew up outside the hotel. Billie climbed out and leant back into the car to unbuckle Theo but Gio was one step ahead of her and was already hoisting Theo into his arms. She followed them into the hotel. Theo loved new places just as much as new toys and his curly dark head was turning this way and that with keen interest. Billie stepped into the lift. Theo beamed at her from the vantage point of his father’s arms, clearly very pleased with the exchange.

Billie was surprised to enter a different suite from the one that Gio had previously used. ‘Have you changed to another floor?’

‘Of course, we needed more space,’ Gio pointed out while Theo frantically wriggled in his arms. With a sigh, Gio gave way and gently lowered Theo to the wooden floor. The little boy crawled off at high speed, grabbed at the leg of a fancy sofa and hauled himself upright, grinning with satisfaction.

‘Theo’s a clever boy,’ Billie praised warmly.

Her son’s sturdy little legs began to wobble and he toppled down onto his bottom in a sudden loss of balance and burst into floods of tears. Gio scooped him up again and held him high above his head. In his usual mercurial fashion, Theo forgot his moment of misery and burst out laughing instead at finding himself airborne. Gio made aeroplane noises like a little boy and whirled his son energetically round the room while Billie watched with a dropped jaw, not entirely sure that she could credit what she was seeing. Gio, shedding his dignity and distance, Gio smiling with unabashed enjoyment.

‘It’s time he had lunch,’ Billie remarked.

The game between father and son concluded. A high chair was delivered along with the case and Billie started to feed Theo, who wanted to feed himself and complained vociferously between mouthfuls until she finally gave him the spoon. Theo stuck the spoon in the carton of yogurt with a victorious smile. Billie was still in a daze, her mind still engaged in replaying Gio acting as she had never before seen him act. Only an hour earlier, he had been threatening her with an adverse report to social services.

It had been an utterly ruthless threat that had chilled Billie to the marrow. A couple of years earlier, before Dee began getting her life straightened out, Dee’s children had been put into care. Although she had got the twins back again and no longer even received visits to check on her progress, any allegation of negligent childcare made against the household where Dee lived would certainly result in a full investigation being made by the authorities. Billie could not bear the threat of that happening to her cousin again. It would flatten Dee’s confidence, make her feel like an unfit mother again and if people realised that social services were checking up on her it would rouse local gossip. There was very little that Billie would not have done to protect Dee from such a development.

Yet the same male who had voiced that chilling threat had shown an entirely different side of himself to their son. With Theo, Gio had been playful, uninhibited, almost joyful, three traits she would never ever have associated with Gio’s cool, calm and reserved nature. She recognised that Gio’s interest in his son was considerably more powerful than she had ever dreamt it would be and she wondered uneasily where that left her in the triangle. He had said he wanted his son. What exactly did that mean?

Gio strode into one of the rooms leading off the spacious reception room and reappeared in jeans and a trendy striped cotton sweater. Billie couldn’t drag her eyes from his lean, dark, devastating face as he watched entranced while Theo piled up his bricks and smashed them down again, giggling at the noise he was making. The tight jeans delineated every muscle in Gio’s long, powerful thighs and narrow hips as he squatted down on the floor beside Theo. Billie’s gaze ran over his washboard-flat stomach to the bulge below his belt and she averted her eyes, as hot and cold as someone with a fever. And mortifyingly, she knew precisely what was wrong with her. The kind of craving she had for Gio didn’t go away, didn’t take a back seat when you wanted it to, didn’t fade when you knew it should; it just went on and on, the gift that kept on giving.

Sometimes wanting Gio had felt like a life sentence to Billie. Her pregnancy had only accelerated her exit from his life because she had been afraid that he might guess her secret. She had believed that that would be the ultimate humiliation because she had assumed that Gio would foist all the blame on her for her inconvenient pregnancy and make her feel dreadful as well as guilty and unworthy. Yet now he was telling her differently, insisting that he would never have suggested she have a termination.

Yet how much faith could she have in what Gio was currently saying? Gio, after all, was speaking with the benefit of hindsight, aware that his dynastic marriage was destined to fail. But two years ago that marriage had been very important to him and Billie’s pregnancy would have been a severe embarrassment at the very least. What on earth had he meant when he had sworn he would never have married had he known about Billie’s pregnancy?

It would never have occurred to Billie then that she could set the clock forward by two years and would see Gio, down on his jeans-clad knees, creating a precarious tower of bricks for Theo’s benefit and actually laughing when Theo smacked it down with a chubby fist.

‘You said you wanted Theo,’ Billie murmured quietly, having finally worked up the courage to press for answers. ‘What does that mean exactly?’

‘That now that I’ve found him, I’m not walking away again,’ Gio intoned, level dark golden eyes resting on her above Theo’s head. Such beautiful eyes he had that even thinking was a challenge when she looked at them.

‘No...er obviously,’ she managed gruffly, ‘you want to get to know him and stay in contact.’

Keeping very still, Gio lifted an ebony brow. ‘I want much more than that.’

‘How much more?’ she pressed, struggling to breathe while level with those stunning eyes of his.

A sardonic smile curled Gio’s wide sensual mouth. ‘I don’t like half measures...I want it all.’

‘And what does “all” encompass?’ Billie asked shakily.

Gio surveyed her with grim amusement. He had thought she would work it out for herself. He was ready to give her what she had always wanted from him and what he had never dreamt of offering before. Now he had very sound reasons for offering and anything else he gained as a by-product did not have to be measured or considered. The ever-ready pulse at his groin grew heavy while his attention roved to the deep valley between her full breasts, which was tantalisingly visible every time she angled her head down to speak to him. He wanted to rip her clothes off and slide between her thighs and stay there until he had worked off the powerful hunger riding him.

‘Gio...?’ she prompted, crystalline green eyes very serious.

‘I want it all...as in marriage,’ Gio filled in smoothly, long fingers smoothing back the curls on Theo’s brow as his son slumped back against him for support. ‘It’s the only serviceable option we have.’

CHAPTER SIX

‘LET ME GET this straight...’ Billie framed between bloodless lips, barely able to credit what he was implying. ‘You’re suggesting that we get married?’

‘If we marry, Theo’s birth is automatically legitimised under British law.’

‘But that scarcely matters when anyone who knows his age will guess that he was born while you were married to another woman,’ Billie pointed out flatly.

‘That’s immaterial. The end result is what I want most—Theo legitimised, his place as my heir legally secured and recognised,’ Gio spelt out very quietly, his dark, velvet drawl lowered to the level of an insidious husky murmur. ‘That is his birthright and I want him to have it.’

‘Even if it means you have to marry me to achieve that?’ Billie prompted in disbelief.

‘You will marry me for his sake and I will marry you for the same reason. We’re responsible for his birth and we should put him first,’ Gio told her squarely. ‘We owe him that.’

Her skin clammy with disconcertion, Billie was trembling where she sat. Long, long ago, she had dreamt of being Gio’s wife, indeed she had dreamt the whole fairy tale before being forced to accept in the most painful way possible that it was just a fantasy. She could hardly bring herself to accept that he was actually talking about marrying her because it was like opening a locked door to let the silly fairy tale back in. She wrapped her arms protectively round herself. ‘And you’re quite sure that Theo’s rights as your heir couldn’t be secured any other way?’

‘I could have legal agreements drawn up to officially acknowledge him as my son but nothing of that nature would be as watertight as marriage to his mother. In such agreements there is almost always a loophole or an irregularity and a clever enough lawyer can always find those weaknesses and build on them to make a claim.’

‘And who on earth do you think is likely to make a claim?’ Billie pressed in wonderment, sufficiently challenged to even picture her infant son as a child of future means.

‘Have you any idea how wealthy I am?’ Gio asked with lethal quietness of tone. ‘Or of the lengths even wealthy people will go to in an effort to enrich themselves or their children even more?’

‘Probably not,’ she conceded ruefully, knowing when she was out of her depth.

‘When I was fourteen, my stepmother tried to have me disinherited from the family trust in favour of her son, who was eight years old. The claim was only thrown out of court when my grandfather was able to prove that her son was not his grandson,’ Gio completed.

Billie was sharply disconcerted, never having had any suspicion that Gio’s place in his family had been challenged before he even reached adulthood. She frowned, shaken on Gio’s behalf, wondering what on earth his childhood could have been like with such a spiteful and grasping stepmother and finally comprehending his fears on Theo’s behalf.

‘We can get married within a matter of days,’ Gio told her smoothly, as if he had already worked out that he had won the battle. ‘After the ceremony, we’ll fly out to Greece and I’ll introduce my wife and child to my family.’

Quite unable to credit such an event even taking place with her in a starring role, Billie sprang out of her seat and walked over to the window. ‘That would be crazy, me trying to pretend I was your wife... We can’t do this!’

‘You will be my wife, you won’t be pretending. What it comes down to is...how much do you love your son?’ Gio enquired with almost casual cruelty.

Billie went rigid. ‘That’s not fair!’

‘Isn’t it? You chose to make yourself solely responsible for Theo and his future happiness. I’m only asking you to make good on your mistakes and ensure that he receives everything that should be his by right of birth,’ he asserted glibly.

Billie inwardly squirmed at the accusation that she had made a serious mistake where Theo was concerned in not immediately informing Gio that he had a child, but the reference to Greece had sent her thoughts racing in another direction. ‘If the marriage is only a legal formality why would you need me to accompany you to Greece?’

‘Would you allow me to take Theo to Greece without you?’ Gio asked in apparent surprise.

‘No!’ Billie proclaimed instantly.

‘And while the marriage may appear to be little more than a legal formality to you,’ Gio continued in the same reasonable tone, ‘it is essential that it appears to be a normal marriage.’

Billie closed her arms round herself again, feeling threatened, cornered, bewildered, fighting that disorientation on every level as her chin tilted and her green eyes flared bold and bright as emeralds. ‘But why should it have to appear normal?’ she demanded.

‘Do you want our son to feel guilty when he’s older that you were forced to marry me for his benefit?’ Gio enquired.

Billie frowned. ‘Of course not—’

‘Making it seem normal is a whitewash. There’s nothing I can do about that,’ Gio swore, manipulating the argument to the very best of his ability, flexing a level of cunning he had never utilised on Billie before. ‘The more people who accept that the marriage is normal, the fewer the awkward questions that will be asked and the less comment it will create.’

‘Nobody’s going to accept that you freely chose to marry your mistress!’ Billie slashed back at him angrily, hating to use that label on herself but willing to use it if it forced him to see sense.

‘But we are the only people who know that you were my mistress. We didn’t broadcast the fact and now we can be grateful that we kept a low profile. Ne...yes, you’ve had my child,’ Gio conceded, sliding fluidly upright and moving towards her. ‘All that proves is that we had a relationship.’

Billie clashed with spectacular dark eyes and her heart raced. ‘All that proves is that we had, at least, a one-night stand.’

‘Diavelos...you’re not a one-night-stand woman and no man looking at you could believe that one night would be enough, pouli mou,’ Gio purred soft and low, closing his hands firmly over hers to draw her close to his lean, powerful body. ‘You will be my wife, the mother of my son. You will have nothing to be embarrassed about...’

It was a seductive image because Billie had always been embarrassed about the reality of her relationship with Gio. He had not been her knight on a white horse and she had not been his one true love. Her power had never stretched beyond the bedroom door and that was a demeaning truth that Billie had always felt shamed by, for what sort of woman settled for that kind of half-relationship? Her hands trembled in the grasp of his. A whitewash, he called it. But to the woman whose heart he had broken, and in spite of the fact that love wasn’t involved, it still seemed more like a fairy tale to be offered what he had once tacitly refused to offer her.

‘I can’t leave Dee or the shop to go to Greece,’ Billie told him abruptly. ‘It’s impossible. The shop is my livelihood and I can’t just up and leave it...’

Gio closed his arms round her. Freed, one of her hands skimmed up over his muscular torso and came to rest uncertainly on a broad shoulder while the other lifted of its own volition to delve into his cropped black hair. ‘I’ll look after everything,’ he told her.

‘I have to have my independence,’ Billie muttered unsteadily, her mouth drying and her breathing quickening as he ran the tip of his tongue along the closed seam of her lips. Her mouth tingled, stinging tightness pinching her nipples to send a current of liquefied heat into her pelvis. ‘Listen to me, Gio,’ she urged even as her fingers massaged his well-shaped skull, fluffing up the short strands of hair that were never allowed to amount to curls.

Gio rocked his hips lightly against hers and she tensed, suddenly insanely aware of his arousal and her own. ‘Theo’s my son. It’s my duty to look after both of you.’

With a mighty effort of self-control, Billie yanked herself back from Gio and temptation. He could always make her want him but she could not afford to be stretched thin by that fierce wanting while she was trying to concentrate on the need to conserve her own life. With a slight shudder of loss, she straightened her slight shoulders and breathed in deep and slow to compose her scattered wits.

‘Sell the shop or let me hire a manager for it. You decide which option will suit you best,’ Gio urged, his lean dark features taut with impatience.

Billie looked at him with wide eyes of disbelief. ‘Gio...I worked very hard to build up my business. You can’t expect me to walk away from it.’

‘Not even for Theo?’ Gio prompted, glancing down at the little boy now clinging precariously to his jeans-clad leg and gazing up at both of them. ‘Our son needs both of us and will do for some time. I want a normal family rapport with him. At the very least you will have to relocate your life to London, so that I can have regular access to him.’

Unexpectedly that statement jolted Billie because Gio spent most of his time in Greece. No, he was definitely not offering her a fairy-tale for-ever marriage because he was clearly already envisaging a future in which they were separated and sharing custody of their son. Billie paled, feeling as though he had slapped her in the face with reality, but ironically it was her own silly thoughts she needed to put a guard on, she conceded painfully. Of course, Gio wasn’t suggesting a real marriage and a whitewash marriage would naturally have a sell-by date beyond which it was no longer required.

‘I need to think about all this,’ Billie admitted tightly. ‘You’re talking about turning my life upside down.’

‘And my own,’ Gio added softly. ‘None of this was on my bucket list either.’

That obvious fact struck Billie like a second slap when she least required it. She did not need the reminder that Gio would never have chosen to marry her were it not for Theo. That reality was engraved on her soul because he had once rejected her in favour of Calisto. She bent down and scooped up Theo, loving the warm cuddliness of his solid little body and using it as a comfort to the chill spreading through her stomach. ‘I need to change him,’ she explained, walking away to scoop up the holdall and locate the nearest bathroom.

Why were women so complicated? Gio thought in seething frustration. He had offered her what he had assumed she had always wanted and she was behaving as if he had offered her a dirty deal. What did she have to think about? How many women had to run off to the bathroom and change a nappy before they could decide whether or not they wanted to marry a billionaire? Was it possible that she suspected that he had a motivation that he wasn’t sharing?

His lean, strong face set like granite. Admittedly, he had not told her the whole truth, could not possibly tell her the whole truth because that would make her fear him. He was fighting for what he believed in, fighting for what Theo needed most. In every battle there were winners and losers and Gio had no plans to be a loser or to stand by powerless while Theo received less than his due. In the rarefied world of the super-rich Billie could only be a trusting babe in arms. She was so ignorant of the utter ruthlessness that could make Theo a target for the greedy that she had no concept of how best to protect their son. But Gio knew and there was nothing he would not do to achieve that objective.

Billie hovered by the vanity while Theo crawled across the tiled floor and pulled himself up on the side of the bath. Her brain was in turmoil, inescapable fear rammed down behind every thought. Gio wanted her to marry him for Theo’s sake and she wanted to give her son the best possible start in life. But there would be a steep price to pay for such a rise in her social status, she acknowledged unhappily. She would inevitably be an embarrassment to Gio, and his precious family were certain to disapprove of her. But then doubtless Gio planned to pension her off once all the legalities and his son’s place in life had been affirmed. So, it wouldn’t be a real for-ever marriage and would probably be set aside once Theo was old enough to go and visit his father without his mother in tow. Everything, she assumed, would happen exactly the way Gio wanted it to happen because he left nothing to chance. She foresaw that reality and froze at the terrifying prospect of being left so powerless, shorn of her home and her business. Did she have a choice? Could she trust Gio with their son’s future well-being?

Theo anchored on her hip, Billie walked back into the gracious reception room. Gio had removed his jacket, loosened his tie and pushed up the sleeves of his white silk shirt. The super-fine expensive material accentuated the muscles that rippled with his every movement and his impossibly taut, flat stomach. Her gaze lingered there, feverish memories of torrid moments awakening, fingers and lips gliding along his hard ribcage, smoothing over his abdomen before stroking down the furrow of silky hair disappearing below his waistband. Her tummy flipped and she gave herself a stern, frowning little shake as she emerged from her reverie. Black lashes flicking up on shrewd eyes, Gio completed the phone call he was making and set the phone down.

‘OK. I’ll marry you,’ Billie spelled out tautly, her colour high. ‘But that means I’m trusting you not to do anything that might harm Theo or me. If I find out that I can’t trust you I’ll leave you.’

Gio flashed her a deeply appreciative smile. She would never leave him again. Not unless she was prepared to leave her son behind with him, he reflected with immense satisfaction. She might not know it yet but her days of running were at an end.

‘And you have to be totally, one hundred per cent faithful,’ Billie decreed.

‘I always was with you,’ Gio responded airily.

‘But there’s that saying about how when a man marries his mistress he creates a vacancy,’ Billie remarked flatly, her lush mouth compressing on a sense of humiliation.

‘I think my life is complicated enough,’ Gio fielded.

And of course he wouldn’t be expecting to be married to her until he was old and grey and, since he would always have an end to their arrangement in sight, straying through boredom was less likely to be a problem, Billie affixed grimly, striving not to be hurt by that truth.

‘Now that you’ve got what you wanted, can I go home?’ Billie pressed.

‘I want you here. Presumably you want to be involved in making your own wedding arrangements.’ A straight ebony brow inclined. ‘We’ll have a small wedding in the Greek Orthodox church I attend in London. I’ve already applied for the required licences.’

Billie’s eyes flared in surprise. ‘You took a lot for granted.’

Gio’s steady gaze held hers. ‘I can afford to. Why would you refuse to marry me when that was presumably what you wanted two years ago?’

Billie reddened as though she had been slapped. So, he had finally worked that obvious fact out, had he? Mortification drenched her like a tidal wave. ‘I don’t buy into fairy tales any more.’

‘But I want you to have the fairy tale, pouli mou,’ Gio breathed curtly, thoroughly disconcerting her with that statement. ‘I want you to wear a fancy dress and all the trimmings.’

‘Why? Because it will look good in the photos?’ Billie forced her strained eyes away from him, her heart-shaped face stiff because she knew that he could never give her the fairy tale. After all, the one essential facet of her fairy-tale denouement had been his love. She was also wounded that he was so sure that she would have married him like a shot two years earlier, particularly when he had coolly turned away from her to marry another, more suitable woman. Her love had meant nothing to him in those days but then she had offered her love too freely. Was it fair to judge him harshly for not being able to love her back?

‘A normal marriage,’ he reminded her quietly. ‘That is what I want and that is what we will have.’

His uncompromising arrogance set Billie’s teeth on edge. Even though he was divorced he still had no fear of matrimonial failure. But then he wanted Theo and he wanted her, Billie conceded ruefully, and she knew that high-voltage libido of Gio’s probably drove him harder than love ever could. He was, to say the least, an electrifyingly sexual personality. Had he ever loved Calisto? Or merely wanted the beautiful blonde? What had ultimately killed that wanting? And what did it matter to Billie? After all, she was only finally getting that wedding ring by default.

Gio’s business team arrived to work with him that afternoon while Billie viewed images of wedding dresses online, sent at Gio’s behest by a well-known designer. She squirmed over taking her measurements and sending them off and then buried the memory by picking her dream dress, her dream veil and her dream shoes while planning a timely trip to her favourite lingerie shop. But when she headed for the door with Theo in her arms, Gio asked coolly, ‘Where are you going?’

‘I have some shopping to do,’ Billie told him, soft mouth settling into a firm line. ‘And I want to do it with Dee.’

His stunning gaze iced over. ‘No,’ he said simply as he scrawled his signature on a document placed in front of him by an aide.

‘Yes,’ Billie said equally simply and walked on out of the door.

‘Billie!’ Gio roared down the corridor after her as she headed to the lift.

With reluctance she turned.

‘I said no,’ Gio reminded her icily.

Green eyes sparkling, Billie wandered back closer. ‘And I wasn’t going to argue with you in front of your staff but I have to see Dee.’

‘You know I’ve arranged for a sitter for her for the next two weeks.’

‘She’s my cousin and my friend and she has always been there for me when I needed her,’ Billie countered gently. ‘I don’t care what you say or how you feel about it but I will not turn my back on her.’

‘Then leave Theo with me,’ Gio urged, reaching out to take his son.

Billie retained a hold on Theo. ‘You couldn’t look after him on your own—’

‘I won’t be on my own. I hired a nanny. She’s in the hotel right now awaiting my call.’

His interference, his conviction that he knew what was best for her child, made Billie bridle. ‘Then you’ve wasted your time and your money because I will not leave Theo with a stranger.’

‘I’ll tell her to come up and you can meet her.’

Billie pursed her lips. ‘Theo comes with me. Sorry, if you don’t like that, but that’s the way it’s going to be.’

‘Don’t try to fight me,’ Gio warned her softly. ‘If you fight, I will fight back and inevitably you’ll get hurt.’

‘Nothing you do could hurt me now,’ Billie declared staunchly, refusing to be intimidated. ‘And why don’t you quit while you’re ahead, Gio? I’ve agreed to turn my whole life upside down, to marry you and meet your family. How much more do you want or expect? When do you learn to compromise?’

‘I don’t,’ Gio said succinctly, his strong jaw line squared. ‘Not when it comes to my son and your involvement with an individual I don’t want you mixing with.’

‘That individual you don’t want me mixing with was with me when I was in labour for two endless days!’ Billie snapped back at him in a low intense voice that shook with emotion. ‘She was there for me and Theo when you weren’t and I was darned glad to have her!’

An almost imperceptible pallor spread beneath Gio’s bronzed skin and his thick lashes screened his gaze to grim darkness. ‘I would have been there for you if you’d told me you were pregnant—’

‘I don’t think so, Gio. You were a newly married man back then,’ Billie reminded him without any expression at all.

‘Go, then, if it means so much to you,’ he urged with chilling bite.

‘It does mean that much to me. I’m always loyal to my friends,’ Billie declared with quiet dignity.

Gio glowered at her, lustrous dark eyes shimmering gold. ‘Once, first and foremost, you were loyal to me.’

Billie dealt him a wry look. ‘And where did that loyalty get me at the end of the day?’ she quipped, stepping into the lift.

Gio wanted to snatch her back out of the lift and Theo with her but her reference to that word, ‘compromise’ had sunk in. He had ninety per cent of what he wanted and he would have the whole once they were married. In the short term, he could afford to be generous, he told himself sternly. But Billie had changed and he could no longer ignore the fact. She was ready to go toe-to-toe with him and fight. In some ineffable way she had grown up and the girl who had looked at him with starry eyes as if he were a knight in shining armour was no more. He didn’t like that one little bit.

Even less did Gio appreciate the way he was feeling, shaken up and stirred, insanely abandoned by her departure, all reactions totally at war with the cool, adult, detached reserve with which he preferred to view the world. Above all, he didn’t like people to get too close; he didn’t want or miss the messy emotional responses that encouraged weakness, self-delusion and loss of control. He could only be content when calm and discipline ruled.

So, what was it about Billie that could make him feel so at odds with himself? She disturbed him, made him overreact, he decided grimly, hoping that that was a temporary affliction he would soon overcome. It seemed particularly ironic that she was also the only woman who had ever given him a sense of peace and contentment. But that was not the effect she was having on him at present. He had a great deal of work to accomplish before he could hope to take time off after the wedding. Mulling over the problem and the challenges, Gio was quick to decide that it would be more sensible to take a short break from Billie and the unwelcome and disturbing hothouse emotions she unleashed.

* * *

‘You can’t give me the house,’ Dee told Billie squarely. ‘I’m not going to live off you. I can afford to pay rent.’

Billie was reluctant to hurt her cousin’s feelings by pointing out that once she was married to Gio she would have little use for the rental payment. Dee was fiercely independent and had learned young that she had to be that way. The few times she had depended on others, Dee had been let down.

‘Are you hoping to sell the shop as a going concern?’ Dee asked.

‘It’s as much my baby as Theo is,’ Billie admitted. ‘I really don’t want to part with it at all.’

Dee looked at her anxiously and then, biting her lower lip, leant forward. ‘Would you let me try to run it for a three-month trial period?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘I picked up quite a bit from you when I was helping you set it up and as long as I used a bookkeeper I think I could manage.’

Billie studied the blonde woman in surprise, never having suspected that her cousin had a yen to work in the shop. ‘I had no idea you would be interested.’

‘Well, I am interested, always have been to be honest...but I knew you couldn’t afford a full-time employee, so there wasn’t much point mentioning it.’

The two women talked at length and an agreement was reached. Billie was smiling by the end of their discussion, happy to think of Dee taking over her business, much preferring that to the option of selling.

‘If you’re willing to go to Greece, you must really trust Gio,’ Dee remarked.

‘He’s always been straight with me, even when I didn’t want to hear what he had to say,’ Billie pointed out wryly. ‘If he’s prepared to marry me for Theo’s benefit, I’m prepared to trust him.’

‘You’ve got far too big a heart, Billie. Don’t let him hurt you again,’ Dee warned her worriedly.

It was a piece of advice that Billie wished she could take to heart after she returned to the hotel and discovered that Gio had checked out to fly back to London ‘to work’. Not that she was fooled by the piece of fiction in the brief note he left for her. She had annoyed Gio and he had turned his back on her and walked away. She was familiar with the withdrawal of approval and presence that always followed such demonstrations of independent action. Once long ago she had insisted on attending a tutorial interview while he was staying at the apartment. He had been irritated that she should want to go out and leave him, even if it was only for a couple of hours. By the time she had got back, he had returned to Greece. Lesson learned, she had thought then, sick with disappointment and resolving never to mention the need to go anywhere else again. This time around, however, Billie was exasperated and furious that he had removed her from the comfort of home and familiarity and marooned her in a luxury hotel with a nanny and a four-strong set of bodyguards to watch over her and Theo.

CHAPTER SEVEN

LEANDROS CONISTIS VERY NEARLY dropped his drink. ‘You’re getting married again?’ he repeated like a well-trained parrot to the male who had so recently told him he would never remarry.

Gio dealt his best friend a forbidding look that dared irreverent comment. ‘Ne...yes.’

‘Do I know the lady?’ Leandros enquired somewhat stiffly.

‘You met her briefly on one occasion,’ Gio divulged grudgingly. ‘Her name’s Billie...’

Leandros knocked what remained of his drink down in one suicidal gulp because he knew in that same moment that Canaletto’s name would never ever cross his lips again. ‘I didn’t realise...Billie was still a feature in your life. Have your family met her?’ he asked.

Gio compressed his wide sensual mouth. ‘No.’

‘And when is this wedding at which you wish me to act as your best man to take place?’

‘Tomorrow.’ Gio threw in the necessary details of place and time in a demonstration of spectacular cool.

Leandros studied the date on his watch face, astonished that it wasn’t the first of April and an April fool’s joke because Gio, who was as a rule extremely conservative and never imprudent, had literally stunned him speechless. ‘It seems...er...very sudden,’ he commented cautiously.

‘Ne...yes,’ Gio conceded.

‘Very...er hasty.’ Leandros was gradually becoming more daring.

‘Not hasty enough,’ Gio told him drily. ‘My son is fifteen months old.’

* * *

‘Oh, Billie, you look amazing.’ Dee sighed as she stepped back from tying the laces at the back of Billie’s wedding gown.

Billie stared at her reflection in the cheval mirror and blinked several times at the still-unfamiliar furnishings of the opulent bedroom. Gio had taken a plush city apartment for her and Theo to stay in. She still couldn’t quite believe that she was marrying Gio, indeed she kept on expecting some movie cameraman to show up and shout, ‘Cut!’ before things went any further. After all, in an hour’s time she was going to marry a man she wasn’t even speaking to. How’s that for stupidity? she asked herself ruefully.

Gio had left her and Theo in the hotel in Yorkshire for four days. Of course he had made regular phone calls and had talked during those calls as though there were nothing wrong with his desertion while smoothly excusing himself in advance.

‘I knew you had too much on your plate to accompany me down to London,’ Gio had told her, ignoring the fact that he had put one of his aides in charge of dealing with all the wedding and removal arrangements for her.

‘I knew you would want to spend time saying goodbye to your friends and sorting out your shop,’ Gio had said optimistically, ignorant of the reality that Dee was walking Billie down the aisle while her twins were acting as a bridesmaid and pageboy.

‘I knew that you would think it was a bad idea to subject Theo to another change of surroundings and more strangers when it wasn’t strictly necessary,’ Gio had opined complacently.

Billie was furious with him and her anger hadn’t faded; it had only grown while Gio had acted as if leaving his bride-to-be and newly discovered son behind him in Yorkshire had been the only possible thing to do. Striving to keep a lid on that tight little knot of rage locked deep inside her, Billie surveyed her dress with faraway eyes. It was a romantic dress fashioned of Chantilly lace and chiffon, light and floaty and styled to make the most of her natural curves and waist. The flirty short veil and crown of flowers had a natural elegant simplicity. Pearl-studded shoes peeped out below the hem of her gown.

Someone knocked on the bedroom door. Since the only other person in the apartment was Irene, the pleasant middle-aged nanny whom Gio had hired, Dee answered it.

‘Oh...’ Dee backed off uneasily, her surprise unhidden when she recognised Gio.

Billie froze. ‘You’re not supposed to see me in my wedding dress!’ she exclaimed in consternation.

Taken aback by Dee’s appearance, Gio muttered a stiff acknowledgment in English while hungrily taking in the vision Billie made in her white dress. He had died and gone to heaven, he decided without hesitation. As Dee ducked out behind him, tactfully closing the door in her wake, he strode forward, his attention locked to the tantalising pout of Billie’s ripe pink mouth and the creamy swell of her luscious breasts above the boned bodice of her gown. ‘You look fantastic,’ he breathed in a roughened undertone.

It was a challenge for Billie not to echo that sentiment. It might be a small wedding on Gio’s terms, which was to say that it was a large wedding on her terms, but Gio had still chosen to embrace the formality of a full morning suit teamed with a striped black and silver cravat at his brown throat. The black jacket was exquisitely tailored to his tall, well-built form, delineating his broad shoulders and muscular chest, while the striped trousers enhanced his narrow hips and long powerful legs. Billie collided headily with smouldering dark golden eyes heavily fringed with curling black lashes. Gio looked absolutely gorgeous.

‘What are you doing here?’ she whispered and then tensed. ‘Have you changed your mind? If you have, it’s all right. I’m not going to make a fuss. It doesn’t feel real anyway—’

‘Theos...of course I haven’t changed my mind!’ Gio ground out, extending the jewel case he carried in one lean brown hand. ‘I wanted to give you this...’

For a split second he too wondered what he was doing there for in truth he had acted on the kind of impulse he usually suppressed. On the way to the church he had realised that he had to see her before the wedding and there was nothing wrong with that, he reasoned uneasily, when he was about to take the very major step of marrying her. Desire was always an acceptable motivation as long as it stayed within rational bounds. And sex with Billie was incredible. He felt nothing else, needed nothing beyond her physical presence.

In a daze, Billie blinked and accepted the case, flipping it open to display a breathtaking triple string of pearls and dangling pearl earrings. The set would match her shoes and be a great deal more impressive than the cheap diamanté set she had purchased. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she murmured weakly as he moved forward to detach the pearls from the case and fasten them round her neck.

His fingertips brushed the nape of her neck. ‘I wanted to give you something special.’

The glowing pearls were cool at her throat and she bent over the case to detach the earrings. Threading her veil and her curls out of the way, she put the earrings on. ‘Thank you,’ she said woodenly, thinking that he hadn’t changed one little bit in all the years she had known him. Here he was still trying to bribe and guilt her into ignoring his bad behaviour.

‘I can’t stand you talking to me in that chilly voice,’ Gio informed her grimly. ‘Obviously you’re annoyed I left you behind in Yorkshire.’

Billie’s teeth rattled together with rage. ‘You mean...you actually noticed I was being cool on the phone?’

‘Considering that you would once chat about nothing in particular for hours on end without the slightest encouragement, one-word responses were rather obvious,’ Gio countered with sardonic emphasis. ‘What’s wrong with you? You never used to play games like that with me.’

‘Shut up before I lose my temper!’ Billie urged between clenched teeth, her facial muscles locked tight. ‘You left me in that hotel with Theo and a bunch of bodyguards and a strange nanny!’ she accused. ‘You did it deliberately because I had annoyed you. You just took off for London. What happened to your all-consuming interest in getting to know your son? You can’t just saunter in here and throw a bunch of priceless pearls at me and expect that to take the place of an apology and an explanation!’ Billie launched at him in fiery denunciation.

‘I have nothing to apologise for. Now that I have got on top of work, I will have far more time to spend with Theo and you after the wedding,’ Gio told her stubbornly, watching her curls bounce round her animated features, the passion flaring in her green eyes, while noting how luminous the pearls were set against her creamy skin and the firm, sweet swell of her breasts. Hunger stormed through his tautening length in an uncontrollable wave, leaving him painfully aroused. ‘I refuse to go through a wedding with you behaving like this. This is why I needed to see you.’

Billie was silenced. Suddenly she was the one at fault for straining their relationship beyond tolerance. Wide-eyed she stared back at him, the atmosphere dense and sending a curious little quiver through her belly. ‘So...we...er call it off now and go our separate ways?’ she whispered shakily.

Gio stared at her in rampant disbelief, his dark eyes golden-bronze spearheads of intimidation at the mere thought of her pulling a disappearing act again. ‘You’re not going anywhere without me.’

Billie didn’t understand because that sudden shock of fear had destroyed her ability to think straight. Her heart was jumping up and down inside her ribcage like a rubber ball being bounced and making it very hard for her to breathe.

‘Ever again,’ Gio growled in menacing completion as he scooped her up in his arms and brought her down on the bed.

‘What are you doing?’ Billie gasped. ‘Gio...my dress!’

Gio came down on top of her, almost squashing her flat. ‘Stop struggling...you’re more likely to rip something.’

Billie looked up at him with huge disconcerted eyes. ‘Gio...we can’t...this isn’t the answer to anything.’

Gio rubbed his mouth sexily across hers with a sensual groan. ‘It’s the only answer for me.’

‘You’re wrecking my make-up,’ she framed unevenly, fingertips dancing shyly through his cropped black hair, slowly dropping to frame his amazing cheekbones.

‘You don’t need make-up,’ Gio told her thickly.

‘Every bride needs make-up,’ Billie argued, trying to slide unobtrusively out from beneath his weight without shredding her dress.

He lowered his head and devoured her mouth with a hungry driving urgency that made her every sense shift into superdrive with piercingly sweet longing. The taste and scent of him infiltrated her like a dangerous drug, blowing her control out of the water. ‘I won’t wreck the dress,’ he promised, lifting his hips to tip the bundled skirt of her gown up to her waist.

‘Gio...’ Billie whispered pleadingly even as her back arched and her pelvis rocked up to his without her volition.

‘Diavelos, Billie...I hurt,’ he ground out, his breath fanning her cheek while he shifted revealingly against her, grinding the thrust of his erection into the cradle of her thighs.

And low down in her pelvis, deep in her feminine core a surge of moisture dampened her most tender flesh and she started to melt. ‘We can’t...we haven’t got the time.’

‘We’ll make time,’ he husked, yanking out his phone as it buzzed, clamping it to his ear and talking in fast Greek to a male voice that sounded both loud and agitated. ‘Our day, nobody else’s,’ he spelled out fiercely.

Long fingers glided up her inner thigh, leaving tingles of humming energy in their wake. Her eyes closing, her head fell back on the pillows, her neck extending as her spine arched. Her heart was racing thump-thump-thump at the foot of her throat. He stroked the taut triangle of satin between her thighs and the only thing in the world for her at that moment was the stupendous high of excitement and anticipation holding her fast. With a yank, Gio dislodged her bodice sufficiently to expose a creamy breast topped by a pale pink nipple. He closed his mouth urgently to that swollen peak and a stifled gasp escaped her, eyes squeezing tight shut.

‘I need to know you’re mine,’ Gio growled against her throat.

He eased a finger below her lace-edged knickers and stroked along the petal-soft folds. Her thighs opened wider in helpless invitation and when he rubbed the little bud where she was most sensitive she moaned and shifted her hips, urging him on, helpless in the grip of the savage need he could induce. He thrust a long finger into her tight, wet sheath and she jerked, on the edge of crying out until he clamped his mouth to hers to silence the sounds she was making. The rhythmic play of his fingers over her tender flesh sent ripples of throbbing excitement through her. As the tension in her pelvis rose to an all-consuming ache that was unbearable, her every muscle clenched tight and she soared to a breathless shattering peak of ecstasy while biting the shoulder of his jacket to mute the sob of release building up inside her.

‘Oh...’ she mumbled afterwards, her body as languorous as a floating beach ball.

Gio’s phone was screeching in his pocket. Scanning her dreamy face, he switched it off with an unsteady hand. Strangely, although he was still taut with sexual arousal, the inner tension driving him had dissolved. He felt like himself again for the first time in four days and snapped straight into rescue mode, propelling Billie off the bed, repositioning her bodice, brushing down the skirt of her gown before urging her into the bathroom where he stared in all male helplessness at the crushed veil hanging askew, the curls positively rioting round it and the smudges of the lipstick he had dislodged.

‘Good grief,’ Billie groaned, catching her mangled reflection. ‘Gio, you’re a menace.’

Gio washed with enviable cool and ran a comb through his tousled hair. A sharp knock sounded on the bedroom door and it opened the merest crack. ‘The cars have arrived, Mr Letsos. We cannot be late...’ It was Damon Kitzakis’ voice.

‘I’ll get your friend to help you,’ Gio breathed in sudden decision.

Billie was in full bridal panic mode, scanning her swollen mouth and tumbled hair and veil with withering scorn. You should have said no, she told herself furiously. Why didn’t you say no? Why had she, once again, failed to call a halt? Sex had always been a slippery slope with Gio. She couldn’t keep her hands off him, she couldn’t resist his passion but she was convinced that he would respect her more if she was less spontaneous and more restrained. Yet he had received no satisfaction whatsoever from what they had done, she acknowledged in surprise as she waged a frantic war on her rebellious curls and hurriedly repaired her make-up.

Gio reappeared in the bathroom doorway, lean, strong face taut. ‘Damon thought it best that your cousin, her children and Irene and Theo leave immediately for the church. You’re travelling with Leandros and me.’

Billie turned from the mirror. ‘But you and your best man are supposed to arrive first.’

‘You can wait in the church porch for ten minutes, koukla mou,’ Gio pointed out, lustrous dark eyes gleaming with sudden amusement. ‘Why do you take all these silly little rules so seriously?’

Billie went pink and lifted her chin. ‘I assume all brides do the same.’

Gio closed a hand over hers and pulled her towards the lift, sweeping her off her feet before she could reach the pavement and depositing her in a vast tumbling heap of lace and chiffon into the stretch limousine waiting by the kerb.

Billie forced a smile when Leandros Conistis looked at them both in frank astonishment. The heat of almost unbearable embarrassment engulfed her in a burning tide because she had never forgotten her one and only meeting with Gio’s best friend and the incredulous look on his face that evening when he had realised that she had never heard of Canaletto.

Leandros tossed a handkerchief at Gio. ‘You have lipstick on your face.’

Billie’s mortification did not abate at that aside; indeed it worsened. Now the other man would think that she was not only stupid but also a slut with no idea of how to behave like a dignified bride. Even though she knew she was being ridiculously oversensitive, she could not overcome her attack of self-consciousness. Dee helped her climb out of the limousine and ushered her into the porch where she admired the pearl set, teased her cousin about what she saw as Gio’s wildly romantic gesture at showing up at the apartment before the wedding and then fussed with the skirts of Billie’s gown before checking that her daughter, Jade, was still carrying her basket and flowers and Davis, his lucky horseshoe.

Walking down the aisle of the half-empty church some minutes later, her hand resting lightly on her cousin’s arm, Billie was earnestly instructing herself that she was not living a fairy tale and striving not to react to the lean dark charisma of Gio’s sheer beauty as he looked down the aisle, brilliant dark eyes glimmering gold.

‘This is your dream,’ Dee whispered unhelpfully at that exact same moment. ‘Stop fretting...enjoy your moment in the sun.’

Billie recalled the vanishing act that Gio had pulled in Yorkshire, her own frustrated rage, and breathed in deep. So, he wasn’t straightforward, he was complex, secretive and arrogant, but as she focused on his tall, dark, powerful figure at the altar her heart sang its own deeply revealing signature tune. That was when she recognised and accepted the truth—the truth that vanity had made her deny. Gio was the man she loved, very probably would always be the man she loved, regardless of what he did in the future, because she was very steady in her affections.

Acknowledging the strength of her feelings was like breaking free of a constricting band round her chest. She had never got over Gio and now he was back and they had a child and she was about to become his wife. Instead of expecting, indeed almost inviting the roof to fall in on her, wasn’t it time she went for a little positive thinking? And it was at that instant of sunny, optimistic thought with her emotions on a high that her eyes zeroed in on the blue-eyed blonde keenly studying her two pews back from the front. Her heart and her body froze in concert and even her feet became reluctant to do her bidding. Dee had to use momentum to move Billie on down the aisle.

Calisto was a guest at their very small wedding. Billie was in shock. What did Calisto’s presence today of all days mean? Her hand trembled as Gio slid the ring onto her wedding finger. Her skin was clammy with shock, her knees in a rigid hold. In her mind’s eye she was seeing not the priest but Calisto, her tiny proportions sheathed in a killer-blue fitted dress and lace jacket, a jaunty little feather confection adorning her head, waterfall-straight platinum-pale hair falling to her shoulders, framing a face of such perfection that angels would weep to look at it. In print she had been a beauty; in the flesh she was downright dazzling, setting a standard that Billie could never hope to reach. A deep chill spread through Billie like an unexpected frost on a summer day.

‘What’s your ex-wife doing here?’ Billie whispered shakily on the church steps as the society photographer and his assistant got them to pose with linked hands.

Gio massaged the tender skin of her wrist with his thumbs, sending a delicious little thrill of awareness trickling through her tense body. ‘Haven’t a clue, but it wouldn’t have been polite to ask her to leave.’

‘Perhaps not.’ Billie was in two minds about what being polite entailed in such circumstances. ‘But how did she know about the wedding?’

Gio sent her a frowning glance. ‘Naturally I told her about it. It would’ve been bad manners to let her find out from anyone else. Cal probably thinks that showing up is the socially “hip” thing to do. She likes to be “hip”,’ he completed drily.

Billie was sharply disconcerted by the news that Gio was still on good enough terms with his former wife to have automatically informed her of his remarriage. The comfortable way he referred to Calisto with the fond diminutive ‘Cal’ bothered her even more although she was quick to question her own reaction. Not all ex-wives and husbands loathed each other and it was perfectly possible that Calisto had turned up simply out of curiosity. And who could blame her for that? Gio and Calisto had only been divorced for a couple of months at most. She glanced across to where Calisto stood in animated conversation with Leandros and two other Greek friends.

‘She’s very friendly with everyone,’ Billie remarked gingerly, quite frankly envying the blonde’s confident assumption of her welcome. Calisto evidently didn’t feel the slightest bit uncomfortable attending her ex-husband’s wedding and Billie struggled to be equally accepting of the blonde’s presence.

‘Cal is Leandros’ first cousin,’ Gio advanced. ‘And one of my lawyers is her stepbrother. She probably knows virtually everybody here.’

Dismay at those previously unknown close connections assailed Billie and her unease only increased when she saw Calisto climb with a tinkling girlish giggle into a limo with the three men. A wedding breakfast was being served at an exclusive London hotel. She seriously hoped Calisto wasn’t going to push her way in there as well. It was a hope destined to disappointment, however, because the first person Billie saw in the foyer was Calisto, beaming smile all over her perfect face as she surged forward to kiss Gio on both cheeks and beg sweetly for an introduction to Billie.

‘I’ve already met your son...what a little darling!’ Calisto gushed, all dimples and flapping fake lashes. ‘And what a clever, clever girl you are to have brought such a little angel into the world.’

Gio laughed softly. ‘Theo’s cute, isn’t he?’

‘Super cute,’ Calisto purred in agreement, flexing manicured scarlet fingertips on Billie’s arm to prevent her from moving away.

‘Excuse us for a moment,’ Dee interrupted in an undertone. ‘Billie, you need your veil fixed. It’s hanging by a thread.’

Relieved to have an excuse to escape, Billie followed her cousin to the other side of the foyer. She angled her head back to assist Dee’s efforts to anchor her veil and she was in the perfect position to catch Dee’s hissed enquiry, ‘Who on earth is the pushy blonde?’

As Billie spun to fill in the details Dee’s eyes got rounder and rounder. ‘She’s got a heck of a nerve coming today!’ she commented angrily. ‘No bride wants her predecessor as a guest!’

Billie coloured. ‘I don’t want to make a fuss about it when everybody else is quite happy.’

‘By everybody else, you mean Gio,’ Dee interpreted. ‘She’s spoiling your day and, like most men, he’s just taking the easy way out by doing nothing!’

‘He hates bitchiness and catfights. I’m not going to say anything,’ Billie intoned as if she were mouthing a soothing mantra she badly needed to absorb. ‘If Calisto can handle me then I can handle her.’

‘Whatever you think,’ Dee trilled, clearly unimpressed. ‘But I wouldn’t stand her being here like the spectre at the feast for longer than ten seconds.’

Billie greeted the other guests as they arrived with quiet poise. Several of Gio’s British business colleagues were attending as well as his lawyers and a large group of London-based Greeks. She was surprised that he had not invited any of his family to attend their wedding and worried that they might have refused to attend because they disapproved of Gio marrying a woman from so ordinary a background.

She had met Gio’s lawyers in Yorkshire when they had called at the hotel to present her with the pre-nuptial agreement. They had advised her to take independent advice before she signed but Billie really hadn’t had the time to consult anyone, being far too busy packing up the life she had lived for two years and discarding what she no longer required. In any case, Gio was anything but mean when it came to money and, regardless of what might happen between them in the future, she didn’t feel she needed documentary proof that he would always be fair. He had once mentioned that his father had been shamefully stingy in his monetary dealings with his mother after they had divorced and she was convinced he would never be guilty of committing the same sin.

As they ran out of guests to greet in the reception area beside the dining room, Billie saw Gio and Leandros approach Calisto. She watched that perfect face freeze and her scarlet-painted mouth open to deliver an obviously animated response before Billie forced herself to turn away and head for the cloakroom to freshen up. There was no denying that Calisto had cast a cloud over the day. Unfortunately, Calisto was Gio’s ex and still part of his social circle and Billie was stuck with that reality. Making heavy weather of the fact wasn’t going to change anything.

Billie was engaged in renewing her lipstick when the door slammed behind a new arrival and high heels smacked noisily across the tiles. Calisto appeared in the mirror beside Billie like the evil fairy. ‘Don’t waste your time feeling smug that Gio’s asked me to leave. He’s had long enough to regret our divorce and naturally he’s upset at having to marry you to get his son and even more upset to see you and I together...well, there is no comparison, is there?’ Calisto pointed out, lifting her chin to examine her perfect reflection with open admiration.

Billie turned away from the mirror, lifting her own chin in fear that she might have a slight suggestion of a double chin when she held her head at some angles and that was a humiliation she could not have borne in Calisto’s presence. ‘Gio divorced you?’

‘Only because I wouldn’t give him a baby,’ Calisto told her cheerfully. ‘But now that he’s got one...thank you so much for taking care of that problem for me. He can have me and his precious son and heir. You’ve given us a textbook solution to our dilemma.’

‘What on earth are you trying to say?’ Billie asked in genuine astonishment.

‘That triangles never work and it won’t be long before Gio takes his son off you and reclaims me as his wife,’ Calisto trilled with satisfaction. ‘You were his mistress and I’m afraid the background of his life is where a woman like you belongs.’

‘A woman like me?’ Billie prompted, her green eyes taking on a dangerous sparkle.

‘A tart with a heart,’ Calisto quipped, rolling her eyes. ‘And let’s not forget the pantomime big boobs and bum. But you were never destined to be a Letsos and your reign as one will be painfully short.’

Billie shook her head in silent wonderment as she walked to the door. How could Gio have married such a spiteful shrew? In comparison with Calisto, she was unquestionably rounder in certain areas but she was determined not to get drawn into a childish spat with the other woman. She was less sanguine, however, concerning Calisto’s claims about Theo and why Gio had married her.

Was it possible that Gio had only married Billie to gain equal rights to his son? It was simply another angle to Gio’s insistence that they marry to give Theo his birthright. Obviously Gio would benefit as well from the formal acknowledgement of his role as Theo’s father. And was it true that Gio had divorced Calisto because she wouldn’t give him a child? Stamping down on further conjecture about Calisto, Billie reminded herself comfortingly that Gio had asked his ex-wife to leave their wedding.

Feeling hot, flushed and distinctly out of sorts, Billie returned to the elegant function room and collected Theo from his nanny to give him a cuddle. While her son nestled close, she was relieved to see Gio and Leandros chatting away to Dee.

‘She’s pleasant,’ Gio conceded later when they were all seated for the wedding breakfast. ‘But that doesn’t mean that I think she’s a fit person for you to have as a friend.’

‘Try to be less judgemental. If you hadn’t seen that report, you wouldn’t have known about her past,’ Billie pointed out. ‘And we’ve all made mistakes...you married Calypso.’

‘Calisto,’ Gio corrected. ‘She’s gone—’

‘Good.’ Lashes screening her gaze, Billie sipped her champagne.

‘It wasn’t appropriate for her to stay.’

‘Why did you divorce her?’ she heard herself ask.

‘We were incompatible,’ Gio fielded without hesitation.

‘That’s not telling me any—’ Billie began heatedly as Gio lifted a hand and closed it into her curls to turn her back to him.

She clashed with smouldering dark golden eyes and a writhing inferno of heat rushed up inside her in response. Her heart stuttered, her breath shortened in her throat. The tip of his tongue traced the curve of her lower lip and the peaks of her full breasts stiffened and strained below her boned bodice.

‘Se thelo...I want you,’ Gio growled soft and low, ferocious tension etched in every taut athletic line of his lean, powerful body.

‘So much,’ she echoed in breathless agreement, her tummy performing a somersault as he ravaged her mouth in an electrifyingly passionate kiss.

As Leandros signalled to indicate his readiness to make a short speech and dealt him a highly amused smile, Gio set Billie back from him, shrewd eyes searching her bemused face. She was like a breath of fresh air in his life. Was that why she unsettled him? Tempted him into engaging in the kind of PDA he had never before indulged in? But then what other woman would have tolerated Calisto’s appearance without throwing a big scene?

He watched Billie rise from her seat without hesitation to take Theo, who was stretching his arms out to her from a nearby table. Clearly tired and fed up, his son whimpered and clung to his mother like a little limpet before burying his head sleepily against her shoulder. Gio’s rarely touched conscience was pierced by the sight when he thought of the iniquitous pre-nuptial agreement he had had drawn up to ensnare Billie. She was such an innocent. He had guessed that she wouldn’t bother to read the terms, never mind the small print. Knowing she didn’t give a damn about his money, he had taken ruthless advantage of her trusting nature....regardless of his awareness of how much she loved their son.

Of course, she need never know about the terms of the pre-nup, Gio reasoned, reckoning that he didn’t want that coming back to haunt him at some inopportune time in the future. Billie would be shocked. Billie, who had always tried to see him as a nicer, kinder person than he could ever be, would for ever lose her rose-tinted view of him. He frowned, deciding that he would lose her copy of that document in a safe somewhere...

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE HELICOPTER LANDED in a clearing lit by torches on the island of Letsos.

‘So, this is the island where you were born. Does it belong to you?’ Billie remarked as Gio lifted her down to the ground and then went back to take Theo and assist the nanny in her descent.

‘It still belongs to my grandfather, Theo’s namesake. I imagine if it had ever passed to my father, it would’ve been sold long ago,’ he opined drily. ‘He sold everything that wasn’t nailed down long before he died.’

‘Did your family name the island after themselves?’ she asked curiously.

‘No, I believe my ancestors stole the name and began using it several generations back after a family dispute split them into two factions,’ he explained, ushering her into the four-wheel-drive vehicle.

‘I’m looking forward to meeting your family,’ Billie lied because she felt she had to lie out of politeness.

While Billie was undeniably curious, she was also very apprehensive about the sort of reception she could expect to receive from Gio’s wealthy relatives. In her own opinion she had so many strikes against her: the speed of their marriage, Theo’s birth out of wedlock, never mind the reality that she was a complete stranger and a foreigner without either fancy lineage or cash. She was convinced that those facts would ensure that she was viewed with extreme suspicion and possibly even hostility.

‘You’ll meet them all tomorrow,’ Gio told her calmly.

‘But I assumed I’d be meeting them now...tonight,’ she said tensely.

‘It’s been a very long day and we’re not staying at the main house tonight. We’ll introduce them to Theo in the morning.’ Gio smoothed a hand down over Theo’s back as his son squeezed out a cross little mutter as he secured him in a car seat. ‘The sooner he’s in bed, the better. Irene, you’ll have the help of my old nursemaid tonight because I know you’re tired. We’re leaving Irene and Theo at Agata’s house.’

‘Leaving...Theo?’ Billie parroted in dismay.

‘Relax. It’s not as though we’re abandoning him on a park bench,’ Gio censured with quiet amusement, dark eyes skimming her anxious face. ‘We’re spending our wedding night at the beach house. We’ll pick up Theo in the morning before we go and meet the family. Agata will revel in being the first islander to get to know my son.’

When they drew up at Agata’s house, Billie soon appreciated that Gio had not exaggerated because Theo’s arrival was the source of much excitement and pleasure. Agata was middle-aged and rotund. She greeted Gio with overflowing affection and took hold of his son with a blissful smile while contriving simultaneously to offer Irene a warm welcome and the promise of a comfortable bed in her guest room.

Gio swept Billie back into the car. The road was soon travelling sharply downhill and the car finally stopped at the mouth of a sandy path. Their driver, a strapping youth, grabbed the heavy cases and trudged down the path, leaving them to follow.

‘Watch your step. It’s a steep track,’ Gio warned, clamping a strong arm to her slender spine to steady her as her heels sank into the sandy surface.

‘I’d never have worn these shoes if I’d realised we were going to a beach house!’ Billie muttered ruefully. ‘I’m dressed up in my fanciest togs because I thought I’d be meeting your family tonight.’

‘I wanted to surprise you.’

‘You’ve succeeded.’ Billie laughed, staring down at the stretch of pristine beach coming into view as they descended. The sun had gone down but a brazier was burning, casting flickers of light across the sand and the dark waves washing into the cove.

The wooden beach house was tucked into a corner and lit up with fairy lights that looked like roses. ‘Wow...that’s so pretty!’ Billie exclaimed, staring when she saw lights flickering beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows as well.

Gio carried her over the threshold and she lost one of her shoes and he said that was a good thing because she couldn’t walk in them and she was smiling as he set her down on a polished wood floor. There were flowers everywhere she looked and lots of burning candles casting glimmers of moving light and shadow across the opulent interior. Their driver settled the cases in the adjoining bedroom and departed.

Billie wandered barefoot into the bedroom, appreciating the luxurious but plain furnishings and the wide, comfortable bed.

‘Champagne?’ Gio prompted.

‘Maybe later. Right now, I want a shower more than anything,’ she confided, keen to be free of the tailored dress and jacket she had worn to look smart. ‘Could you unzip me?’

‘If I unzip you,’ Gio remarked as she shed her jacket and moved helpfully close, ‘you’ll never make it to the shower.’

The zip ran down. He spread the fabric back and pressed his mouth to the smooth slope of her shoulder. ‘Your skin is so wondrously soft,’ he told her huskily, skimming the short sleeves down her arms, giving the dress a helpful push downward as it threatened to settle at her waist, and lifting her out of the folds.

‘I’m not going to get my shower,’ Billie forecast as he turned her slowly round to face him.

‘Well, possibly not until later and you might have to share it.’ Gio grinned down at her, his eyes hot as the sun’s rays on her exposed the lush curves of her figure in a green satin and lace bra and panties set. ‘That’s if I ever let you out of bed...’

Billie resisted a sudden urge to stupidly ask him if he thought her bottom was too large. She tried to stay a stable weight but she had never fussed about the curvy shape she had been born with, regarding that as a futile exercise destined to lead only to disappointment. Irritated by her sudden self-consciousness in his presence, she said instead, ‘You’re wearing way too many clothes.’

Gio hauled her up into his arms and kissed her with passionate force before bringing her down on the bed. ‘A shower and food and civilised behaviour later...I promise,’ he swore.

Billie’s memory flew back to the many, many times in the past when Gio had barely stepped through the door of the apartment before grabbing her with the wild impatience and hunger she had always cherished in him, deeming that fervour proof that she was more important to him than he was ever likely to tell her. Of course, the fallout when he announced that he was marrying Calisto had been all the more painful to bear, she conceded ruefully. He had forced her to see the danger of wishful thinking, the foolishness of the assumptions that had made her feel secure. But as soon as she found herself thinking that way, Billie kicked out those negative thoughts and, reminding herself that this was their wedding night, she lay back on the bed where he had placed her.

Gio was her husband now and he was hers in so many ways that he had never been before, she conceded, trying to banish her worries. Together, she and Gio and Theo would be a family. They would also be part of a much bigger family, which she was praying would eventually accept her, even if it was only for Theo’s sake.

‘Who organised all this?’ Billie asked, shifting a hand to indicate the flowers and the candles and the opulent comfort of the room’s appointments. ‘Is the beach house in regular use?’

‘It hadn’t been used in quite some time,’ Gio admitted as he shed his shirt in a careless heap. ‘Leandros’ sister, Eva, is an interior designer and she agreed to do a rush job for me as a favour. She wasn’t sure she would make the deadline until the last minute and only finished this afternoon. The household staff saw to the rest.’

‘I love the candles and the flowers,’ Billie admitted.

‘I knew you would...you’ve always been such a romantic,’ Gio teased.

‘But you organised it so you must be a romantic too,’ she pointed out, absolutely blown away by the gradually dawning realisation that Gio had had the beach house set up for their wedding night solely in an attempt to please her.

‘I’ll never be romantic,’ he fielded wryly. ‘But I am bright enough to work out what’s required and deliver it, glyka mou.’

With the greatest difficulty, Billie dragged her attention from his washboard abs and the way his naturally golden skin sleekly delineated his ripcord musculature. He was gorgeous and yet he was with her and not with the equally gorgeous Calisto. For a split second she let that mystery unnerve her and then she squashed the thought flat, telling herself off for even thinking it. He was married to her now, with her, and Calisto was in the past. Gloriously unaware of her constant attacks of insecurity, Gio stepped out of his trousers and skimmed off his boxers in one fell swoop of impatience.

Her mouth ran dry, her heartbeat quickening. It had been so long since she had had the luxury of watching Gio strip. That day she had gone for lunch with him at his hotel and ended up in bed with him, he hadn’t even got undressed. Her face burned at the recollection.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Gio breathed, stalking across the bedroom to join her on the bed.

And she told him and, surprisingly, he laughed. ‘I wasn’t exactly the cool seducer, was I? I was as hot for you as a teenage boy having sex for the first time but I did at least use a condom.’

‘I got carried away too,’ she soothed, running gentle fingers along his angular jaw line. ‘But you’d best be careful. I’m not using any form of contraception.’

Gio tugged her down on the pillows beside him and leant over her. ‘Do I need to be careful? I missed out on you being pregnant with Theo and I would be pretty excited if you were to conceive again,’ he admitted, dark eyes shimmering gold in the candlelight.

That was the most confidence-boosting thing Gio could have said to her, Billie reflected dizzily. His interest in her having a second child took her by storm because it meant that he regarded their marriage as a long-term venture rather than an exercise to simply grant Theo his legal birthright.

‘I put on a lot of weight when I’m pregnant,’ she warned him.

‘And in all the best places,’ Gio husked, running an admiring finger across a bra cup overflowing with soft creamy flesh. ‘Theos, I love your body.’

‘Honestly?’ Billie prompted, loathing herself for pressing the point.

‘I can’t keep my hands off you, Billie,’ Gio groaned, flipping open the catch on her bra and filling his hands with the bounty he had been admiring. ‘I never could...’

Her wretched brain was still shooting in directions she didn’t want it to. It was urging her to ask why he had then chosen to marry a woman like Calisto and suddenly she couldn’t restrain that need to know any longer and she asked, ‘Then why did you marry a woman half my size?’

There was a sudden deathly silence. His head bent while he toyed with the warm soft curves he had bared, Gio glanced up at her from below his ridiculously long lashes. ‘For all the wrong reasons...and I paid the price,’ he admitted in a roughened undertone.

Billie wanted to dig deeper into the topic but she also knew that she didn’t want to spoil their wedding night with the shadow of past pain and loss. With an almighty effort she cleared her head of such morbid reflections and said nothing at all because regret had coloured every syllable he spoke. Regret was enough to satisfy her, wasn’t it? How much of a pint of blood did she need to satisfy her damaged ego? Enough blood to cause ructions in their shiny new marriage when Gio had already mentioned a desire for another child? She thought not, decided it was better to leave the past where it belonged and look to a brighter future.

Gio captured a turgid nipple in his mouth and toyed with it until it was throbbing. Billie rested back, letting the heat flow through her, warming and moistening ever more sensitive parts. Her hips shifted, her fingers raked through his short hair, eyes sliding shut as she held him to her with a deep sense of happiness. Another baby? What a sign of optimism on his part! He was a child of a broken marriage and she was convinced he would not risk bringing a second child into the mix if he believed their relationship was likely to break down.

‘Tomorrow’s going to come too soon for me,’ Gio complained huskily as he tugged up her knees and peeled down her knickers in one smooth operation. ‘But if I make love to you all night, you’ll be too tired to meet my family in the morning.’

‘You’ve got every night with me that you want now,’ Billie whispered as he shifted to trace the moist cleft between her legs with a roving forefinger and she quivered instantaneously, every tingling nerve ending instantly clamouring for more.

‘And I’m going to make the most of every opportunity. I’m sex-starved,’ Gio confided, working a trail of lusty nipping and sucking across the upper slope of her breasts to her throat. ‘I never could get enough of you. Now I’ve finally got you round the clock, I’ll be very demanding.’

‘Promises...promises,’ Billie quipped, warmed by that threat, for the more Gio expressed his desire for her, the more secure she felt.

As excitement began to claim Billie, conversation died because she couldn’t think straight for long enough to vocalise. He touched her with the unerring skill of an expert and she writhed, hands digging into his cropped black hair as he used his mouth to bring her to a shattering climax.

Weak with satiation in the aftermath, she loosed a startled gasp as Gio flipped her over onto her stomach. ‘What—?’

‘I’m in a very dominant mood, moro mou,’ Gio growled, gripping her hips and driving hard into her passion-moistened depths, stretching her to the limit with his length and girth and sending a renewed and arousing wash of hunger through her.

And Billie had always secretly liked it when Gio was forcefully passionate in bed. Then as now, his dominance somehow made her feel irresistible. A helpless shudder of response snaked through her quivering body, her breath rasping in her throat, her heart hammering as he plunged into her with pounding erotic urgency. It went on and on and on, igniting the bittersweet torment of need inside her again. A carnal finger stroked and encircled her clitoris and the tightening knot of tension in her womb started up a chain reaction. A string of tiny inner convulsions pulsed along her inner channel and finally merged into a rapturous explosion of soul-destroying pleasure.

‘That’s something you’re very, very good at,’ Billie mumbled unsteadily just as Gio began to pull away from her and she grabbed his arm, eyes flying wide in the candlelight. ‘No, don’t, don’t move away. I hate it when you do that.’

‘It’s just the way I am,’ Gio framed, frowning.

Billie brought up another hand to grip his shoulder. ‘But it doesn’t have to be like that. You can hug Theo.’

‘That’s different.’

Billie knew she was hitting barriers and that possibly she hadn’t chosen the best time to complain, but his habit of shifting away from all contact in the immediate aftermath of intimacy had always hurt her feelings. ‘You’ve never had a problem with hugging me if I’m upset about anything, have you?’

‘Well, no, but—’

‘So, pretend I’m upset,’ Billie urged with all the enthusiasm of a woman who believed she had found the perfect solution to his lack in the affection department.

Gio settled dazed eyes on her. ‘What?’ he breathed in disbelief.

‘After sex,’ Billie told him bluntly. ‘Just think. She’s upset, now I have to hug her.’

‘I don’t want to think of you being upset after we make love.’

‘Have you got an argument against absolutely everything?’ Billie asked him in a pained tone. ‘I was trying to work out a strategy which would suit us both.’

‘Forget the strategy,’ Gio advised, anchoring both arms firmly round her and hauling her back against him with gritted teeth. ‘I’ll work on it...OK?’

‘OK,’ Billie agreed, satisfied, running an exploring hand down over his hair-roughened torso and then teasingly lower in an operation destined to prove to him there would be advantages to a change of behaviour that brought him physically closer.

‘OK,’ Gio said again but in a deep husky purr. ‘Very OK...’

An hour later they were outdoors, lying relaxed on the huge upholstered recliner on the deck and watching the flames from the brazier shooting up against the night sky. Discarded dishes from the packed fridge were scattered around, evidence of the substantial meal they had contrived to eat. Billie laced her fingers round the stem of her champagne flute and heaved a contented sigh. ‘It’s incredibly peaceful here with just the sound of the sea in the background.’

‘I always loved that sound when I was a kid. My parents used to bring us down here and...’ Gio’s voice trailed away into silence.

Billie glanced up at him, aware of the tension now stiffening his long, lean length against her. ‘And...what?’ she pressed. ‘It’s great that you’ve got some good memories of your childhood.’

‘My sisters and I were very young then. It was long before my parents broke up...before my father met the love of his life.’ Gio voiced that emphasis with biting derision.

‘Oh...and she was?’ Billie jumped straight into the opening he had given her because he had always avoided the subject of his parents’ divorce.

‘An English fashion model called Marianne. She was his mistress and when she became accidentally pregnant—with the boy who later turned out not to be my father’s—he decided that he couldn’t live without her.’

‘Oh,’ Billie said in quite another tone, discomfited by the similarities she saw to their own previous relationship, wondering if she was at last learning the reason why Gio had always maintained an emotional distance in their relationship.

‘My sisters and I returned from boarding school for our summer break and learned that our whole lives had changed. My father had divorced my mother and stuck her in an Athens apartment. Suddenly we weren’t welcome on Letsos or in our childhood home any more because my father—and it is a challenge to compliment him with that label—had married Marianne and she refused to have the children of his first marriage hanging around.’

The depth of Gio’s bitterness shocked Billie but she could imagine how horrible it must have been for him and his sisters to see their mother rejected and all of them excluded from everything they had become accustomed to believing was theirs. ‘Didn’t your grandfather intervene? You said he owned this island.’

‘He couldn’t disown his son though, and naturally he didn’t want to make an enemy of his new daughter-in-law. He does regret, however, that he didn’t do more to help my mother, but at the time he was really struggling to repair the damage Dmitri’s extravagance and marriage breakdown had already done to the family and the business.’

‘Did you have much contact with your father after the divorce?’ Billie asked.

‘No, after that one meeting, I only saw him one more time. Marianne very much resented the fact that he had had other children. Love,’ Gio breathed witheringly, ‘can be a very destructive emotion. My father destroyed his family in the name of love and my mother never recovered from the treatment she suffered at his hands.’

Billie was thoughtful because she was finally seeing when Gio had reached the conclusion that the softer human emotions could be toxic. As a child, Gio had seen the consequences of what he believed to be love in all its selfish, dangerous glory when his father had sacrificed his family so that he could be with the woman he wanted.

‘You can’t say that a parent’s love for their child is destructive,’ she commented mildly. ‘Most people see it as supportive.’

‘A man of principle can do what he should do for his family without prating about love,’ Gio asserted with a slight shudder as he tightened his arms round her. ‘I don’t need to love you to look after you.’

Billie’s eyes stung painfully. He, most certainly, hadn’t been looking after her when he had chosen to marry Calisto two years earlier but that was not a memory she wished to rouse. Instead she set down her glass and pillowed her head against his shoulder.

‘I suppose,’ Gio said, after a great deal of unusually introspective thought, ‘I do love Theo but it’s because he’s little and helpless. He’s got all the appeal of a puppy or a kitten. I took dozens of photos of him on my phone before I left Yorkshire and I couldn’t wait to see him again.’

Billie thought it was sad that at that moment she envied her son for having that amount of pull with Gio after such a short acquaintance.

‘I couldn’t wait to see you either...as you know when I turned up today before you could even make it to the church,’ Gio confided, nuzzling his unshaven jaw line softly along the line of her creamy throat, feeling extraordinarily at peace for the first time in a very long time and wondering what it was about her that had that effect on him. ‘I don’t know why I did that. It was absolutely crazy.’

‘I didn’t mind,’ Billie interposed, squirming round in the circle of his arms to look down at him instead of up at the stars.

His lean, strong face was still a touch bemused by his own behaviour that morning and it was obvious that he was still mulling that over. ‘You know, somewhere in the back of my mind, I honestly think I was afraid you mightn’t turn up at the church... Isn’t that insane?’

If he had known how much she loved him, he would have known he was quite safe on that score, she reflected ruefully. No, no matter how mad she had been with him she would never have jilted him at the altar.

* * *

‘My goodness, it’s a huge house,’ Billie breathed as the four-wheel drive parked outside a very large sprawling villa set high on the hillside and surrounded by glorious tropical gardens.

‘It has to be big for family get-togethers and it’s been extended by almost every generation since it was built.’ His tension pronounced enough to attract Billie’s notice, Gio sprang out and turned back to unstrap Theo from the car seat while Irene and Agata headed up the wide, shallow steps that led to a front door that already stood wide.

The housekeeper hovering at the door fussed around them but Gio would not even linger long enough to perform an introduction and strode on past, knowing exactly where he was going and clearly determined not to be held back.

‘Gio!’ Billie exclaimed, hurrying out of breath in his wake. ‘If we’re going into a crowd, give me Theo. He can be awkward with strangers...’

His stubborn jaw line clenching, Gio passed their son to Billie, who settled the toddler comfortably on her hip. ‘And smile, for goodness’ sake,’ she urged, troubled by the forbidding cast of his lean, darkly handsome features. ‘It doesn’t matter if your family aren’t too sure about me...you have to give them time...’

The elegant reception room was in proportion with the house and very big and Billie was disconcerted to peer in the glass doors and see an absolute throng of people, both standing and seated, on the marble floor. Gio had a much bigger family than she had appreciated. As they entered the room every head turned towards them and Billie sucked in her tummy by breathing in deep and slow, striving to steady her nerves.

‘I asked you all here today to introduce you to my wife,’ Gio declared in the rushing silence, his dark deep drawl measured and carrying to every corner of the room. ‘This is Billie. We got married yesterday and—’

A noise erupted from the far corner as an older man stood up and banged his walking cane loudly on the floor. His lined face rigid, he shot a stream of furious Greek at Gio. Gio grated something back and then closed an arm to Billie’s spine to thrust her back in the direction of the door. ‘We are leaving,’ he said curtly.

‘Oh, please, don’t go, Gio!’ A tall, shapely brunette was chasing after them. ‘I’m Sofia, Gio’s youngest sister. Gio, why on earth didn’t you tell us that you were getting married?’

Billie stopped dead and swopped Theo to her other hip because he was getting heavy. ‘He didn’t tell any of you?’ She gasped in disbelief.

‘No, he said he had a surprise to share with us and that’s why we’re all here.’

‘We’re leaving, Billie,’ Gio reminded her doggedly.

But Billie spun round before he could open the door and marched back into the room. ‘Gio should have told you that we were getting married. I had no idea—’

‘Billie,’ Gio cut in, clamping an imprisoning hand to her shoulder.

‘Well, I’m sorry to criticise you in front of your family but you really should have warned them. Obviously everybody’s in shock and people say things they don’t necessarily mean when you shock them,’ Billie pointed out, studying the fuming older man, who she suspected was Gio’s grandfather, Theon Letsos. ‘There’s no sense in storming out in a huff over it.’

‘I am not in a huff,’ Gio ground out between clenched teeth, outraged that she was defying his lead and his wishes with his own family.

‘Perhaps we could talk about this,’ the old man said gruffly, scanning Billie with astute dark eyes that reminded her strongly of Gio’s. ‘Your wife is correct. I spoke in haste and without thought.’

‘He insulted you,’ Gio bit out harshly.

‘That’s all right. I can only be offended if you abuse me in English,’ Billie declared forgivingly. ‘I don’t speak a word of Greek!’

‘Gio and his sisters attended English schools,’ the older man told her with a sudden smile. ‘Now come and sit down and tell me about yourself. I find it hard to stand for long.’

In a state of disbelief, Gio found himself in the rare position of being assigned second string within his family as Billie, chattering away to his grandfather as though she had known him for years rather than seconds, walked slowly over to the closest seats available.

‘Forgive me for being so remiss in the courtesies,’ Theon murmured. ‘I am Gio’s grandfather, Theon Letsos.’

‘I’m Billie. It’s not short for anything.’

‘And your son?’

‘Our son,’ Gio corrected with pride. ‘Theon Giorgios, your great-grandson, known as Theo.’

Taken aback by the revelation, the older man studied Theo as he crawled across the floor with all the energy of a toddler kept in restraint for too long. ‘Theo...’ he mused in the crashing silence that had once again engulfed the entire room. ‘And you only married yesterday?’

‘Gio only found out that Theo existed very recently,’ Billie cut in hastily. ‘We hadn’t been in contact for a couple of years—’

Gio gritted his teeth. ‘There is absolutely no need for you to talk about that.’

‘Of course there is. I don’t want anyone thinking that I had an on-going affair with a married man,’ Billie declared without hesitation, marvelling at how slow on the uptake Gio could sometimes be because he was totally indifferent to what other people thought of him. But she didn’t want that stigma within the family circle. She might not have liked Calisto, nonetheless she would not have engaged in a relationship with Gio with or without his wife’s knowledge.

‘A great-grandson named for me...’ Theon was keen to concentrate on the positive and politely ignore Gio’s brooding protective stance beside Billie’s chair. ‘A fine boy...not shy either!’ he remarked with an appreciative laugh as Theo made his way over to another toddler with a small heap of toys in front of him and snatched at the first colourful item he could reach.

‘So, tell me about yourself,’ the older man invited.

‘Billie’s not here for an interview,’ Gio incised coolly.

‘My goodness, I’m so thirsty. I would really love a drink,’ Billie informed Gio, shooting him an expectant look.

Of course, Gio simply snapped his fingers like some desert potentate and a uniformed maid materialised.

Billie met Theon’s amused eyes and her own mouth twitched because her strategy had been lame but she really could have done without Gio standing over her in warrior mode as if she were defenceless in enemy territory. He had never acted that way around her before and the discovery that his reserve was as great within his own family as it had once been with her was a major shock to her expectations. Yet that insight saddened her as well. Gio was such a lone wolf. How had he contrived to become the guarded, unemotional male he was with such a large and, she sensed, loving family?

Theo crawled back and hauled himself up against Billie’s knees and then clutched at his father’s legs until Gio abandoned his rigid stance, smiled with a sudden brilliance that lit up his lean, strong face and swept his son up in his arms to carry him back to the toys.

‘It’s been a long time since I saw Gio smile,’ Theon remarked.

‘I don’t have a fancy background or any money. I owned and ran a shop. I’m just an ordinary working woman,’ Billie volunteered before Gio could return to censor the conversation. ‘You might as well know that upfront.’

‘In recent years, very recent years, I have learned the unimportance of such distinctions.’ Theon gave an emphatic shrug and relaxed back into his armchair. ‘And I’m afraid I must disagree with you on one point. No ordinary woman could handle Gio and the Letsos family with so much tolerance and common sense.’

That was Billie’s last private moment with Theon. One by one she received introductions to Gio’s uncles, aunts and sisters, including, to her surprise, his half-sister, Melissa, who had passed half a lifetime being royally ignored by her father’s family because she was the result of Dmitri Letsos’ illicit teenaged romance.

‘They’re not a bad bunch when you get to know them,’ Melissa, a collected blonde teacher in her forties, pronounced with a wry smile. ‘Oh, there’s the usual sibling rivalry, but they are, one and all—I assure you—devoted to Gio. He brought me into this family and he’s the first port of call for all of us when there’s a crisis. I hope you can handle that. Calisto couldn’t.’

From stray comments made and generally quickly leading to a subject change rather than risk causing offence, Billie began to suspect that Gio’s first wife had not been well liked. She cursed her own curiosity about her predecessor: it was pointless and the gratification of that curiosity was more likely to lead to hurt. Gio had married another woman. Get over it, she urged herself impatiently, determined not to be haunted by the shadows of the past.

‘If your wife is the woman she appears to be, she’s solid gold,’ Gio’s grandfather told him disconcertingly.

Tight-mouthed, Gio breathed, ‘When it comes to Billie, I have no need of anyone’s approval.’

‘But an invitation to the wedding would have been very much appreciated,’ Theon countered drily.

Once Irene had taken Theo up for his bath and guests had begun to disperse to their own corners of the rambling villa, Billie slipped away to explore the wonderful gardens, finally sitting down in the shade of an ancient chestnut tree to appreciate the glorious bird’s-eye view of the island and the ocean. Although she was exhausted she was quietly pleased that her meeting with Gio’s family had ultimately gone well when it had so very nearly gone badly wrong.

When had Gio become so hot-tempered? He had been like a stick of dynamite with a smouldering string attached, aggressively ready to attack anyone who attacked her, over-sensitive to every comment and question that came in her direction. Billie sighed over that mystery and slowly relaxed, letting the tension drain out of her.

‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you,’ Gio delivered in a minatory tone, striding down the gravelled path towards her. ‘Downstairs, upstairs...’

‘Maybe you should microchip me and then you would know where I am at all times,’ Billie told him deadpan.

Struggling to master his exasperation, Gio released his breath in a rush. There she was, curls foaming round her lovely face, eyes contemplative, clearly happy and content. He could not explain to her his personal fear that she had put on a fantastic sociable act all day for the benefit of his family while secretly masking her hurt at her less than welcoming reception. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Tired,’ she admitted, sleepy green eyes locked to him while a wicked little current of remembered pleasure travelled through her. ‘But then we didn’t get much sleep last night...’

The faintest colour stung his stunning cheekbones, brilliant dark eyes flaring gold, lean bronzed features breathtaking in their perfect symmetry as his wide mouth took on a sensual curve. She loved him; she loved him so much, she acknowledged helplessly.

‘What are you out here worrying about?’

‘I’m not worrying,’ Billie declared. ‘This is a gorgeous garden and I’m enjoying it.’

Recalling the window boxes and pot plants she used to keep at the apartment, Gio felt his conscience ping. Just as quickly he recalled the hollow sensation he had suffered when, following her disappearance, he had seen those plants dead and withered and as always he buried the memory deep of that period in his life. ‘I should’ve bought you a house with a garden a long time ago.’

‘My only experience of gardening was visiting my granddad’s allotment as a child,’ Billie confided quietly. ‘He used to plant vegetable seeds for me. That was in the days before the betting shop and the drink pushed him into a less active lifestyle.’

Gio frowned, astonished by the sudden realisation that he could know so little about his wife’s background. Momentarily he marvelled that he had never asked her anything beyond the most basic questions, but, after learning that she had virtually no living relatives that she knew of, he had seen no reason to probe deeper. ‘He was a drunk?’

‘No, that’s too harsh. He drank to escape my grandma’s nagging. She was kind of sour in nature. If he was a drunk,’ Billie extended, ‘he was a nice drunk because he was never mean, but his liver failed and he was ill for a long time. That’s when I first began missing school because my grandma wouldn’t look after him the way he needed to be looked after and I felt so guilty leaving him to her care every day.’

‘Surely there was some care offered by the state?’

‘No, there’s actually very little help available. Grandma was told he wasn’t sick enough to get a bed in a nursing home even though he was terminally ill. Once he had passed, it was just her and me...and she never liked me, said I reminded her of my mother.’ Billie grimaced. ‘You can’t really blame her. My mother dumped me on her and never came back. She was a bitter woman, who just never saw the good in anyone. I got to go back to school for a couple of years and then Grandma’s health failed too and that was the end of that.’

Gio was stunned by what he was belatedly learning. ‘How is it that I’m only finding out all this about you now?’ he could not help asking, as if he thought the oversight might somehow be her fault.

Tactfully concealing her wonder at that question, Billie shot him a wry glance. ‘Gio, back then, in your eyes, when I wasn’t physically in front of you, I didn’t exist.’

Gio tensed. ‘That’s untrue.’

‘Do you recall that cabinet with drawers I once mentioned where I was tucked in my own tiny drawer, only to be taken out and appreciated by you on special occasions? Seriously, I wasn’t joking—that was what it was like.’

His lean dark features were grim. ‘What you’re really saying is that I’m a colossally selfish individual.’

‘You were self-absorbed and very driven. Let’s face it, when we were together your main focus was always business. I also think you were too posh to be comfortable with the difference in our backgrounds. Ignoring it was easier. I think as long as I was willing to be quiet about it, you preferred not to be reminded that I was once a humble cleaner,’ Billie told him gently.

‘I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation!’ Gio ground out angrily, his temper, kept on a short leash all day, whipping up in a sudden surge hotter than lava. ‘Or that you could ever have had such a low opinion of me!’

In mute frustration, Billie closed her eyes and counted to ten. ‘It’s done and dusted, Gio—it’s the past. I’m not attacking you. I’m only being honest. I wasn’t perfect either. I should have stood up to you, demanded more, but I was too young and in my very first relationship.’

‘You lied about your age.’ Gio was quick to pounce on that reminder.

Billie nodded peaceably, refusing to rise to the bait because there was no way she was about to engage in a massive row with Gio about their past. After all, everything had changed now and they were making a new start at a very different level of intimacy.

‘I’ve got some work to do,’ Gio said in a tone of finality.

Billie smiled, knowing his first refuge when emotion threatened was work. ‘I’ll walk back indoors with you.’

Gio settled with his laptop in the library, which was set up like a high-tech office for his use. Theos, he still found himself thinking furiously, he was not and he never had been a selfish person. On one issue, Billie was correct: he had no need whatsoever to revisit the past. That conviction in place, Gio struggled to concentrate on the lines of figures on his laptop screen and he was fine until the moment that the matter of the pre-nuptial settlement contract squeezed into his mind and practically obliterated everything else in the process. He rang the housekeeper to discover where Billie’s possessions had been stored since being shipped out the previous week.

It occurred to him then without warning that even the devil could not have devised a more colossally selfish or fiendish document. He refused to act like a male engaged in a covert operation, but on some level of his brain he was astounded by what he was about to do when he finally stood in the room confronted with a heap of boxes. After all, when was Billie ever likely to lift that contract out and reread it? Why the hell was he so damned rattled by a very minor risk? Perspiration dampened his lean, bronzed features. He was engaging in a cover-up and the knowledge didn’t sit well with him. But prior to that contract he had never once been dishonest with Billie. He hovered, studying the boxes. That document could hurt her, he reflected broodingly, and he latched onto that excuse for what he was about to do with alacrity.

Gio had never unpacked a box in his life but he wasn’t surprised by the discovery that every box was labelled and incredibly neatly filled because Billie was very, very organised and always had been. In the third box, he hit the pay dirt of finding files full of papers and in the second file he espied the contract and ripped it out, but not before he frowned down at a certificate for wine tasting and found beneath it one for art appreciation. He went through the whole file, checking the dates, learning what he knew he should have learned years sooner.

There was a burning behind his eyes that made them feel scratchy and he felt oddly hollow, as though someone had gutted him without warning. Feeling rather as though he had been beaten up, Gio replaced everything where he had found it with the exception of the contract and strode off to pour himself a very stiff drink. The contract went through the shredder but the relief he had expected to feel was utterly absent. He had gone digging where he had no business digging, he conceded sardonically, and he rather thought that in the process he had got what he deserved.

‘Theon wants you to join him for afternoon tea,’ Sofia told Billie cheerfully around three that afternoon. ‘It’s a big honour.’

Billie grinned. ‘I liked him.’

‘I think the feeling’s reciprocated,’ Gio’s sister responded with a laugh as she guided Billie across the villa to the wing of the house Theon occupied.

A manservant showed her out onto a big shaded balcony where Theon awaited her. ‘I believe this is an honour,’ Billie remarked with a grin.

‘How on earth have you escaped Gio?’ his grandfather enquired mockingly.

‘Something I said annoyed him... He’s taken refuge in work,’ Billie confided, marvelling at how very comfortable she felt in the older man’s company.

‘I overheard that conversation,’ Theon admitted, disconcerting her. ‘This balcony is directly overhead.’

Billie reddened but sat down. ‘Oh, well, it’s all within the family,’ she said without great concern because it wasn’t as if she and Gio had been hurling insults at each other or discussing anything she considered particularly private, although she knew that put in the same position Gio would have been furious.

‘I thought I should bring you up to date on some family history, as I doubt very much that Gio has done the job for me,’ Theon commented.

‘I know about his parents’ divorce,’ Billie contributed. ‘And I know his father really didn’t have much to do with him after it.’

‘Dmitri was a weak man. There, I have said it,’ the older man said wryly. ‘For years I wouldn’t admit that to myself because he was my son...’

‘It’s challenging to accept faults in those we care about most,’ Billie murmured soothingly.

‘You love Gio a great deal—it shines from you,’ his grandfather told her. ‘He’s a very lucky man.’

Billie flushed and decided not to embarrass herself with a denial while she poured the tea. ‘I hope he always thinks so. He’s much more complicated than I am...’

‘And that’s why I invited you for tea,’ Theon told her. ‘I’m very much afraid that his complexity can be laid at my door. I raised Gio from the age of eleven after his mother died.’

‘I had no idea she died while he was still so young,’ Billie said in surprise as she buttered a scone and deliberated with some gastronomic anticipation on whether to have raspberry or strawberry jam with her cream.

‘Ianthe couldn’t cope alone after Dmitri divorced her for Marianne. I had no idea how bad things had become for Gio’s mother,’ Theon told her heavily. ‘Perhaps if my wife had still been alive she would have had the wisdom to foresee the problems and she would have encouraged me to offer help in time to prevent a tragedy.’

Billie set down her scone after one delicious bite. ‘A tragedy?’ she pressed.

‘Ianthe hanged herself...and Gio found her,’ the older man recounted with a shudder. ‘I will carry the burden of my guilt to the end of my days.’

Eyes widening, Billie had lost colour. ‘I had no idea...’

‘I didn’t think you would, which is why I told you,’ Gio’s grandfather confessed. ‘The effect on Gio was catastrophic. He had lost his father, his home and then his mother, only a few months later.’

Billie shook her head slowly, cringing at the thought of such a huge loss being inflicted on Gio and his sisters while they were still so young. ‘That must have been dreadful for him,’ she muttered unsteadily, her heart swelling. ‘He would’ve felt responsible—’

‘I worried that Gio would inherit the same excessively emotional personality that both Dmitri and Ianthe demonstrated in the way they led their lives. That kind of emotional intensity leads to instability.’

‘Not always,’ Billie inserted gently.

Theon shook his white head. ‘I wanted to be sure that Gio did not repeat his father’s mistakes. It was too much responsibility to place on a child’s shoulders. In many ways I taught him the wrong values,’ he explained with unashamed guilt etched in his lined features. ‘I expected, wanted him to marry well...and we all know how successful that proved to be. I put far too much emphasis on wealth, status and family duty—’

‘But,’ Billie cut in with an apologetic look, ‘at the end of the day, Gio is a highly intelligent adult and totally independent and he made his own decisions.’

‘Ne...yes, and he married you without telling any of us because he refused even to risk the fact that I might have tried to interfere.’

‘Probably,’ Billie agreed thoughtfully. ‘But he’s not enough in touch with his own feelings to even know that.’

‘You know him so well,’ Theon pronounced with appreciation. ‘Now we’ve got the difficult bit over, shall we enjoy our scones?’

* * *

Gio was on the phone to Leandros and Leandros was asking awkward questions, destined not to be answered. ‘I just don’t understand.’ His best friend sighed. ‘You only got married yesterday. You only arrived with your family today. Why would you want to fly back to Athens for one night simply to have some fancy dinner?’

‘Tomorrow’s Billie’s birthday.’

‘So, make it tomorrow, then.’

‘I want to do it tonight. Are you joining us?’ Gio prompted. ‘And, Leandros, if you mention Canaletto, I’ll cut your throat.’

‘Of course I’ll join you.’

Billie was engaged in drying Theo and slotting him into his pyjamas when Gio appeared in the bathroom doorway of the nursery suite.

Gio swept up his son and hugged him and did the flying thing again, which sent Theo into gales of laughter. ‘He’s tired,’ Gio acknowledged as Theo then rested his curly head down on his father’s shoulder and slumped.

‘He’s had a lot of excitement today and he’s always exhausted when he’s been with other kids.’ Billie carried her son through to the bedroom and settled him down in the very fancy cot, from which she quickly detached the flouncy hangings and everything else within reach for such dangling temptations were not a good idea with an active toddler.

‘This place needs to be refurnished,’ Gio commented tautly, watching her every move, it seemed, unsettling her.

Billie laughed. ‘It’s perfectly fine. It might have been done up for a little girl but Theo doesn’t know the difference yet.’

‘It was decorated for Sofia’s youngest daughter. She had a difficult birth and her husband was travelling and Theon suggested she move back here while he was away,’ Gio volunteered.

‘Sofia’s lovely,’ Billie said warmly.

‘We’re going out tonight,’ Gio announced abruptly.

‘Where to?’

‘Athens.’

Billie blinked. ‘Athens? But we’ve only just got here!’

‘We’ll be back tomorrow,’ Gio sliced in. ‘We’re eating out with Leandros and his current girlfriend.’

‘Are they getting engaged or something?’

‘Not that I know of. Is going out with me such a big deal?’ Gio demanded in frustration.

Billie almost said that, naturally, it was a big deal when he had never taken her anywhere public in years, aside of the wedding, but she thought better of that piece of one-upmanship. She was reluctant to hark back to the past when their marriage was, self-evidently, a very new and much altered situation. She supposed that, for Gio, taking a flight for one night out was almost normal, certainly nothing he appeared to have to think about, and she resolved to say no more while privately worrying about what she had to wear.

She blessed the foresight that had sent her out shopping for more sophisticated and expensive clothes before the wedding and pulled an elegant pewter-coloured dress from a closet in the luxurious dressing room where all her clothes had been carefully unpacked for her. While she showered and attended to renewing her make-up, she pondered Gio’s strange mood.

‘What do you think?’ she asked, twirling a little apprehensively in front of him when she found him waiting in the bedroom for her.

Stunning dark golden eyes flared over her. ‘You look incredible,’ he intoned with convincing appreciation. ‘Are you ready to leave?’

A warm sense of acceptance blossomed inside Billie even though she could still not understand how he could have been married to a beauty like Calisto and still deem his infinitely less-beautiful second wife equal to the label ‘incredible’.

‘Are we returning to Letsos tonight?’ she prompted as she let Gio lift her into the helicopter.

‘Yes, although the family own a city apartment if you would prefer to stay there,’ he volunteered.

‘No, I’d miss Theo at breakfast time when he’s all warm and cuddly and glad to see me,’ Billie confided sunnily.

As the helicopter rose in the air Gio leant closer, meshing long fingers into the tumble of her curls. He turned her face up and crushed her mouth under his in a breathtakingly hot kiss and that not only startled her, but also sent hunger crashing greedily through her body.

Billie rested disconcerted eyes on him in the aftermath. His lean, darkly beautiful face was slashed by a brilliant smile and he closed one hand firmly over hers. Wonderment filtered through Billie. There was something wrong but she didn’t know what it was...

CHAPTER NINE

BILLIE WALKED INTO the upmarket art gallery with one hand resting on Gio’s arm. The owner swam up to them wreathed in smiles. Wine was served while they were treated to a personalised tour of the exhibits. Billie was bored but worked hard not to show it, politely absorbing the pretentious descriptions of canvases that looked as though a toddler had thrown paint at them.

‘Do you see anything you like?’ Gio enquired, apparently surprised by his wife’s unresponsive silence.

‘I’m not an art buff. I sort of prefer more traditional paintings,’ she whispered back guiltily, and then she stiffened, staring across the gallery at the unmistakeable figure of Calisto, sheathed in a scarlet minidress and virtually impossible to miss.

‘What the hell...?’ Gio breathed irritably above her head.

‘I’ll deal with this,’ Billie announced, startling him, walking across the marble tiles with her wine glass clasped in one determined hand.

‘How did you know we were going to be here?’ Billie asked Gio’s ex-wife without hesitation.

Calisto’s ice-blue eyes glinted. ‘I have my sources, but aren’t you a little out of your depth in this milieu?’

‘I believe you’re the one out of your depth. Gio isn’t coming back to you,’ Billie responded stiffly. ‘This is a waste of your time.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so. Once I heard the terms of your pre-nup, I knew you would be on your way out almost as soon as you arrived,’ Calisto trilled with a scornful smirk. ‘You signed it without reading it, didn’t you? Silly, silly woman. Remember that when Gio dumps you back in the UK without your precious son!’

Billie refused to react in any way, determined not to give Calisto that much satisfaction. The woman hated her: she could see that. It was there in the dripping malevolence of her gaze and the sneering tone of her voice and Billie was challenged to understand what exactly she had done to incite such intense loathing. Simply marrying Gio? Her custody of Gio’s son? Or was Calisto still in love with Gio and feeling scorned by his rapid remarriage?

Gio strolled up and without a word to even acknowledge his ex-wife walked Billie out of the gallery. ‘Only two people knew we were coming here and one of them is Damon, whom I trust with my life,’ he told her grimly. ‘I’ve already called him. He will deal with the leak and the person concerned will be sacked.’

‘I think that would be best,’ Billie said rather woodenly. ‘And perhaps the lawyer, whom you mentioned is her stepbrother? He seems to have talked out of turn about confidential matters as well.’

Gio frowned, making it obvious that he had not overheard Calisto’s final salvo. ‘What confidential matters?’

Billie shrugged as though she meant something trivial, reluctant to think the worst of Gio, averse to trusting anything that witch, Calisto, had claimed at his expense. She would dig out the pre-nup and check it out for herself or arrange to have it looked over by an independent lawyer. It couldn’t be true; it couldn’t possibly be true, she thought in an agony of fear. After all, if that claim of Calisto’s was true, it would mean that their marriage was an empty charade, never intended to do anything but gain Gio legal custody of Theo and she could not, would not believe that of him!

‘Your ex is a bit of a pyscho,’ Billie remarked tentatively as they settled into the waiting limousine.

‘And probably what I deserved,’ Gio breathed in a raw undertone of stress.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ Billie prompted before they entered the fashionable restaurant.

‘Nothing’s the matter,’ Gio insisted.

If you can believe that, you can believe anything, Billie reflected, unimpressed, off-balanced by the odd way he was behaving. He was still holding her hand, still acting as if he were physically welded to her or, ridiculously, as though he were afraid that she might run away somewhere.

No way, Billie thought combatively. He had signed up for a life sentence as far as she was concerned and he was going to serve it, she thought crazily, studying his lean, bronzed, totally gorgeous profile while he talked to Leandros and Billie listened to Leandros’ girlfriend, Claire, who was a British model, talk about the joys of fake tan and the cosmetics range she was planning. It wasn’t riveting stuff but Billie tried her best to be friendly while reaching the conclusion that Leandros was as shallow as a puddle when it came to the female sex.

Gio skated a teasing forefinger along Billie’s thigh below the table and she tensed, thinking, not about what he probably hoped she was thinking about, but instead about what Calisto had said. I’m going to have to ask him, she accepted unhappily.

Was he capable of such a deception through the means of a legal document? Oh, yes, Billie had no doubts when it came to how ruthless Gio could be. After all, in spite of what she had deemed to be a very happy relationship and her warning that she would not be there when he returned, Gio had still gone off and married another woman because that was what he’d felt he had to do. Like a granite rock rolling down a hill on a set path, Gio was not given to second thoughts or doubts or insecurities like frailer personalities and he didn’t think much about the damage he could be inflicting.

How could she love someone like that? Billie asked herself wretchedly as the limousine carried them back to the airport.

‘What did you think of Claire?’ Gio enquired in the silence, desperate to know what Calisto had said to her. Calisto could be so vicious and, when she aimed it at Billie, even Gio was willing to admit that she had some excuse for her resentment.

‘Very chatty and glam. She seems pleasant enough,’ Billie commented.

‘For a fake-tan expert. She must be great in bed,’ Gio said sardonically.

‘Why?’ Billie heard herself say. ‘Is that how you first thought about me? Let’s face it, I didn’t have much in the way of intellectual conversation to offer either.’

‘We’re not talking about you.’ Gio gave her hand a little shake as though in rebuke. ‘You were never that vain or frivolous.’

‘Claire’s looks are the basis of her whole career so I don’t think it’s fair to call her vain or frivolous.’ And in the back of her mind, Billie was wondering why she was arguing with him about something that didn’t matter in the slightest to her. Dimly it dawned on her that fear was working on her nerves, cutting through the sense of trust and security that she had begun to develop and throwing up friction in her every response to him.

What on earth was she planning to do if the man she loved turned out to be her worst enemy rather than her husband? How was she going to cope with Gio trying to take Theo away from her? Murder him in his bed? Hire a hit man? Her mind threw up crazier and crazier ideas and her tension rose steadily as she boarded the helicopter to sit stiff and silent by his side until the flight back to Letsos was complete.

‘I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong,’ Gio breathed as she pulled away from his supporting arm and picked an uneven passage along the path from the helipad to the villa.

‘We’ll talk about it inside where nobody can hear us,’ Billie framed in a flat tone he had never heard from her before.

Tension screaming from every line of his tall, powerful figure, Gio mounted the stairs a step in her harried wake. It was no comfort for him to flip through his list of sins and omissions with Billie because there were so many of them he didn’t know where to start. He watched her stop dead in the living area of their suite and kick off her high heels, ensuring that she shrank greatly in stature.

Billie settled blazingly angry green eyes on Gio. ‘Calisto told me that the pre-nup I signed contained something about you keeping Theo here in Greece if we broke up.’

Furious that something so highly confidential could have been leaked from what should have been the most trustworthy source, Gio turned pale, and for an instant he couldn’t think of anything to say in his own defence.

Billie read his taut defensive expression and her shoulders slumped. ‘So, it’s true...this marriage has all been some cruel kind of game of deception.’

‘The pre-nup no longer exists. I shredded your copy and mine and had my legal rep destroy all evidence of it,’ Gio grated. ‘It’s gone, it’s in the past. I should never have thought of such a thing.’

‘How did you shred my copy?’ Billie demanded in sudden wonderment.

‘I went into your storage boxes,’ Gio admitted, a tinge of heat accentuating his cheekbones at the look of disbelief growing in her gaze. ‘I realised it was wrong and I wanted to destroy it. I didn’t want you to realise what I’d tried to do at some later stage of our lives.’

‘Well, you don’t have that to worry about that now. It’s come back to haunt you much sooner than you expected,’ Billie pointed out, wondering how much she should be mollified by the apparent destruction of the document and his evident change of heart. At least he knew when he’d done something wrong, she thought limply, struggling to find a bright side to her predicament.

Gio studied her, his full attention locked to her flickering changes of expression. ‘I didn’t want to lose you.’

‘You didn’t want to lose Theo,’ Billie corrected. ‘I wish you’d just been honest from the beginning. I’m not unreasonable, Gio, and from the moment you reappeared I was willing to share Theo with you, honestly and fairly.’

‘It was a very dirty trick to plant that clause in the pre-nup,’ Gio acknowledged with a humility that astounded her.

‘But very typical of you,’ Billie responded. ‘Clever, devious, cold-blooded.’

‘I’m never cold-blooded when it comes to you. I had the pre-nup drawn up that way because...’ Gio hesitated, lean, strong face rigid ‘...not because I was trying to take Theo off you, but because...’

‘Because what?’ Billie snapped in sudden frustration.

‘Because I knew you’d never leave him and if I had the right to keep him, you wouldn’t leave me either!’ Gio yelled back at her full force, making her jump in fright.

Billie gaped at him. ‘But I had no intention of leaving you.’

‘You left me before!’ Gio bit out rawly.

Billie stared at him, fighting to hide her fascination and astonishment. ‘But don’t you think there was some excuse for me leaving you then, when you were marrying another woman?’ she reasoned very gently.

His lean, darkly handsome features froze as if she had slapped him. He released his breath in a long pent-up hiss. ‘Marrying Calisto was the worst mistake I ever made...but I thought, I truly believed at the time that I was doing the right thing.’

Billie thought about what Theon had told her about the way he had raised Gio and the values he had emphasised and suppressed a sigh. ‘But it wasn’t the right thing for you.’

‘I am so sorry for hurting you,’ Gio framed in a roughened undertone, lustrous dark eyes unshielded and filled with overwhelming regret. ‘If I could go back and change it, I would...but I can’t. If it’s any consolation, I hurt myself as well. For two years my life was miserable because you weren’t part of it any longer, so I definitely paid for making the wrong choice. My happiest day since the day I lost you was the day when I finally found out where you were living.’

In her entire experience of Gio, Billie had never thought to hear such admissions from him. Initially the shock of what he was telling her almost struck her dumb and then the natural warmth of her nature sent her hurtling across the room to wrap both arms round him in comfort. ‘Oh, Gio, you are an idiot sometimes,’ she whispered helplessly.

‘I honestly didn’t believe you would leave me. When I found the apartment empty...well, it was a very bad moment for me and I did everything I could to fight feeling the way I did, but everything in my life felt wrong after that,’ he confessed raggedly. ‘Calisto got a bad deal from me as well. I didn’t want her, I wanted you, and when you disappeared you were all I could think about.’

Belatedly Billie understood his ex-wife’s hatred for her. ‘Did she love you? She must’ve been jealous and hurt...’

‘No, love wasn’t part of our arrangement, nor was jealousy. If it had been she would never have agreed to me still keeping you in my life.’

‘You told her about me? She actually agreed to you continuing to see me?’ Billie prompted, shaken even though she recalled him saying something in that line before.

‘I preferred to be honest with her from the start. Cal wanted social position. Her family are wealthy but have little status. She wanted to be Gio Letsos’ wife for what it meant to the rest of the world. Unfortunately, I couldn’t live with her,’ Gio admitted with a grimace of recollection. ‘She was nasty to my family and she lies at the drop of a hat about the most trivial things. After promising to have a family with me, she then confessed that she didn’t ever want to have a child. In short, we were both dissatisfied with our marriage and she agreed to the divorce.’

‘But then why is she carrying on this way trying to upset me and wreck our marriage?’

‘I can only think I hurt her ego by not wanting her more than I wanted you. Obviously marrying you straight after the divorce offended her as well but we won’t be having any more trouble from that quarter,’ Gio asserted with conviction. ‘That lawyer will be removed from my team and Leandros doesn’t get on with Cal any better than I do, so there won’t be any leaked info from him with regard to our lives.’

Ready to toss the issue of Calisto and his brief marriage on a back burner, Billie was instead thinking about what Gio had said about the pre-nup agreement he had had her sign. ‘Why were you afraid of me leaving you again?’ she murmured.

‘My father left me, my mother left me and somehow you became even more important to me than they were,’ Gio framed with dogged determination but obvious difficulty in explaining that to her. ‘After I found my mother dead, I taught myself to close out emotions because it was the only way I could cope with the way my sisters’ lives and mine had imploded. I preferred to stay in control. I felt threatened whenever emotion tried to take over. I found the way I seemed to need you totally unnerving...’

Billie was so stunned by that speech that the best she could manage was, ‘Oh, dear...’

‘I couldn’t believe that you could try and send me away once I found you again.’

‘Only because of Theo and I thought you’d be furious about him. And because you hurt me before and I didn’t want to put myself out there for that again,’ Billie told him truthfully.

‘I did everything wrong, but then I would have done anything to get you back,’ Gio confided. ‘I shouldn’t have used Dee’s past as a weapon against you.’

‘No, you shouldn’t have.’ Billie didn’t pull her punches on that score. ‘You blackmailed me into moving to your hotel!’

‘I wanted you with me.’

‘And then abandoned me at the hotel,’ Billie reminded him stubbornly.

‘My feelings around you were getting on top of me,’ Gio breathed curtly. ‘I couldn’t handle them and I was getting angry and frustrated and I was afraid I might scare you off.’

‘I didn’t know you felt like that because until now you haven’t shared anything with me,’ she murmured ruefully.

Gio reached into his pocket and withdrew a ring box, from which he removed a gleaming diamond solitaire. ‘It’s five minutes after midnight and your twenty-third birthday, pethi mou. Happy birthday.’ He lifted her hand and threaded the beautiful ring onto her wedding finger. ‘It belonged to my grandmother and now it belongs to you. They enjoyed a very long and happy marriage; consequently it comes with a worthy history for us to follow.’

Billie gazed down at her beautiful ring with tears of joy glittering in her eyes because that family gift meant so much more to her than a ring that he might have bought.

‘I should have placed that ring on your finger two years ago but I didn’t know my own heart then,’ Gio confessed heavily. ‘I had never stopped to evaluate what you actually meant to me and by the time that I did, it was too late and you were gone. Even after I found you again and married you, I genuinely still didn’t appreciate that what I feel for you has to be love.’

‘Love?’ Billie exclaimed, jolted by surprise from her blissful perusal of her engagement ring.

‘I do love you,’ Gio declared with an endearing amount of self-consciousness about making such a statement. ‘I probably always loved you but it was a very selfish love, so I didn’t recognise it for what it was and neither could you have done.’

Billie was bemused. ‘Gio...you just called yourself selfish...’

Gio frowned. ‘I couldn’t avoid that deduction after I found your exam certificates and all the courses which you had done while we were together two years back... I didn’t know about even one of them,’ he decried. ‘I wish you’d told me.’

Billie was flushed. ‘I was too embarrassed. You have a degree and there I was studying for the most basic qualifications,’ she pointed out. ‘My goodness, is that why you took me to that stupid art gallery tonight?’

‘I thought you’d enjoy it,’ Gio admitted.

‘I only took the course because of that Canaletto thing,’ she muttered ruefully. ‘But to be frank, it’s all a bit highbrow for me.’

‘I’m not into art either. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you. I’m proud of you and happy to show you off anywhere. I’m really proud that you’re my wife,’ Gio imparted with a brilliant beautiful smile as he scooped her up in his arms and carried her through to their bed.

‘Honestly?’ Billie pressed.

‘Honestly,’ Gio stressed. ‘I only wish I’d understood the strength of what I felt for you a lot sooner because it would have saved us both a great deal of unhappiness. I would never willingly have let you go.’

‘I still love you,’ Billie told him with a forgiving grin that illuminated her whole face.

‘I have to wonder why,’ he said seriously.

‘Maybe because I see a side of you that other people don’t. I don’t know. I just always loved you,’ Billie mused, relaxed about her own feelings for the first time in years because he loved her back. A singing, dizzy sense of happiness was spreading through her, all her fears finally laid to rest.

‘Bet I love you even more than you love me,’ Gio husked, dark eyes smouldering gold as he kissed her with sweet, ravishing hunger. ‘I’m hopelessly competitive.’

‘You can win that competition any time you like,’ Billie joked, feeling gloriously free to express her own feelings as she gripped his shirt collar and dragged him down to her again.

* * *

Billie watched Theo race into the waves with Jade and Davis while Gio kept a watch on the children.

‘You know,’ Dee remarked from her lounger by Billie’s side on the deck of the beach house, ‘Gio’s totally different from the sort of man I thought he was. He’s great with kids, for a start.’

‘Oh, he’s surprised me too in that line,’ Billie confided lazily, her attention on the six-month-old daughter sleeping in her portable crib in the shadows. ‘He adores Ianthe.’

‘When does your family tree get a look-in with the names?’ Dee asked.

‘Are you joking?’ Billie laughed. ‘With Grandpa being a Wilfred and Grandma Ethel, I think Gio’s family names have more promise. What were we talking about? Right, yes, Gio and children. He’s surprised too by how much he enjoys having a family.’

‘Billie, if you wanted a giraffe in the family, he’d try to give it to you,’ her cousin said with a roll of her eyes. ‘The man is besotted. I can see it every time he looks at you.’

‘Maybe it’ll be your turn soon,’ Billie remarked quietly, because Dee had started seeing someone back home. It was early days yet, of course, but she was hoping Dee would be brave enough to try another relationship because her cousin spent too much time alone.

It had been two years since Billie had married Gio and Dee was currently in the process of buying Billie’s vintage clothes shop, which she was still successfully managing. A lot had changed for Billie in that same period but Gio had changed too, opening up to his emotions and pulling free of an outlook that had once been set in stone. He would never be Dee’s best friend but he could relax now with the other woman and accept her place in Billie’s life without comment or tension. Billie suspected that their children had helped Gio become more relaxed and flexible.

Theo was tall for a three-year-old, like all the men in the Letsos family, and he had Gio’s black hair messily combined with his mother’s corkscrew curls, something he would no doubt complain bitterly about when he reached his teenaged years, Billie reflected fondly. Ianthe was a combination of their genes as well, for her eyes had turned as green as her mother’s and she was fairer in colouring than her brother with dead straight hair with not even a hint of a curl.

Billie went into the beach house for a cold drink and glanced around with a rather wicked smile because she knew that she and Gio would be spending the night there. Dee and the children were heading home in the afternoon and Irene, their trusty nanny, would collect Theo and Ianthe to take them back to the villa.

In the two years since she had married Gio, Billie had learned to make the most of their private time together. Gio travelled less than he once had and their lives were based on the island. Billie got on great with Gio’s family and was particularly close to his sisters and never short of company. Sometimes she wanted to pinch herself because she had never dreamt that she could be so happy.

A pair of arms closed round her from behind and she jumped. ‘Gio?’

‘Who else?’ he breathed teasingly above her head.

‘You gave me a fright,’ she whispered, swivelling round in his arms to look up at him. ‘Who’s with the children?’

‘Dee’s taking a turn.’

Billie collided with smouldering dark golden eyes set in a stunning lean dark face and wrapped her arms round his neck, her heart hammering. ‘You still rock my world, Mr Letsos,’ she confided breathlessly.

Gio dealt her a thrillingly erotic smile of anticipation. ‘Not until tonight, agapi mou.’

He called her ‘my love’ now, Billie reflected blissfully, for she now spoke a fair amount of Greek. Her curvaceous body sealed slowly to his with intense appreciation of the strength and protectiveness in his tall, well-built length. ‘I love you, Gio...’

‘And I am totally devoted to you,’ Gio intoned huskily, bending his head to steal a kiss that went on until they had to break apart to breathe.

* * * * *

Innocent in His Diamonds

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

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

There—that should set him straight, she congratulated herself, so pleased with her comeback that she didn’t acknowledge the charged silence until his hand landed on her shoulder.

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

‘Wha—?’

His lips slanted over hers before she could get the word out.

Ana’s world imploded. Every coherent thought, every ounce of outrage fled as she experienced Bastien, up close and devastatingly personal.

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

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

When his tongue stroked hers molten heat seared through her, singeing every nerve-ending, every drop of her blood, until she burned, engulfed in sensual flames.

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

MAYA BLAKE’s hopes of becoming a writer were born when she picked up her first Mills & Boon® aged thirteen. Little did she know her dream would come true! Does she still pinch herself every now and then to make sure it’s not a dream? Yes, she does!

Feel free to pinch her too, via Twitter, Facebook or Goodreads!

CHAPTER ONE

BASTIEN HEIDECKER THREW OPEN the doors of his boardroom and strode in. For several seconds none of his board members noticed his presence, absorbed as they were by the catastrophe playing out in high definition on the big screen.

Henry Lang, his CFO, spotted him first.

‘Mr Heidecker! We were just catching up on the latest development...’ The short dark-haired man grabbed the remote, pressed a button and dashed to his seat.

Bastien watched the rest of his staff scramble into their places, his already simmering anger mounting as his gaze shifted to the screen.

Her frozen image stared back at him. Despite the storm brewing beneath the surface of his calm, Bastien couldn’t fault his team for being enthralled by the woman at the centre of the chaos engulfing his company.

Ana Duval was stunning perfection. The half-Colombian, half-English supermodel’s beauty combined innocence and defiance with a hint of cultivated vulnerability that had been skilfully honed into the perfect commodity. That combination had ensnared every red-blooded male in the western hemisphere and ensured her a permanent place in the limelight by the time she’d turned twenty-one.

Hell, it had nearly ensnared him...

Even at fifteen Bastien had known the skinny, doe-eyed, eight-year-old he’d had the misfortune of spending that unforgettable winter with was nothing but trouble. What he hadn’t foreseen was that sixteen years later Ana Duval would bring bedlam right to his doorstep.

His gaze skimmed the silky fall of her straight black hair, the slim, delicate structure of her lissom figure and the legs that had once been described by a fawning companion as forty-two inches of creamy paradise.

Against his will his body stirred in remembrance of having that body close to his only two months ago, of soft, meaningless words whispered in his ear.

He smashed away the memory, took his seat at the head of the table and focused on his second-in-command. ‘What’s the latest on the share price?’

He received a wary grimace. ‘Less than half of what it was yesterday and still falling.’

‘What are the lawyers saying? Can they make this go away?’ he shot back.

Henry glanced down at his watch. ‘There’s a court hearing at two o’clock this afternoon. They’re hoping since this is Miss Duval’s first offence the judge will be lenient—’

‘Alleged offence.’ Bastien ground out the words.

Henry frowned. ‘Excuse me, sir?’

‘Until there’s clear evidence to prove otherwise, this is merely an alleged offence, non?’

Other board members fidgeted. Henry’s gaze darted to the screen. ‘But she was caught on camera with the drugs in the VIP area of the nightclub—’

Bastien’s lips compressed. He’d already seen the footage some enterprising fool had flooded the internet with on the way from Heathrow. So had the Geneva board members of Heidecker Bank—the largest, most elite private bank in the world and the mother company of Diamonds by Heidecker. Their reaction had reflected his own outrage. He needed to nip this problem in the bud.

He had the trust of most of the board, but the stigma never went away.

Like father, like son.

He was nothing like his father. He’d made it his mission since that dismal summer to prove to himself that sharing DNA didn’t meant sharing deplorable traits. He’d succeeded for twelve years—until one small misstep two months ago had unearthed a doubt he hadn’t been able to erase since. He’d given in to seductive words and an alluring body and he’d almost lost his focus...

He raised his gaze, stared at the culprit and struggled to keep his cool.

The likelihood of Ana’s innocence was less than marginal, but he kept this to himself.

‘Despite what the alleged evidence says, Ana Duval is the face of the DBH range. Our diamonds are worn by the wives of heads of state and A-list celebrities all over the world. Until she’s categorically proved guilty her offences remain strictly alleged, and we’ll do everything to promote that innocence—is that understood?’

Bastien waited until he received nods of agreement before rising.

The sense of déjà vu was overwhelming. The deep, unshakable notion of history repeating itself would have been laughable had he given it any thinking room. But for the sake of his company and his reputation he couldn’t dwell on the past.

Ana Duval might look like a younger version of the woman who’d ripped his family apart, but he was not as weak as his father.

He had to stand by his employee. Distancing himself would only send a message that the allegations had teeth and sound a death knell to the Diamonds by Heidecker ad campaign.

‘How are we handling the media?’ he asked his senior press officer.

‘We’re taking the “no comment” route.’

He nodded. ‘Maintain that for now. But draft a statement denying the allegations and send me a copy.’ He turned to Henry. ‘Send feelers out to our competitors. We have to be ready to sell the company if things keep heading south.’

He was first and foremost a businessman. Before this scandal the signature DBH brand of diamonds had held its own and even excelled in a saturated market. But he knew first-hand how scandal could rock even the safest, most solid foundation—destroy the strongest family.

‘Isn’t that a bit precipitate?’ Henry asked hesitantly.

Across the gleaming surface of the conference table Ana Duval’s dangerously captivating face stared back at him.

‘Sometimes you have to cut out the threat of disease before it gets the chance to take hold and spread.’

* * *

Ana Duval rubbed her wrists. Memories of handcuffs closing over her flesh remained vivid and frightening more than twelve hours after the fact.

Even more terrifying was the judge’s ruling. The preliminary hearing had been alarmingly quick, and the female judge had shown zero sympathy so far.

Ana jumped to her feet. ‘Two hundred thousand pounds? I’m sorry, Your Honour, but that’s—’

‘Miss Duval! We’ll handle this,’ her lawyer said hurriedly as the judge paused and glared at her.

Ana fought not to cower. This whole thing was preposterous. Even if she sold everything remotely of worth in her life she would still fall hopelessly short. She sank back into her seat and rubbed her wrists again, certain that any minute now she’d be dragged back to that dank, soulless cell.

Beside her, the lawyers representing the Heidecker Corporation scrambled into a huddle. She let their voices wash over her and quickly calculated how much money she had in the bank. It didn’t take long.

God, she was going to jail. For using her inhaler. An inhaler that had mysteriously vanished, to be replaced in her purse by another one filled with heroin. The absurdity of her situation would have been comical if it hadn’t been so serious.

Watching her mother pop pill after pill at the slightest hint of unhappiness or adversity had instilled a hatred of substance abuse in Ana at a very early age. Only a very serious asthma attack a year ago had finally convinced Ana to carry her inhaler with her at all times.

Ironic that the very object that was supposed to save her life was what could now ruin it.

The lawyers finally stopped chattering. She opened her mouth to demand to know what was going on. And stopped.

The tingle invading her body was not unfamiliar. She hadn’t experienced it in a long time. In fact— Her heart began a discordant hammer as she recalled the last time she’d felt like this.

It had been on her second day of shooting the first phase of the Diamonds by Heidecker ads. Reclining on the sun-washed deck of a super-yacht in Cannes, bored out of her mind, she’d wondered how soon she could get away to call her father and congratulate him on his latest archaeological find.

The tingle had started much like this one—easing its way up her toes, engulfing her ankles, her calves, weakening her knees, singeing the secret place between her legs. The tingle had stopped there, establishing an almost possessive hold, before rising to engulf her whole body.

Then, as now, she’d wanted to run, to hide and cover herself—a ridiculous notion, considering her profession more often than not involved flaunting herself. Finally, just when she’d felt light-headed from the sensation, the photographer had wrapped the shoot.

Uncoiling from her pose, she’d turned her head.

And had encountered the silver gaze of Bastien Heidecker.

What had happened afterwards still had the power to stop her breath, to raise her heart-rate to dangerous levels no matter how much she tried to downplay the memory.

She turned her head now and encountered the same piercing gaze.

The breath shot from her lungs and that unnerving tingling engulfed her whole body, turning it from numb to fiery within seconds. Her every nerve-ending screeched in awareness of the man whose gaze pinned her to her chair, imprinting and condemning all in one go.

She watched in silence as, without breaking eye contact, he strode to the lawyers and spoke in deep, low tones.

The lead counsel nodded and cleared his throat and Bastien turned towards her, his towering six-foot-two frame and confident tread causing heads to turn in the courtroom. He took a seat directly behind her and with an autocratic jerk of his chin ordered her to face forward.

Heat crawled up her neck, stung her cheeks. With it came anger at herself for so blatantly staring. The judge’s gavel struck, making her jump. Glimpsing Bastien’s mocking smile, she pursed her lips and straightened in her chair.

For the hundredth time Ana wished she’d insisted on changing her clothes before arriving in court. But she’d wanted this hearing over and done with. She glanced down at the thigh-skimming silk dress—already on the risqué side when she’d worn it last night to please Simone, her flatmate, and now bordering on the downright indecent in daylight, especially in a courtroom—and cringed inwardly.

She was discreetly tugging it down when the noise level rose. The lawyers were smiling and shaking hands with Bastien. Grabbing her tiny purse, she stood up.

She glanced around her and noticed there were no guards ready to slap the handcuffs back on and cart her off to jail.

‘What’s going on?’ She’d aimed for brusque and businesslike but her words emerged thick and heavy, as if she were speaking in a foreign tongue. With a leaden hand she pushed back the heavy fall of hair from her face.

Bastien stepped forward, his grey eyes arctic-cold. ‘Found it hard to concentrate, did you?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

The breadth of his shoulders and the sheer force of his personality threatened to overwhelm her. Or it might be because she hadn’t eaten a thing since yesterday. Whatever it was, the light-headedness when she looked into his eyes made her senses swim.

Strong hands gripped her arms and he swore under his breath. She pushed him away but he held on, his irritated growl sizzling along her raw nerves.

‘You will be by the time I’m finished with you,’ he rasped into her ear.

She shivered. That deep voice had intruded on her dreams far too many times, mocked her weakness when it came to Bastien Heidecker. At eight she’d followed him around like a puppy-dog, despite the stay-away-from-me vibes he’d projected loud and clear. At twenty-four she’d almost succumbed to a far more dangerous temptation that continued to haunt her.

No way was she letting that happen again.

‘Let me go, Bastien.’ She wrenched herself from his arms—only to find herself recaptured a moment later when his hands closed over her shoulders.

‘I don’t know whether anything can get through that drug-fogged brain of yours, but I suggest you try and understand this. We’re going outside now. My car will be waiting, but so will the press. You will not say a single word. If you have the slightest inclination to do so, kill it. Do you understand?’

‘Get your hands off me! You’ve got this wrong. I’m not—’

His fingers bit into her shoulders, stifled her protest. A shiver coursed through her as he hauled her closer, his body so close his scent surrounded her.

‘If you want to get out of here in one piece the only word I want out of your mouth right now is yes.’

A rebellious fire lit her belly. For as long as she could remember she’d relied on no one but herself. She’d had no choice.

But this—lawyers, court, the threat of imprisonment—was totally alien to her. Besides, deep down she’d known that she’d have to answer to Bastien sooner or later. He was ultimately her boss. She only wished it had been much later.

Swallowing her words, she nodded. ‘Fine. But only until we get out of here.’

He pulled back, his unforgiving gaze raking down her body. His nostrils flared and she caught a spark of that dark and dangerous emotion that had arced between them on that sultry night two months ago.

With short, jerky movements he tugged off his jacket and settled it over her shoulders.

‘Do my clothes offend you?’ she taunted, despite being grateful for the cover.

‘You can flaunt your skin in your own time. Right now you’re operating on Heidecker time, and I’d rather not battle my way through frenzied paparazzi.’

He tucked the jacket closer around her and her gaze was drawn to the play of hard muscles under his expensive blue cotton shirt. Something tightened in her midriff and that damning tingle started once more. Hurriedly, she tore her gaze away.

She knew very well what her current predicament meant for Diamonds by Heidecker. The last thing she wanted to do was add to her list of sins by acknowledging her inexplicable feelings for its CEO.

He’d barely tolerated her when she was eight years old. That feeling had morphed into something else two months ago. It was something they’d never spoken of and both wished didn’t exist between them.

Except it did...and they’d almost given in to it.

He looked down at her and she saw the reluctant gleam in his eyes. It was gone a second later. Pursing his lips, he captured her wrist and tugged her to the door.

The bolder paparazzi had already breached the outer limits of the courthouse. Years of practice had taught her never to look directly into the camera lenses—because somehow, no matter how much she tried, they always saw too much, revealed too much. Unfortunately, still feeling extremely unsettled, Ana now failed at what she’d practised since the age of seventeen.

The first flash blinded her. Heels meant for walking a few feet from car to dance floor gave way beneath her. Stifling a curse, Bastien caught her and swung her into his arms.

The world erupted in a blinding series of flashes and excited cries. With no choice but to ride the storm, she clasped her arms around his shoulders and buried her face in his neck.

His scent suffused her. Clean, musky...arousing. The warmth of his skin attacked her senses, throwing her back to that night on his yacht, when she’d let her emotions get the better of her. Her pulse quickened, her insides clenched tight as deep, illicit pleasure stole over her.

Ignoring the gossip-hungry media closing in on them, Bastien aimed straight for the black limousine with tinted windows idling on the pavement. One of the three burly men paving the way for them held the door open and they slid inside.

For several heartbeats neither of them moved. The door thudded shut. Silence cloaked them. The muted sound of the running engine hummed through her but still Ana didn’t move. Her gaze skimmed the side of his face, unable to look away as she studied his arresting profile the way an artist studied his subject and committed it to memory.

The rocking of the car leaving the pavement caused her lips to graze the side of his neck.

Bastien exhaled sharply.

Her lids grew heavy as fierce sensation shot through her, radiating from her lips to spread over her body. The deep yearning to touch her mouth to his skin again became a surprisingly forceful rush of lust through her blood.

Abruptly Bastien leaned forward and deposited her on the seat opposite. With measured movements he secured her seatbelt before seeing to his own.

Ana felt the loss of his warmth as acutely as the loss of air in her lungs. She wanted to lift her fingers to her lips, press them against the tingling to keep it there for a moment longer, but Bastien had his laser gaze fixed on her, was watching her every move, waiting to pounce on any sign of weakness.

Fiercely she reminded herself that she wasn’t weak...that she’d withstood worse. Growing up with a mother like hers had equipped her with a backbone that could endure most things. So what if Bastien seemed to find his way under her armour with minimum effort? She wasn’t about to cower under his formidable personality.

Gathering her composure, she cleared her throat. ‘Thanks for helping me with the paparazzi—although I would’ve have handled it fine on my own.’

He sent her a stony look and settled back in his seat.

‘Explain to me exactly what happened last night,’ he commanded.

She raised her chin. ‘Why? I’m sure you’ve seen the footage on the internet by now. One of your lawyers seemed ecstatic that it was trending on social media.’

One dark blond eyebrow lifted. ‘That’s all you have to say about the situation?’

‘You won’t believe me if I tell you, so what’s the point?’ she snapped, remembering his accusation in the courtroom.

He shrugged. ‘We’ll call this your second chance. You have my undivided attention, so let’s hear it.’

‘You’ve already decided what the truth is, Bastien. You said as much earlier when you referred to my “drug-fogged brain”.’

‘So you do remember that?’ came his reply.

‘Your mind’s already made up, so why should I waste my breath?’

His smile mocked her. ‘Because I want to hear what happened from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.’

A spurt of anger speared through her. But alongside the anger came a small dart of hurt that he didn’t believe her.

She contemplated silence, not dignifying his suspicions with an answer. But just as quickly she dismissed it. He was her boss. Her DBH contract had another month to run before she was finally free to join her father in Colombia. And a major condition of her contract stipulated her propriety and the maintenance thereof. The charges against her had put the DBH ad campaign at serious risk.

Bastien’s presence in London—in court, in this car—made that fact painfully obvious.

He slowly straightened, leaned forward, and rested his hands on his knees without once taking his eyes off her. Ana knew she wouldn’t get away without offering some kind of explanation.

She went with the simple truth. ‘I suffer from asthma.’

He frowned, slate-grey eyes narrowing. ‘I don’t recall reading that in your personnel file.’

‘You mean when you read it once you knew I was the one your management had hired for the campaign and tried to get me fired?’

It was the reason he’d been in Cannes that day. The reason he’d sent everyone away, leaving them alone on the yacht. The reason she’d ended up nearly losing her self-respect...

He didn’t show an ounce of regret. ‘Yes.’

She ignored the sharper dart of pain. ‘Conditions that don’t hamper the execution of my job aren’t listed on my file, and asthma isn’t generally a life-threatening illness. But I have it and I have to manage it, so...’ She shrugged.

Lauren Styles, the owner of her agency, Visuals, and her own personal agent, had been aware of her condition and happy to keep it under wraps unless it hampered her job.

Lauren, once a model herself, was more of a mother to her than her own mother had ever been. Her loyalty and support were faultless. Which was another reason why she couldn’t afford to jeopardise the DBH campaign or clash with its CEO.

‘Go on.’

‘My flatmate, Simone, invited me to her birthday party last night. I don’t normally go to nightclubs because of the artificial smoke and recirculated air—I suffered a bad attack at a club last year. Halfway through the party I began to feel unwell.’

‘Why didn’t you just leave?’ he demanded.

‘I tried to. Simone begged me to stay.’

‘Even though she knew you were ill?’ Scepticism marred his tone.

‘She doesn’t know about my asthma.’

His brows lifted.

‘We’ve only been sharing a flat for two months. Anyway, I went into the cloakroom, splashed some water on my face, and used my inhaler when I got back to my table. I decided to stay for another half-hour. I went to the bar to get a bottle of water. When I returned to my seat the bouncers were waiting for me with the police. They showed me the security camera video, asked if it was me. I confirmed it was.’

Bastien pursed his lips.

‘I didn’t know then what it was all about, okay? They took me outside and asked to search my bag. They found the inhaler, charged me with possession of heroin and here we are.’

Silence cloaked the dark interior of the luxurious car. Outside, sunlight glinted off the buildings of Central London as they edged through the traffic on the Strand. Inside she was as cold as the January freeze they were experiencing. She pulled Bastien’s jacket closer around her. For a few stolen seconds she let the scent of his body suffuse her senses. Then she looked up and found him watching...waiting.

‘What? I’ve told you everything.’

He sat back, settled one ankle over his knee and drummed his fingers on the polished hand-stitched Italian leather. ‘Not quite.’

Her gaze collided with his. Those compelling eyes held her prisoner, sending that familiar hot jolt she experienced every time she looked into those silver depths.

‘I’m pretty sure I have.’

‘I haven’t heard you once deny drug possession.’

‘Of course I’ve denied it. I’ve just told you what really happened.’

‘You give me your version of events, but you haven’t denied being a drug-user.’

She gasped. ‘How dare you?’

He dropped his foot and surged forward until she could see every fleck in his eyes. ‘Oh, I dare very much, Ana. You see, the welfare of my company is dependent on how much I dare. And so far, thanks to you, it’s not doing so well.’

She straightened her spine. She’d done nothing wrong and she was damned if she would cower in fear. ‘Fine. I don’t use drugs. Never have—never will. Satisfied?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Did you leave your bag unattended at any point during the evening?’ he fired back.

‘I took it with me when I went to the bar but I may not have had hold of it the whole time. Look, I told the police all this.’

‘But my interest in you is far more vested than theirs, so I think I deserve to hear your account, no?’ His voice was soft, deadly.

Ana shivered. He was talking about his company, but she couldn’t help but think back to that one very personal moment they’d shared on his boat. One that brought equal shame and excitement each time she relived it.

Brushing the feeling away, she glared at him. ‘I get that—and, trust me, I want an explanation myself. Don’t forget my reputation is on the line too.’

Not to mention the fact that she was in severe danger of being dropped from her father’s volunteer programme if this situation got out of hand. Professor Santiago Duval might be a world-renowned archaeologist, but he’d drummed into his only child his hatred of favouritism.

Her father had despised that parasitic trait in her mother—the wife who’d fed on his prestige for as long as it suited her, then dragged him through a hellish divorce sixteen years ago. The wife who’d then eyed a Swiss banker, seen her way to a better life and selfishly grabbed at it, uncaring that she was wrecking lives.

She glanced at Bastien, wondered if he ever thought of that horrid winter. Or had he squashed it all beneath that icy demeanour?

‘We are where we are. I assume you’ll want to fire me from the DBH campaign again?’ This time she didn’t have much of a leg to stand on. But she intended to find a way to fight her charges and plead with her father to join his programme. Somehow.

His impassive look remained. ‘As satisfying as that sounds, it’s not that simple. The first adverts have already aired in the US and Japan. TV and media companies have been paid up-front for all three phases. Replacing you with another model now would mean shooting the whole thing all over again.’

‘You want me to finish my contract?’ She’d expected a swift, surgical exit from the Heidecker Corporation. ‘But I thought...’ She stopped when the in-car phone rang.

He answered it, his eyes staying locked on her. The incisive gaze made her aware of every sensitive pore on her skin, every breath she tried to take.

The tingling that had started in the courtroom flared again, rising to dangerous proportions as he conducted a leisurely survey of her body.

And through it all his features remained impassive.

Whoever had called and whatever news was being delivered reflected neither pleasure nor dissatisfaction his face. Bastien Heidecker had crafted his enigma into a fine instrument.

Even at fifteen, in the face of all the turmoil ripping their respective families apart, he’d never let his feelings show.

Except that one time...

He ended the call, replaced the handset and turned towards the window. Sunlight lit his features, turning his dark wavy blond hair a burnished gold. His strong, aquiline nose stood out in sharp relief and his clean-shaven jaw jutted out with uncompromising authority. His lips parted on a shallow breath, drawing her gaze to the exquisite shape of his mouth.

Ana held her own breath, willing him to keep looking outside. She told herself it was because she didn’t want to resume their conversation, but she knew it was because she wanted to continue gazing at him—to take in the silky texture of his lashes as he lowered his eyelids and blinked...to remember what it had felt like to be kissed by those lips.

He turned suddenly and her heart flipped into her stomach.

‘That was my CFO. DBH shares continue to tumble.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘And the market closes in thirty-five minutes.’

Apprehension knotted her stomach. ‘What does that mean?’ she asked around a dry throat.

His gaze hardened to tempered steel. ‘It means you’d better start praying that the shares rally. Because if by close of play there’s no sign of recovery then you, if we include the money I just stumped up for your bail, are liable to me for upwards of five million pounds.’

CHAPTER TWO

SHOCK RICOCHETED THROUGH ANA. ‘I don’t believe you.’ The words spilled out before she could stop them.

His mouth compressed, and his eyes were as cold as the Alps of his native Switzerland.

Without answering, he pressed a button in the keypad near his wrist. She watched with escalating dread as a monitor sprang up from the centre console and flickered to life. Once it had clicked into place he angled it to face her.

The jumble of words and numbers scrolling beneath the picture on the screen sent a surge of almost debilitating insecurity rushing through her. Feeling his gaze on her, she struggled to remain calm, not to give him any more ammunition against her. But even without adequate understanding Ana had watched enough television to grasp what the graph meant. Heart thudding, she followed the red line descending with alarming speed.

At the top right hand corner of the screen she saw the time emblazoned clearly: 15:32.

‘Turn it off,’ she snapped hoarsely.

‘That won’t make it go away,’ he rasped.

Pulling her gaze from the screen, she glanced down at her hands, saw the death grip she had on her purse and forced herself to relax. ‘Turn it off, Bastien. You’ve made your point.’

The screen disappeared into its casing.

Nervously, she licked her lips. ‘There must be something we...I can do?’

‘Not being caught in possession of drugs would’ve been the single, most positive outcome to this whole situation.’

She glared at him. ‘We can keep circling this conversation or we can discuss a useful way forward. Either way, my answer isn’t going to change. I don’t take drugs!’

‘So you were framed? That’s a little too convenient, don’t you think?’ he returned.

‘Convenient? I’ve just spent the night freezing my behind off in a cold cell for something I didn’t do. “Convenient” is the last way I’d describe my predicament.’

‘Well, you’ll have to start unravelling your predicament, fast. Your trial’s in three weeks,’ he informed her calmly.

‘Three weeks?’ Another wave of horror washed over her.

Bastien folded his arms over his chest. ‘You expect me to believe you’re not under the influence of drugs, and yet you can’t recall events that happened less than an hour ago.’

‘I was scared—all right?’ Her voice emerged more shrilly than she’d intended.

A flash of emotion lit his eyes. She wanted to fool herself into thinking it was compassion, but it disappeared way too quickly for her to be certain.

She cleared her throat. ‘I know I should’ve paid more attention in court. And I was. Before...before you showed up.’

‘Are you saying I distracted you?’

‘It wouldn’t be the first time,’ she replied.

His eyes narrowed but he didn’t respond. Their time in Cannes was a subject they both wanted to avoid.

So why did she keep thinking about it...and reliving it?

No more.

She forced herself to look into his eyes.

‘The last twelve hours have been difficult. I know it looks bad, but I haven’t done anything wrong. Someone put the drugs in my bag. I don’t know why. I’m innocent.’

She breathed a sigh of satisfaction when her voice stayed even. She could do this. Remaining calm was key to finding a way out of this mess.

‘Miss Duval, whether you’re innocent or not, my company continues to haemorrhage money.’ He flicked a glance at his watch. ‘The market closes in twenty-five minutes. Someone needs to be held accountable.’

‘But I can’t do anything in twenty-five minutes!’ Hysteria threatened to dissolve her shaky calm. Sucking in a desperate breath, she glanced out of the window.

And stiffened.

‘This isn’t the way to my flat.’ Nor was it the way to the agency. The crazy thought that he was kidnapping her surfaced. Frowning, she brushed it away. Bastien had no reason to kidnap her. ‘Where are you taking me?’

He took his time to brush away an invisible piece of lint from his neatly pressed trousers before resting his unsettling gaze on her. ‘A condition of your bail was that I’d vouch for your whereabouts at all times. Which means that until your trial where I go, you go. I have to report to the board in Geneva first thing in the morning. You’re coming with me.’

Ana’s mouth dropped open for several stunned seconds before she snapped it shut. ‘Like hell I am! Stop the car.’

She strained against her seatbelt, renewed trepidation rattling through her chest. She’d been in his company for less than an hour and already a feeling of panic far greater than she’d felt in court threatened her. After what had happened the last time she’d spent more than half an hour in his company, she didn’t want to go a mile with Bastien Heidecker— never mind several hundred.

Why on earth hadn’t she paid more attention in court? She would never have agreed to this condition.

Like you had a choice...

She silenced the taunting voice. There was always a choice, and she wasn’t about to hand him her head on a plate. Furiously, she fumbled with the seatbelt, cursing silently when her numb fingers couldn’t work it free.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he asked, his tone mildly amused.

‘Did you not hear what I said? I’m not going anywhere with you.’ The belt snapped free. She lunged for the door. Thankfully, the car was cruising at a slow pace.

‘And what? You intend to jump out of a moving car to avoid that?’

She grabbed the handle, her need to get out of Bastien’s disturbing sphere of control paramount. ‘Tell your driver to stop the car.’

Speculative eyes narrowed on her face. She was close to hysteria, but she didn’t care. The need to escape was a living, writhing being inside her, demanding compliance.

‘So you intend to flout the law and walk away from your responsibilities?’ he asked, his voice a chilled knife.

‘I intend to walk away from your bullying tactics. Don’t think I don’t know why you’re doing this.’

‘And why is it, exactly?’

Because of what happened in Cannes! Because of what my mother did to your family!

She swallowed the words. Voicing the details of their jagged past didn’t seem like such a good idea.

‘What good will taking me out of the country do? I’m much better off here, finding out what happened, don’t you think?’ she countered.

‘I have no wish to be hauled to jail for breaking the law, Miss Duval. Besides, how are you going to find out who supposedly framed you?’

She bit her lip. ‘I don’t know yet.’

One eyebrow quirked. ‘Let me know when you have a plan of action. In the meantime we follow the judge’s ruling to the last letter.’

Despite his steady gaze and even steadier words Ana experienced a dark foreboding. Something dangerous lurked beneath his outward calm, warning her that once she took this step there would be no going back.

The thought seized her in its grip. ‘No. I’m not going to hide from my situation, but neither am I going to Geneva with you.’

A look of cynical resignation crossed his face but he didn’t speak.

The limo stopped at a traffic light. Without waiting for an answer, she yanked open the door.

For a split second she anticipated his icy voice ordering her to stay put, or—worse—the hands that had taken such domineering control of her at the courthouse hauling her back inside. But a heartbeat later she stood on the pavement, breathing in clear, fresh air.

Free.

Not stopping to examine the weird anti-climactic sensation enveloping her, she slammed the door and whirled away.

The icy January wind cut through her flimsy dress, its bite so ferocious it took her breath away. Clutching her purse in one hand, she pulled the lapels of the warm jacket around her. The sign for Charing Cross tube station beckoned. She started towards it. Only to stumble to a stop after a few steps.

As suddenly as it rose, her elation ebbed.

What was she doing?

‘You intend to walk away from your responsibilities?’

Guilt gnawed at her. She’d done nothing wrong. She could repeat that to herself a thousand times over. Yet it didn’t alter the reality of her situation.

Whether she liked it or not, she owed Bastien Heidecker. He might not have had grounds to fire her two months ago, but he had grounds now.

More importantly, he’d saved her from prison. He hadn’t been obliged to bail her out or even to show up in court. But he had.

The memory of the fifteen-year-old Bastien who’d cleaned her cut when she’d fallen in his parents’ garden in Verbier slammed into her thoughts. With crystal clarity she recalled his gentle hands as he’d tended her wound and the stoic but kind smile he’d bestowed on her once the plaster was in place. Even his admonishment to be careful on the loose steps leading to the garden had been gentle.

That had been the one and only time Bastien had genuinely smiled at her.

She pushed the memory away. There was an ocean of difference between that Bastien and this one. And even that Bastien had been an anomaly. It had been the only time during that whole miserable winter that he’d softened towards her. The rest of the time he’d frozen her out, looked right through her with those arctic grey eyes as if she didn’t exist.

The urge now to pretend he didn’t exist, to keep walking, was strong.

But she couldn’t move. Her sense of integrity wouldn’t allow her. Despite their chaotic past, he’d stuck his neck out for her.

And she’d never walked away from her responsibilities before.

She spun around. The lights had turned green and the limo was pulling into the traffic. Panicked, she raced after it, cursing as her heels nearly sent her flying again.

‘Wait!’

Her shout was useless as the car sped away. Cold that had nothing to do with the freezing weather gripped her chest.

In the face of her mother’s faithlessness Ana had tried to live her life by a strict moral code. And she’d just let herself down spectacularly.

Noticing the curious glances from passers-by, she swiped a hand over her face.

When the mobile phone rang she didn’t recognise where it came from. Glancing down, she realised she still wore Bastien’s jacket.

Frantically, she tore through the pockets, grabbed the phone and answered it.

‘Have you come to your senses yet?’

* * *

Bastien watched Ana fight to control her irritation, the rise and fall of her chest rapid as she took several deep breaths. Against his will, his mouth twitched at the effort it took for her to remain silent. The child he’d known all those years ago wouldn’t have held back her Latin temper at being made to chase after his car.

With her seatbelt on, her breasts stood out in proud prominence, the thin material of her dress displaying the tight peaks of her nipples. His senses stirred again, deeper, as he recalled how they felt, how they tasted. In her agitation earlier she’d bitten her lip repeatedly, making it fuller, redder than usual, making her natural, sensual pout even more pronounced, despite her mouth being pursed with displeasure.

He clamped down on the hot fizz of arousal and wrenched his gaze away. Unfortunately there was nowhere else on her body he could look without increasing the unwelcome sensations rampaging through him, threatening to drown him. Looking out of the window the way he’d tried earlier didn’t work.

For reasons he couldn’t comprehend his senses were sharply attuned to every move Ana Duval made. But this time he refused to succumb to the spell she was weaving.

He preferred curvy petite blondes with no baggage. He carried enough baggage from his childhood to last him a lifetime. And Ana Duval carried plenty of her own.

It was the reason he’d tried to have her thrown off his advertising campaign two months ago, when he’d discovered who his management team had chosen for the ads.

He’d been stunned when she’d actually smiled on seeing him on the boat. As if she was pleased to see him. When he’d made the reason for his visit clear she’d slowly, gracefully, uncurled herself from that sensual pose she’d been holding, faced him and dared him to do his worst.

And he nearly had...

Luckily he’d stopped himself in time—had walked away convinced that Ana, with her lithe, svelte figure and river of shining black hair, held no thrall for him.

Now he glanced into her wide, accusing eyes and willed the pounding in his blood away. He would never succumb to her temptation. Never be drawn into the emotional quagmire she carried with her. He was more than content living in his emotionally desolate state.

‘You knew I was trying to stop the car and yet you pulled away.’

‘I thought a few minutes in the cold would knock some sense into you.’ Again, the urge to smile at her waspish tone pulled at him.

‘You really are heartless—you know that?’

‘What did you think? That I’d appear like a magical genie, rescue you from the big, bad judge and grant you three wishes into the bargain?’

The irritated flick of her head drew his attention to the sleek line of her throat, to the swift pulse hammering away under her smooth skin.

‘No, of course not. But a little courtesy wouldn’t have been amiss.’

‘I’m not in the habit of granting courtesies to errant employees. Be grateful I didn’t leave you to rot in prison.’

‘Maybe you should have!’

The slightly hysterical edge to her tone gave him pause. With a tiny pang he admitted that perhaps he was being too harsh, letting his own frazzled state get in the way of clear thinking.

But then hadn’t she had this effect on him last time?

‘Does anyone hold a grudge against you and want to frame you like this?’ he asked. The quicker they got to the bottom of her predicament the quicker they could go their separate ways.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She shook her head wildly but he ignored her.

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

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

‘You’re despicable!’

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

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

‘Will your flatmate be at home by now?’

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

‘She should be. Why?’

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

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

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

That hurt look returned and she bit her lip again.

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

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

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

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

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

Her clear distress grated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I hate you.’

CHAPTER THREE

‘HATE IS A very powerful word, mi pequeña. Never use it lightly.’

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

But right now she hated Bastien Heidecker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘We’re here.’

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

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

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

But then David had triumphed against Goliath...

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

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

How foolish she’d been...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She pulled at her wrist. He held on tighter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Merci. That will be all.’

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

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

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

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

Once inside, she just stopped and gaped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steeling herself, she glanced at him.

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

‘Do I make you nervous?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His mouth had compressed. ‘Answer me.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As did his arctic smile.

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

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

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

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

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

‘And you’re an expert in that field?’

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

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

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

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

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

‘What do you feel?’

‘You don’t want to know,’ he muttered thickly.

‘Maybe I do. Maybe for once I want to hear you vocalise what you actually feel, Bastien.’

He closed his eyes for a split second. ‘Mon Dieu...’

She rose on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his, the need a wild clamour that wouldn’t be stopped. His hands clamped on her immediately. One at her waist, the other in her hair. He held her prisoner and deepened the kiss, his groan a rough, hungry sound. He branded her with his mouth and his hands and she willingly gave him complete access.

It might have been seconds or minutes later that she found herself on her back on a lounger, his head between her bared breasts, her swimsuit bunched somewhere around her waist. Her hoarse cry when his fingers slid beneath her suit to tease her wet heat made him raise his head. His eyes were molten with intense need.

‘You want to know how I feel? Right now I want to take you, possess you, make you forget every other man who has come before me.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you’ve been under my skin since the first time I saw you. A precocious kid who wouldn’t take no for an answer. You watched me with those soulful eyes and dogged my every step until I couldn’t move without you tripping me up. You’re still under my skin. Everywhere I look you’re on a billboard or on the side of a bus. Except now you make me ache—make me crave things I do not want to crave.’

‘And you hate me for that?’

His smile made her breath catch.

‘I hate that you have a certain...power over me. I cannot allow that.’ His fingers moved and his mouth closed over her nipple.

She shuddered as his imposing erection pressed deeper into her belly. ‘So...what? You’re going to use your position to bring me to heel? Or are you going to use sex?’

A part of her couldn’t deny the thought excited her, but another part recoiled from the idea.

He froze and locked eyes with her. A frown slowly creased his brow, then his gaze drifted over her semi-nude body. He swallowed and shook his head, as if divesting himself from the clutches of a bad dream.

He started to rise but she locked her fingers behind his head.

‘Bastien...’ She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say but she hated the look in his eyes.

He firmly disentangled himself from her and stood. ‘I’m ashamed to admit that was my intention.’ He shoved a hand through his hair. ‘What did you say—sex sells? How very right you are.’

The delivery was cold. And although most of the censure in his voice was directed at himself, a healthy dose spilled her way.

Rushing to rise and right her clothes, she felt fury cut through her lust haze. ‘You can’t fire me for doing my job, Bastien!’

He turned away, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. ‘No, but I will keep a close eye on you from now on.’

‘Go ahead. And be sure to send me a thank-you bonus when your sales go through the roof.’ Burning at the thought of that day, Ana glared at Bastien. ‘So things got out of hand before we could stop ourselves? That’s what you get for being so vile!’

He stared back for several seconds, then shrugged. ‘Let’s blame my unexpected discovery of just who it was my marketing people had chosen for my campaign.’

She frowned. ‘You mean you didn’t know?’

‘I’m not in the habit of micromanaging my businesses. You, on the other hand, knew who you would be working for. Why did you take the assignment?’

‘Because I foolishly hoped the past could remain in the past.’ She locked eyes with him, saw the stormy emotions swirling in his grey eyes. ‘Surely you can’t blame me for what happened sixteen years ago?’

She hated herself for caring enough to want to know, but the idea that they would be locked in that volatile winter for ever made her heart lurch sickeningly.

For several seconds he said nothing. Then, ‘No, but it doesn’t make the reminder of that time any less palatable.’

His response dashed the tiny burgeoning hope she’d harboured.

‘So you’re saying you’ll never look at me and not remember what happened then?

‘Non.’

An icy numbness settled over her. ‘Well, I guess that’s definitive enough. Oh, and for what it’s worth, I never set out to use my body to convince you to let me keep my job. What happened...just happened.’

‘A lot of things “just happen” with you around, I’m discovering.’

Anger washed away the numbness. ‘Oh, screw you, Bastien,’ she flung at him, then flushed from head to toe at her unfortunate choice of words.

He laughed—the sound as unexpected as it was pleasing. She gave in to a reluctant smile and breathed easier.

* * *

‘I asked for your suitcase to be delivered to the cabin. Perhaps you’d like to change once we reach cruising altitude?’ he suggested, bringing her back to the present.

His consideration made her soften. Nodding, she relaxed her taut muscles a fraction—only to tense again as her bare leg rubbed against his calf. Heat dragged low in her belly and a familiar tingling shot to the apex of her thighs.

Clamping her legs tightly together, she muttered, ‘Thank you.’ The quicker she was out of his presence, out of this dress and back in the comfort of jeans and a top, the better she’d feel.

Grabbing a magazine from the nearby stack, she flipped blindly through the glossy pages.

‘There’s also a shower if you wish to make use of it.’

She froze, refusing to think of Bastien naked, wet or otherwise. But a persistent image took root, imprinted itself on her brain and sent her heart-rate soaring.

His added, ‘It’s not large, but it’ll do,’ caused her hand to tremble so badly she dropped the magazine.

What on earth was wrong with her?

She darted a glance at him to see if he’d witnessed her discomfort. His nostrils were pinched, his jaw clenched, his eyes a shade that reminded her of how he looked when he was aroused.

She tried to look away. His gaze held her prisoner. Images of him underneath a shower, naked, flooded her mind. Ripples of desire surged through her abdomen, radiated outwards until her limbs felt weak, leaden.

Slowly his eyes swirled with heat, like the smoke from a rumbling volcano just before it erupted. She didn’t have much experience when it came to men, but an unavoidable by-product of her profession was learning very quickly to interpret lust.

Bastien’s eyes reflected a danger that would consume her given half a chance. Her breath locked; that secret, swollen place between her legs throbbed harder.

His gaze dropped to her exposed thighs and lingered for endless seconds, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Heat continued to drag through her. Unable to stay still, she slowly crossed her legs.

Bastien followed the movement, his eyes roving over her until she wanted to scream...scream something at him.

The loud ‘ding’ signalling the seatbelts sign being turned off jerked her out of the dangerous quicksand. A moment later the stewardess pushed back the curtain and stepped into the cabin.

Dazed, Ana watched Bastien’s eyelids sweep down, veil his expression. Pressing a button in the wall, he pulled out a laptop and slid it open.

She envied his steely control, wished she could harvest a tiny fraction of it and not feel as if the maelstrom of sensations buffeting her body would rip her in two.

The stewardess set down a tray of drinks. Before she could serve them, Bastien said, ‘Mathilde, please show Miss Duval to the bedroom.’ His voice too was smooth as silk.

‘Of course.’

‘We’ll eat when you return,’ he said, without looking up from his papers.

Ana struggled to her feet, irritated and more than a little bit confused.

The last thing she needed was to develop any feelings for Bastien. But for the life of her she couldn’t seem to draw on the composed, unruffled demeanour she usually projected for the camera.

The thought scared her more than she cared to admit. Was Bastien right? Would they never be able to be in each other’s presence without the past rearing its dangerous head? And would this insane attraction eventually whizz itself out of control? Or would it grow stronger, like a tornado, devouring everything in its path?

She summoned a smile when Mathilde indicated the cabin door to her left.

In a large mahogany-panelled bedroom, Ana found herself alone for the first time since being taken from her cell that morning. She froze when she realised she hadn’t even thought of her predicament for the last hour.

Her hands trembled as she grappled with the realisation that Bastien, despite his high-handed and autocratic attitude, made her feel...safe.

It was the same feeling that had compelled her to continually seek him out at his parents’ house sixteen years ago—had made her ignore his keep out demeanour.

Never mind the excitement bubbling underneath her skin, the heat scouring her abdomen in that dangerous, delicious manner whenever she was close to him, her underlying feeling with Bastien was that he would never deliberately hurt her.

Which was completely irrational, of course.

Hoping that time away from his unsettling presence would restore her equilibrium. along with her common sense, she shed the offensive silk dress and entered the bathroom.

What it lacked in space it made up for in opulence and accessories. Cosmetics designed for both sexes adorned the shelf space. For a charged, insane moment her mind conjured up Bastien sharing this bedroom with a lover, showering with her in this bathroom.

With a hiss of impatience she stripped off her panties and stepped beneath the warm spray. What Bastien did with his lovers was nothing to do with her.

Soaping her body, she washed quickly, resolutely refusing to think about the man who could flip her world upside down with minimal effort and thinking instead of who had gone to such lengths to frame her.

For a wild moment Ana wondered if her mother had been behind the frame-up. But that didn’t make sense. Lily Duval would never mess with the source of her income. Getting Ana thrown off the DBH campaign would attract the sort of scandal her mother craved, but even she wouldn’t bite the hand that fed her.

Which meant there were no other suspects in the frame.

Sighing, Ana turned off the shower and grabbed a towel. Padding to the bedroom, she unzipped her suitcase...

And flicked through the packed clothes with growing horror.

The jeans, cotton tops and wool-blend sweaters she’d expected were nowhere in sight. Instead she pulled out the skimpy outfits from her last fashion show, saucy lingerie from a recent underwear shoot and silk, lace, sheer chiffon see-through wisps of nothing that made up the theme of this year’s spring/summer collection.

Sinking onto the bed, Ana crushed a silk bra in her fist.

It didn’t take a genius to work out that Simone, believing Ana was embarking on a torrid love affair, had packed clothes fit for a woman out to drive her lover crazy with lust.

She choked off a feverish bubble of laughter and dug through her case with renewed vigour, a cry of relief escaping when she grasped what felt like denim.

Pulling it out, her spirits sank lower. The material of the jeans was slashed in so many suggestive places it was downright indecent. She’d modelled them two weeks ago, on a shoot for an up-and-coming designer. Once on, they would cling like a second skin, the stretchy material revealing even more flesh.

Another frenzied search produced a soft cashmere sweater. The batwing design covered her arms, although it left her with an exposed cleavage and back, and its dramatic style made wearing a bra nonsensical. Not great, but at least it covered her midriff.

Curbing a growl of frustration, she passed a brush through her hair, trying not to look into the floor-length mirror next to the bathroom door as she did so.

She gathered her hair on top of her head and pinned it in place. Bastien already thought she used her body to achieve her own ends. His opinion of her couldn’t sink any lower. Besides, she’d endured worse looks from men in the past.

But none of them made your pulse hammer so hard, or made you aware of every erratic breath you took.

Pursing her lips, she grasped the door handle and opened it.

Bastien’s huge frame filled the doorway.

‘Are you stalking me?’ she snapped.

His mouth quirked. ‘I was beginning to wonder whether you’d launched yourself out of the nearest air lock.’ His penetrating gaze captured hers and something throbbed to life in her chest.

‘The idea was tempting, but the thought of food won against the need to escape.’ Her stomach rumbled in agreement and she grimaced.

‘Then by all means come, let’s satisfy your hunger...’ he drawled mockingly—then froze, his gaze fixed over her shoulder.

Cringing, Ana glanced back at the clothes strewn on the bed.

She rushed to the bed and lunged for the clothes. Only to stop when his suppressed hiss made her head jerk around. His eyes were riveted on her behind, his laser gaze burning right through the wide slash in the jeans exposing half her bottom.

‘When I suggested presentable clothes, this wasn’t what I had in mind,’ he rapped out, his face taut with more than a hint of wild hunger.

Roiling emotions jerked through her. ‘This wasn’t what I had in mind, either. But that’s what you get for not giving me a chance to pack my own clothes.’

Crossing his arms over his chest, he rested one muscled shoulder against the doorjamb. ‘So this is my fault? Don’t get me wrong—I’m not complaining at the view. Merely thinking that January in Geneva isn’t the time to be exposing acres of flesh, delectable though it might be.’

‘Well, until I can buy myself a coat you’ll just have to avert your eyes. Or is that really the problem?’ she challenged, then kicked herself at poking the dragon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Wha—?’

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

Ana’s world imploded.

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

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

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

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

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

‘You are an intensely sexual creature...’

No!

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

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

‘Stop!’

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

Slowly he rose and settled back into his seat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘How’s your mother these days?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘When was the last time?’

The ache intensified. ‘Three weeks ago.’

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

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

‘Oui, he’s always had a weakness for a pretty face.’

She flinched, and mingled regret and bitterness bit deep, finally eradicating the last of his unwanted desire. Whereas he’d have smothered the emotions before, this time he gave them space. He needed to remind himself why control over his emotions was imperative. Why the erratic feelings between Ana and him risked pulling away the rivets he’d fastened over his emotions.

Because even as an angelic eight-year-old Ana had charmed and entranced everyone around her—including his father. He remembered his father’s encouragement for Bastien to get to know sweet Ana—‘She’ll be your sister one day, you know.’

The last thing he’d felt towards her then was brotherly, because every time he’d looked at her he’d been reminded that he was witnessing his family’s destruction.

And the woman who sat next to him now, with her smooth legs crossed in the most alluring of ways, her eyelids lowered over chocolate-brown eyes as if keeping seductive secrets from a lover, engendered no brotherly feelings whatsoever inside him. A handful of minutes ago her body, warm and tempting, had surged against his, and her breath had come in passionate pants as she’d lost herself in her pleasure.

Mon Dieu, brotherly was the last thing he’d ever feel towards her.

He clenched his fingers against the urge to grab her chin again and make her look at him; to kiss her again and smother the bitterness of the past and the hunger of the present. He took a deep breath instead, reasserted control and reminded himself of one thing.

Regardless of their past, Ana Duval was as guilty as hell of the chaos now rippling through his life right now. She’d tested his control two months ago and she continued to test the edge of his resolve, reminding him of the vulnerability of emotion.

And that he would not forgive.

CHAPTER FOUR

ANA TOOK ONE last look at her image and brushed a hand over her dark grey suit jacket. Its precise, severe style suited her purpose. With her hair caught and pinned up out of the way, she projected a professional image—one that was far removed from the image the paparazzi had plastered all over the internet in the last twenty four hours.

Although the cost of the Armani skirt suit, chosen hurriedly from the hotel’s boutique last night, would put a serious dent in her finances, she’d had no choice. Facing Bastien’s board members wearing anything from her suitcase wasn’t an option.

A knock signalled the arrival of breakfast, although eating was the last thing she felt like doing.

Bastien’s taut silence after that incident in the car last night gave her little hope that he’d be any different today. He’d closed down, shutting her out as effectively as he’d done at fifteen.

On arrival at their luxurious hotel he’d left her outside her suite with an order to be ready at nine. But sleep had been elusive, and her long, restless night had been spent reliving that kiss and how she would survive the next three weeks in the emotional cauldron that was being around Bastien.

Another knock fractured her thoughts. She let the waiter in and he wheeled a trolley underneath the window facing a picturesque view of Lake Geneva.

In the early-morning light the Alps and Mont Blanc rose majestically in the distance, the rolling range curving almost protectively around the city. She’d travelled to other parts of Switzerland on photo shoots but had never visited its best-known city.

Ana sat down at the table...forced herself to eat two pieces of buttered toast and a mouthful of scrambled eggs. It was just as she lifted the glass of orange juice that she spotted it.

A newspaper was tucked underneath the napkin, and on its front page was her picture. Only it wasn’t just her picture. The photo showed her in Bastien’s arms, emerging from the court yesterday. Showed the way she’d clung to him like a limpet, her eyes closed and her face buried in his neck as if...as if he was her protector.

God...

But that wasn’t the worst of it. It was the look on Bastien’s face that made her hands shake as she unfolded the paper.

What she could understand of the caption froze her blood.

Heidecker’s New Love. Is He the Cure for this Drug-Addicted Supermodel?

Skimming the article, she desperately tried to recognise enough words to understand what the article said. Her horror grew as she spotted Simone’s name repeatedly. Her breakfast surged upwards, making a bid for freedom.

She barely made it to the bathroom before she emptied her stomach’s contents. Trembling from head to toe, she wrenched at the tap, rinsed her mouth, then clutched the sink, eyes squeezed shut, struggling to breathe.

This was the absolute last thing she needed...

Standing there, propped against the sink, she didn’t realise the pounding wasn’t just in her head until she heard her name called out.

‘Open the door, Miss Duval.’

Heart leaping into her throat, she prised her fingers from the cold porcelain and approached the bathroom door.

She cracked it open. ‘What do you want, Bastien?’

He surged into the room. ‘What took you so long?’

A few smart answers rose to her lips but she smothered the more hysterical ones when she caught his frown. ‘What...?’

‘You look pale. Are you all right?’ He laid a hand against her forehead.

For several seconds she couldn’t speak. ‘I’m fine,’ she finally managed. ‘How did you get in here?’

‘This hotel belongs to me.’ He dropped his hand. ‘HH Geneva is one of several hotels owned by my bank.’

The HH Group—Heidecker Hotels—was renowned for its understated opulence, was yet another feather in the Heidecker cap...a fact she’d missed with her weariness last night.

‘It doesn’t explain what you’re doing in my room,’ she replied, cringing as she wondered whether he’d heard her retching.

‘I told you to be ready at nine—that was five minutes ago. When you didn’t answer your door I let myself in. Don’t fret. If I’d hoped to catch you naked I’d have turned up an hour ago as you took your shower.’

‘Careful, there, Bastien, or I’ll add Peeping Tom to your list of unsavoury characteristics.’

That earned her a mocking look as he returned to the sitting room and crossed to the open suite door. He didn’t slam it. Yet the decisive snick of the lock and a glimpse of what he held in his fist sent a shaft of pure, unadulterated dread through her.

He unfurled another newspaper. The front-page picture was the same as on hers, but the language was different.

‘Tell me what you know about this,’ he invited softly.

‘If you’re asking if I’ve seen the paper, yes—I have.’ Her eyes inadvertently slid to the breakfast table. Her heart sank as he followed her movement.

The temperature in the room dropped another degree. ‘Of course you have. Did you salivate over it before or after you had your breakfast?’

‘Excuse me?’

He ignored her outrage. ‘How much are the tabloids paying you for this?’

‘What? You’re insane if you think I had something to do with this!’

‘So you deny you had anything to do with this rubbish?’

‘Absolutely I do,’ she stressed.

‘Then tell me what you were hatching with your flatmate on the tarmac yesterday.’

Ana’s mouth dropped open. No words emerged and she knew her guilt was stamped on her forehead. Belatedly, she tried damage limitation. ‘Seriously, it was nothing like that—’

‘Do you take me for a fool?’

‘Only if you believe everything you read in the paper!’ The volatility of her words hit home the moment they left her lips. She surged on, regardless. ‘Bastien, think about this. What could I possibly have to gain by pulling this stunt?’

He crumpled the paper and tossed it down on the nearby coffee table. It missed and landed on the floor.

Slowly, with the precision of an Alpine wolf on a blood trail, he stalked her until he stood so close she could see the pulse leaping in his temple, smell the mixture of fury and his unique masculine scent.

Nothing promised an upside to this situation.

‘Right now you need someone to fight your corner. Who better than the CEO of the company that’s about to turf you out on your ass?’

She stared back, unable to look away from the hypnotic intensity of his eyes. ‘So you’ve decided, then?’

‘After this stunt I’d be a fool not to cut you loose,’ he replied.

‘Believe what you will. I had nothing to do with this article, whatever it says.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘You’re now pretending you don’t know its contents?’

Realising what she’d almost let slip, she pursed her lips. Besides her father, who’d been horrified when she’d finally confessed her secret and immediately fought to make things right, and her mother, who’d been the cause of it, no one else knew.

‘I stopped reading any stuff written about me a long time ago.’ The lie made her cringe, but it was way better than the shameful truth. ‘Maybe if you tell me which part so concerns you I can address it.’

Bastien’s brows slowly lifted, incredulity darkening his eyes to gunmetal. ‘Which part so concerns me? Let’s see—how about the part that suggests we’ve been lovers for the best part of six months? No, actually, that doesn’t concern me too much—although it suggests I don’t mind sharing my woman with other men. Or how about the part where it states that I let you use my personal yacht for drug-fuelled parties? Or maybe the bit that says I came to your rescue yesterday because you could be carrying my child? And the soundbites in which your flatmate—Simone?—congratulates us on our impending nuptials were a genius touch. I must commend you on that. It ties everything up in a nice little bow, non?’

Shock careened through her as the oxygen left her lungs. Some of these paparazzi were in a class of their own, but even Ana couldn’t believe they’d come up with such a preposterous story overnight.

She looked up, ready to defend herself, and saw his gaze fixed on the picture. ‘I had no hand in any part of that story. But that’s not what’s bothering you, is it?’

‘Excusez moi?’

‘The picture bothers you way more than the article.’

Bastien’s gaze iced over. ‘You’re in danger of stepping way over the line.’

‘Why? Because this picture shows you looking at me as if you care? As if I get to you where no one else can?’

To the untrained eye he looked as most people saw him—a cool, suave businessman who was in complete control of his world. Sure, the tight jaw and the broad shoulders held an edge of danger that anyone would be a fool to ignore. But the concern, the touch of gentleness in his eyes, that same look she’d seen a long time ago when she was eight, was clear for her to see.

‘You have a very active imagination, cherie,’ he breathed.

‘And you are not the icy, emotionless man you want the world to think you are. What are you so afraid of, Bastien?’

He didn’t answer, merely speared her with his silver gaze as if trying to decipher whether she’d lost her mind. Hell, she might well have. She was tugging the tail of a dangerous beast.

‘Bastien...’

‘Let me be clear. Whatever you think you see in this photo does not exist. If you’re scheming, making little plans in that beautiful head of yours, kill them dead—understand?’

Self-preservation kicked in, along with a healthy dose of anger.

Courage, Ana. ‘I won’t allow you to bully me, Bastien.’

He merely shrugged and strode for the door. ‘Rest assured, any punishment I exact will be willingly accepted.’

‘Dream on!’

He merely smiled. ‘We’ll see.’

She forced herself to take her time. She straightened her jacket, picked up the paper from the floor and placed it on the coffee table. Going to her bedroom, she scooped up her purse and the coat Mathilde had lent her. Shrugging it on, she fastened the belt and returned to the living room.

Bastien hadn’t moved an inch. She slid past him and tried to ignore him as they rode the lift down.

The grand hotel’s opulent foyer barely sparked her interest. It took every ounce of her willpower just to put one foot in front of the other, to follow Bastien’s lengthy stride through the revolving doors to the car waiting at the kerb.

As they travelled along the cold streets of Geneva she struggled to come up with something to say, but appealing to Bastien’s better nature would be a waste of time.

A quick glance showed he’d become engrossed in a stack of papers, his pen flying as he drew harsh lines through the document.

‘Will you need me to speak to the board?’

The newspaper article had worsened her position. Firing her had become a real option now.

Bastien’s lips firmed. ‘The damage is already done.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means that now you get to reap the results of your little experiment.’

Her trepidation mounted as they drew up outside a large, elegant stone building. They’d left the gleaming, modern glass edifices behind a short while ago and entered the Old Town.

A liveried doorman complete with white gloves glided to the door and held it open. As she stepped into Bastien’s lair Ana was aware that she could be leaving here with the course of her life very much altered.

Plush cream carpeting muffled their footsteps. Impressive paintings graced the walls—discreet, yet sure to make an impact on the super-rich clients lucky enough to be invited to invest with the Heidecker Corporation.

From behind a semi-circular reception desk a superbly coiffed receptionist greeted Bastien. ‘The board members are assembled in the usual room, Monsieur Heidecker.’

He nodded. ‘Merci, Chloe. Can you tell Tatiana to meet us outside the boardroom?’

‘Of course.’ Her glance at Ana held unabashed curiosity as she picked up the phone to do Bastien’s bidding.

He stepped into the lift and pressed a button. ‘Tatiana’s my PA. She’ll make you comfortable while I’m in the meeting.’

Irritation surged through her. ‘So I’m expected to just cool my heels? I could’ve stayed at the hotel.’

‘We’ve already had this conversation. Where I go, you go,’ he reiterated arrogantly.

‘You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?’ she snapped.

‘Why the sudden eagerness to present yourself to the board? I seem to recall you jumping out of a moving car to avoid coming here.’ His eyes skimmed over her. ‘You’ve even gone to great lengths to improve your appearance. Why is that, Miss Duval?’

‘Do you always jump to the worst possible conclusions about everyone, or am I just flavour of the month?’

His brows merely lifted a fraction.

‘Of course it wouldn’t have occurred to you that I want this over and done with so I can get on with my life?’

A cynical smile twisted his sensual lips. ‘Missing the thrill of the limelight?’

‘No—just eager to get away from you and your warped ideas about me. I can’t help but feel the more time I spend in your presence, the more I risk contamination from your twisted impressions of the human race.’

If she’d thought his gaze back in her hotel room could freeze water, his expression now sent a jagged bolt of apprehension through her. He lunged for her, strong hands hauling her up until only her toes touched the floor of the lift.

‘A word of advice, cherie. Learn to pick your battles wisely.’

Afterwards Ana reckoned she must have gone slightly insane. Just for a few seconds. Because even she couldn’t understand her compulsive need to goad him further.

‘Or what, Bastien? You’ll punish me for getting under your skin again?’ The words slipped out before she could stop them.

With lightning speed he had her caged against the back wall of the lift. His mouth crushed hers, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth before she could draw half a breath. Molten heat scalded her from head to toe, sending a rush of sensation so heady she groaned with the sheer pleasure of it.

The sound seemed to galvanise Bastien. His hands bracketed her, his powerful body imprisoning her. From chest to knee, every muscle of his hard, streamlined physique was imprinted against hers as he devoured her lips.

When his tongue slid boldly against hers liquid fire shot through her bloodstream to pool low in her pelvis. The sensation was alien, but so exquisitely delightful that Ana whimpered. Again, the sound triggered something in Bastien.

He surged closer, rolled his hips until the unmistakable force of his arousal lay hot and heavy against her belly. A wave of longing stole over her, sparking a yearning to reach for him, to touch him in a way that would appease the stark hunger.

His strong jaw abraded her palm. Glorying in the new and exciting textures, she traced her fingers to his nape, slid her fingers through his hair once more. She didn’t know she’d applied pressure until the kiss deepened, their tongues tangling in a frenzied dance that culminated in desperate gasps for air.

Bastien stared down at her, shock darkening his eyes. ‘Mon Dieu, how the hell do you do this to me?’ he demanded thickly under his breath.

The guttural sound of his voice shivered along her nerves, tightening the pressure in her womb and turning her nipples into hard, painful buds of need. Need that demanded satisfaction. Now.

This time she rose to her toes of her own accord, her need to experience the power of his kiss paramount. Bastien reached for her—

‘Excusez moi, monsieur?’

The voice was cheeky, almost amused.

Bastien’s harsh exhalation fanned her heated cheek. He stepped back, but didn’t release her. Over one broad shoulder Ana saw a statuesque redhead in the open doorway of the lift, peering at them over boxy designer glasses.

‘Tatiana, give me a minute,’ he rasped.

‘Mais oui, Bastien. But I suggest that you don’t keep the board waiting any longer.’

Her heavily accented response held even more amusement. With a twirl that wouldn’t have been misplaced on a catwalk, she disappeared down the hall, leaving behind a cloud of expensive perfume.

He dropped his hands. The loss of his touch sent a cold shiver through Ana, but not quite enough to restore clarity. Mind fuzzy, she remained where she was, shaky, eternally grateful for the support of the wall.

And totally convinced she’d lost her mind.

How could she have kissed him like that? Have lost herself so spectacularly? And so publicly! Shame drenched her, finally erasing the last dregs of her rioting emotions.

But a niggling voice remained.

What if they hadn’t been interrupted? Would she have lifted her leg and curved it over his hip the way he’d urged her to do on his boat? Would she have encouraged him to cup her aching breasts because Bastien touching them ranked among the most beautiful feelings in the whole world?

Dear God, no!

‘You promised me this would never happen again.’ Her voice held all the husky undercurrents of the emotions shimmering beneath her skin and none of the accusation she’d intended to heap on his head.

His eyes mocked her. ‘No, I never made such a promise. And you decided not to wait for that gold-embossed invitation after all. You issued one of your own. I merely accepted,’ he rasped.

‘I did no such thing. You’re truly despic—’

‘Much as I’d like to stand here trading insults with you all day, I have a meeting to attend.’ Grasping her elbow, he stepped out of the lift, took a short hallway until they reached a set of double doors. ‘Through there is my office. Tatiana will make you comfortable and let you know if you’re needed.’

Without a backward glance, he walked away.

Ana didn’t know whether to be relieved or angry. Taking a deep breath, she opted for relief. Anger led to a loss of control. Loss of control led to hot, torrid exchanges of intense kisses that left her weak and needy.

Yes, relief was a much better emotion to hang on to.

She entered the office, where Tatiana sat behind an exquisite antique desk. Calling on her much-practised poise, Ana approached.

‘I don’t think we were introduced properly. I’m Ana Duval.’

‘Tatiana—Bastien’s slave,’ the other woman joked. She indicated another set of doors. ‘There’s a sitting room through there. I’ll bring coffee in a moment. But perhaps you’d prefer to use the facilities to...to freshen up a little?’

Ana followed Tatiana’s gaze. Her coat had come undone, along with several buttons of her top, and she could feel her carefully pinned-up hair sliding loosely against her nape.

With as much dignity as she could muster she smiled. ‘Thank you.’

In the privacy of the bathroom she let out a shaky breath and gazed with horror at her dishevelled state. The cream silk top she’d tucked into her skirt had come untucked, its material crumpled where Bastien’s body had crushed hers. Luckily her suit had sustained less damage. Fingers trembling, Ana tried to repair her attire as best she could.

Renewed shame seared her. Her lips were red and swollen, her lip-gloss long gone. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes reflected an untamed look that made her gaze slither away in disgust.

Once again she’d let herself down. And this time she couldn’t pretend that she hadn’t wanted it to happen. Her fingers tingled from where she’d willingly grasped Bastien’s nape and invited a deeper kiss.

It could never happen again.

She splashed cold water over her hands. She’d survived childhood with a mother who’d been bent on cruelty and humiliation at every stage. She’d grown up without the fundamental learning tools every child was entitled to and had still made a success of her life.

Surely she could overcome the raw temptation that was Bastien Heidecker?

It would never happen again.

Satisfied with that affirmation, she tugged her jacket back into place and returned to the sitting room with her head held high.

* * *

Bastien answered another inconsequential question, his frustration mounting as the subject of the DBH campaign was once again avoided by his chairman, Claude Delon. He curbed his need to glance to the left side of the room, where Ana had taken a seat five minutes ago. His fellow board members weren’t as circumspect in hiding their interest.

He couldn’t blame Delon for his volcanic mood. No, it was what had happened in the lift that roiled in his blood. His jaw tightened. He’d lost control. Again. He’d allowed her to goad him until the only sensible response had been to shut her up in the most ruthless way possible.

But even as the glaring error of that course of action taunted him he admitted how good shutting her up had felt. Her lips, soft but firm, had fought against his attempts to dominate, her tongue duelling with his in a curious mixture of defiance and innocence before yielding, kissing him back in a most pleasurable way.

How her soft moans had echoed like thunder through his veins... And the supple imprint of her body, the bones of her hips cradling his pelvis as if made to fit...

He slammed his open palm on the table, cheap satisfaction coursing through him when seven pairs of eyes jerked from Ana to him.

‘We voted on the acquisition of the copper mine two days ago, so why are we discussing it again? In fact everything on the agenda has been covered except one item. Some of you might have nothing better than a round of golf planned after this meeting, but I have work to do.’

‘You sound a little...stressed, Bastien. Perhaps the events of the last few days have taken their toll?’ Delon suggested.

‘The state of my health isn’t up for discussion. Are you ready to vote?’

The older man spread his hands wide. ‘We discussed this while we were waiting for you to arrive. After reading this morning’s papers, we don’t see the need to discuss this any further.’

He sensed Ana tense but refused to look her way. Since she’d walked in, chin high, her stride confident and sexy, she’d commanded too much attention. Witnessing the keen interest in more than one board member’s expression, he’d felt something dark, dangerous and agonisingly twisted course through his veins.

Her clothes, although respectable—demure, even, compared to her previous attire—didn’t mask Ana’s raw sexuality.

Bastien’s fist clenched against the throbbing in his groin and he curbed the impulse to snarl at the wily old chairman. One error of judgement was enough for one day.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It means that ultimately the story and the photo, while we wouldn’t normally like to draw that sort of attention to the company, was a stroke of genius. I assume that you’ve seen the surge in share price this morning?’

Bastien’s mood blackened even more. ‘Of course I have—but I find it preposterous that you would attribute the surge to a picture in the tabloids.’

‘You underestimate the power of the media,’ Claude replied, his eyes flicking to Ana. ‘Perhaps as much as you underestimate the power of a liaison romantique.’

Ana made a strange little sound—a cross between a snort and a cough. He finally looked her way, slicing her a look that straightened the amused curve of her mouth. When she lifted a brow in silent challenge he ground his teeth, cursing the memory of her seductive warmth pressed against him, the subtle thrust of her tongue against his, which was pulling him from reality.

What was wrong with him?

He knew how lethal she was to his control and yet he couldn’t stop his body from reacting like a randy sailor on shore leave.

Turning his head, he concentrated on the old man. ‘You must be going blind, Claude. There is no such—’

Ana spoke up. ‘Bastien, I think what your chairman is trying to say is don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.’

A smattering of amusement rolled around the conference room.

‘If the picture is helping the DBH range to thrive, despite the hit it took yesterday, surely that can’t be a bad thing?’ she went on.

‘Précisément. Women across the globe are reading the newspaper this morning, sighing over the picture and wishing they were in Mademoiselle Duval’s shoes. That’s already translating to a surge in profits. If you ask me, your little courthouse adventure was quite ingenious. Perhaps we should make Ana an honorary member of the board.’

Bastien’s gaze slid back to her and he saw a wide smile spread across her face. Every male breath in the room had caught at the incredible sight.

His teeth ground harder. ‘Perhaps you’re forgetting the small matter of your trial?’

Her smile dimmed and her throat moved in a delicate swallow. Her eyes blazed as they locked on his, a determined fire lighting their depths. ‘I’m quite confident I’ll be proved innocent by the time the trial rolls around.’

‘Don’t make promises you may not be able to keep, Miss Duval.’

‘I’m seriously committed to finding out the truth behind what happened and to making your campaign a success. If I fail you can do with me what you will,’ she replied, a tinge of anger in her voice.

His gaze dropped to the soft pout of her mouth and another rush of heat speared through him. For a single moment he hated himself for wanting her to fail just so he could bend her to his will, take what she’d unwittingly offered.

But then the thought of Ana behind bars, locked away from the world, slid through his mind. Something tightened in his chest, growing stronger as a memory long buried surfaced out of nowhere. It pierced so deep his breath faltered.

Ana—eight years old, running down the steps at Verbier to show him something. She’d always been doing that...plucking random things from the house or the garden to show him, unwilling to accept that he just wanted to be left alone.

Alone to deal with his father’s betrayal; with his mother’s abandonment. Alone to grieve the loss of the perfect family unit he’d taken for granted.

Slowly Bastien glanced around the room. He’d forgotten he had an audience. The same way he’d forgotten where he was when he’d kissed her earlier.

Jaw tightening, he rose. ‘This meeting is over,’ he said into the curious silence.

Chairs screeched on wooden floors one by one and the room emptied.

Then he took a deep sustaining breath and turned to her. ‘What the hell did you think you were playing at?’

‘What?’

‘You were supposed to remain silent until you were called on to speak.’

One elegant brow rose. ‘You mean like some sort of marionette, ready to perform on command?’

Heat rose up his neck. ‘I didn’t say that.’

‘Then what exactly did you mean?’

He shoved a hand through his hair, words completely failing him. Striding to the drinks tray set in a corner of the conference room, he splashed vintage cognac into a crystal tumbler and sent the fiery liquid coursing down his throat.

It was only the afternoon...just...but he didn’t care.

‘Is that a celebratory drink or a Damn, Ana isn’t getting fired drink?’

Bastien whirled. She stood behind him, her arms folded across her slender midriff, the picture of composure. Or was it quiet triumph?

For the first time he’d let his emotions get the better of him in the boardroom. He wanted to see her ruffled, shaken, off balance. The way he was feeling.

‘It’s a Where the hell has my sanity gone? drink. You want one?’

‘No, thanks. I know where mine is.’

‘Do you? Then bravo.’ He raised his glass to her.

She frowned and drew closer, those long, shapely legs capturing his attention as she moved, bringing a seductive scent that instantly surrounded him. A few feet away she stopped, doe eyes wide and alluring.

‘What’s really going on, Bastien?’

‘Why do you insist on using my name when I’ve made it clear it’s off-limits?’

She flinched and the band around his chest tightened.

Hell...

‘Because, despite those horrid vibes you give out, I still want to remain civil.’ An intimate smile curved her perfect, pouting lips.

Lust rose to mingle with anger. Bastien wanted to reach for her, demonstrate his ire in unmistakably graphic terms. Instead he reached behind him, grabbed the bottle, poured another measure of cognac and raised the glass to his lips.

‘I don’t need your civility, Miss Duval. But if you carry on like this I may well take you up on the invitation you keep issuing. Maybe that will get you from underneath my skin once and for all.’

CHAPTER FIVE

SEVERAL IMAGES FLASHED across her brain, each one more graphic than the last. Furiously, she tried to blink them away, praying that the fire spiralling upwards from her belly wouldn’t engulf her whole body.

He took his time swirling his drink, savouring a taste of the amber liquid, before he quirked one amused eyebrow at her. ‘Nothing to say?’

‘It’s not going to work.’

That stopped him. ‘Excuse me?’

‘No matter how much you try to rile me, it’s not going to work.’

‘Mon Dieu, you’re as stubborn as you were when you were eight years old.’

She nodded. ‘And you’ve become an expert at hiding your feelings—albeit under a veneer of brusqueness that grates, but I see right through you.’

He slammed the glass down, stalked to where she stood and glared down at her. ‘What exactly do you think you see?’

Ana fought the urge to caress that tight jaw. ‘After all this time you’re still hurting. And don’t bother denying it. You don’t speak to your father unless you absolutely have to. I heard one of your board members ask you how he was doing when I came into the room. You shut him down. You blame your father for what happened too, don’t you?’

‘Of course I blame him!’ he shouted. ‘Do you think I should just forgive him for what he did?’

‘I think you need to find a way to put it behind you so it doesn’t consume you like this.’

He laughed, the sound like chips of ice being crunched underfoot. ‘How very Zen of you. Have you done the same with your mother?’

Ana sucked in a painful breath. ‘I’ve tried. She refuses to admit she did anything wrong.’

‘And yet you still entertain her in your life—even employ her as your manager? Would I be wrong in thinking that on some level you’re okay with what she did?’

She flinched. ‘Yes, you would be!’

‘Then what are you doing about it?’ he challenged.

About to speak, she froze, unprepared for the slap of realisation that she’d lived with her mother’s behaviour for so long she did silently accept it. ‘I don’t claim to have all the answers, but I know cutting your father off isn’t one of them.’

‘You’re right—you don’t have the answers. So don’t throw stones. And do not speak to me about what happened sixteen years ago. As of now, that subject is closed.’ His voice was taut with suppressed anger.

Whirling away, he strode to the window. His tense shoulders bunched as he slid both hands into his trouser pockets. Dappled sunlight framed his head in a golden halo. Ana stared, astounded by her inability to stop looking at him. But this time she saw past it to the hurt boy beneath. And her heart broke for him.

‘How can it be when it colours everything you do?’

A breath shuddered out of him. ‘Mon Dieu, Ana, I’m trying. Just let it go. Please.’

She swallowed hard and blinked back threatening tears. ‘Okay, I’ll let it go. For now.’

After several minutes he turned. ‘Your little stunt with the newspaper has paid off. I suggest you focus on what happens next.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means I’m relocating the ad campaign here,’ he said.

‘What?’ Surprise jerked through her. ‘Why? The venue in Scotland has been arranged and it’s all set to go.’

‘Since my presence is required where you are, I’d rather stay in a place where I can be guaranteed there won’t be a repeat of any suggestive newspaper articles. There’s very little press intrusion in Switzerland.’

‘So for the next three weeks I’m your prisoner?’

His eyebrows rose. ‘You’d rather return to London and feed more stories to the papers?’

‘I want to go home.’

Despite reassuring herself that she could control her feelings around him, her every instinct protested against spending any more time in Bastien’s disturbing company. The last shoot had overrun a whole week. If the pattern repeated itself she could be here for a long time, perhaps even until her trial. Here with this man who couldn’t fail to elicit intense, dangerous emotions from her.

‘That’s not going to happen.’

Anger exploded inside her. ‘You can’t do this!’

Her outburst brought a frown. ‘I’m willing to concede that the article may have helped save my company, Miss Duval, but I won’t be giving the press any more fodder for their gossip rags.’

‘Seriously—would you stop with the Miss Duval nonsense? It sounds ridiculous, considering we’ve...’ Ana faltered. Had she seriously been about to invite him to call her by her first name because they’d had their hands all over each other not once but twice in the last twenty-four hours?

She’d truly lost her mind.

‘Considering we’ve what? Been intimate?’

‘What happened between us wasn’t intimacy,’ she denied through stiff lips.

A grim parody of a smile curved his lips. ‘I agree. It was undeniably primal, and irritating as hell, but it was not intimacy.’

Somewhere deep inside her something cracked. Something she hadn’t even known existed. ‘No, it wasn’t.’

He gave her a quizzical glance before striding to his desk. He reached for a leather-bound file. ‘I’m glad we’re agreed. Tatiana will get the driver to take you back to the hotel. Be ready to leave at six.’

‘Leave? Where are we going?’ she asked.

‘My château. That’s where the shoot is now taking place. We’ll stay there until it’s wrapped. Oh, and Ana?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m trusting you not to do anything foolish like attempt to leave.’

‘I’m so honoured by your trust,’ she returned sarcastically.

His sensual mouth compressed and he sat down, reached for his phone and swung his chair towards the window.

Ana felt as though she’d been released from the heady power of a vortex. Yet the relief she craved was absurdly missing. Surely she couldn’t want to lock horns with Bastien?

Irritated with herself, she retrieved her bag and left his office, ignoring the hypnotic husk of his voice as he conversed in flawless French.

‘Are you ready to leave?’ Tatiana’s smile oozed enviable confidence.

Forcing herself to focus, Ana nodded. ‘Yes, thank you.’

* * *

Back in her hotel suite, Ana threw down her handbag and pulled the pins from her hair. It seemed a lifetime ago when she’d left here, fearing the worst. The axe hadn’t fallen as she’d expected, yet her instincts warned that she faced a darker threat.

She hated the idea that she had to remain in Switzerland, but she silently conceded that Bastien was right. What good would returning home do aside from setting the paparazzi on her tail again?

Going to the window, she opened the curtain and drank in the view. A towering jet of water shot into the sky from the jetty across the lake, its cascading drops creating breathtaking prisms of light.

Craving a modicum of freedom, she dashed to the bedroom and changed into the clothes she’d worn on the plane. Defiantly, she wore a bra underneath the top this time. The coat covered the worst of the daring slashes and minimised her exposure.

She left the hotel, making sure to keep it in sight at all times. Using the jet of water as her landmark, she walked along the bank, hoping the fresh air would clear her thoughts.

Unbidden, Bastien’s face rose into her mind: the haunted look in his eyes when she mentioned what happened sixteen years ago. That he carried baggage from that time was fairly obvious. So did she, after all. But Bastien was lucky. His parents had stayed together. She hadn’t been so lucky. Her mother’s erratic behaviour and bitter rants had worsened after their winter in Verbier because Bastien’s father had returned to his wife.

His family had survived Lily Duval’s toxic intrusion. He should be celebrating. She and her father hadn’t been so lucky.

Her phone trilled. She seized on it in relief—until she saw the number.

Ana contemplated letting it go to voicemail. But her mother would only call back. Lily didn’t like to be ignored.

‘Lily.’ Ana had been forbidden from calling her Mother the day she’d turned nine.

‘I see you’ve landed herself in a bit of a pickle,’ her mother drawled in carefully cultivated upper-class tones.

‘I’m fine. Thank you for asking.’

Ana had trained herself long ago not to listen for any softening in her mother’s voice but she found herself doing so now, her conversations with Bastien having rubbed at the barrier she’d placed around her heart where her mother was concerned.

‘You’re a Duval. Life will knock you down but you have to learn to bounce back,’ Lily snapped.

Her heart clenched painfully. Again she thought back to her conversation in Bastien’s office and her grip tightened on the phone. Was she being a hypocrite by letting her mother get away with treating her so badly?

‘So your less than loving treatment of me all these years was supposed to teach me a lesson?’

Taut silence greeted her daring question, followed by a haughty, ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, dear.’

Another jagged arrow of pain lanced through her. ‘Did you ever stop to think I might need a shoulder to cry on before I took my next lesson?’

Her mother laughed. ‘Even if I wanted to offer a shoulder you’d never take it.’

Ana froze. ‘How would you know, since you’ve never offered it?’

Again a small pause, before Lily sighed. ‘I may be blind to some things but not to everything, dear. But, be that as it may, I called to offer my advice. If you’re thinking of starting anything with Bastien Heidecker I suggest you think twice.’

It took a few seconds to arrange her reeling thoughts. ‘Thank you, but the advice isn’t necessary.’

‘That picture in the paper suggests otherwise.’

Ana exhaled sharply at the reminder that her momentary loss of composure was now streaming across the world. ‘I’m not thinking of starting anything with anyone.’

‘That’s good. Take it from one who knows: the Heidecker men are ruthless liars. They’ll string you along until they get what they want from you, then leave you high and dry.’ Unmistakeble bitterness coated her words.

‘So you take no responsibility for what happened sixteen years ago?’

Ana had expected a swift denial, and was shocked when her mother made a quickly veiled sound of distress. ‘Believe it or not, I do.’

Ana halted in surprise. ‘You do?’

‘Hindsight is a wonderful thing—so, yes, I wish things had turned out differently. Anyway, the thing to do is look forward.’

Ana closed her eyes. ‘Well, I can’t just yet. The past is ruining my life.’ She tried for a light-hearted tone despite the vice squeezing her heart.

‘Then don’t do as I did. Take the lesson you need from it but don’t hang on to it.’

This unexpected morsel of advice made Ana’s breath catch. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Of course I am. Or I will be as soon as I find another gig. I’ve left the show,’ she added, her attempt at flippancy not quite hitting the mark.

‘Why? What happened?’

‘The director was a bore. His artistic vision was totally wrong.’

‘The truth, Lily. What really happened?’

Her mother sucked in a shaky breath. ‘He told me he loved me... Of course it turned out to be lies. All lies.’

Against her will, a lump formed in Ana’s throat. ‘I see.’

‘You see? That’s all you have to say?’

‘I can’t pretend to be surprised.’

Her mother gave a shocked gasp. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking...calling you for support—’

‘Lily, listen to me. You’re worth so much more than what you let happen to you. Why don’t you take your own advice—?’

‘It’s that man, isn’t it? Turning you against me!’

‘Bastien has nothing to do with this.’ But his voice echoed at the back of her mind all the same...

‘Well, don’t call me when Bastien kicks you to the kerb. Just remember I warned you—all men are bastards.’ The line went dead.

Not all men... Some men could be gentle when they chose...could make you feel safe...

A cool mist touched her face. With a start, she realised she’d reached the water jet.

Turning around, she headed back to the hotel, the joy of her walk gone. Had she silently condoned her mother’s behaviour all this time? Enabled her, even, by continuing to support her just to keep the lines of communication open...the secret hope of a connection?

Her phone rang again. She stared at the number and breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Papá!’ She summoned a smile, her world brightening a little.

‘I heard something on the news about you. I’m worried,’ he said after they’d exchanged pleasantries.

She bit her lip and quickly summarised what had happened to her, knowing that her father didn’t keep up with current affairs on his dig in Colombia but not wanting to risk him finding out anyway.

‘How did this happen, Ana?’ he asked in the softly modulated voice that could turn steely when needed.

‘I don’t know, but I didn’t do it.’

‘Sí, I know that,’ he said impatiently. ‘But you need to find out who wishes you such harm and deal with it.’

His unequivocal belief in her innocence brought a lump to her throat. Taking a few seconds, she cleared it. ‘I intend to. Um...about the internship...’

‘Make things right in your world. I will make things right here.’

The lump threatened to choke her again. ‘Thank you, Papá.’

She returned to her room, still caught in a cross-current of emotion but forcing herself to shrug it off and deal with her predicament. She might be stuck in Switzerland for the time being, but she wasn’t helpless.

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

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

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

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

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

‘Have you eaten?’ he asked.

‘No.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘What is that fountain?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘You open it,’ she prompted softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Ana...’

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

The bell rang again. She pulled at her arm.

He let her go.

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Would you like me to serve you?’

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

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

‘I owe you an apology.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her eyes rounded.

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

‘My asthma?’

He nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her gaze returned warily to his. ‘I didn’t unpack because I didn’t think I’d be staying beyond today.’

‘Then we can leave directly after dinner.’

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

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

‘Will anyone else be there?’

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER SIX

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His genuine concern made her relax slightly.

‘It’s been a long day.’

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

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

Silver eyes briefly speared hers. ‘And?’

‘No one knows anything.’

His brows lifted. ‘Does that surprise you?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘We’re here.’

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

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

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

Clinging to that, Ana straightened in her seat.

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

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

‘Wow, it’s breathtaking.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He tensed. ‘We?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘More than—thanks.’

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

‘No, I’m fine. Thanks.’

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

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

‘I think I’ll have an early night.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

Thrusting aside the sheets, she went to the window.

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

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

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

A knock on her door made her jump.

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

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

‘Excuse me?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘No.’

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

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

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

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

He smiled and Ana’s heart galloped wildly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ana clutched the bedpost, barely able to stand.

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

Whereas she...

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

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

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

Bastien stood waiting at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Tatiana also brought your new contract. Come into my study. You can sign it there.’

Ana frowned ‘What new contract?’

‘The one that replaces your old one, whose terms you violated. A copy was faxed to your agency yesterday.’

‘What...what does it say?’ Old and familiar shame crawled up her spine as she followed him down the hall.

‘More or less what the old one said. You can read it for yourself. If you’re happy with it Chantal will witness it.’ He opened the study door and waved her in.

In the large, unashamedly male space, dominated by a huge antique desk, the scent of burning cedarwood drifted from a low fire. But Ana didn’t dwell on the charm or the warmth of the room. Her eyes were drawn hypnotically to the document on Bastien’s desk.

Her mother’s scathing words rushed into her mind.

‘You’ve got your looks. You don’t need an education!’

Sliding over the document, Bastien handed her a pen. ‘Sign on the last page after you’ve read it.’

Ana clenched her hand around the pen. ‘I won’t be rushed, Bastien. I’ll sign it once I’m satisfied with it.’

He frowned. ‘Organising a shoot on the scale of what the DBH ad needs doesn’t happen overnight. Relocating it to another country takes even more time.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Are you having second thoughts?’

‘No,’ she replied hurriedly, her insides churning.

She’d made progress with her disability, but not enough that she could confidently deal with her own paperwork. But the thought of revealing her deficiencies to Bastien made her stomach twist with humiliation.

She glanced down at the paper. Words were jumbled together, morphing into a taunting miasma of black and white that made the document tremble in her hands.

Large, warm hands closed over hers a second before Bastien sank onto his haunches beside her. Startled, she glanced at him. His frown had deepened.

‘What’s wrong?’

She licked her lips. ‘Nothing. I just don’t want to rush it in case I miss anything. I...I just need a few minutes. Do you mind getting Chantal?’

His gaze probed hers for several more seconds. Finally he nodded. His departure brought much needed respite. Desperately she tore through the document, but nothing made sense. Hands shaking, she thrust the contract back onto the desk.

Bastien had faxed a copy to Visual. All she had to do was call and double-check things with Lauren. About to reach for the phone, she stopped when Bastien walked in, followed by Chantal.

‘Did you say my agency had approved this?’ she asked.

He nodded. ‘Yes, I spoke to Lauren this morning.’

Relief coursed through her. Opening the contract to where Bastien had indicated, she carefully signed her name. She felt Bastien’s intense gaze on her but refused to glance his way for fear he would see right through her to the heart of her disgrace.

Once the document had been witnessed, Bastien locked it in his drawer and held out his hand to her. ‘Now, let’s go and visit my horses.’

Pasting a smile on her face, she fell into step beside him.

The morning air was unexpectedly mild, but fresh. Inhaling deeply, she followed Bastien round the side of the château. Landscaped gardens lay to the east, absorbing most of the morning light. She barely had time to admire the profusion of flowers before they came to a large paddock.

Ana spotted the stables just before she caught the whiff of horseflesh. ‘How many horses do you own?’ she asked.

‘I keep six horses here. I have a bigger stable on my estate in Lucerne.’

A tall woman—Chantal’s daughter-in-law, she guessed—met them inside the stable. Peering into the semi-darkness, she saw a flash of white. ‘Oh, he’s magnificent!’

Bastien reached out and patted the horse’s nose. ‘He is a she. Her name is Storm.’

‘What breed?’

‘Lipizzaner. From Austria. Slightly smaller than Arabians, but just as swift and powerful.’

Ana leaned forward and stroked Storm’s soft nose. ‘You’re gorgeous. Yes, you are,’ she crooned. Her reward was a nudge of approval. She smiled and glanced at Bastien to find his gaze fixed on her.

‘She’s also very high-spirited, stubborn and reckless. She’s thrown more than one rider.’

Something in his voice made her pause. ‘Not you, though, right?’

One corner of his mouth tilted up. ‘Not me,’ he confirmed.

‘And what’s your secret, pray tell?’

‘I’ve learned to be patient with her—to know when to accommodate her tantrums and when to rein her in.’ Stepping forward, he slid a finger between Storm’s eyes. ‘We’ve learned to trust each other, but she knows who her master is.’

She couldn’t be jealous of a horse! And she certainly had no use for all that ‘master’ nonsense. So why, when Bastien continued to caress Storm, did she experience a pang of envy?

‘Come, I’ll introduce you to your horse.’

Ana followed, her sense of disquiet increasing as Bastien paused to greet each horse, his voice calm and soothing. Even the fiercest thoroughbred whickered with pleasure.

At the last stall the most beautiful horse she’d ever seen waited. Unlike the other horses, which had shades of grey, this horse was pure white.

‘His name is Rebelle,’ Bastien said softly. He stroked the animal’s neck, then inspected his hooves before instructing the stable hand to saddle him up. His own horse he saddled himself.

They took a path into the woods behind the château, where the smell of earth and dewed vegetation permeated the air. Grasping the reins, Ana tried not to stare at the powerful figure Bastien cut astride his horse, but the wide breadth of his shoulders beneath his tan riding jacket and the powerful thighs that gripped his horse’s flanks continually drew her eyes.

Realising she was in danger of losing the task she’d set herself, she cast around in her mind for something to say to ease the tight knot burning in her belly.

Leaning forward, she patted her horse’s long neck. ‘Does his name mean what I think it does?’

‘Rebel? Yes, he arrived prematurely. He was sick and never had a chance to bond with his mother. When she rejected him we thought he wasn’t going to make it, but he defied all the odds.’

Inexplicably, a lump lodged in her throat. Ana gave him another pat. ‘You’d be amazed how many children make it despite a parent’s rejection.’

Too late, she felt Bastien’s keen gaze. She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t pick up on her slip. Her hope was dashed.

‘You speak from experience.’ It was more a statement than a question.

‘I’m sure you’ve guessed Lily isn’t exactly the motherly type,’ she said breezily, hoping he’d drop the subject.

‘How close are you?’ he pressed.

‘One phone call every three months and a card at Christmas—that close.’ Pain darted through her chest and she rubbed at the spot.

He frowned. ‘So why does she manage your career?’

‘Believe it or not, she’s an astute businesswoman when the occasion demands it. As a former model herself, her insight into the business has come in handy on occasion.’

Expecting a censorious reply, she glanced at Bastien and saw him nod thoughtfully.

‘Have you been in touch with her lately?’

‘She called yesterday to offer advice on how to manage my predicament, as it happens.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘And what did that entail?’

‘She told me not to get emotionally involved with you.’ And for once Ana intended to take her mother’s advice.

He drew his horse to a halt. ‘And your response was...?’ he rasped.

‘To say there was little risk of that happening.’

A look crossed his face—part displeasure, part relief. Then he blinked his expression back into neutral. ‘Did she offer up any thoughts as who might have planted the drugs?’

Her head snapped up. ‘No—why would she?’

‘As you said, she has more experience in the modelling world than you do. I’d have thought she’d be fighting to prove your innocence, even if only professionally?’

‘Like I said, we don’t have the closest relationship. And, no, it’s not perfect, but as we both know life rarely ever is.’ Digging her heels into Rebelle’s side, she set off at a trot.

He caught up with her easily and they rode until they came to a small stream. Dismounting, he took her reins, tied them around a tree and then turned to her. Reading his intention, Ana tried to dismount quickly, but he beat her to it.

He caught her before she could lower herself to the ground. His hands easily encompassed her waist, and the heat of his touch dangerously whittled away her efforts to remain unaffected by him. His scent suffused her senses, his powerful aura closing over her.

‘The subject of your mother distresses you,’ he said into the still air.

Again that hint of gentleness that threatened to undo her.

She couldn’t look at him, so she concentrated on caressing Rebelle’s flank. ‘Before yesterday I didn’t find it easy to admit that she lacks the most fundamental maternal instincts.’

‘What happened yesterday?’

‘I’m not entirely sure, but she sounded almost...concerned.’

‘A child’s hope is a very tough thing to kill.’

‘Are you speaking of you or me?’

His mouth pursed. ‘Mine died a long time ago.’

A harsh laugh escaped her. ‘Are you sure? Sometimes the heart wants what the heart wants.’

He stilled completely. Ana could almost hear him clinically analysing her words. ‘Then perhaps you should listen to your head and not your heart.’

Unable to stop herself, she turned and looked into his eyes. ‘Is that what you do? Shut off your feelings whenever it suits you?’

His hand tightened, albeit imperceptibly. ‘I feel. I just don’t let blind emotion get in the way of my better judgement.’

‘Then bravo to you.’ She forced a teasing tone. ‘And I totally get the feeling that blind emotion wouldn’t try to get in your way. It would run screaming in the other direction when it saw you coming.’

‘I can live with that.’

She frowned at his bleak tone and glanced up to see a wave of pain wash over his face before his expression blanked again.

A wave of sadness surged out of nowhere. ‘Bastien, are you okay?’

His mouth twisted in a parody of a smile. ‘Of course. Come. There’s a view I want to show you.’

His breath whispered over her ear, his low voice a deep rumble over her sensitive nerve-endings.

She followed him through a tall stand of birches, trying to take pleasure in birdsong and warm sunshine. But all she could think of was Bastien’s expression and his bleak reply.

His long strides carried them along a narrow path to a small clearing where the trees ended on a wide natural ledge cut into the hillside. Moving alongside him, Ana took a stunned breath. The valley was spread out in picture-perfection below her. The view extended all way to the lake, with the château a golden vision amongst the rolling green. Dazzling in the morning light, with nothing around for miles, it resembled something out of a child’s fairytale. Or a woman’s dream come true.

Beside her, Bastien took a deep breath, a look almost of contentment on his face.

‘Why did you bring me here?’ she asked.

He shrugged. ‘I thought you might want to see it.’ His gaze met hers briefly before he looked away.

‘The château has stunning views at every turn. But this is your favourite view, isn’t it?’ she asked intuitively.

He smiled. ‘Yes,’ he said simply.

Something warm, soft, unfurled in her chest...she was inordinately pleased that he’d shared this moment with her.

She pointed to a summit in the distance. ‘What are those peaks? They look like...’

‘Horns? They’re called Les Diablerets—the devil’s horns.’

Ana grinned. ‘Very apt. Thanks for showing me this view. I think it would make a stunning backdrop for the shoot.’

His face blanked, his smile disappearing. ‘The shoot?’ he repeated coolly.

She gestured to the landscape. ‘Yes, the castle in Scotland was beautiful, but this is absolutely breathtaking. I think it’s perfect, actually.’

‘Of course,’ he intoned, his voice flat.

Ana glanced at him and her smile faltered. ‘It was your idea to relocate the shoot here, Bastien.’

‘I’m aware of that.’

‘Then why do I feel I’ve just stepped on a landmine by referring to it?’

His jaw clenched. ‘C’est rien. It’s nothing.’ He turned and headed back to the horses. He helped her up, handed over her reins, then mounted his horse.

Thick silence cloaked them until she couldn’t stand it any more.

‘Did you grow up here?’

At first she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he nodded. ‘When my grandfather bought the château it was in ruins. He restored it brick by brick and lived here his whole life. My father kept it because it was close to the city.’

‘Not because of its sentimental value?’ Ana joked, secretly wishing back the smile she’d glimpsed on the hilltop.

His face remained impassive. ‘Sentiment has little place in business in the twenty-first century.’

‘So why do you keep it, then?’

Her question seemed to surprise him. ‘It’s a good investment.’

‘Emotionally or financially?’

Cool grey eyes fastened on her. His horse, sensing his altered mood, whickered anxiously. ‘Don’t try to psychoanalyse me, Ana,’ he warned softly.

‘Because you’re such an enigma?’

His eyes glittered. ‘On the contrary, I’m a very simple man. I know what I want. I also know when the price is too high for me to pay. I cannot afford you, Ana Duval.’

With a kick of his horse’s flanks, he surged forward.

She caught up with him at the stables. ‘What did you mean by that?’

They both dismounted and he took her reins and stared down at her. ‘You live your life in unabashed emotion. Unbridled passion is great in the bedroom, but in the real world all it does is let you down. I prefer not to become embroiled in the inevitable messy aftermath. Once was enough.’

‘Since I don’t recall offering myself to you on a silver platter, I’m assuming your ego is once again in full residence? Or are you just too scared to take a chance on feeling anything other than bitterness for the rest of your life because your belief in love and happiness was shattered once?’

He inhaled sharply. ‘Love? Don’t confuse love with sex or duty, Ana. Sex has a limited shelf-life and duty is very easy to shirk when it becomes too burdensome.’

His face contorted into a mask of pain before he exhaled and blinked it away. But that wasn’t before her heart lurched at the stark insight into Bastien’s beliefs.

‘Bastien—’

‘Chantal will have breakfast ready. Go ahead. I’ll meet you in the dining room shortly.’

The content, smiling Bastien from the hilltop had disappeared. Impassive, corporate Bastien was back, his face giving nothing away as he led the horses off.

Ana walked slowly back to the château, Bastien’s words haunting her. Their bleakness lodged a thorn in her heart. Had the events of sixteen years ago affected him so much that he’d shut off his heart completely?

Wrenching the tie from her ponytail, she speared her fingers through her hair. She had no business feeling sorry for Bastien. Feeling sorry for the fact that he wouldn’t let himself feel, or want, or need. And she absolutely had no business wishing he would feel for her, or want or even need her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

BASTIEN PUT THE phone down and scrubbed a hand over his face. Three days and his investigators had come up empty. Whoever had framed Ana had covered their tracks very well. The police had reported no fingerprints on the inhaler. Not even Ana’s...

He frowned.

He’d seen first-hand the extraordinary measures to which people would go to gain wealth and power. How ruthless and determined people could be.

Sixteen years ago Lily Duval had set her deadly sights on his father and employed an almost obsessive single-mindedness in order to seduce him away from his wife and rip his family apart.

And she’d succeeded. That last day in Verbier was for ever etched in his memory—and not just because of his mother’s blotched, tearstained face as she’d pleaded with his father, nor the roar of his father’s car as he’d driven off, a triumphant Lily Duval by his side.

It was the day his parents had rejected him completely. The day he’d learned to shut off his emotions once and for all.

The silence especially was what he remembered most. He’d retreated to the icy-cold gazebo, his sanctuary, where he’d known no one would disturb him. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed and then he’d heard his father’s hoarse, frantic call. Seen his ashen face. Watched Lily Duval’s manic rage as she’d seen the life she’d almost attained disappearing.

Ana’s serene composure had been most shocking of all. She hadn’t even blinked when she’d been been instructed to fetch her things. As if she was used to it...

The library door opened, wrenching him from his thoughts.

Ana saw him and faltered. ‘Oh, I thought you were in your study—’ She turned to leave, her willowy figure silhouetted perfectly in the hallway light.

He’d relocated to the library because of her. The layout of the château had never troubled him until he’d heard her speaking to her father in Spanish in the sitting room next to his study, her smoky voice hypnotic...enthralling.

Although aware she was half-Colombian, he knew very little about that side of her heritage. Hearing her speak the foreign tongue, the unmistakable excitement in her voice, had made him lose concentration more than once.

‘Come in. I need to talk to you.’

Her trepidation as she stepped into the room grated. Was he that unapproachable?

She sat and crossed her legs, and he tried not to let his gaze drop. He failed. Her long, shapely legs, bare and lightly tanned despite the time of year, made Bastien’s blood rush a little faster through his veins.

Get a grip!

He picked up the file on his desk. ‘My investigators have drawn a blank.’

Her eyes widened. When she bit her lip, Bastien forced himself not to groan.

‘They found nothing at all?’

‘It seems not.’

A look flitted across her face, one she tried hard to mask. Bastien’s suspicions prickled.

‘One thing puzzled me, though.’

Her wary gaze shot to his. ‘What?’

‘The police found no fingerprints on the inhaler. Not even yours.’

She shot up out of her chair, the movement causing her breasts to bounce. His hand tightened on the file.

‘What does that mean? You don’t still think I’m lying about this, do you?’

The hurt in her voice caught him on the raw.

‘Calm down. I didn’t say that. What aren’t you telling me, Ana?’

Her face remained carefully neutral. ‘I’m not following you.’

He sat back in his chair. ‘You’re holding something back. I don’t want to think the worst—’

‘But you’re going to anyway.’

He shrugged. ‘We both know how irrational women and men can be when they’re fixated on something.’

She paled and sank back into her chair. Bastien’s earlier niggle of doubt returned...expanded.

‘Let me get this straight. You think I’m fixated on you?’ she whispered.

‘It’s not beyond the realms of possibility.’

One shapely brow arched. ‘Really? Is there an app for that? Because I’d like to have one for Christmas.’

His jaw clenched. ‘Don’t get flippant with me, Ana.’

‘And don’t get too far up yourself, Bastien, or you might trip and break your neck. Need I remind you that everything that’s happened between us so far has been mutual?’ she threw at him, then surged out of her seat and headed for the door.

He was up and blocking her way before he’d even realised what he was doing. ‘This conversation isn’t over.’

‘Yes, it is. To think I deluded myself into believing I was wrong about you. That you would be interested in helping me.’

She reached past him. He stayed her by taking her arm. Smooth skin registered beneath his fingers, her firm muscles clenching in resistance.

‘Ana, stop.’

‘Go to hell!’ she snapped, then mauled at her lip again.

That single action caused his blood to boil, to pool somewhere decidedly south. This time he didn’t want to still the movement with his hand. He wanted to use his mouth.

‘You’re biting your lip again. Something’s up.’

Her sigh released her trapped flesh. ‘You credit me with too much guile, Bastien. Trust me—I’m not worthy of it.’

‘Too late. I know just how beguiling and bewitching you can be when it suits you.’

Her slap came swift and hard. It stung. It also brought him alive in ways Bastien had never imagined. Within seconds he was hard, his erection strong and unstoppable. The hoarse, shaken sound that had emitted from her throat brought his attention to her sleek neck, to the frantic hammering pulse.

Without stopping to think, he lowered his head and flicked his tongue against it. Her shocked gasp washed over his jaw. Drawing her closer, he closed his mouth over her pulse, needing to connect with her life force.

‘No.’

Her protest was firm and solid—nothing like the debilitating weakness that flooded him.

He paused. Slowly he raised his head. Her eyes were pools of hurt, wide and aching. The vice in his chest tightened. When her lips worked as if she wanted to say more his gaze fell to her moist, plump mouth. It tempted him...a siren’s call he couldn’t resist.

With a suppressed groan, he started to lower his head again.

‘No,’ she stressed again. ‘I’m not fixated on you, Bastien.’

The words were said with a conviction that stopped his breath. But he wanted her to be. Just as he was fixated on her. She’d already succeeded in getting under his skin. She made him want everything he shouldn’t.

Hell, last night he’d even found himself reaching for the phone. He’d been halfway to dialling his mother’s cell phone before he’d stopped himself. Knowing she was responsible for him placing himself in a position of possible rejection should have made him angry. Instead something had shifted inside him, and the instincts that had seen him through some tough and tricky times had urged him down a different path. A shaky, unsettling path of maybe and...hope.

‘What aren’t you telling me, Ana? If you want me to help you, talk to me.’

His breath stalled as he waited for her to answer.

Her eyes slid from his, distress evident in her face. ‘I...I’ve been wondering if my mother has anything to do with the drugs...’

Her gaze clashed with his for a fleeting second, then slid away again. But in that split moment he glimpsed deep hurt in their soulful depths.

Bastien realised how difficult it had been for her to admit that. And how brave. He cupped her face in his hands. The pulse of arousal still throbbed in his blood but an underlying tenderness rose out of nowhere—an urge to comfort her that swamped him, left him unable to breathe. He wanted to step back, to withdraw from the feeling, but he found he couldn’t move. Found his hands gentling, his head dipping so he could look into her eyes.

‘Why do you think it was her?’ he asked softly.

Her breath shuddered out. ‘She was fired from her job. She gets mean when she’s upset, but after our conversation yesterday I’m not so sure...’ She choked to a halt.

‘I’ll have the investigators look into it.’

Her gaze anxiously searched his. ‘What if I’m wrong? I know you think I’m foolish, but if there’s hope for our relationship I don’t want to ruin it.’

Knowing the emotion he’d let himself entertain, how could he condemn her? ‘You’re not foolish. And I’ll make sure it’s kept discreet.’

Her smile bloomed, lighting up her face. Lighting up inside him. Again something tightened in his chest—harder this time.

The ground shifted beneath his feet.

He wanted to block out her voice by whatever means necessary, to throw caution to the wind, sweep her into his arms and carry her to his bed. His gut tightened as every sense clamoured for just one more taste of her sensual lips. For a chance to cup her breasts, bury his face between them as he surged inside her.

She was casting a spell over him. He knew that. And yet he couldn’t move away.

‘Thank you. Sorry I slapped you,’ she tagged on, but a small smile teased her lips.

‘Why do I get the impression you don’t really mean that?’

Her smile grew. ‘Because you’ve got a very suspicious mind?’

‘Maybe, but my instincts still warn me that you’re dangerous to me, Ana Duval.’ The words spilled out before he could stop them.

Her eyes widened. She gave a shocked laugh. ‘I’m not dangerous.’

With a twist of his body he reversed their places, backed her against the door. ‘Then why do I feel as if I have to have you or lose my mind?’

Heat blossomed in her cheeks. ‘You—you do?’

‘I want... I need to make love with you. You’re like a fever in my blood. Last I heard a fever not broken can kill. Which makes you a serious threat to my life.’

* * *

Ana couldn’t tear her gaze from Bastien’s face. His words wove a dangerous spell over her. A spell she wanted to throw herself into wholeheartedly.

Her mind spun, unable to keep a firm hold on reality.

‘You don’t mean that.’ Her words emerged from a throat thick with desire.

He pressed his body against hers. ‘I do. You’re in my head, in my blood...’

She couldn’t deny the powerful message from his body. He wanted her. And, as much as she wanted to deny it, she wanted him too. Badly.

And that was insanity itself...

His head descended again.

One kiss. Just one kiss and then you’ll stop, a tiny voice whispered.

Only it was less of a kiss and more of a possession.

Bastien took control of her mouth and ravaged her senses. His hands cupped her breasts and she moaned, her craving intensifying. What he was doing wasn’t enough. She wanted more—much more. She wanted no barriers between them, wanted his hands on her, skin to skin.

As if he’d heard her silent plea he dropped his hands to the seam of her top and pulled it up. Firm hands caressed her bare midriff, forcing her breath out of her lungs. Blood surged underneath her skin, escalating the dizzy spin already sending her off course.

Hanging on to the belief that she was in control, that she could stop despite the haziness of her thoughts, she thrust her tongue against his, savouring its rough texture and boldly following it when Bastien retreated. His chest lifted, sucking in air. His grip tightened at her waist, and then he was easing her top higher, his intent clear.

Ana briefly considered protesting but the fever raging through her was all-consuming—a powerful drug more potent than the heroin she’d been accused of taking. The whisper of air over her skin barely registered before Bastien drew her closer once more. His heat scorched her. He touched, caressed, coaxed the very fire from the core of her being as his hands trailed over her skin.

A sense of awakening overwhelmed Ana. Tears prickled behind her closed lids and she fought to breathe as sensation bombarded her. And through it all Bastien continued to ravage her lips as if he couldn’t get enough.

‘Touch me,’ he commanded hoarsely.

She obeyed.

His muscles clenched at the touch of her hands on his back. Tentative, excited, she caressed him, following the sleek, toned power of his shoulders until her hands settled on his nape. A deep groan rumbled from his chest, the sound evoking a well of pleasure inside her.

Clenching a fist in his hair, she tugged his head down, bolder in the effort to wring one last ounce of pleasure from the kiss. Because she had to stop soon...had to—

He bit her lower lip as he pinched her hardened nipples. Ana cried out. Liquid fire pooled between her thighs, drenching her with need.

He lifted his head and stared down at her, eyes stormy grey with barely leashed passion. Deliberately, he moulded her breasts, his action slow, tormenting. Another hoarse gasp echoed through the room. Without breaking eye contact he pulled down her bra cup and sucked one hardened nipple into his mouth.

Ana watched, and the sight was so erotic, her knees buckled.

With every pass of his tongue he drove her closer to an unfamiliar precipice. Her fingers tightened in his hair and she was unable to look away as he performed magic with his tongue. He squeezed her breasts together, his movements urgent.

Just when she thought it couldn’t get any more delicious he straightened and reached for her bra clasp.

‘I need to see you.’

Her instincts screeched, belatedly swamping her with a sense of preservation. ‘No...’

‘Oui,’ he stressed, the untamed glint in his eyes drying her mouth.

‘I can’t. God, you don’t even like me!’

He tensed, his face registering surprise. ‘That’s not true. You can’t help who you are—’

Her shocked laughter cut off his words. Roughly, she pushed him away. ‘I can’t believe you insult me in one breath and want to make love to me in another.’

He shook his head. ‘You misunderstand. Lust isn’t logical.’ One hand speared through his hair, mussing the dark gold strands. ‘Whether we like each other or not, we can’t help the way we feel, ma belle. The chemistry between us isn’t rational, but it’s there—undeniable. Maybe this is one way to get rid of it.’

‘You mean get it out of our systems?’ She couldn’t believe she was half-naked, having this conversation with Bastien.

He shrugged again. ‘Why not?’

‘Because it would make us no better than rutting animals!’

He cupped her jaw, his thumb caressing her skin before tilting her face to his. ‘And how long do you think we can keep avoiding it until it ravages us?’

She licked her lips, desire drowning her even as she fought to stay sane. ‘We don’t have to give in to our impulses just because the urge is there.’

He gave a low, husky laugh. ‘Really?’

Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his head. His lips brushed hers once. Twice. She moaned. Another laugh, another kiss. Light, ephemeral. Fresh tingles shot down her spine, singeing every cell until she was engulfed in sensual flames.

‘Then walk away,’ Bastien commanded, his mouth a hairsbreadth from hers.

‘Wh—what?’

‘Prove we’re not animals. Walk away. If you can.’ His thumb performed another pass, then rested on her frantic pulse.

‘Bastien...’ she protested. Feebly.

‘I won’t stop you if you want to end this. But do you want to deny yourself this exquisite pleasure?’

‘I...’ She couldn’t conjure up more than that single word.

‘By morning we will have dealt with it. Then we simply return to the way things were, minus the desperate need to tear each other’s clothes off.’

Ana opened her mouth to refuse. Her lips brushed his. She tried to pull away. He stayed her with a firm touch. But reality had intruded enough for her to know that accepting his offer would be madness, tantamount to retracting every vow she’d made to herself.

The harsh consequences of her mother’s promiscuity warned her against giving in to her baser instincts, against surrendering to this heady, insatiable need to satisfy the craving that tore at her soul. No matter how painful.

She shook her head.

Bastien’s chest expanded on a deep, slow breath. There was a mildly stunned look in his eyes. Then he released her.

Ana felt as if part of her had been ripped out. He was walking away. The thought tore a jagged path through her mind, bringing with it the knowledge that cracked open a belief she’d never contemplated.

She wasn’t her mother. Which meant she could take what she wanted and not destroy anything or anyone in the process.

She wasn’t stringing anyone along or making false promises.

There was a finite outcome to this. Bastien had offered the perfect solution. She could take this unique journey with this man who set her world on fire, explore what promised to be untold pleasure, and still keep her dignity and her heart intact.

Deep in her heart Ana knew she’d never experience this level of chemistry with another man. Bastien was the only man who’d ever elicited such riotous, incredible feelings within her. What if this was her only chance of pleasure at its headiest? Could she deny herself this?

His expression shuttering, he started to turn away. She grabbed his hand and returned it to her cheek.

Fierce eyes, demanding and powerful, locked on hers. ‘Ana?’

Turning her head, she kissed his palm. ‘Yes.’

His nose flared. ‘There’s no going back from here. You have to know this.’ His voice emerged thick and deep.

She swallowed. ‘I do.’

One arm snagged her waist and lifted her away from the door. Before she could form another word he swung her into his arms, entered the hallway and strode for the stairs.

She buried her face in his neck, breathed in his potent smell and tried to stem the flicker of apprehension inside her.

In his room, he lowered her to her feet and eased off her top. His hands slid up into her hair to tilt her face to his. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he stated simply.

Ana cleared her throat, aware that she needed to warn him about her inexperience before it was too late. ‘Bastien, there’s something you should know. I’m not... I don’t do this lightly.’

He dropped a long, sensual kiss on her mouth. ‘Oui, I know. It is why I will make this special for you,’ he rasped, his gaze devouring her as he reached behind her and slowly unzipped her skirt.

His gaze didn’t stray from her face as the material pooled at her feet. Nevertheless Ana’s body flamed. She felt more naked than she ever had in her life.

Desperately, she cleared her throat. ‘I don’t mean that.’ She licked her lips, frantic for the right words to explain what she meant. ‘I mean my experience is somewhat limited.’ She couldn’t bear it if he were disappointed.

He paused, his chest expanding on a breath. ‘Ana, I’m almost at breaking point. So are you. Now is not the time to apprise me of your experiences—limited or otherwise.’

‘But there isn’t—’

He hooked his T-shirt over his head, ripped down his trousers and boxers, and stood naked before her.

Ana had never seen a more gorgeous specimen of man. And that was saying a lot, considering her profession. Bastien’s body was more than an extraordinary streamlined symmetry of flesh and bone. It was fluid, lithe, and graceful in ways she could never accurately describe. And most of all he was proudly masculine and unashamed of it.

His erection throbbed with a life of its own. She stared, unable to look away, as he advanced and captured her in his arms.

‘If you insist on talking,’ he rasped, before seizing her mouth in another searing kiss, ‘tell me your favourite position, ma petite. We’ll start with that.’

Shocked laughter tripped from her. ‘My favourite...?’ She couldn’t repeat his question—nor could she stop the fierce blush that suffused her face. ‘Ah, Dios!’

He traced a finger over her cheek. ‘I’m not sure which turns me on harder—hearing you speak in Spanish or your blushes,’ he said huskily, lowering his head to graze hot lips over her skin.

Continuing along her jaw, he slowly circled her until he stood behind her. Scooping her hair into one hand, he trailed kisses along her shoulders.

Ana shivered uncontrollably, her temperature spiking to dangerous levels. She fought to stay upright as he traced a breath-stealing erotic path over her skin. Eyes drifting shut, she reached out and grasped the bedpost, harsh pants of need exploding from her chest as she succumbed to the wonder of sensations buffeting her.

At the base of her spine he lingered, flicked his tongue against her skin just above her panty line. He grasped her hips, his strong hold stamping his desire on her, and turned her to face him.

Opening her eyes, she stared down into stormy grey eyes. His skin was flushed, his face stark with barely controlled desire. At the back of her mind Ana registered that he seemed as affected by the roiling sensation as she was, but the thought was fleeting. Because she read his intent and every muscle clenched tight.

‘No!’

He paused, his sensual mouth so close to the wet evidence of her arousal. ‘You don’t like the idea of my mouth on you?’

She shook her head, shivering when her hair brushed over sensitised nipples. ‘It’s not that. It’s just... I’ve never...’

His eyes registered surprise, then morphed into a calculating, anticipatory gleam. ‘If you’ve never, then how do you know you don’t like it?’

‘Bastien, por favor—oh!’

Shoving aside her thong, he placed an open-mouthed kiss on her, his tongue darting out to lick in bold sweeps. Sensation rocked her, completely sapping her strength. She collapsed onto the bed, helped in no small measure by Bastien’s firm push. She cried out, her back arching off the bed as he suckled.

Ana should have felt ashamed—embarrassed at the wanton, pagan pleasure she was taking in the act being performed on her. But sheer bliss beyond her imagining had taken over. Her thighs fell apart and Bastien moved between them, his body surging closer as he continued to create magic between her legs.

Her flesh tingled, tightened with minute, unfamiliar spasms that shortened her already depleted breath. The intensity of her reaction stunned her into screaming.

The sound spurred Bastien on. He laid his mouth against her, teasing the ultra-sensitive place that finally sent her over the edge. She was vaguely aware of thrashing on the bed, unable to stop the fierce waves of ecstasy rolling through her, or to stop her fists from pounding against the sheets as she broke free and crashed in a blaze of fiery wonder.

Gentle hands soothed her, brought her slowly back to reality. Opening her eyes, she encountered Bastien’s smouldering gaze. She was lying against the pillows, both legs trapped underneath his more powerful, hair-roughened one. He leaned on one elbow and with his free hand reached up to caress the damp hair away from her temple.

‘You’re so incredibly responsive, ma petite,’ he husked out, his voice sandpaper-rough.

‘That unbridled passion you hate?’

‘That unbridled passion I don’t mind so much in bed. Perhaps even a little bit out of it.’

He swooped and devoured her gasp. He cradled her skull, imprisoning her, all the better to ravage her lips. Fresh, potent arrows of lust shot through her, invigorating her lulled senses, bringing them back to life. Her moan was smothered beneath their frenzied kiss. Her hands settled on the firm skin of his back. The need to feel every inch of him was a powerful urge tripping through her.

Bastien made a sound: half-growl, half-encouragement. She traced the skin on the small of his back. When he moaned again she ventured lower, clasped his taut buttocks.

It was only when he reared over her, settled his powerful frame over her, that Ana realised her panties were missing. Bastien’s thick arousal nudged against her, its hot, potent force sending a momentary pang of anxiety spiking through her.

Sensing it immediately, Bastien eased his mouth from hers and gazed down at her. ‘You need not worry, Ana. Trust me. I won’t hurt you.’

Something melted deep inside her. She exhaled shakily, unable to utter a word past the emotional lump in her throat. Reaching up, she threaded her fingers through the lock of hair that had fallen over his brow.

Bastien kissed his way down her cleavage, changed direction to slowly circle one breast. Waiting for him to reach the hard pinnacle brought its own torture. But finally he took one nipple in his mouth. Her eyes fluttered shut and she gave herself over to her feelings. She touched him everywhere, including that utterly gorgeous hard erection. Her exploration was short-lived when he soon removed her hand and kissed the back of it.

The sight of him sheathing himself flooded her with renewed need.

Slowly Bastien lowered himself over her, his gaze capturing hers as he nudged her entrance. Tension, excruciating and urgent, flowed between them, feeding the heady anticipation of their union. A strangled moan escaped her throat as he probed deeper. Her fingers tingled, fluttered closer to hold him. Capturing her hand, he imprisoned it above her head. The thrill of semi-freedom sent a bolt of pleasure through her. With her free hand she clasped his buttock.

He responded by surging into her.

Her wince coincided with his gasp of disbelief.

Ana tried to keep her face blank as his gaze searched hers, but she knew he’d caught her reaction. She closed her eyes as he froze.

‘Ana, look at me,’ he demanded hoarsely.

She lifted her gaze. She’d been expecting disappointment, maybe censure. But she encountered a blistering gaze filled with a hunger that stopped her breath.

‘You’re beautiful. Incredible,’ he said simply.

The words broke something free inside her. Instinctively she moved, sliding her inner muscles along his rigid length.

A heartfelt groan rumbled through his chest. Acclimatising to the reactions of her body, she moved again, shuddering with the pleasure that came with the minute action. Bastien clasped her hips, stilled her.

For endless moments he remained still. Then with a harsh groan he surged deeper. Ecstasy rolled through her. Eagerly she awaited his next thrust, her heart pounding when it arrived, more incredible than the last.

All too soon the tingling began—fiercer, sharper than before. When it swept her away Ana knew she’d only experienced a fraction of pleasure the first time. Hoarse cries seared her throat as she soared higher and higher.

Bastien plunged deeper, his movements frantic, his skin sweat-slicked as he dipped his head to kiss her. She responded with fervour, her senses clamouring to give him as much satisfaction as he’d given her.

Their tongues met and he groaned deeply. With one last surge he tensed, freezing for a moment in time before a series of convulsions shook his frame.

Ana clasped him to her, her chest meeting his hot, damp skin as he settled on her. Against her heart she felt his thunder wildly, echoing her own’s chaotic beat.

Tu es perfecto.

She wasn’t sure whether she’d said the words aloud. She didn’t care. She felt too replete, too sated. Her eyelids fluttered, drifted down. She tried to fight sleep, managed a feeble protest when Bastien dropped a kiss on the corner of her mouth and left the bed. But it was no use.

And Ana’s last thought before sleep claimed her was that her life would never be the same again.

CHAPTER EIGHT

HE’D PULLED THE sheet over her when he’d left the bed but now one foot had escaped. Its delicate arch teased him, taunted him with a want he’d hoped to ease by now.

Bastien stared at it, willed himself not to reach for it.

Focus!

There were important things to work through, figure out. He needed to leave, to return to his own bedroom.

You’re in your own bedroom.

Hell, he was losing it. His jaw clenched tight.

Since he’d stepped foot inside that courtroom and seen Ana again everything had fallen off-kilter. He was being buffeted by emotions he didn’t know what to do with.

His brain especially seemed to be playing tricks on him. Otherwise why would he have imagined Ana’s virginity? And why would the thought have sent such a thrill through him? Why would he be perched on the edge of the bed now, watching her sleep, wishing he could wake her up and experience their incredibly exhilarating lovemaking over and over again?

He shoved a hand through his hair and started to rise.

She stirred, lazily stretching, tempting the sheet down a little further. Fire roared through his veins. He had to get out of here. There were several guestrooms where he could spend the rest of the night.

Seductive eyes opened, focused on him. ‘Is it still night?’

‘Yes.’ He steeled himself against the exquisitely languorous look in her eyes and madly scrambled for something to say. ‘How long have you been celibate?’ He hadn’t meant to ask that, but the words spilled out anyway.

She sat up slowly, pulling the sheet to cover her breasts. He curbed the urge to rip it away, feast his eyes on her—

‘My whole life,’ she answered.

He froze. ‘You were a virgin?’

The thought confused, astounded...pleased him? He pushed the last feeling away, but it kept returning.

‘Yes.’

He’d been her first. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Why did his voice sound so damned hoarse?

‘What difference would it have made?’

Her voice was sleep-husky, her hair spilling in bed-tumbled disarray over her naked shoulders. The sight of the white sheet against her tanned skin did incredible things to his libido.

He felt himself slipping under her spell again. Confusion mingled with lust and self-loathing sent him to his feet. ‘A hell of a lot!’

‘I tried to tell you—’

‘You didn’t try hard enough!’

‘But you knew...you must have realised...’

His mind raced. He’d been eager, uncouth. Like a wolf during mating season, his need had come second to none. He’d been the animal she’d accused him of being. All he’d wanted was to trap her underneath him, feast on her softness and incredible responsiveness. Nothing else had mattered but having her.

Not even the fact that she’d been a virgin.

He sank onto the bed, his thigh tantalisingly close to that tempting foot. He swallowed as fire shot through his pelvis.

‘Bastien, no one held a gun to your head. You could have stopped any time you wanted.’

The truth of the statement shamed him even more. ‘No, I’m afraid I couldn’t have.’ Because he’d been too far gone to stop. ‘But if you’d told me things would’ve been different.’

She licked her lips, sending his heart-rate rocketing. Mon Dieu, he had to find some distance or this thing happening between them would consume him whole.

Her foot flexed.

‘How different?’ she husked out.

‘I would’ve been gentler, taken more time and care.’

You still could... The thought teased the fringes of his mind. Possibilities tantalised.

Before he could stop himself he reached out and grabbed her foot.

Her breath caught and her foot arched into his touch. ‘I’m glad you didn’t. Any slower and one of us would’ve resorted to violence.’

Reluctantly, his lips twitched. Moving closer, he lifted her foot into his lap. Slowly he massaged her soft skin, fascinated by her tiny gasps of pleasure at his simple caress. The sheet slipped lower. With a firm tug he pulled it away.

She blushed. Unbidden, their conversation on the tarmac replayed in his mind, now taking on a different meaning. Her blushes weren’t a clever tool to entice a man. She blushed because she was genuinely innocent.

The thought shocked him into stillness. Questions tumbled through his mind and assumptions disintegrated, fuelling his confusion. She wasn’t the wanton seductress he’d thought her to be. She had been a virgin.

He had no right to be here with her.

As if diametrically opposed to the idea, his hand tightened around her ankle.

She responded by flexing her foot directly into his groin.

‘Mon Dieu, Ana.’ Desire, fierce and hot, pulsed through him with an urgency that stopped every other thought. His gaze rose along with his temperature, moved over the smooth suppleness of her calf, her pale golden thighs, to the wet glistening of her sex nestling between the triangle of carefully groomed hair. He paused there, heady satisfaction settling inside him at the thought that he’d been her first.

As if reacting to the heat of his gaze, a delicate shudder raked her frame.

His scrutiny continued upward. Over her flat stomach up to the soft mounds of her breasts. The sight of her nipples fuelled his need to taste them again. Her chest rose and fell with short, frantic pants that set his own heart thundering. Her swollen lips parted, her pink tongue resting against them.

When his eyes finally captured hers it was the look in the chocolate depths that floored him. Daring, innocent anticipation. Need. A heady combination that had him discarding her foot along with his intention to leave her be and search out a different bed for the night.

He’d promised himself one night, after all. He’d stick to that promise. By morning he should be rid of this insane, inexplicable desire for Ana Duval. Once he had it bottled and shelved he could rest easier.

Rearing over her, he kissed her. She parted for him immediately, her tongue searching out his with a newly gained confidence that threatened to blow him away. She was learning fast, his Ana.

No. She wasn’t his Ana. She was just his for the night.

The thought sent a strange bolt of displeasure through him, but not enough to stop him from groaning his satisfaction as her hands closed over his back, her fingers beginning a delicate caressing of his flesh that sent blood surging into his groin.

He was so ready, so tortuously aroused, he feared he’d explode any second. Pulling back from the kiss to give himself a little breathing room, he dropped light kisses on her jaw, her delicate earlobe.

And still she continued to wreak havoc with her fingers. In desperation Bastien plucked another condom from the bedside table and slipped it on. He’d promised her it would be different this time, but he wasn’t so sure he could keep that promise.

But he would try even if it killed him.

‘Turn over.’ At least if he wasn’t looking into her achingly beautiful face or dreaming of kissing her senseless he might be able to pull back from the brink of this insanity that engulfed him.

‘What?’ Even hesitant, her voice hitched, filled with an anticipation that didn’t help his control one little bit.

Except the thought of making love to her like this was even headier than taking her missionary-style. He cursed under his breath. He’d started this. He aimed to finish it.

He lifted a forefinger and slowly rotated it. Eyes wide, alluring beyond measure, she reversed her position.

If he’d hoped for a little reprieve he was sorely disappointed. Her back—slim, smooth and faintly indented with her delicate spine—taunted him. It dipped to her impossibly small waist before flaring to accommodate feminine hips and a firm, rounded behind.

Everything about her was elegantly feminine, intensely seductive—especially the way she caught and pulled her hair over one shoulder so she could watch him watching her.

He bent forward, placed his lips on her first vertebrae. Another delicate shudder racked her body. He kissed his way down, determined not to drown in her moans of pleasure. He reached her waist and spanned it with his hands, glorying in the velvety warmth of her skin as his tongue dipped into the faint dimples just above her buttocks.

‘Bastien...’

His name had never sounded so arousing. He sucked in a fortifying breath and closed his eyes to restore a little sanity. When he glanced up, her gaze was locked on his.

She was ready. He was more than fit to burst. With one kiss deposited on each globe of her rear, he kissed his way up her spine.

He settled them on the bed, her back to his front. Reaching an arm around her, he lifted her leg and pulled it back over his hip. This time when she turned to look at him he was ready for her. He planted a hot, hungry kiss on her soft ruby-coloured mouth.

‘This is my favourite position. Tell me if you like it.’

He thrust inside her, giving a muted sound of pleasure when her tight inner muscles closed around him. One hand on her stomach held her firm as he thrust again.

She cried out, sending his senses spiralling higher.

‘Do you like it?’ He had to know—had to hear her say it.

‘Yes.’ The word was dragged out of her. It echoed through the room and infused him with a satisfaction he’d never craved before. Spearing a hand through her hair, he held her, kissed her as his hips rocked back and forth.

Her arm curved over the back of his head as if to hold him.

I’m not going anywhere. You’re mine. The words filtered through his subconscious. Their deeper meaning threatened to invade his mind, but it splintered apart with the force of his desire.

Ana tore her lips from his, her breath fracturing as she neared her peak. He caught a delicate earlobe between his lips, his own need clamouring for release. Minute spasms caressed his shaft. He groaned, watched her eyes flutter closed as her bottom pushed forcefully against his pelvis.

‘Bastien!’ She grasped his arm, convulsions raking through her as she gave in to her climax.

With a roar that drowned out her cries he thrust one last time. He came with a rush that emptied every last coherent thought from his mind, leaving him free to soar as he’d never soared before.

At the back of his mind he knew he held her too tightly, that he risked bruising her soft skin, but he needed to hold on because she represented the only safe thing to hang on to as he experienced an unprecedented level of pleasure.

Bastien told himself it was impossible, that he was merely imagining it, but he closed his eyes, unwilling to confront his feelings as spasms continued to rake his body.

When they finally subsided he dropped one last, spent kiss on her jaw. Words, unfamiliar and unnerving, trembled on the edges of his mind.

‘You were magnifique, ma petite,’ he croaked. He wanted to say more, but he stopped himself just in time. He was already way out of his comfort zone.

* * *

Ana came awake slowly. Which should have warned her that something was different. Normally she awoke instantly, her mind fresh, alert.

It was almost as if her subconscious wanted to protect her from the harsh reality of the morning after.

She knew immediately she was alone.

His scent clung to the sheets. She steeled herself not to bury her face in the pillow, breathe deeply and imprint his potent smell on her senses for all time.

He’d kept his word.

One night only. The fact that he hadn’t stuck around till morning caused her heart to shrivel with pain. He’d slept with her and now he was done with her.

Remembering their lovemaking—how wanton and needy she’d been—brought a rush of heat to her cheeks. That last time, just as dawn had broken, she’d thought she’d die with pleasure...had even lost touch with reality for several seconds.

Was this what drove her mother? Why she chased after men with such relentless purpose? If this feeling was what she experienced every time she found a new man then Ana could understand a small measure of why her mother did what she did.

Ana’s every sinew sang with fulfilment even though she knew she’d never relive this experience again.

The knowledge shortened her breath, lodged fear deep in her heart, making her fiercely glad Bastien wasn’t around. She had a hard enough time hiding her feelings from him normally. Raw and naked like this he would have spotted her turmoil in seconds. Every single promise she’d made to stay away from him had come to nothing. In the end she’d fallen into his arm with damning ease.

She shifted and immediately her body reminded her of last night. She replayed his hoarse cries in her mind, her own pleasured gasps as she’d attained peak after peak of bliss.

Bastien had helped her to explore the hitherto terrifying sensuality that had made her fear intimacy. And for that she’d always be grateful.

But the night was over.

Sitting up, she raked a slow hand through her tangled hair and tried to stem the deep yearning in her heart. She had no business yearning. She just had to focus on getting through the next few weeks. Then she could focus on the rest of her life.

Standing, she snatched up her clothes, deliberately keeping her gaze from the rumpled bed. Donning her skirt and top, she quickly left Bastien’s room.

But, standing under the spray of the shower, Ana couldn’t stop her hands caressing her skin. The deep knowledge that something fundamental had changed in her was unshakeable.

Unwilling to dwell on her thoughts, she hurriedly dressed in a grey linen skirt and a pink cashmere top. Leaving her hair loose, she applied a light gloss to her lips. Slipping her phone into her pocket, she went downstairs, her heart clambering into her throat at the thought of seeing Bastien again.

She found him at the dining table, showered and dressed in a blue shirt over which he wore a black sweater. She couldn’t see the rest of his attire from where she lingered in the doorway, but she knew it would be no less immaculate. His head was bent over his newspaper, a lock of dark golden hair falling over his brow.

The yearning rushed back, fiercer than ever. Ana stood frozen in the doorway as the realisation of how much yearning she seemed to do around Bastien hit home.

He raised his head and speared her with those mesmerising eyes. With a casual flick of his wrist he discarded the paper, rose and approached her.

One hand traced her jaw, caressed it slowly until he captured her nape. Holding her still, he kissed her, deep and long.

Every single thought fled her head.

‘Bonjour,’ he greeted her when he lifted his head. ‘You slept well.’ It wasn’t a question.

‘Yes.’

He smiled. ‘You must be hungry.’ He led her to the table, waited until she’d sat, then offered fruit and poured her a cup of coffee. Slicing open a croissant, he buttered it, added a light spreading of jam—just the way she liked it—and passed it to her.

‘Thank you,’ Ana murmured, and took a bite, confusion warring with the flames of desire in her belly. She’d expected Bastien to return to his impassive best now that their night of passion was over. Instead he was being charming, pleasant.

‘The production crew arrive tomorrow,’ he said, biting into a halved peach. ‘So today’s your last day of leisure. What would you like to do?’

She blinked. ‘Uh, if you don’t mind I’d like to take Rebelle out for a ride.’

‘That’s one idea.’

His gaze drifted over her, triggering a blush that flooded her whole body. Her hands shook as she lowered her cup to its saucer.

‘What’s another?’

He casually reached out and traced her cheek with gentle fingers. ‘I can ask Chantal to prepare a picnic lunch. We could take the boat on the lake this afternoon.’

Surprise followed by pleasure lit through her. ‘Okay, you win. That sounds wonderful.’

His smile widened, causing her heart to hammer wildly. ‘Bien.’ He motioned for her to eat and picked up his paper. ‘I have a few things to attend to this morning. Meet me down at the pier at one.’

‘Okay.’ She half cringed at the breathy anticipation in her voice.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. ‘What are your plans for the rest of the morning?’

‘I noticed you have some audio books in your library. You don’t mind me borrowing one, do you?’ she asked.

A light frown touched his brows. ‘Of course not.’

‘Thanks.’ Ana finished her meal and pushed back her chair.

‘Wait.’ He stood and walked her to the door.

Her heart dropped. Had she unwittingly given her secret away with her request? ‘Yes...?’

Leaning forward, he dropped another kiss on her lips. ‘Don’t forget to dress warmly. The weather might be milder than expected but it can change, especially further north.’

Relief made her smile. ‘Thanks.’

Ana escaped, her confusion rising to colossal proportions. Evidently morning-after etiquette didn’t include a post-mortem of the night before. But did it include long, passionate kisses that reminded her of everything they’d done in bed together?

She wanted to ask him what he was playing at, but part of her was afraid that he’d stop. And the way she was going she wasn’t above begging for a repeat performance.

The vibration of her phone as she entered the library brought welcome relief from her thoughts. Sliding it out of her pocket, she answered.

‘Oh, finally. I’ve been trying to reach you since last night,’ Lauren said.

Knowing why she’d been unreachable, Ana’s face flamed. ‘Sorry, my phone was set on vibrate,’ she mumbled.

‘I just wanted a quick catch-up. You normally call to discuss every clause in your contract, but this time you didn’t. I was wondering why...’

She launched into her signature staccato burst of speech, forcing Ana to concentrate.

At first Ana couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Dazed, she gripped the phone tighter, her heart sliding with dread into her stomach. ‘Sorry, Lauren, can you repeat that, please?’

Lauren sighed and launched into another rapid-fire delivery.

By the time Ana ended the phone call she felt as if every single drop of blood had drained from her veins. She clutched the back of an armchair, struggling to breathe as Lauren’s words rang through her brain.

Vaguely she heard the door open and close. Heard footsteps draw closer and Bastien’s harsh curse.

‘Ana! What’s wrong?’

He sounded...concerned. But she knew she couldn’t be hearing right. Knew it was a lie. How skilfully he’d fooled her!

From feeling faint, now she felt almost supernatural strength surge into her veins. She whirled and faced him.

‘You bastard! You vile, despicable bastard.’

CHAPTER NINE

BASTIEN’S FACE HARDENED. ‘I’m sure I can prove you wrong on the bastard issue, just as I’m sure you’re about to enlighten me on these “vile, despicable” things I’m supposed to have done.’

‘You know exactly what you’ve done. More or less—those were your words! God, how could I have been so stupid!’

Ana couldn’t control her shaking or stem the deep well of pain springing up in her heart. She’d trusted him. She’d dropped her guard and given herself to him.

One brow lifted. ‘I’m afraid you’re not making any sense. Try again.’

‘My contract!’ Why couldn’t she hold her voice steady? Why did it have to break now, when she needed to be strong? ‘I trusted you.’ She’d felt safe with him, foolishly let herself believe he wouldn’t hurt her.

He exhaled slowly, a wash of bleakness blanking his features before he blinked it away. ‘What about your contract?’

‘You said it was “more or less” the same as the other one. Except you lied. It’s so much more! Sleeping with me—was that a reward to yourself for successfully tricking me?’

His eyes grew arctic-cold. Stalking to where she stood, he grabbed her arm. ‘You debase yourself with that assumption, Ana, and you debase me,’ he breathed in soft, dangerous tones. ‘I’ve never slept with anyone to secure a business deal.’

‘A way of congratulating yourself for a job well done, then?’

He let go abruptly, as if he couldn’t stand to touch her. ‘I’m assuming this is how you feel about your contract. But I’m still in the dark as to how you think I’ve tricked you,’ he incised.

‘You know what you’ve done. My last contract was supposed to finish next month. Instead you’ve tied me into a contract for another year!’

‘And I’m guessing you have a problem with that?’

‘No. I’m flinging insults at you just for the hell of it. Deep down inside, Bastien, I’m actually dancing a jig.’

‘Facetiousness doesn’t suit you.’

‘No? Perhaps you’d prefer me to come over there and claw your eyes out?’

Her voice broke again. And, damn it, tears welled in her eyes. They grew faster than she could stop them and spilled over before she could blink them away.

She swiped her cheeks with an angry hand. ‘How could you, Bastien?’

‘It’s just business,’ he replied coolly, but something flitted through his eyes, a slight softening as he traced her tearstained cheek.

‘My life isn’t just business. My future isn’t just business!’

His brows clamped together. ‘Je ne comprends pas. You read the contract. Why did you sign it if you didn’t agree with the terms?’

Her tears spilled faster, her shame closing in on her in a thick cloud of despair. She tried to look away, but Bastien’s gaze had locked on hers with unwavering intensity. Her throat clogged with even more tears, her heart sinking as he came closer and grasped her shoulders.

‘Why did you sign the contract, Ana?’ he demanded.

She tried desperately to wrench herself out of his hold but he easily restrained her. More tears slid down her cheeks. She swallowed another sob, knowing there was no place to hide. ‘Because I...I didn’t want to admit that I...that I can’t...’

His grip tightened. ‘That you can’t what?’

‘That I can’t read!’

His eyes widened. His jaw dropped along with his hands.

At any moment Ana knew his astonishment would be replaced with disgust. And she couldn’t bear that—couldn’t stand to see his revulsion at the realisation that he’d slept with someone who couldn’t string two words together on a page.

Brushing past him, she fled the room. That he didn’t stop her or even call out to her spoke volumes.

Ana didn’t stop until she was outside, gasping in lungfuls of air as if they would stem the tears rolling freely down her face. But sobs continued to surge through her chest, released in agonising sounds that ripped through the morning air. She stumbled into the garden. Bypassing the koi pond, she ran until she found a bench on the far side of the grounds. Sinking down onto it, she dropped her face into her hands.

The secret she’d carried with her for more than half her life was out. Part of her felt relief that she no longer had to carry the heavy burden. But a larger part of her would have given anything to take it back. Because Bastien would never look at her the same way again. A man in his position wouldn’t want to associate himself with anyone with her handicap. Who would want an illiterate model representing his world-class diamonds?

Fresh sobs clogged her throat. Defiantly, she swallowed them down. He’d lulled her into a false sense of security by letting her believe everything was above-board. It didn’t sit well to acknowledge that part of it was her fault. She’d been so inclined to believe the good in Bastien that she’d dropped her vigilance when it came to her career.

She heard his approach a second before he emerged from behind a rose bush. Tall and powerful, he blocked out the bright sunshine when he stopped in front of her.

She turned away, hoping the curtain of her hair would hide her blotched, tearstained face.

‘Go away, Bastien.’ After all that had happened, after trusting him with her body, she just couldn’t face him.

He didn’t respond. Instead a square, neatly folded handkerchief appeared before her eyes. Mutely, she stared at it, wondered why it made her want to cry all over again.

She snatched it from him with curt thanks, tried to repair as much of the damage as possible and cringed when a hiccup escaped.

He folded his large frame on to the bench next to her and awareness of a different sort scythed through her as his thigh brushed hers. Surreptitiously she eased away.

If he noticed he didn’t comment. Neither did he break the silence. It screeched on her nerves until, unable to stand it, she glanced furtively at him.

He was studying his hands, folded between his thighs. Sensing her gaze, his eyes locked with hers.

‘The newspaper and the audio books?’ he asked simply.

Face flaming, she nodded.

‘Tell me,’ he coaxed gently.

Her lips quivered and she looked away. ‘I’d rather not.’

‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of, ma petite.’ His voice was a low rumble. ‘Dyslexia is a common—’

‘I don’t suffer from dyslexia. I can barely read or write because until I took matters into my own hands a year ago I’d never been taught how.’ She waited for his revulsion, fresh tears stinging her eyes.

It never came. His eyes remained steady on hers, curiosity the only emotion she glimpsed in the silver depths.

‘Why not?’

She heaved in a breath. ‘At the time of my parents’ divorce Lily was still modelling. When my father lost the custody battle he was devastated. He returned to Colombia and she immediately pulled me out of school with the excuse that she was taking me travelling and would hire tutors for me. And she did in the beginning. But she wouldn’t pay the tutors and they would leave after a couple of months.

‘I...I let something slip once to my father. She burned all my toys and called me an ungrateful child. After that she didn’t bother to hide it from my father. She knew it would deeply upset him. He’s a professor and education is his life. He reported her to the authorities a few times. She responded by banning me from seeing him for two years. When she signed me up with a modelling agency she warned me that if I let on about my lack of education I’d never see my father again. I was too scared to risk it so I...I lied to the agency when they asked if I was being tutored. Once I asked her why. She told me I was pretty enough. I didn’t need an education.’

Bastien cursed under his breath. ‘You mentioned a year ago. What changed?’

She took a deep breath. ‘That’s when I decided to stop modelling. My father was discussing his latest find with me. It was fascinating, and I told him I’d love to volunteer on one of his projects. But even as a volunteer I’d need basic qualifications. I found myself a tutor, and I’ve been making steady progress, but I get...overwhelmed under pressure.’

He gave a slight shake of his head, his eyes fixed on hers. ‘And my asking you to sign a time-sensitive contract yesterday...’ He cursed under his breath.

‘I suppose you’re disgusted?’

‘Mon Dieu, of course I’m not disgusted,’ he said, and the admission was faintly tinged with something else—something that sounded a lot like...admiration.

Ana inwardly shook her head. She was imagining things.

Abruptly, Bastien looked away. His gaze tracked two butterflies chasing each other from flower to flower. Then he reached into his pocket and extracted a sheaf of papers.

Ana’s heart lurched as his large hands unfolded the document. She recognised her contract immediately.

‘This agreement is made between Diamonds by Heidecker Incorporated, a subsidiary of the Heidecker Corporation, and Miss Ana Duval of—’

‘Bastien, what are you doing?’

‘I’m doing what I would’ve done if you’d told me. I’d never violate your trust, ma petite. If you don’t believe anything else, believe that.’

He carried on reading, his deep, beautiful voice low and hypnotic. Blinking back tears, she listened, her heart trembling as realisation sank in.

Bastien wasn’t disgusted. He wasn’t scornful that she couldn’t read.

He was helping her.

Feelings, deep and inexplicable, flooded through her.

He read on, pausing every now and then to make sure she was paying attention. When he’d finished he glanced at her. ‘You understood all that?’

Biting her lip to keep back the tears that seemed determined to ruin her, she nodded. ‘Yes. You extended it by another year because you’re thinking of serialising the ad campaign.’

‘Yes. Would you have signed this contract if you’d known what you know now?’

She hesitated for a split second. ‘No. I want to go and work with my father.’

He nodded. Then, without taking his eyes from hers, he tore the contract in two. Her gasp settled on the air before disintegrating against the sound of continued ripping. He shredded the paper until the sheets were tiny, insubstantial squares. Rolling them into a ball, he stuffed it in his pocket.

‘Why?’ she asked around a throat clogged with choking emotion.

His gaze turned sombre. ‘You had no idea what you were signing. I won’t take advantage of that.’

Simple words. Such simple words. Yet Ana felt the ground shift beneath her. Felt something cataclysmic rush through her, bringing back that sense of foreboding she’d felt as they drove through the gates of the chateau five days ago. But this time she caught a glimpse of what it meant before the moment was lost again. And she wasn’t as frightened. What she did feel was an overwhelming need to touch Bastien, to connect with him—somehow convey this inexplicable feeling she couldn’t give voice to.

Before she could stop herself she placed her hand on his cheek. ‘If this carries on I’ll start to think you’re not as hard as you make yourself out to be.’ Her voice emerged deeply husky, a result of her tears and the feelings roiling through her.

A small smile lifted one corner of his mouth. ‘Don’t fool yourself. I’m still the same.’

Her soft laugh wrapped around them. ‘Maybe, but you’re not so scary any more.’

He sobered. ‘I scared you?’

‘For a little while—and only because I didn’t really know you well enough.’

‘And you think you know me now?’ A hint of wariness laced his tone, but he didn’t move away.

‘I’d like to...if you’d let me.’ Knowing she was straying into forbidden territory made her shiver. But she forced herself to hold Bastien’s gaze even when it hardened slightly.

‘There’s nothing to know. I told you: I’m a simple man.’

With deep undercurrents of emotional baggage. Ana let it go, but she couldn’t stop herself from leaning forward to kiss him lightly on the lips. He immediately deepened the kiss, stamping his mastery on the act until they both had to come up for air.

‘Thank you,’ she muttered when she could speak.

‘What for?’ he breathed against her lips.

‘For listening and for not being repulsed by my inability to read.’

He twisted his head, kissed her palm and folded her hand in his. ‘Being unable to read or write doesn’t define who you are. Don’t be ashamed of it.’ Standing up, he reached for her. ‘We’ll discuss your new contract later. I need to make a few calls before we head out for the picnic.’

‘We’re still going?’ she asked, surprised.

‘Nothing has changed, Ana.’

Her heart lifted, but almost immediately sank again. He might have just shown her that the kind, considerate fifteen-year-old she’d caught a glimpse of still existed somewhere in the adult Bastien. But that was as far as their situation went.

Their one-night agreement still stood. She was still his employee. And he was still giving out ‘Do Not Trespass’ signals.

And yet Ana knew she had changed. And with that change had come a deep yearning to fight for what she wanted.

And she wanted Bastien.

The truth of the statement hit her like a bolt of lightning.

As she walked beside him through the garden back to the château she couldn’t help glancing at him. He wasn’t as closed-off as he’d been a few days ago. The tightness around his mouth and eyes had eased, and the impassive look she’d associated with him at the beginning had dissipated. But she’d seen another side of him now. Perhaps, with time, he might even let her in.

Bastien caught her glance. ‘What’s wrong?’

She shook her head. ‘Nothing. I’ll go and freshen up and meet you here in an hour.’

* * *

Bastien finished his calls in half that time but deliberately stayed in his study, even though he wanted to shove back his chair and hunt her down. The confusion that had assailed him in the middle of the night when he’d watched her sleep had returned, intensified, since her stark announcement that morning.

He didn’t know what to do with the rush of protectiveness he’d felt when he’d seen her pain. Nor his undeniable need to seek her out in the garden, make sure she was all right.

Destroying the contract had been a no-brainer once he knew.

His jaw tightened. Lily Duval had wronged her daughter on so many levels. His own parents’ callous rejection had eroded any thoughts of a family of his own from his mind well before he’d emerged from teenhood. A life of solitude with the occasional liaison suited him fine. But Ana, despite her mother’s treatment of her, had forgiven her over and over. Bastien found it hard to grasp that forgiving spirit. But he couldn’t deny that he found it humbling...that it forced him to examine his relationship with his parents.

He glanced at the phone, found himself reaching for it. This time he dialled the number even as his senses reeled. He listened to the echoing ring, then the answer machine clicked in.

He cleared his throat. ‘Maman, c’est moi, Bastien... I...I’ll call back tomorrow.’ He dropped the phone and speared a hand through his hair.

What the hell was happening to him? What the hell was he doing, risking rejection all over again?

His every thought seemed to go back to Ana. She was responsible for this madness. For this upheaval in his life. The wisest thing would be to stay away from her.

He surged to his feet, but his intended path to the window veered off course when he heard her voice outside his study. Her fist was poised to knock. Her eyes, devoid of the tears that had slashed at his insides earlier, clashed with his.

‘Our picnic’s ready. Do you want me to take it down to the pier?’

Glancing down, he saw the large basket at her feet, but almost immediately his attention was riveted on her legs displayed beneath the skirt of her sundress.

A tremor coursed through him, displacing thought and reason and creating a vivid picture of how those legs had felt wrapped around him.

With more force than necessary he grasped the handle of the basket and yanked it up. ‘It’s all right. I’m ready to leave.’

She fell into step beside him. Bastien tried not to inhale her scent greedily.

They walked down to the pier and he saw her surprise when they reached his twenty-foot navy blue cabin cruiser.

‘I thought the boat would be a replica of your big, flashy super-yacht moored in Cannes. Or is that only for seducing the employees you want to fire?’

He slid her a glance. ‘What happened on that boat has only happened once. With you.’

He helped her in and passed her the basket. Their fingers touched and she trembled. Resisting the urge to cancel the trip and sweep her off into his bed, he started the engine and eased away from the pier.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

‘We’re headed upstream to Villeneuve.’

They picked up speed and Ana threw back her head, a wide smile on her face as she enjoyed the rush of the breeze.

Bastien watched her wave to other sailors, unable to take his eyes off her. When she glanced at him the look in her eyes stopped his breath. Forcing himself to concentrate or risk crashing, he pulled the boat into a tiny inlet and pointed to a hill above them.

‘There’s a spot just over that rise. We’ll have lunch there.’

They reached the top of the hill and she gazed down at the view. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said.

‘Indeed,’ he agreed.

She turned and Bastien’s gaze dropped to her mouth. Relentless desire pounded at him. She swayed as if the force of his need had physically reached out and tugged her to him.

Last night had done nothing to ease his hunger, he admitted grimly to himself. If anything, it had only intensified his yearning for her.

That didn’t mean he had to act on it. Turning away, he briskly laid out their lunch, gesturing to her to take her place opposite him.

Tucking her hair behind her ears, Ana sank onto the blanket. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘Grab a plate and dish out the food. The bread should still be warm. I’ll cut up some cheese after I pour the wine,’ he said.

He filled a crystal glass and passed it to her. Her slim fingers brushed his. He heard her faint gasp and forced himself to ignore it.

‘The weather is much cooler than I imagined it would be at this time of year.’

‘To Genevans this is positively arctic weather.’

‘You’re very lucky. I hate being cold.’

‘Then why do you live in London?’

She shrugged. ‘That’s where I grew up. But I won’t be for much longer.’

‘Archaeology is a huge change.’

She took a bite of her food and chewed before answering. ‘I love a challenge.’

His wry smile confirmed that observation. ‘Most women would give everything to be in your place. And the paparazzi certainly loves you.’ He watched her, twirling his wine glass lazily between his fingers.

‘I’m not most women. And I don’t court publicity, if that’s what you’re implying. What I do is part of my job—’

‘It’s part of your job to constantly appear in public wearing as little as possible, hanging off the arm of the latest male model?’ A dark emotion stormed through his gut and his fingers tightened around his glass.

‘You’d be surprised how often the same pictures are modified and reused. Anyway, how do you know? Have you been checking up on me?’

Bastien felt a dull flush creep across his cheeks. He refused to admit he’d taken more than a little interest in her since she’d become the model for the DBH campaign.

When her eyes collided with his, heat flared within him. ‘I take a healthy interest for professional reasons.’

She laughed. ‘Really? Are you saying a powerful businessman like you doesn’t have minions to check things like that for you?’ Her voice had grown husky and her head had tilted seductively.

He grew hotter. He took a few bites of food as emotions tumbled through him.

They’d long passed civilised conversation and moved on to the subtext of sex and feelings that seemed inevitably to spring up between them when they were alone. His gaze flicked down to her mouth, her throat, caressed her neck and settled on her chest before climbing back up.

Her tongue snuck out, moistened her plump lips, and right then he would have given anything in the world to taste those lips again.

But he had to end this fevered need that clawed at him every time he looked at her. ‘Don’t look at me like that, ma petite.’

‘Like what?’ she challenged. ‘Help me out here, Bastien. I don’t know how this works. You kiss me when you feel like it, touch me, hold my hand. But I can’t look at you?’

His jaw tightened. ‘You don’t just look. You beguile with every sigh, tempt me with every breath.’

Hurt fleeted through her eyes, making him feel deeply unsettled.

‘I’m not deliberately trying to.’

He half laughed, half groaned. ‘I know. That’s the problem.’

‘Has it even occurred to you that I react like that because I’m attracted to you?’

Bastien was used to women speaking plainly about what they wanted from him—sometimes explicitly. Ana wasn’t one of them. He’d witnessed her struggle before succumbing to the incredible chemistry between them last night. The same way she’d struggled with revealing her painful relationship with her mother.

But the last thing he wanted, or needed, was for her to confuse their sexual encounter with something else. Or, worse, read some deeper meaning into the act. Emotion was messy. Emotion led to heartbreak and rejection.

She cleared her throat. ‘Last night—’

He cut in. ‘Last night was all it can ever be.’

Boldly, she met his gaze. ‘Why?’

‘Because letting temptation and emotion rule my life would make me no better than—’ He stopped, shock stabbing him at what he’d almost revealed.

‘Than who? Your father? That was what you were going to say, wasn’t it?’

He jerked upright and walked to the crest of the hill, staring down at the lake.

‘Leave it, Ana.’ He growled the warning.

‘But I guessed right, didn’t I? What are you so afraid of?’

He whirled. ‘Afraid! You think I’m afraid?’

‘Well...what, then? You won’t let yourself feel, and you snarl at anyone who attempts to get to know you.’

His laugh sounded edgy even to his own ears. ‘You’d prefer me to wear my heart on my sleeve like some paperback hero?’

‘No, but you told me this morning not to be ashamed of my shortcomings. You’re letting the sins of your parent shape the way you live your life.’

‘Parents. Plural.’ His eyes met hers. ‘What about you? Did you not hang on to your virginity because you didn’t want to end up like your mother?’

‘Yes, but I’m not a virgin any more,’ she pointed out softly. ‘And I’m trying very hard not to be like my mother.’

The deep conviction in her voice sparked something inside him. Something he realised, to his chagrin, was jealousy. Somewhere between his rescuing her from the courtroom and now she had attained a certain unshakeable confidence that had nothing to do with her poise or profession.

He stared at her, compelled, unable to take his eyes off her as she took another step closer.

‘What happened sixteen years ago was terrible. I was there too, remember? But at least your parents found their way back together and stayed together. You were lucky.’

Harsh laughter erupted from a place of dark, shuddering pain he thought he’d sealed off for ever.

‘Lucky! You call living with a serial adulterer of a father who didn’t bother to hide his transgressions from his family and a mother who instead of protecting her son tried to take her own life in the most dramatic way possible, lucky?’

CHAPTER TEN

ANA STRUGGLED TO BREATHE. ‘What?’

‘You heard me,’ he rasped, his voice raw and pain-filled.

‘But I thought... Oh, Bastien, I’m so sorry.’ Her chest felt tight, but it had nothing to do with her asthma. All she felt was overwhelming compassion for what Bastien had suffered.

‘Forget it.’ He dismissed her words with a shrug.

She tried to take a breath but only a distressed wheeze emerged.

Bastien’s gaze sharpened. ‘What’s wrong?’ he demanded.

She tried to shake her head but he was already taking her arm. One finger urged her face up to his, where concern was etched.

‘Nothing. I’m fine. When did your mother try to take her own life?’

He dropped his hand. ‘Not now. We need to get back.’

‘Bastien, please talk to me—’

‘Unless you want to get caught in the rain we need to get moving.’

She glanced up at the sky, surprised to notice storm clouds rolling over the lake. Whilst they’d been locked in the past the weather had changed.

She helped him pack their picnic away, despite his terse instruction to let him do it. They returned to the boat in silence, even though she felt his concerned glance more than once.

Placing the basket in the tiny galley, he led her to the single cabin. ‘Stay down here. If the rain hits the journey back might be a little bumpy.’

‘I’ll stay here if you’ll promise me we’ll talk when we get back.’

He blew out an exasperated breath. ‘Oui, we’ll talk,’ he said. And left.

Ana tried to relax, but her thoughts churned. Bastien’s parents had stayed together but the circumstances she’d imagined, the assumptions she’d made, were very far from the truth. Another wave of empathy surged through her.

She headed for the door, but paused and groaned when she caught her image in the mirror beside the bed.

Her skin was pale, her eyes wide pools of anguish. And some time between leaving the château and now her hair had become a tangled web. She thought of repairing the mess, but gave up.

The outward mess she could deal with later. It was the inner mess that terrified her—because she feared the path her heart had taken was fraught with danger.

* * *

Bastien steered the boat alongside the pier, his thoughts grim. What the hell had happened on that hill in Villeneuve? How had he let go of his control so much that he’d spilled the cause of his deepest pain to Ana?

Revealing what his mother’s ultimate rejection had done to him was inexcusable. He’d thought that particular fear was buried deep, unreachable.

But all it had taken was one softly voiced challenge to send him back to that dark, harrowing place.

Jumping onto the pier, he secured the rope with a vicious twist, silently thankful that the production crew were arriving tomorrow. The earlier he wrapped the ad campaign, the earlier he could end this enforced hiatus and return to his life. A life devoid of Ana, devoid of heated looks from sultry chocolate-brown eyes. No more second-guessing the choices he’d made for a life without emotion. A life that stretched out bleak and empty at the thought of Ana not being a part of it...

With a muted curse, he turned. She stood at the top of the steps leading to the galley, one hand lifted to catch her hair as the breeze played with it.

Bastien’s breath strangled in his chest. Just looking at her made his world fracture, threatening to splinter into a million pieces. No matter how much he tried to wrestle back control everything in him wanted to stride over to her, snatch her tiny waist in his hands and devour her lips. Maybe then they’d both forget what he’d let slip on the hillside.

As if she’d read his thoughts she parted her lips. Desire arrowed straight to his groin, leaving him as weak as a day-old kitten. That in itself was such a shock he couldn’t move for several seconds.

In all his affairs no woman had ever brought such an intense, debilitating feeling to him. Such...freedom. As if he was poised on the brink of some cataclysmic discovery.

Pour l’amour de Dieu. He stepped back into the boat and retrieved the basket. All this idle time was addling his brain. Facts. Figures. Cut-throat negotiations. That was what he needed. Not Ana back in his bed. That was not going to happen.

They entered the château through the kitchen, where Chantal was putting groceries away in the large pantry. He thanked her for the picnic and left the basket on the counter.

As he turned to leave, he caught sight of a tiny picture by the window. Stunned, he moved towards it, even though the image was one he remembered very well.

It was his father, his mother and himself on the pier, taken when he was five or six. They all looked so...happy. He picked up the picture, rubbing his hand across the dusty surface.

‘I kept it from...before,’ Chantal said from just behind his shoulder. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

Before... When he’d moved back here and ordered everything that reminded him of his parents to be boxed up and shipped to Gstaad.

Without warning, Ana’s words echoed in his mind. ‘You’re letting the sins of your parent shape the way you live your life.’

He set the picture down, fighting endless waves of disquiet. But this time the righteous anger that usually fuelled his bitterness was missing. Was she right? Had he let what had happened sixteen years ago dictate the way he lived?

He turned. Ana stood in the doorway, her eyes seeking, her skin pale.

That jolt came again—harder than before. The chocolate depths were clear, fringed by lashes so thick and luxurious most women would kill to own them.

As if she couldn’t stand his blatant scrutiny she dropped her lids. That didn’t stop the arresting power of her face. His gaze moved down to the sensual curve of her lips and his chest tightened. How many times during the night had he tasted their sweetness? Yet he craved another taste so badly he could barely breathe.

He watched as colour rose in her cheeks. Knowing she wasn’t over this crazy chemistry between them either did nothing to ease his suffering.

Get a grip.

‘I need to clean up,’ she said.

Relief poured through him. ‘Okay. We’ll talk later.’

When he’d had a chance to regroup.

He went straight to his study and poured himself a brandy. Taking it to the terrace, he watched the sun set on his favourite lake. Nothing in the scene soothed him the way it normally did.

Prowling to the edge of the terrace, he lifted his face to the cool breeze washing in from the water.

His work was his life. Had been for as long as he could remember. Yet what he yearned for now, above everything else, was to be upstairs with Ana, losing himself in her body. Even the ‘we need to talk’ that normally sent him running didn’t eradicate this intense need to be with her.

He was definitely losing it!

Knocking back the rest of the drink, he returned to his study.

He entered the words into the search engine of his laptop and read through the information that came up. Satisfied he’d found what he needed, he closed the programme, then paused mid-stretch as he heard Ana’s voice in the hallway.

He’d lunged towards the door before he’d fully recognised his intentions.

She’d changed into a dark orange shift dress that set off her golden skin so spectacularly he had to shove his hands into his pockets to stop them from reaching for her. Her loose dark hair rippled with vitality, caressed one cheek as she turned. Slim fingers tucked the strands behind her ears, a small smile appearing on her lips when she saw him.

‘Are you hungry?’

She grimaced. ‘Not really. My appetite seems to have taken a hike.’

She started walking towards the library. He fell into step beside her, opened the door and let her precede him, trying not to get too lost in her subtle perfume. Feeling like a geeky teenager caught gawping at the hottest girl in class, he plucked the nearest book from the shelf and cleared his throat.

‘I have something for you. Come.’

She glanced at him, but said nothing as she followed him to his study. A smaller laptop sat next to his large one. He turned it towards her.

‘Sit down,’ he said.

Too surprised to protest, she sat. He pressed a button on the small laptop and the screen flickered to life. ‘I’m not sure what your tutor was using before, but I’ve found a programme to tutor you in basic reading and writing. Do you use a laptop at home?’ he asked.

Flushing slightly, she nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Good.’ He guided her through the simple programme until she could manage on her own. Then he handed her the laptop. ‘This one’s yours. We’ll have a lesson every morning after breakfast. Make no mistake: I will be hard on you if I think you’re slacking— Why are you biting your lip?’

‘Because I’m trying to stop myself from crying, you idiot.’

That protective instinct he’d been trying to stave off washed over him when her eyes filled. He found himself crouching before her, cupping her cheek before he could stop himself. Hell, there was no denying it. Ana undid him like no other person on earth.

‘If you’re trying to find a way to make me go softer on you, forget it.’

She laughed and the sound suffused his veins with happiness. When she bent her head and a swathe of hair covered part of her face he tucked it behind her ear.

‘Why are you doing this, Bastien?’

He stilled, searched for a flippant answer but failed. ‘Because you’re a generous, talented person and you deserve someone in your corner.’

Her beautiful eyes filled again and he cursed under his breath.

‘But on the hill you said—’

‘I shouldn’t have ripped into you like that.’ His smile felt strained. ‘Truth is, no one has ever dared to examine my baggage so closely. No one has ever been allowed close enough to try. Except you. Hell, I even called my mother today because of your pushing. I’m thinking of heading to Gstaad when the shoot is over. Will you come with me?’

Her eyes lit up. ‘If you want me to.’ She reached out and touched his knee. ‘Tell me what happened with her. Please—I want to know,’ she implored softly.

Bastien swallowed. That he was even considering sharing any more of his painful past with her surprised the hell out of him.

‘Are you sure? It gets a little messy,’ he warned, aware that his voice was huskier than usual.

She pursed her lips and waited.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. ‘Do you remember that last day at Verbier? You may have been too young—’

‘I remember.’ Her smile was poignant. ‘Your mother turned up out of the blue and demanded to see your father. Lily was screaming vile things at your father...’

He clenched his jaw. ‘And he was busy taking out his anger on my mother. They spoke in French, so you didn’t understand, of course. He told her she had no right to be there. That he was done with her pathetic, needy clinging.’

Ana flinched. He smoothed his thumbs down her cheeks.

‘He said was leaving her—divorcing her as soon as they returned to Geneva.’

‘Oh, Bastien...’

He shook his head, a cold, icy hand clamping over his chest where for a long time he’d remained frozen. ‘Here’s the kicker. He told her if she intended to fight for me he wouldn’t stand in her way. And she...’ An old wound, never really healed, split open, throwing him back sixteen years, so that his parents’ voices were as clear as if they were in the room with him now, ‘She said if she couldn’t have my father then she didn’t want me.’

Ana gasped and threw her arms around him. He held her tight, reeling from the remembered rejection even as he acknowledged that the pain he’d felt all these years was considerably less this time around. As if baring his soul to Ana had washed away the rough edges of anguish.

‘Oh, my God, Bastien. I’m so sorry. I had no idea,’ she murmured softly.

He finally pulled back, focused on her crouched before him. One hand touched his cheek and he exhaled noisily. She was offering comfort. When had that ever happened to him? He’d forged his way through life on his own after that stark double rejection sixteen years ago. And he’d succeeded. Hell, he’d more than succeeded. He’d excelled at everything he’d ever set his mind to.

He glanced into Ana’s face, ready to tell her to save her pity for someone else. Tears shone in her eyes.

‘You’re crying again.’

‘No child should hear that from anyone—most of all their parent.’

‘You cry for me even after all you’ve suffered?’

His voice sounded strange in his own ears, and that tight band around his chest loosened. Shaken by the feelings rolling over him, he caught a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

‘Maybe I cry for both of us.’ Slowly she raised herself up on her knees and kissed his cheek—one, then the other. ‘I’m sorry for both of us.’

Bastien wanted to catch her to him, to hold her tight and never let her go. And that thought above everything else unsettled him, shook him to his core, made him pull away from her.

‘Don’t be. It was a lesson well learnt. People use love as a tool to hurt each other. My mother tried to take her own life because she loved my father too much to watch him with another woman. She never once stopped to think of her son or how her actions would affect him.’

She rocked back. ‘You think she betrayed you?’

‘No, I don’t. In fact I don’t think she was thinking about me at all. She was thinking only of herself—obsessed with living in fairytales, searching for that elusive happy-ever-after.’

Clenching her hands in her lap, she swallowed. ‘Love isn’t a fairytale.’

‘No, it’s an excuse people use to hurt to each other. Every time I think I can forgive her I remember that she chose the most dramatic way possible to demonstrate her so-called love. A love that didn’t include me.’

* * *

Ana swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump of pain that had taken root there since Bastien had started speaking. Her heart ached for him. The thought of the toll his mother’s action had taken on him tore at her insides.

‘Did you...were you the one who found her?’

He frowned down at her. ‘No. Don’t you remember?’

Puzzled, Ana shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t think so...’

‘You don’t the remember the chaos after my father and Lily returned a few hours later?’

‘Yes, I do, but—’ Shock stopped her breath. ‘Are you saying that’s when your mother tried to...?’

Bitterness twisted his lips. ‘And she almost succeeded. The doctors said another half an hour and she’d have been dead.’

‘But how?’

Ana remembered the sad, broken figure of Solange Heidecker. Ana had been in one of the guest rooms, hiding after the screams had lapsed into an eerie silence, when the door had opened. Solange had walked in, looked around, and immediately turned to leave. At the last moment she’d seen Ana and slowly approached. Even at her young age the melancholy surrounding Bastien’s mother had struck her.

‘Which is your mother’s room, mon enfant? Come and show me.’ She’d held out her hand.

Ana had shown her, had stood in the doorway as she’d inspected every item of clothing, every shoe, every trinket in the room. Finally she’d sunk onto the bed, tears coursing down her face. Ana remembered her own sadness, remembered feeling in some way responsible for the woman’s pain.

She’d watched Solange take her shoes off slowly and lie back on the bed. ‘I’m not feeling very well, cherie.’ She’d smiled another sad, heartbreaking smile. ‘Please ask the housekeeper to bring me something for my headache, would you?’

Icy fingers of dread clamped around Ana’s heart. Her vision clouded, a dizzying faintness overcoming her.

No! No, no—

‘Ana!’ Bastien’s voice came from a far distance, from beyond the vacuum closing around her.

Oh, please God, no...

Her whole body had gone numb and her heart was beating dully, as if preparing to stop beating altogether. Bastien’s hands gripped her shoulders, but even his firm shake couldn’t force Ana from the dark fog of the past.

What had she done? Dear God, what had she done?

‘Ana, talk to me. What is it?’

The urgency in his voice finally scraped the edges of her consciousness. Slowly his face swam into view. Her heart ached at its perfect beauty, at the hard, impassive edge he portrayed to the world, at the concern he couldn’t help but feel—because deep down Bastien was just a man whose heart ached for love, just as hers did.

Most of all her heart was ripped open at the knowledge that she was the cause of his pain. That she had helped shape him into the hardened cynic he was today.

Tears blistered the back of her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry, Bastien. Oh God, I...I’m so sorry.’ Her voice broke and a sob dredged from the very depths of her pulverised soul erupted through her lips.

‘For what?’

‘Your mother. She took pills, didn’t she?’ The words scraped her throat, as if rebelling against being aired.

A frown slowly gathered on his brow. ‘Yes, but how...?’

‘She... Oh, God, Bastien... She didn’t try to commit suicide. I think she overdosed by accident. And I...I gave her the pills.’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

BASTIEN’S FACE, NORMALLY a vibrant, masculine hue, paled. It was almost as if he’d turned to stone, so statue-still he became. His eyes reflected shock. Horrified, disbelieving shock.

‘Non, il n’est pas possible!’

His lips barely moved with the denial, but his fingers tightened painfully on her shoulders.

‘That is not possible, Ana. She came to Verbier with the express purpose of...’ His words trailed off and he swallowed, his eyes darkening with remembered pain.

Ana’s heart twisted. ‘You weren’t there, Bastien. You were in the gazebo. She asked me to get pills from the housekeeper for her headache. Lily always kept a bottle of pills on her bedside table. She...she told me they were for her headaches. Oh, God, I didn’t...couldn’t read the label. I...I gave them to your mother—’

‘How many did she take?’

‘I don’t remember—’

He thrust her away from him, surged to his feet. He stalked to the window, his movements stiff, wooden. For several seconds he said nothing, then he whirled to face her. ‘Mon Dieu!’ The hand he shoved through his hair shook badly.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered brokenly.

‘And all this time I’ve believed—’ He stopped, fists clenched at his sides.

A deep shudder raked through his frame and her heart twisted anew.

‘I’m so sorry... Oh, God!’

He crossed the room and caught her arms. ‘Stop apologising, Ana. You were eight years old and you couldn’t read. You are not to blame for this!’

‘But if I’d called someone instead of just handing her the pills...’ She clamped her hand over her lips, racked with horror. ‘The repercussions of that day have shaped your life, Bastien. What I did has coloured the way you see your mother for the last sixteen years...’

He shook her once, the act almost one of desperation. ‘No, it hasn’t. Don’t forget the things she said before she took the pills. You had nothing to do with that. That was her...all her.’ Renewed pain threaded his voice.

Ana wanted to offer something, anything to soothe his pain. Except she was the cause of his pain.

‘Let me go, Bastien.’

‘No, you wanted to talk, so we’ll talk about this.’

‘There’s nothing left to talk about. I ruined your life—’

‘No, dammit, listen to me.’

‘There’s nothing you can say that’ll make me forgive myself, Bastien. Nothing.’ She pulled away and ran to the door.

Thankfully, he didn’t follow.

Her whole body trembled with the force of her emotions as she climbed the stairs to her room. She collapsed on the bed, her legs unwilling to support her as renewed shock ripped through her. She drew a pillow to her face to muffle the sound of the wrenching sobs that rumbled through her chest.

She had caused Solange Heidecker’s overdose.

She had ripped Bastien’s life apart!

Her tears fell faster, her insides quaking with the force of her pain. His father’s affairs had made Bastien bitter, but Ana realised it was his mother’s rejection and suicide attempt that had flayed him. Discovering he’d spent the last sixteen years hating his mother for something she hadn’t meant to do had rocked him. Ana had seen his shock when he’d realised this.

How could Bastien ever forgive her?

* * *

She woke bleary-eyed and heavy-hearted the next morning to the sound of knocking on her door. Her heart lurched, but it was Chantal who greeted her when she wrenched open the door, not Bastien.

‘Bonjour, mademoiselle. Your crew...they have arrived.’

‘Oh...okay. Thanks,’ she murmured, licking lips stiff with dried tears. She caught Chantal’s quick scrutiny before she started to turn away. She’d fallen asleep in her clothes and still clutched a tissue she’d used some time during the night. ‘Wait! Is Bastien...is he awake yet?’ She didn’t know how to begin to repair the damage she’d done but she’d lain awake knowing she had to start somewhere.

Chantal shook her head, her eyes solemn. ‘Non. Monsieur—he left last night.’

Misery and pain spiked through her, their bite so ferocious she folded her arms around her middle in self-preservation. ‘Left? When will he be back?’

The housekeeper shrugged.

Dazed, Ana closed the door. Bastien had left, and taken with him any opportunity to ask for his forgiveness.

The thought of him suffering because of what she’d done brought fresh tears. But Ana brushed them away and sucked in a deep breath. He was gone. She couldn’t do anything about that. What she could do, though, was throw her every last skill at making the ad campaign the best it could be. That she could control.

Trudging to the bathroom, she undressed and showered.

* * *

The crew’s arrival threw the château into a whirlwind of frenzied activity. Ana gladly submerged herself in the organised chaos, helping to unload equipment and assisting Chantal in setting up the crew in their allocated rooms. Anything to stop herself from revisiting that desolate place inside her that threatened to overwhelm her every time she thought of Bastien.

The first fracture in her false façade came when her phone beeped with a text. Thinking it was from Bastien, she jumped on it—only to find it was from Lily, wishing her luck for the shoot. The hope she’d been trying to stem since that phone call with her mother refused to die, no matter how much she tried to stave it off.

Her composure slipped even further when, at midday, a lawyer from a local firm turned up. He’d been hired by Bastien the day before and instructed to help her redraft new terms for her contract.

The short, moustachioed man was visibly startled when tears welled in her eyes. Bastien had shortened the twelve-month contract to two, and given her first refusal for any serialised campaigns. She signed the documents, her heart aching.

‘Ana—there you are.’

She turned from the late-afternoon sunlight streaming through the tower window to find Robin Green, the director, behind her.

‘Okay, that forlorn look you were wearing just now is great for when we shoot the scene downstairs, moments before you meet your handsome prince again after seven years apart. But not for the tower scene. Remember—this room is where love finally triumphs. I want radiance, ecstasy, unforgettable passion. Yes?’

She nodded, although deep inside she despaired about how she could pull off everlasting love when her insides were anguished, raw.

All through hair and make-up her mind drifted, wondering where Bastien was, what he was doing. How he was coping with the bombshell she’d thrown into his life.

Her emotions were so on edge a lump rose in her throat when the two security men guarding the Heidecker diamonds stepped forward. The white diamonds selected for the first scene were dazzling. As always, Ana was awed at the beauty of the pieces the Heidecker jewellers had produced. She’d modelled countless pieces of jewellery before, but none as stunning as the award-winning Diamonds by Heidecker collection.

She held her breath as the necklace was fastened. Against the royal blue of her floor-length strapless Dior gown the stones of the diamond collarette set in platinum stood out so vividly even the seasoned make-up artist gave a murmur of appreciation. Matching teardrop earrings went on next.

Xander Bryson took the role of her childhood love, the prince, but the scene they were shooting now required her to play alongside her current lover, on whose arm she was to arrive at a ball.

Robin yelled, ‘Action!’

A limousine rolled forward and the flashes of fake paparazzi cameras erupted as Ana stepped from the car onto the red carpet. Faking sadness came easily. Her actions had permanently scarred the beautiful man who owned her heart, so she immersed herself in her heartache and went with it.

‘That was perfection, Ana,’ Robin gushed. ‘Always a great sign when things go so well on a first take. Keep it up and we’ll have this thing wrapped in three days.’

* * *

Unfortunately the second day went in the opposite direction. Rain disrupted half a day’s shoot, fraying tempers and causing diva fits from Xander.

By the middle of day three Ana’s feet hurt and her whole body was mired in physical and emotional exhaustion. Striking poses for the photographer in charge of taking the stills—a tyrant who hid behind a perfectionist label—wasn’t going as smoothly as the filming had.

She heard the photographer’s annoyed huff one more time and suppressed her own huff. She wanted to scream, to tell him to take his camera and shove it somewhere dark and disturbing.

Swallowing her irritation, she tried another pose.

With another curse the photographer lowered his camera. ‘This isn’t working, Ana. Your shoulders are all hunched up. Relax!’

She gritted her teeth.

‘Think of something evocative...naughty. A lover kissing the back of your neck.’ He smirked.

Heat unfurled in her stomach as the image of Bastien doing exactly that rose in her mind. Her cheeks flushed, her body reacting instantly.

‘Yes! That’s it. Now, look straight into the camera!’

Ana responded to the directive automatically. The shutter clicked several times before she could wipe the look off her face. Shame drenched her as the photographer crooned his approval. Even after she’d lowered her eyes he clicked away.

The minute he took a break she sprang to her feet and rushed out, but the refrain in her head wouldn’t stop.

She loved him.

She loved Bastien.

The knowledge swamped her, wrapped tight around her heart, sent a dizzying wave of warmth through her even as her heart broke with the knowledge that she’d never have him.

Keep it together. Keep it together.

Somehow she made it through the rest of the afternoon and the next day without crumbling into a heap of pathetic hopelessness and bawling her eyes out.

Perhaps Robin was right and she was a natural, because she even managed the passion required for the final tower scene in which her onscreen lover presented her with the Crown Jewel—the signature marquise-cut yellow Heidecker diamond.

By simply closing her eyes and imagining she was kissing Bastien the scene was shot in a single take.

And, best of all, no one knew her heart was breaking into a million little pieces.

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE SHOOT WRAPPED just after midday, only half a day later than scheduled. Ana’s bags were packed, Bastien was gone and she had no right to be here when he returned. She had no intention of sullying the Château D’Or with her presence for longer than necessary.

She was packing away the last of the clothes Bastien had bought her when Xander entered her room and plonked himself on the antique armchair.

‘You’re coming out tonight, right?’

Tatiana had booked an exclusive restaurant and bar in Montreux for the wrap party but Ana had no interest in celebrating. ‘I was thinking of giving it a miss—’

‘No way. You’re the belle of the ball. You don’t go— I don’t go.’

‘Xander—’

‘There won’t be any paps around, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s not.’

His face became unusually thoughtful. ‘Are you worried about those absurd drug charges?’

She froze. In the midst of falling in love with a man she could never have she’d shoved all thoughts of her upcoming trial to the back of her mind. They flooded back now. ‘Absurd or not, they’re real.’

He nodded. ‘Do you have any idea who put the hook into you?’

‘No, but thanks for not assuming I’m guilty.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Please—you go green if anyone so much as mentions taking an aspirin. You could be the poster child for a universal anti-drug campaign.’

‘That doesn’t give me any idea of who did it.’

He eyed her silently for several seconds, making her heart race.

‘Xander...?’

‘I’m not pointing fingers, but perhaps you need to look closer to home for the culprit. And I mean home in the literal sense.’

Her heart lurched. ‘Are you sure?’

He shrugged. ‘All I’m saying is explore that avenue thoroughly.’ He jumped up and pecked her on the cheek. ‘Now, doll yourself up. It’s time to par-tay.’

About to refuse again, she paused.

She was in love with a man she’d wronged beyond forgiveness. In the middle of the night, racked with pain and guilt, she’d toyed with calling Tatiana to find out where he was. In the end she’d decided the best thing to do was to give him his space.

There would be time for nursing her broken heart later. Once she was far away from here.

She’d achieved what she’d set out to do for Bastien—salvage his ad campaign. To cause tongues to wag now would undo all the good she’d done, and refusing to attend the party would do just that.

‘Okay, I’ll come.’

Xander whooped on his way out, his fingers flying over the keyboard of his phone.

She chose a designer outfit that was more of a tunic than a dress. Its large sleeves covered her arms, but the bold, colourful, striped dress stopped at mid-thigh. Hoping it lent her an urgently needed vibrancy, she cinched it with a bronze diamante-studded belt and bronze high heels. Leaving her hair loose, she expertly applied her make-up and headed downstairs.

The trip to Montreux took less than half an hour.

The Hotel Suisse’s Belle Epoque private dining suite had been reserved exclusively for their use. Appreciative murmurs went through a crowd who, even used to working in an industry of blatant wealth, weren’t used to such extravagance.

Ana tried to feel joy in her surroundings but failed miserably. Desolation crashed over her, closely followed by the pain she felt every time she thought of Bastien.

She loved him. He would never love her.

But, with time, would he love another? Jealousy, hot and fierce, seared her at the thought of him married, perhaps raising children with another woman. By the time that happened—please God—she’d be at the opposite end of the earth with no access to newspapers or television. Because Ana didn’t think she could stand it. She couldn’t stand thinking about it now—

‘Hey, Ana, my Twitter fans are asking about you. You want to say something to them?’ Xander shoved his phone under her nose.

She froze, the familiar wave of shame gripping her as she stared at the phone.

‘Type in any message you want.’

She took the phone and carefully typed in five letters, feeling a quiet sense of triumph when she succeeded. Xander looked at the screen.

‘“Hello”? That’s all you’re going to say to two million fans? Try something sexy and scandalous!’

‘I seriously advise against that if you want to keep working for me, Mr Bryson.’

Ana’s head snapped up at the sound of the deep voice. Bastien stood behind her, his suit jacket hooked over one shoulder, his eyes boring into hers. He looked tired, his face drawn. But no less heartbreakingly gorgeous.

Her insides performed a slow somersault, then kicked her heart into her throat. She wanted to jump to her feet, rush to him, throw herself into his arms. But she remained seated, frozen, even as her heart soared to giddy heights.

Reaching forward, he removed Xander’s phone from her nerveless fingers and tossed it back to him.

A seat miraculously materialised next to her.

He sat. ‘Bon soir, Ana.’

His tone was neutral, his face the impassive mask she’d hoped never to see again. ‘H-Hi,’ she managed to stutter. ‘How was your trip?’

His gaze imprisoned hers. ‘Illuminating. And very necessary.’

Charged silence gripped the table. Someone pressed a champagne glass into Bastien’s hand. Conversation resumed at a much more frenzied pace than before.

Jumbled thoughts flitted through her head—the uppermost being that Bastien was back. She fidgeted, her heart simultaneously aching and lifting with joy every time she looked at him.

He held up a hand for silence in the room. ‘Robin tells me the shoot was a success. I saw the final cut on my way here and I concur. You all deserve praise for a job well done.’

A cheer went up.

‘We’re going next door to the club. You coming?’ Xander asked amid the high-spirited chatter.

‘No, we’re not,’ Bastien answered, his voice low but forceful. ‘We’re leaving.’

Goodbyes were exchanged. Before Ana could draw breath she was in the back of Bastien’s limo, speeding away from the hotel. Silence throbbed for several minutes as the car took them back to the château.

‘Any reason you didn’t want to go to the club?’ she asked, to fill the silence.

His jaw clenched for an infinitesimal moment before he released a breath. ‘I don’t want to go another day without things being settled between us. But we can go if you really want to?’

Deep apprehension filled her heart. ‘Um. No, thanks.’

He merely nodded and returned his gaze to the window. Another five minutes passed. Ana clamped her hands in her lap, hoping to stop their shaking. Her inner quaking she could do nothing about.

‘Bastien...’ she started, not knowing what to say but knowing she had to say something.

He shook his head. ‘Not here. We’ll talk when we get home.’

Home.

Ana was sure he hadn’t realised his slip, but the Château D’Or had become home to her—in a frighteningly short space of time. It was where she’d discovered love and passion. The place where she’d experienced Bastien’s kindness and generosity. It was also the place where, given the chance, she hoped to beg his forgiveness.

The car swung through the wide, imposing gates and she finally recognised the foreboding she’d felt the first time she’d passed through them for what it was. Fate—knowing what was in store for her—had been preparing her for the phenomenon of falling in love. She hoped Fate would be equally kind in granting her a chance to make things right with Bastien.

The car drew to a stop at the foot of the château’s steps. Bastien helped her out, then immediately moved away.

‘I have a quick phone call to make. I’ll come and find you shortly.’

Not what she’d expected, but she could hardly complain. Summoning a smile, she nodded and watched him walk away, the sight of his imposing shoulders, his sleek body, balm to her starving, wounded heart.

She drifted aimlessly from room to room, her mind and her emotions churning. Ending up in the tower room, amidst the last of the filming equipment, Ana cast her mind over that last scene.

After years of living in an emotional vacuum her character had been reunited with her one true love, their commitment cemented by the symbol of love he’d carried with him for years—the priceless diamond.

Dared she tempt the fates and hope that fantasy would become reality? The diamond she could do without. All she wanted was for Bastien to—

‘There you are.’

The rumble of his voice stopped her wishful thoughts. He came forward, and her heart clenched tighter at the look on his face.

* * *

‘I wasn’t sure whether you wanted a drink or not.’ Bastien held out a glass of wine and watched her walk towards him.

His senses roared to life at the sight of her. The four days he’d been away felt like a lifetime. A lifetime during which the fear that he could lose Ana had been a living thing inside him.

For the first few hours after he’d arrived on his parents’ doorstep he’d remained in shocked limbo, reliving the bleak memory of Ana walking away from him over and over. Ironic that the one place he’d striven to stay away from all these years had been the one place where he’d been able to find answers that might help him win back the woman he loved.

‘I...I’m glad you’re back.’

He focused on her, drank her in, imprinted her on his senses. Tried not to reach for her. ‘Are you?’ He needed to be sure.

Watching the rough cut of the ad campaign on the plane, especially that final take filmed in this room, had lodged a heavy stone in his gut.

His rational mind knew it was acting. But watching Ana in the arms of another man had been...difficult. Difficult? It had been hell!

It had also brutally brought home to him that everything had changed. He was no longer detached, no longer able to hold his feelings at bay.

Their pasts were inextricably linked. And, as much as he’d fought it before, he wanted their futures to be linked too.

All he knew was that he wanted Ana. No. It was more than that. He yearned for her. Against everything he’d fought against...every precaution he’d taken...he’d fallen under her spell. And he was ready to fight hard and dirty if need be.

‘Robin tells me you came up with most of the ideas for the ad campaign. That the slogan—“Diamonds by Heidecker...for the Woman Worth Waiting For”—was your idea. Why didn’t you tell me?’

Surprise lit her face, followed by a blush. One shoulder lifted in a shrug. ‘Because it wasn’t. Not entirely, anyway. I just came up with the idea to make it into a...a meaningful story rather than just another run-of-the-mill depiction of a woman wearing expensive diamonds.’

‘“A meaningful story”? You mean a romantic story.’

Her chin tilted. ‘What’s wrong with that? It works, or you wouldn’t have given it your seal of approval.’

‘I like the idea. What I don’t like is the subterfuge.’

A glimmer of hurt crossed her face. ‘There’s no subterfuge, Bastien.’

‘I didn’t see your name anywhere on the script. So someone else is taking the credit for your idea.’

She shrugged. ‘It really is no big deal, Bastien.’

He stepped closer, drawn like a moth to a seductive flame. ‘It is to me. It should be to you. Fight for what you’re owed.’

She licked her lips. ‘Why?’

‘I don’t like the thought of someone taking advantage of you.’

‘Are you putting yourself up as my protector?’

‘Would that be so bad?’ he asked.

Her breath caught. Bastien stared down at her, words crowding his brain. She stared back, her brown eyes deep, probing, breathtaking. Every breath, every nerve, every sinew clamoured for her. He wanted to pull her to him, to feel the soft suppleness of her body against his, to hear her breathe his name.

‘Thank you for hiring the lawyer for me.’

‘It was nothing less than you deserve. I’ll always look out for you.’

Her eyes widened. ‘What are you saying, Bastien?’

‘Do you know where I’ve been these past few days?’

She shook her head.

‘I went to see my parents,’ he said. ‘I drove through the night to Gstaad. We had a long talk.’

A wave of pain darted over her face as she gazed up at him. He forced his free hand into his pocket to stop himself caressing the shadows from her face. Deep inside him something twisted, because he knew her pain was for him.

‘How...how did it go?’

Bastien tried to will away the pain of that confrontation, tried not to remember the emotion that had clogged in his chest at his father’s remorse—‘My weakness destroyed this family...you practically had to raise yourself...forgive me...’

‘It was difficult. There’s been so much blame, so much bitterness. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but the time was long overdue to deal with the past. To make things right with my father. To make things right with you.’ And with the mother he’d discovered cared deeply for him after all.

Ana thrust her glass on to a nearby surface and came closer, her eyes imploring. ‘Bastien, please believe me. I had no idea what sort of pills they were or I’d have never—’ Her voice broke.

Unable to stop himself, he reached for her. ‘You have to stop blaming yourself, Ana. I don’t blame you for that. Neither do my parents. You need to get past that and forgive yourself or we can’t move on.’

Tears glistened in her eyes. Her hand fluttered up, almost touched his, but then veered away to rest against her throat. ‘Move on? What are you saying?’

‘I’m saying the past has overshadowed our lives for long enough. My father has his faults, but he’s more than made up for them these last sixteen years. I didn’t want to see it because I’ve been locked away in that cold gazebo all this time. It took your daring me to break me free. As for my mother...’ He sighed. ‘She knew the pills you gave her weren’t headache pills.’

Her eyes widened. ‘She knew?’

He gave a grim nod. ‘She didn’t go to Verbier with the intention of taking her own life. And she called my father within minutes of taking the pills. So there’s really nothing to forgive you for. Sometimes in the midst of deep trauma you forget the important things. I forgot that for a long time she shielded me from my father’s behaviour. I think that’s why it didn’t make sense that she would try and take her own life. I lost sight of that, but spending time with her reminded me. I think we’ve all paid enough, don’t you?’

Her nod was shaky. Almost as shaky as he felt, standing there, so close to her, every nerve screeching at him to reach for her.

In the end he decided not to fight it.

‘I missed you,’ he said simply. ‘Did you miss me?’

‘I— Yes!’

He gathered her close, kissed her. And everything fell away.

As conversation-stoppers went it was extremely effective. Ana fell into the kiss with the reckless abandon of a skydiver jumping out of a plane.

Except for her there was no parachute. But right at that moment she didn’t care. She had Bastien in her arms, his fierce heart beating underneath her fingertips. The fall would come later. Without Bastien’s love it would hurt. But for now she would glory in the flight.

By the time he’d carried her from the tower room down the stairs to his suite and kicked the door shut, Ana felt delirious with need. Frantically, she tore at his clothes.

‘Patience, cherie,’ he husked in her ear, before nipping her earlobe.

A deep shudder raked through her. ‘I...I can’t. I need you,’ she gasped.

He stilled her frantic hands, kissing them before bringing them to her sides. ‘And you will have me,’ he vowed heatedly. ‘But first let me undress you.’

His eyes on hers, he released the catch in her belt and dropped it. Then he sank onto his knees. His hands traced her hips, her delicate pelvic bones, squeezed her bottom. Ana moaned, reaching out to steady herself on his broad shoulders as his fingers explored the bare flesh of her thighs. Her whole body hid a morass of sensitive nerve-endings she’d never known existed.

Take the skin above the back of her knees, for instance. Who knew Bastien’s hand lingering there could cause her to cry out in pleasure? Or the mid point between her calf and her ankle? He seemed to know her body better than she did.

By the time he eased her feet from her heels she could barely stand. Her dress came off in a rustle of silk. She stood before him in a thong and matching bra.

Eyes the colour of molten steel raked over her. ‘I was a fool to say I only wanted one night with you,’ he rasped, one hand moving around her to snap the catch of her bra. It tumbled to the ground, unheeded.

‘Why?’ she croaked.

‘Because one night would never be enough, ma belle Ana.’ He rose and caught her in his arms, locking one hand in her hair to tilt her face to his. ‘Never enough.’

He rained kisses all over her face, his mouth almost worshipful. Nonetheless those kisses lit fires wherever they touched, making her senses whirl with desire and, yes, love. What had happened before she’d discovered her feelings had been sex.

This, for her, was making love.

She touched him, revelled in his growl of pleasure when she encountered bare skin. It took a moment for her to realise he was naked; that she was lying on top of him in his bed. The heavy throb of his erection against her belly sent a surge of need through her. She wanted him to fill her body, to fill her heart.

But first she wanted to explore him the way she’d never had the chance to before. Freeing herself from his kiss, Ana kissed along his jaw, nipped the tight flesh. His breath exploded from his lungs, his hands tightening on her back as she kissed her way down his throat, his deep chest. His flat, washboard stomach clenched as her lips and hands worshipped him.

Finally, heart thumping in her throat, Ana felt him against her cheek. She glanced up. Bastien’s gaze seared her, an untamed desperation in its depths that caused her blood to surge faster through her veins. Unable to deny herself, she closed her hand over him. His whole body jerked as she stroked him, a deep groan rumbling through his chest and filling the room with arousing sound.

‘Ana...’ Her name was part plea, part warning.

Daringly, and because she knew the alpha male in Bastien wouldn’t let her have this freedom for long, she closed her mouth over him. Ana wasn’t sure whether the moan was hers or his. But the feel of him in her mouth, on her tongue, sent her to another level of pleasure so intense she felt her clitoris throb with renewed force.

His gaze broke from hers, his head rearing back as he sucked in a long, harsh breath. Blindly, he reached out and plucked a condom off the bedside table. Strong hands reached for her, pulled her up and flipped her underneath him. His mouth smashed down on hers, tinged with a desperation that bordered on cruel.

He surged inside her with one long stroke, his arm under her hip to hold her still for his complete possession.

Tears gathered behind her closed lids as pleasure rode higher and higher.

When the gathering force of her climax drew closer Ana opened her eyes. Bastien stared down at her, his eyes darker than they’d ever been. Emotion swirled through them, but none she could fathom through the sensational rollercoaster she rode.

It gripped her, surged higher, until Ana knew she couldn’t hold back.

‘I love you.’ She gave up the words that screamed through her soul.

Blank shock covered his face before he closed his eyes and breathed deep. Then, leaning down, he claimed her mouth in another searing kiss, moments before bliss overtook them both. As they slowly returned to reality he gathered her close and breathed strangled, unfathomable words in her ear.

Long after Bastien fell asleep Ana lay awake, desperately trying to stem the fear that she’d just let herself in for a whole load of heartbreak by admitting her feelings.

Deep inside she knew they’d come a long way from sixteen years ago.

What terrified her was that Bastien would never take that last step into love.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

‘BASTIEN, I’M NOT SURE what’s going on here.’

‘What’s going on is that I want you. You want me too. Stay with me.’

Ana replayed their simple yet life-changing morning-after conversation as she rose from the bed and walked towards the log fire in the luxurious log cabin Bastien had brought her to in Chamonix.

She had been like a prisoner granted a last-minute stay of execution, and her ecstatic, ‘Yes!’ had been lost beneath the onslaught of his hungry kisses.

He’d flown them here by helicopter and that ‘yes’ had echoed throughout the passing days. They spent the mornings skiing and doing her lessons. More than once his patience and gentle attention had brought tears to her eyes. The afternoons, evenings and long nights were spent making love in front of the roaring fire.

A deep blush stung her cheeks as she recalled Bastien asking if she now had a favourite position. She’d felt decidedly wanton as she’d demonstrated which position brought her the most pleasure.

‘I can see your blush from here.’

He stood in the bathroom doorway, naked except for the towel he was using on his wet hair.

‘It’s the fire,’ she responded, unable to stop her eyes devouring his perfect male form. He dropped the towel and strode towards her. His teasing grin stopped her heart moments before it began to thunder when he captured her mouth in a slow, devastating kiss.

‘Yes, it must be. Because you’re all hot and bothered.’ His smile deepened.

‘I’m not bothered,’ she answered feebly as his hands closed over her breasts. His thumbs played over her nipples. Ana swayed towards him, helpless against the drowning rush of love.

But that love was tainted with a niggle of fear that wouldn’t go away, a fear that her love would never be fully returned. Sure, he worshipped her body with an intensity that took her breath away, but her confession of love had never been returned. And she’d begun to notice his shuttered expression each time she confessed it.

The need to ask him hovered on her lips as he took her in his arms. Gathering her courage, she leaned back and looked into his eyes.

‘Bastien...’

He rested his forehead against hers. ‘Unless we want to be trapped here for the next few days we really must leave now.’

Heavy snow had been forecast, and while the thought of being snowed in with Bastien for the foreseeable future held intense appeal, the spectre of her trial loomed.

They hadn’t talked about it, but it was there at the back of her mind, growing larger with each passing day.

‘Hey, you’re biting your lip again. What’s wrong?’

‘It’s nothing.’ She tried to step away from him, but he held on to her.

Tender fingers brushed her cheek. ‘It’s not nothing. Tell me.’

Deciding to shelve the matter troubling her heart for now, in favour of the matter in her mind, she murmured, ‘It’s the trial. I’m scared.’

He pulled her closer and sealed her lips with a gentle kiss. ‘I didn’t want to jump the gun until I was absolutely sure, but I heard from my investigators a couple of days ago.’

Alarm spiked through her. ‘And?’

‘It’s not your mother,’ he replied.

A burden she hadn’t even known she carried was lifted off her shoulders as relief swamped her. The tears that seemed to hover close to the surface of her emotions nowadays prickled her eyes.

‘Thank you for telling me.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘You must think I’m hugely irrational when it comes to Lily. But she’s been texting me the last few days.’ She’d received many texts from her mother, the last one with a request to see Ana when she returned to London. ‘If we can salvage something from our messy relationship...’

‘I don’t think you’re irrational. It’s difficult to believe the worst of a parent. And I think we both know what can be salvaged from messy relationships,’ he replied.

His voice was solemn, but Ana noticed it contained none of the hard edge of before.

‘As for the trial—my investigators will know who the culprit is very shortly. Don’t worry about it. Whatever happens I’ll protect you, Ana. I promise you.’

Her heart lurched at his words. She paused, then decided to come clean. ‘I’m not dead certain, but I think it’s Simone.’

His mouth compressed and his arms tightened around her. ‘So do I. My people are tracking some video camera footage. We’ll have an answer soon. I’m sorry.’

She’d refused to accept that Simone would stoop to such levels, but when she let herself really think about it something about her roommate’s perpetual giddy state rang false.

She nodded, her heart sick with sadness. ‘I need to go back to London.’

‘We’ll go together.’

Joy flared inside her, but she was too afraid to give it full flight. Despite the certainty that they’d put the past behind them, that all the old wounds had been cauterised, Ana couldn’t get past the feeling that Bastien might never love her as she loved him. She’d still take being with him over losing him completely, but she needed some head space to get her heart to accept it.

‘I can do this on my own. You don’t have to come with me.’

He trailed a hand down her cheek, then winked at her. ‘Did you forget that where you go, I go? After all, I still have to ensure you don’t abscond the minute my back is turned.’

She quirked a brow and attempted a smile despite the lingering ache in her heart. ‘You left me for almost a week and I was there when you got back.’

He sobered. ‘Oui, you were. And I can’t express how much that meant to me.’

She rose on tiptoe, helplessly pressing her lips against his.

With a groan he deepened the kiss, momentarily silencing her doubts.

Bastien’s feeling were deep enough...

When he lifted his head, glanced at the clock and imperiously announced that they had some time after all, she let herself melt into him.

* * *

‘Wake up, cherie, we’re here,’ a deep voice murmured in her ear.

Ana prised herself away from where she’d fallen asleep on Bastien’s shoulder on the way from the airport.

She straightened and glanced out of her window at a grey and gloomy London. After surrendering her heart to the Château D’Or, the two-bedroom maisonette she shared with Simone in South London looked dismal and almost alien. It would never be home to her again.

The driver pulled up on the kerb. Bastien started to open the door. She stayed him with a hand on his arm.

‘Do you mind if I do this on my own?’

His eyes held an admiration she allowed herself to bask in for a moment.

‘Bien. I’ll go and make myself useful in the office for a while. Call me when you’re done.’

She nodded. ‘I may be a while. Lily’s coming over in an hour, then I need to pack warmer clothes.’

He smiled and reached out to caress her nape. ‘Keep those risqué jeans, cherie. I’ve grown quite fond of them.’

She laughed. ‘I’ll consider it,’ she replied, then leaned in to him for a deep kiss.

That niggling voice rose again, cautioning her against falling harder without hope of having her feelings returned. Feebly, she pushed it away.

When he pulled back his eyes were dark and his expression intense. ‘You have three hours, then I’m coming for you.’ He thrust the door open and helped her out.

Stepping into the frigid air, she pulled her coat around her and held her smile till Bastien’s limo was out of view. Dragging her suitcase behind her, she unlocked the front door, dread eating away at her stomach as she entered the flat.

Simone sat cross-legged on the sofa, with Ana’s laptop—which she’d bought solely for working on her lessons—balanced on her legs. She was so engrossed in whatever she was doing that it took her a moment to notice Ana in the doorway.

Shock rounded her eyes. ‘Ana—I had no idea you were coming back today!’

Ana propped her case by the door and dropped her handbag on the coffee table in the small living room. ‘How do you know the password to my laptop?’ she asked, her throat drying. The combination was the date she’d met Bastien, known only to her.

Simone shrugged. ‘You must have told me when I borrowed it before.’

Heart hammering, she stepped closer and noticed Simone’s overbright eyes and agitated breathing. ‘No, I didn’t. I’m sure of it.’

Her roommate laughed but the sound was skewed. ‘What are you saying? That I’m a liar?’

Ana clenched her fists and breathed deep. ‘I know, Simone.’

Simone’s eyes narrowed. ‘Know what?’ she demanded, shoving the laptop aside to stand up.

‘The drugs. I know it was you.’

Several expressions chased over Simone’s face before it settled into pure malice. ‘You can’t prove it.’

Ana sighed. ‘Yes, I can. You made sure you were out of sight of the nightclub’s cameras when you put the drugs in my bag but you forgot that it was your birthday—everyone wanted a picture of you, whether you were aware of it or not.’

A flash of fear widened the other woman’s eyes but the malice remained. ‘You’re lying! I was careful...’

‘Not careful enough. What I want to know is why?’

Simone rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, get off your high horse! Everyone does drugs—but you’re too good for the rest of us. You won’t even take painkillers when you have a headache. Truthfully, I didn’t want to do it. Top-class drugs like that are expensive. But I was warned there might be a raid and—’ She froze. ‘Are you recording this?’

‘Excuse me?’

Simone bared her teeth and snapped her fingers. ‘Oh, yes—you wouldn’t know how, would you? Because you can’t read.’

Ice dredged Ana’s insides and her gaze went to the laptop. Sure enough, the file holding her lessons was open, along with the phonetic program that went with it.

Anger overcoming the icy dread, she rushed to the sofa and snatched up the laptop. ‘How dare you—?’

‘Don’t bother denying it, Ana.’

Ana stared at her. ‘Were you going to let me go to jail for something you did?’

Simone shrugged. ‘Why not? Everything comes so easy to you—the contracts, the private jets, the billionaire boyfriend. Does he know, by the way?’

That disturbing thread of doubt reared its head again. ‘Yes, he knows. He’s okay with it.’

Surprise mingled with fear on Simone’s face but she quickly regrouped. ‘Yeah, keep telling yourself that. I’m not owning up to the drugs thing. I’ll tell everyone you were in on it. It’ll be your word against mine. You think his company will survive another scandal? Especially if you remain his girlfriend?’

‘Forget it, Simone. I’m not going to jail for you,’ Ana said, despite her heart thundering with a different kind of fear as Simone backed towards the door.

Her roommate ran out of the room. A few minutes later Ana heard the front door slam. She wasn’t worried about Simone getting away. Bastien had told her that the police had been alerted and his own investigators were tracking her.

Bastien...

The knock on the door made her jump.

Her stomach twisted at the thought that it might be Bastien even as her heart thrilled at seeing him again. Swallowing, she opened the door.

Her mother was dressed from top to toe in white vintage Chanel, her face perfectly made-up and her hair twisted in an impeccable bun.

Mingled desolation and pain scythed through Ana. Stepping forward, she let her mother in. ‘Hello, Lily.’

Everything she’d thought she’d heard in her mother’s voice recently was reflected in Lily’s face, albeit warily.

‘You look distressed. What’s wrong? Is it...? Do you want me to leave?’

Ana shook her head. ‘No, it’s not you. I’ve just found out who planted the drugs.’ She quickly summarised her conversation with Simone, then glanced at her mother as she accepted her halting commiserations. ‘What’s going on, Lily? You seem...different.’

Her mother’s laugh was strained as she followed Ana into the living room. ‘You mean less of the nightmare you grew up with?’

Ana shrugged. ‘Your words, not mine.’

For the first time in her life Lily seemed nervous. ‘I...I started a drug rehabilitation programme last month. One of the steps in the programme is making amends. I wish I could say that I didn’t need a bullet point on a piece of paper to make me realise I’ve been the worst mother in the world to you. I just... Once I started down that destructive path I didn’t know how to make things right.’ She stopped and firmed her trembling mouth.

Ana closed her own gaping mouth and stared at her mother, hope spreading its wings again. ‘I...I don’t know what to say.’

‘Please say you’ll give me a chance? That you won’t write me off completely?’

Ana’s heart squeezed and she blinked back tears. ‘I won’t write you off.’

Her mother’s sigh of relief was audible. ‘I don’t deserve it, but thank you.’ She fidgeted, glanced around, then eyed the suitcase by the door. ‘Are you going away again?’

‘Yes, Bastien will be here in an hour. What?’ Her insides jerked at the wary flicker in Lily’s eyes.

‘I spoke to Philippe two days ago.’

‘Bastien’s father?’

Lily nodded, her blue eyes darkening with pain. ‘Part of the making amends process... Couldn’t be avoided. Ana, he told me about Bastien’s visit.’

‘Yes, Bastien went to see them. I think we’re all ready to put the past behind us—’ She stopped when her mother shook her head.

‘I really hope for all our sakes that’s true, but Philippe is worried about Bastien. He thinks he’s carrying a lot of hurt from sixteen years ago. I’m sorry, I know you have feelings for him, but I want you to be careful.’

Don’t confuse love with sex or duty...

The voice was a loud clamour in her head and in her heart. And, try as she might, Ana couldn’t stem the growing fear that she was indeed jumping without a parachute.

‘I really hope you find joy and happiness where I sowed only pain, and I don’t want to see you hurt.’

Lily’s eyes bored into hers with a look Ana had thought she’d never see from her mother.

Affection.

Her throat clogged and she stood. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.’

Her mother rose too. ‘That was the other thing I came to tell you. I’ve re-signed with Lauren. Apparently there’s still hope for modelling work for women of a certain age. If you need me to stay on as your manager...’

Ana shook her head. ‘No, I’m giving up modelling. I’m hoping to work with Papá for a while.’

Lily’s eyes clouded over with tears. ‘Your father is next on my list.’

Ana stepped forward and grabbed her mother’s hand, swallowing a sob when hers was caught in a tight hold. ‘I’m proud of you...Mother.’

Lily hugged her tight, then moved back. ‘Call me...when you get to wherever you’re going.’

The moment her mother left Ana sagged numbly onto the sofa, her gaze frozen in the middle distance.

Her mother had inadvertently confirmed her worst fears—that she was looking for love where none existed. Bastien had shown her gentleness and consideration. He’d made love to her as if she was the most precious thing in his life. But the fear that he’d never take the next step and love her was one she could no longer deny.

Her phone buzzed. Willing her heavy limbs to move, she fetched it from her bag.

It’s B. R u OK?

Tears filled her eyes. She was willing to bet Bastien had never sent an abbreviated text in his life. That he was bending to accommodate her touched her heart even as it cracked painfully.

Wiping her tears with the back of her hand, she activated her keypad and carefully typed in: Yes. C u in 1 hr

Fingers shaking, she closed the application and turned off her phone. Pain twisted like potent poison inside her. Giving in to the raw anguish, she burst into tears, her soul ripping into a million little pieces.

She wasn’t sure how long she stayed on the sofa. It might have been close to an hour but it felt like an eternity. When she had no more tears left she slowly rose, grabbed her suitcase, went into her room and upended the contents onto her bed. On automatic, she refilled it with sensible, everyday clothes. The rest of her things she’d arrange to be packed and put into storage when she could think straight.

She blanked her mind to the fact that she would never see Bastien again, never feel the intensity of his lovemaking or feel the gentleness afterwards when he cradled her in his arms.

The pain of their violent separation would come later...when she was miles away.

But she’d come too far, been through too much, to settle for a life without love. They’d bared so much to each other in the past few days. Surely if Bastien loved her he’d have told her by now? Recalling his silence when she’d confessed her love, she bit back a dry sob and heaved her case off the bed. She retrieved her bag and laptop from the living room, breathing a sigh of relief that she still had her passport.

Taking one last look at the flat, she headed for the door.

The travel agents were a few minutes’ walk away. Ana entered the building and came out fifteen minutes later, clutching a plane ticket.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

BASTIEN’S TEETH GRITTED together as he fought to remain calm—fought against the primal urge to roar against the pain that ripped through him every time he thought of Ana.

He felt weak, debilitated, as if struck down by some alien disease. Even his heart wasn’t sure whether to beat fast or slow, so it alternated between the two, constantly robbing him of breath. He thought of what he’d do when he found her. First he’d kiss her, and then he’d shake her until he got an answer. Then kiss her again—

He heard laughter as he approached the dusty, dilapidated trailer in the middle of the Colombian jungle. Familiar female laughter. His heart thundered and the surge of joy through his veins was so thrilling, the knowledge that he’d found her at last so heady, he smiled before he could stop himself.

Mon Dieu...three long weeks he’d searched for her.

The deep male voice that joined in the laughter stopped Bastien dead in his tracks. There was a man in there...with Ana. His Ana.

He wrenched at the door before his thoughts coalesced. It refused to budge. He smashed his fist against the frame.

The laughter ceased.

‘Open this door, Ana. Now!’

Footsteps drew closer. Before the latch had turned fully he wrenched it open.

She was dressed. That was the first thing Bastien made sure of the moment he saw her. She was dressed—albeit in the tiniest pair of shorts known to man and a halter-necked top so threadbare it was almost see-through.

‘Bastien! What are you doing here?’

Her slack-jawed astonishment drew his gaze to her mouth—a mouth he hadn’t tasted for what seemed like a lifetime. Hunger pounded through him, its fierce bite instant and relentless.

He ignored it, his gaze moving to the man who rose from the chair near the window. A tall, lanky man with long brown hair dressed in a distinctly hippy-type outfit.

‘Who the hell are you?’

His snarl made the other man’s eyes widen. Bastien’s satisfaction wasn’t great, but it was welcome nonetheless. Ana’s horrified gasp barely registered because he was busy devising ways to break the other man’s limbs.

‘Bastien, you have no right to speak to my guest like that.’

He extended a hand. ‘Bastien Heidecker. Apologies for my rudeness. And you are...?’

Before the other man could answer Ana stepped up beside him. ‘Adam is my tutor.’

‘Tutor?’ Belatedly Bastien saw the books spread over a small table by the window.

‘We were just discussing the Tudors and Henry VIII’s fondness for excess,’ Adam offered.

Any emerging regret for his rudeness towards Adam immediately evaporated when Bastien saw the way he smiled at Ana. Every muscle in his body tightened at the adoration in the man’s eyes.

He bared his teeth. ‘If I’m not mistaken, Henry also had an extreme fondness for beheading.’

Taut silence settled in the trailer. Adam cleared his throat. ‘I’ll...er...leave you two alone.’

The door had barely shut before he reached for her. ‘Are you sleeping with him?’

The need to know burned a wide and jagged path through him, although at the back of his mind he asked himself how he’d handle it if she said yes.

‘What? Are you serious—?’

He plunged his mouth down on hers, firstly to shut her up, but mostly because his need had become so gut-wrenching he couldn’t think straight.

Her mouth opened up beneath his. His senses sang as he renewed his acquaintance with the potency of her kiss. He folded her into his arms, his hands rediscovering the exquisite curves he’d dreamed about day and night for endless weeks. Her soft breasts pressed into his chest, their heavy weight and hardened peaks a reminder of all he’d desperately missed.

He’d barely scratched the surface of his hunger before she pushed him away.

‘You didn’t answer me. What are you doing here?’

He stepped back and raked a hand through his hair. ‘What the hell do you think? You left me without an explanation after you texted that you’d see me in an hour. An hour, Ana. It’s been three weeks!’

‘I know how long it’s been,’ she muttered.

‘Tell me why? What did I do?’

Ana stared at him, standing so tall, proud and heartbreakingly gorgeous. Weeks of restless nights when her dreams had been so vivid that on waking to find she’d only been dreaming she’d burst into tears more than once didn’t do justice to the reality of him. And, even though his face lacked some of the vitality she loved, he was still the most magnificent man in the world.

A magnificent man who would never return her love.

She turned away.

‘You didn’t do anything, Bastien. It was me.’

Bastien stopped himself from reaching for her again, compelling her to look at him. ‘Whatever it is, tell me. I can take it.’ A blatant lie. He wouldn’t be able to take it if she rejected him.

A delicate frown creased her forehead. He wanted to smooth it away, to touch her once more. Her skin had darkened in the Colombian sun, making her more alluring if that was possible. Her beauty enthralled him, made him want to kneel at her feet in worship. But he needed to keep his wits about him. Needed to stay sane. Because he was fighting for his life. Fighting for the woman he loved above anything else in his life.

Her tongue snuck out to wet her lips. ‘What we had was great but it wasn’t enough. I’m sorry.’

His vision frayed and he gripped the back of the chair. ‘What are you talking about?’

Her finger traced a delicate path on the rickety table. ‘I want more.’

‘I will give you more. Just tell me how.’

She stared at him for a few heartbeats, then her lids descended, her lush lashes shielding her eyes from him. Unable to stand not touching her, Bastien moved and tucked her hair behind one ear. Her breath caught.

‘Bastien, I can’t tell you how to feel. If you don’t already feel it...you’re better off without me—’

‘No, I’m nothing without you! What we had... Ana, it was the closest thing to heaven that I’ve ever known.’ Her eyes widened. Bastien fell deeper, even as his desperation grew. ‘I don’t know why you left but you told me you loved me once. I hope that one day you’ll love me again—the way I love you.’

Ana’s heart stopped, somersaulted, and then banged with crazy abandon against her chest. She told herself it was the heat in the cabin that made her light-headed, but hope told her it was something else.

‘You love me?’

Bastien nodded. ‘Oui. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you love me again—’

‘I never stopped.’

‘You never—’

‘No, and you never told me how you felt.’

He grimaced. ‘I did. You’re the love of my life, Ana, amour de mon coeur.’ He repeated the words he’d first said three weeks ago.

Her eyes widened as recognition dawned.

‘I felt safer saying it in French because I was a fool and thought that way I wasn’t risking everything.’ He gathered her closer. ‘But I aim to say it in every language there is—starting with English. I love you, ma belle Ana.’

Her heart soared. When he gathered her close she didn’t resist. His kiss was hungry, demanding, possessive. And she loved it. He backed her onto the tiny cot she slept on and came down over her.

‘Here?’

‘Have mercy on a poor man, Ana. I’ve been without you for three long weeks. I can’t take another single moment without you.’

Her sigh of pleasure was all the answer he needed to continue.

Later, in the equally tiny shower cubicle, he pulled her wet hair to one side and washed her back. Although there was more kissing than washing. Not that Ana was complaining.

‘Marry me,’ he muttered against her shoulder.

Ana froze. ‘No. You can’t want to marry me.’

His head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. ‘Credit me with knowing my own mind, mon coeur. I love you. I wish to spend the rest of my life with you. Marriage is the next natural step. Ana, I would be proud to have you by my side every day for the rest of my life. You’ve forged your way successfully through life and I’m proud of everything you’ve achieved. I would be even prouder to call you my wife.’ A touch of vulnerable pain clouded his eyes. ‘Why did you leave me, Ana?’

‘I thought you didn’t love me. After everything we’d been through, I thought if you loved me you’d have told me. When you didn’t...’

His eyes turned smoky. ‘I will tell you every day how much I adore you. And if that doesn’t work I have a few aces up my sleeve.’

‘Oh, really?’ Her smile felt as if it would split her face as she moved into his arms.

‘Really.’ He grinned, then sobered. ‘I met your father an hour ago. He grilled me thoroughly before he showed me where your trailer was. I think I passed his potential son-in-law test. But if that doesn’t work... Remember the tower room the night I got back?’

Intrigued, she nodded. ‘One of the crew members had left a camera on. It recorded our conversation, but more importantly it recorded you melting into my arms, kissing me like I owned your soul.’

‘You do. But blackmail, Bastien? Seriously?’

He grinned. ‘Not as powerful as a sex tape, but I’ll use whatever ammunition I have so you’ll never leave me again.’ He sobered. ‘You’ve believed in yourself, thrived despite all the setbacks you’ve received. Take this last step, mon amour. Marry me.’

‘I can’t. Not yet. I’ve signed up with my father’s programme. I need to stay in Colombia for two years.’

He merely shrugged. ‘Then I’ll stay with you. I can work from anywhere in the world.’

‘But—’

‘Marry me,’ he repeated, his purposeful tone making her heart soar. ‘Let me stay here with you. You can teach me Spanish as we pick through the bones and I’ll teach you whatever you need to learn. Of course that means I will resume tutoring you. Adam will have to go.’

Tears filled her eyes. ‘I love you, mi corazón. Of course I’ll be your wife.’

His kiss was long and deep. When he lifted his head the emotion in his eyes moved her soul. ‘I don’t deserve you, Ana.’

‘But you’ve got me all the same. You’re mine and I’m yours. Siempre.’

‘For ever.’

* * * * *

At the Count’s Bidding

“Come here.” Giancarlo’s voice was a rasp, thick and hot, and it moved through her like joy.

Paige obeyed him, and this time she was happy to do it. She walked toward him, reveling in the way her blood pounded through her and her skin seemed to shrink a size, too tight across her bones. Because he could call this revenge. He could talk about hatred and penance. But it was still the same thick madness that felt like a rope around her neck. It was still the same inexorable pull.

It was still them.

He took her mouth like he was already deep inside her. Like he was thrusting hard and driving them both toward that glimmering edge. It was more than wild, more than carnal. He bent her back over her own arms, pressing her breasts into the flat planes of his chest, and he simply possessed her with a ruthless sort of fury that set every part of her aflame.

She thrilled to his boldness, his shocking mastery. The glorious taste of him she’d pined for all these years. The sheer rightness.

Paige kissed him back desperately, deeply, forgetting about the games they played. Forgetting about penance, about trust. Forgetting her betrayal and his fury. She didn’t care what he wanted from her, or how he planned to hurt her, or anything at all but this.

This.

USA TODAY bestselling author and RITA®-Award-nominated CAITLIN CREWS loves writing romance. She teaches her favourite romance novels in creative writing classes at places like UCLA Extension’s prestigious Writers’ Programme, where she can finally utilise the MA and PhD in English Literature she received from the University of York in England. She currently lives in California, with her very own hero and too many pets. Visit her at www.caitlincrews.com

CHAPTER ONE

“I MUST BE HALLUCINATING. And may God have mercy on you if I am not.”

Paige Fielding hadn’t heard that voice in ten years. It wrapped around her even as it sliced through her, making the breezy Southern California afternoon fade away. Making the email she’d been writing disappear from her mind in full. Making her forget what year it was, what day it was. Rocketing her right back into the murky, painful past.

That voice. His voice.

Uncompromisingly male. As imperious as it was incredulous. The faint hint of sex and Italy in his voice even with all that temper besides, and it rolled over Paige like a flattening heat. It pressed into her from behind, making her want to squirm in her seat. Or simply melt where she sat. Or come apart—easily and instantly—the way she always had at the sound of it.

She swiveled around in her chair in instant, unconscious obedience, knowing exactly who she’d see in the archway that led into the sprawling Bel Air mansion high in the Hollywood Hills called La Bellissima in honor of its famous owner, the screen legend Violet Sutherlin. She knew who it was, and still, something like a premonition washed over her and made her skin prickle in the scant seconds before her gaze found him there in the arched, open door, scowling at her with what looked like a healthy mix of contempt and pure, electric hatred.

Giancarlo Alessi. The only man she’d ever loved with every inch of her doomed and naive heart, however little good that had done either one of them. The only man who’d made her scream and sob and beg for more, until she was hoarse and mute with longing. The only man who still haunted her, and who she suspected always would, despite everything.

Because he was also the only man she’d ever betrayed. Thoroughly. Indisputably. Her stomach twisted hard, reminding her of what she’d done with a sick lurch. As if she’d forgotten. As if she ever could.

She hadn’t thought she’d had a choice. But she doubted he’d appreciate that any more now than he had then.

“I can explain,” she said. Too quickly, too nervously. She didn’t remember pushing back from the table where she’d been sitting, doing her work out in the pretty sunshine as was her custom during the lazy afternoons, but she was standing then, somehow, feeling as unsteady on her own legs as she had in the chair. As lost in his dark, furious gaze as she’d been ten years ago.

“You can explain to security,” he grated at her, each word a crisp slap. She felt red and obvious. Marked. As if he could see straight through her to that squalid past of hers that had ruined them both. “I don’t care what you’re doing here, Nicola. I want you gone.”

She winced at that name. That hated name she hadn’t used since the day she’d lost him. Hearing it again, after all this time and in that voice of his was physically upsetting. Deeply repellant. Her stomach twisted again, harder, and then knotted.

“I don’t—” Paige didn’t know what to say, how to say it. How to explain what had happened since that awful day ten years ago when she’d sold him out and destroyed them both. What was there to say? She’d never told him the whole truth, when she could have. She’d never been able to bear the thought of him knowing how polluted she was or the kind of place, the kind of people, she’d come from. And they’d fallen in love so fast, their physical connection a white-hot explosion that had consumed them for those two short months they’d been together—there hadn’t seemed to be any time to get to know each other. Not really. “I don’t go by Nicola anymore.”

He froze solid in the doorway, a kind of furious astonishment rolling over him and then out from him like a thunderclap, deafening and wild, echoing inside of her like a shout.

It hurt. It all hurt.

“I never—” This was terrible. Worse than she’d imagined, and she’d imagined it often. She felt an awful heat at the back of her eyes and a warning sort of ache between her breasts, as if a sob was gathering force and threatening to spill over, and she knew better than to let it out. She knew he wouldn’t react well. She was lucky he was speaking to her at all now instead of having Violet’s security guards toss her bodily from the estate without so much as a word. But she kept talking anyway, as if that might help. “It’s my middle name, actually. It was a—my name is Paige.”

“Curiously, Paige is also the name of my mother’s personal assistant.”

But she could tell by the way his voice grew ominously quiet that he knew. That he wasn’t confused or asking her to explain herself. That he’d figured it out the moment he’d seen her—that she’d been the name on all those emails from his mother over the past few years.

And she could also tell exactly how he felt about that revelation. It was written into every stiffly furious line of his athletic form.

“Who cannot be you.” He shifted and her breath caught, as if the movement of his perfect body was a blow. “Assure me, please, that you are no more than an unpleasant apparition from the darkest hour of my past. That you have not insinuated yourself into my family. Do it now and I might let you walk out of here without calling the police.”

Ten years ago she’d have thought he was bluffing. That Giancarlo would no more have called the police on her than he would have thrown himself off the nearest bridge. But this was a different man. This was the Giancarlo she’d made, and she had no one to blame for that but herself.

Well. Almost no one. But there was no point bringing her mother into this, Paige knew. It was his he was concerned about—and besides, Paige hadn’t spoken to her own in a decade.

“Yes,” she said, and she felt shaky and vulnerable, as if it had only just occurred to her that her presence here was questionable, at best. “I’ve been working for Violet for almost three years now, but Giancarlo, you have to believe that I never—”

“Stai zitto.”

And Paige didn’t have to speak Italian to understand that harsh command, or the way he slashed his hand through the air, gruffly ordering her silence. She obeyed. What else could she do? And she watched him warily as if, at any moment, he might bare his fangs and sink them in her neck.

She’d deserve that, too.

Paige had always known this day would come. That this quiet new life she’d crafted for herself almost by accident was built on the shakiest of foundations and that all it would take was this man’s reappearance to upend the whole of it. Giancarlo was Violet’s son, her only child. The product of her fabled second marriage to an Italian count that the entire world had viewed as its own, personal, real-life fairy tale. Had Paige imagined this would end in any other manner? She’d been living on borrowed time from the moment she’d taken that interview and answered all the questions Violet’s managers had asked in the way she’d known—thanks to her insider’s take on Violet’s actual life away from the cameras, courtesy of her brief, brilliant affair with Giancarlo all those years ago—would get her the job.

Some people might view that harshly, she was aware. Particularly Giancarlo himself. But she’d had good intentions. Surely that counted for something? You know perfectly well that it doesn’t, the harsh voice in her head that was her last link to her mother grated at her. You know exactly what intentions are worth.

And it had been so long. She’d started to believe that this might never happen. That Giancarlo might stay in Europe forever, hidden away in the hills of Tuscany building his überprivate luxury hotel and associated cottages the way he had for the past decade, ever since she’d set him up and those sordid, intimate photographs had been splashed across every tabloid imaginable. She’d lulled herself into a false sense of security.

Because he was here now, and nothing was safe any longer, and yet all she wanted to do was lose herself in looking at him. Reacquainting herself with him. Reminding herself what she’d given up. What she’d ruined.

She’d seen pictures of him all over this house in the years she’d worked here. Always dark and forbiddingly elegant in his particularly sleek way, it took no more than a glance to understand Giancarlo was decidedly not American. Even ten years ago and despite having spent so much time in Los Angeles, he’d had that air. That thing about him that whispered that he was the product of long centuries of European blue bloods. It was something in the way he held himself, distant and disapproving, the hint of ancient places and old gods stamped into his aristocratic bones and lurking behind his cool dark gaze.

Paige had expected Giancarlo would still be attractive, of course, should she ever encounter him again. What she hadn’t expected—or what she’d allowed herself to forget—was that he was so raw. Seeing him was like a hard, stunning blow to the side of her head, leaving her ears ringing and her heart thumping erratically inside her chest. As if he knew it, his head canted to one side as he regarded her, as if daring her to keep talking when he’d ordered her to stop.

But she couldn’t seem to do anything but stare. As if the past decade had been one long slide of gray and here he was again, all of him in bold color and bright lights. So glaring and hot she could hardly bear to look at him. But she did. She couldn’t help herself.

He stood as if he was used to accolades, or simply commanding the full and rapt attention of every room he entered. It was partly the clothes he wore, the fabrics fitting him so perfectly, almost reverently, in a manner Paige knew came only at astronomical expense. But it was more than that. His body was lean and powerful, a symphony of whipcord strength tightly leashed, the crackle of his temper and that blazing sensuality that felt like a touch from ten feet away, carnal and wild. Even though she knew he’d never willingly touch her again. He’d made that clear.

Giancarlo was still so beautiful, yes, but there was something so male about him, so rampantly masculine, that it made Paige’s throat go dry. It was worse now, ten years later. Much worse. He stood in the open doorway in a pair of dark trousers, boots, and the kind of jacket Paige associated with sexy Ducati motorcycles and mystical places a girl like her from a ramshackle desert town in Nowhere, Arizona, only fantasized about, like the Amalfi Coast. Yet somehow he looked as effortlessly refined as if he could walk straight into a black-tie gala as he was—or climb into a bed for a long, hot, blisteringly feral weekend of no-holds-barred sex.

But it did her no good to remember that kind of thing. For her body to ready itself for his possession as if it had been ten minutes since they’d last touched instead of ten years. As if it knew him, recognized him, wanted him—as deeply and irrevocably as she always had. As if wanting him was some kind of virus that had only ever been in remission, for which there was no cure.

The kind of virus that made her breasts heavy and her belly too taut and shivery at once. The kind of virus that made her wish she still danced the way she had in high school and those few years after, obsessively and constantly, as if that kind of extended, heedless movement might be the only way to survive it. Him. His marvelous mouth tightened as the silence dragged on and she sent up a prayer of thanks that he hadn’t thought to remove his mirrored sunglasses yet. She didn’t want to know what his dark gaze would feel like when she could actually see his eyes again. She didn’t want to know what that would do to her now. She still remembered what it had been like that last time, that short and harsh conversation on the doorstep of her apartment building that final morning, where he’d confronted her with those pictures and had truly understood what she’d done to him. When he’d looked at her as if he’d only then, in that moment, seen her true face—and it had been evil.

Pull yourself together, she ordered herself fiercely. There was no going back. There were no do-overs. She knew that too well.

“I’m sorry,” she managed to get out before he cut her off again. Before she melted into the tears she knew she’d cry later, in private. Before the loss and grief she’d pretended she was over for years now swamped her. “Giancarlo, I’m so sorry.”

He went so rigid it was as if she’d slapped him, and yet she felt slapped. She hurt everywhere.

“I don’t care why you’re here.” His voice was rough. A scrape that tore her open, ripping her right down her middle. “I don’t care what game you’re playing this time. You have five minutes to leave the premises.”

But all Paige could hear was what swirled there beneath his words. Rage. Betrayal, as if it was new. Hot and furious, like a fire that still burned bright between them. And she was sick, she understood, because instead of being as frightened of that as she should have been, something in her rejoiced that he wasn’t indifferent. After all this time.

“If you do not do this of your own accord,” Giancarlo continued with a certain vicious deliberation, and she knew he wanted that to hurt her, “I will take great pleasure in dumping you on the other side of the gates myself.”

“Giancarlo—” she began, trying to sound calm, though her hands nervously smoothed at the soft blouse and the pencil skirt she wore. And even though she couldn’t see his eyes, she felt them there, tracing the curve of her hips and her legs beneath, as if she’d deliberately directed his gaze to parts of her body he’d once claimed he worshipped. Had she meant to do that? How could she not know?

But he interrupted her again.

“You may call me Count Alessi in the remaining four minutes before I kick you out of here,” he told her harshly. “But if you know what’s good for you, whatever name you’re using and whatever con you’re running today and have been running for years, I’d suggest you stay silent.”

“I’m not running a con. I’m not—” Paige cut herself off, because this was all too complicated and she should have planned for this, shouldn’t she? She should have figured out what to say to someone who had no reason on earth to listen to her. And who wouldn’t believe a word she said even if he did. Why hadn’t she prepared herself? “I know you don’t want to hear a single thing I have to say, but none of this is what you think. It wasn’t back then, either. Not really.”

He seemed to expand then, like a great wave. As if the force of his temper soared out from him and crashed over the whole of the grand terrace, the sloping lawn, the canyons all around, the complicated mess of Los Angeles stretched out below. It crackled as it cascaded over her, making every hair on her body seem to stand on end. That mouth of his flattened and he swept his sunglasses from his face at last—which was not an improvement. Because his eyes were dark and hot and gleamed a commanding sort of gold, and as he fastened them on her he made no attempt at all to hide the blistering light of his fury.

It made her want to sit down, hard, before she fell. It made her worry her legs might give out. It made her want to cry the way she had ten years ago, so hard and so long she’d made herself sick, for all the good that had done. She felt dangerously, dizzyingly hollow.

“Enlighten me,” he suggested, all silken threat and that humming sort of violence right there beneath his elegant surface. Or maybe not really beneath it, she thought, now that she could see his beautiful, terrible face in all its furious perfection. “Which part was not what I thought? The fact that you arranged to have photographs taken of us while we were having sex, though I am certain I told you how much I hated public exposure after a lifetime in the glare of my mother’s spotlight? Or the fact that you sold those photos to the tabloids?” He took a step toward her; his hands were in fists at his side, and she didn’t understand how she could simultaneously want to run for her life and run toward him. He was a suicide waiting to happen. She should know that better than anyone. “Or perhaps I am misunderstanding the fact that you have now infiltrated my mother’s house to further prey on my family?” He shook his head. “What kind of monster are you?”

“Giancarlo—”

“I will tell you exactly what kind.” His nostrils flared and she knew that look that flashed over his face then. She knew it far too well. It was stamped into her memories and it made her stomach heave with the same shame and regret. It made her flush with terrible heat. “You are a mercenary bitch and I believe I was perfectly clear about this ten years ago. I never, ever wanted to see your face again.”

And Paige was running out of ways to rank which part of this was the worst part, but she couldn’t argue. Not with any of what he’d said. Yet rather than making her shrink down and curl up into the fetal position right there on the terra-cotta pavers beneath their feet, the way she’d done the last time he’d looked at her like that and called her names she’d richly deserved, it made something else shiver into being inside her. Something that made her straighten instead of shrink. Something that gave her the strength to meet his terrible glare, to lift her chin despite all of that furious, condemning gold.

“I love her.”

That hung there between them, stark and heavy. And, she realized belatedly, an echo of what she’d said ten years ago, when it had been much too late. When he’d believed her even less than he did now. When she’d known full well that saying it would only hurt him, and she’d done it anyway. I’m so sorry, Giancarlo. I love you.

“What did you say?” His voice was too quiet. So soft and deliberately menacing it made her shake inside, though she didn’t give in to it. She forced her spine even straighter. “What did you dare say to me?”

“This has nothing to do with you.” That was true, in its way. Paige wasn’t a lunatic, no matter what he might think. She’d simply understood a long time ago that she’d lost him and it was irrevocable. She’d accepted it. This wasn’t about getting him back. It was about paying a debt in the only way she could. “It never did have anything to do with you,” she continued when she was certain the shaking inside her wouldn’t bleed over into her voice. “Not the way you’re thinking. Not really.”

He shook his head slightly, as if he was reeling, and he muttered something in a stream of silken, shaken Italian that she shouldn’t have felt like that, all over her skin. Because it wasn’t a caress. It was its opposite.

“This is a nightmare.” He returned his furious glare to her and it was harder. Fiercer. Gold fury and that darkness inside it. “But nightmares end. You keep on, all these years later. It was two short months and too many explicit pictures. I knew better than to trust a woman like you in the first place, but this ought to be behind me.” His lips thinned. “Why won’t you go away, Nicola?”

“Paige.” She couldn’t tolerate that name. Never again. It was the emblem of all the things she’d lost, all the terrible choices she’d been forced to make, all the sacrifices she’d made for someone so unworthy it made her mouth taste acrid now, like ash and regret. “I’d rather you call me nothing but mercenary bitch instead of that.”

“I don’t care what you call yourself.” Not quite a shout. Not quite. But his voice thudded into her like a hail of bullets anyway, and she couldn’t disguise the way she winced. “I want you gone. I want this poison of yours out of my life, away from my mother. It disgusts me that you’ve been here all this time without my knowing it. Like a malignant cancer hiding in plain sight.”

And she should go. Paige knew she should. This was twisted and wrong and sick besides, no matter the purity of her intentions. All her rationalizations, all her excuses, what did any of them matter when she was standing here causing more pain to this man? He’d never deserved it. She really was a cancer, she thought. Her own mother had always thought so, too.

“I’m sorry,” she said, yet again, and she heard the bleakness in her own voice that went far beyond an apology. And his dark, hot eyes were on hers. Demanding. Furious. Still broken, and she knew she’d done that. It stirred up sensations inside of her that felt too much like ghosts, an ache and a fire at once. But Paige held his gaze. “More than you’ll ever know. But I can’t leave Violet. I promised her.”

Giancarlo’s dark gaze blazed into a brilliant fury then, and it took every bit of backbone and bravado Paige had not to fall a step back when he advanced on her. Or to turn tail and start running the way she’d wanted to do since she’d heard his voice, down the expansive lawn, through the garden and out into the wild canyon below, as far as she could get from this man. She wanted to flee. She wanted to run and never stop running. The urge to do it beat in her blood.

But she hadn’t done it ten years ago, when she should have, and from far scarier people than Giancarlo Alessi. She wouldn’t do it now. No matter how hard her heart catapulted itself against her chest. No matter how great and painful the sobs she refused to let loose from inside.

“You seem to be under the impression I am playing a game with you,” Giancarlo said softly, so very softly, the menace in it like his hand around her throat. What was the matter with her that the notion moved in her like a dark thrill instead of a threat? “I am not.”

“I understand that this is difficult for you, and that it’s unlikely you’ll believe that was never my intention.” Paige tried to sound conciliatory. She did. But she thought it came out sounding a whole lot more like panic, and panic was as useless as regret. She had no space for either. This was the life she’d made. This was what she’d sown. “But I’m afraid my loyalty is to your mother, not to you.”

“I apologize.” It was a snide snap, not an apology. “But the irony rendered me temporarily deaf. Did you—you—just utter the word loyalty?”

Paige gritted her teeth. She didn’t bow her head. “You didn’t hire me. She did.”

“A point that will be moot if I kill you with my bare hands,” he snarled at her, and she should have been afraid of him, but she wasn’t. She had no doubt that he’d throw her off the estate, that if he could tear her to shreds with his words he would, and gladly, but he wouldn’t hurt her. Not physically. Not Giancarlo.

Maybe that was the last remnant of the girl she’d been, she thought then. That foolish, unbearably naive girl, who’d imagined that a bright and brand-new love could fix anything. That it was the only thing that mattered. She knew better now; she’d learned her lessons well and truly and in the harshest of ways, but she still believed Giancarlo was a good man. No matter what her betrayal had done to him.

“Yes,” she said, and her voice was rough with all the emotion she knew she couldn’t show him. He’d only hate her more. “But you won’t.”

“Please,” he all but whispered, and she saw too much on his face then, the agony and the fury and the darkness between, “do not tell me you are so delusional as to imagine I wouldn’t rip you apart if I could.”

“Of course,” she agreed, and it was hard to tell what hurt when everything did. When she was sure she would leave this encounter with visible bruises. “If you could. But that’s not who you are.”

“The man you thought you knew is dead, Nicola,” he said, that hated name a deliberate blow, and Paige finally did step back then, it was so brutal. “He died ten years ago and there will be no breathing him back to life with your sad tales of loyalty and your pretty little lies. There will be no resurrection. I might look like the man you knew, for two profoundly stupid months a lifetime ago, but mark my words. He is gone as if he never was.”

It shouldn’t be so sad, when it was nothing more than a simple truth. Not a surprise. Not a slap, even, despite his harsh tone. There was absolutely no reason she should feel swollen anew with all that useless, unwieldy, impossible grief, as if it had never faded, never so much as shifted an inch, in all this time. As if it had only been waiting to flatten her all over again.

“I accept both responsibility and blame for what happened ten years ago,” she said as matter-of-factly as she could, and he would never know how hard that was. How exposed she felt, how off balance. Just as he would never know that those two months she’d lost herself in him had been the best of her life, worth whatever had come after. Worth anything, even this. “I can’t do anything else. But I promised Violet I wouldn’t leave her. Punish me if you have to, Giancarlo. Don’t punish her.”

* * *

Giancarlo Alessi was a man made almost entirely of faults, a fact he was all too familiar with after the bleakness of the past decade and the price he’d paid for his own foolishness, but he loved his mother. His complicated, grandiose, larger-than-life idol of a mother, who he knew adored him in her own, particular way. It didn’t matter how many times Violet had sold him out for her own purposes—to combat tales of her crumbling marriage, to give the tabloids something to talk about other than her romantic life, to serve this or that career purpose over the years.

He’d come to accept that having one’s private moments exposed to the public was par for the course when one was related to a Hollywood star of Violet’s magnitude—which was why he had vowed never, ever to have children that she could use for her own ends. No happy grandchildren to grace magazine articles about her surprising depths. No babies she could coo over in front of carefully selected cameras to shore up her image when necessary. He’d never condemn a child of his to that life, no matter how much he might love Violet himself. He’d pass on his Italian title to a distant cousin of his father’s and let the sharp brutality of all that Hollywood attention end with him.

He forgave his mother. It was who she was. It was this woman he wanted to hurt, not Violet.

This woman who could call herself any name she wanted, but who was still Nicola to him. The architect of his downfall. The agent of his deepest shame.

The too-pretty dancer he’d lost his head over like a thousand shameful clichés, staining his ancient title, his relationship with his late father, and himself in the process. The grasping, conniving creature who had led him around by his groin and made him a stranger to himself in the process. The woman who had made him complicit in the very thing he hated above all others: his presence in the damned tabloids, his most private life on parade.

He’d yet to forgive himself. He’d never planned on forgiving her.

Standing here in this house he’d vowed he’d never enter again, the woman he’d been determined he’d cut from his memory if it killed him within his reach once more, he told himself the edgy thing that surged in him, making him feel something like drunk—dangerously unsteady, a little too close to dizzy—was a cold, clear, measured hatred. No more and no less than she deserved.

It had to be cold. Controlled. He wouldn’t permit it to be anything else. He wouldn’t let it run hot, burn within him the way loving her had, take charge of him and ruin him anew. He wasn’t that trusting, gullible fool any longer, not as he’d been then—so sure he’d been the experienced one, the calloused and jaded one, that no one could take advantage of. She’d made certain he’d never be that idiot again.

He would save that kind of heated, brooding dislike for the sprawling, sunbaked city of Los Angeles itself. For California, brown and gold with only its manufactured, moneyed swaths of green as relief in another breathless summer. For the elegant monstrosity that was La Bellissima. For his heedless, callow twenties playing silly playboy games with films and a parade of famous and beautiful lovers, which this woman had brought to a screeching, excruciatingly public halt. For that dry blast of relentless heat on the wind, spiced with smoke from far-off brushfires and the hint of the Pacific Ocean that never cooled it, that made him feel too edgy, too undone. For his mother’s recklessness in lovers and husbands and assistants, in all her personal relationships to the endless delight of the predatory press, a trait of hers Giancarlo had long despaired of and had shared but once.

Once.

Once had been enough.

He studied Nicola—Paige—as she stood there before him, gazing back at him from her liar’s eyes that were neither blue nor green, that fall of thick, dark hair with a hint of auburn that she’d tamed into a side plait falling over one bare, exquisitely formed shoulder. Back then her hair had been redder, longer. Less ink, more fire, and he wished he found the darker shade unpleasant, unattractive. She was still as tall as he remembered but had gone skinny in that way they all did here, as if the denial of every pleasure in the world might bring them the fame they wanted more than anything. More than breath, more than food. Much, much more than love, as he knew all too well.

Don’t even think that word, he snarled at himself.

She stiffened as he let his gaze roam all over her, so he kept doing it, telling himself he didn’t care what this woman, whatever the hell she called herself now, thought or felt. Because she’d made it clear that the only things she’d ever seen when she’d looked at him—no matter how many times he’d made her scream his name, no matter how many ways they’d torn each other up and turned each other inside out, no matter how deeply he’d fallen for her or how enthusiastically he’d upended his life for her in those two months they’d spent almost entirely in his bed—were Violet’s fame and a paycheck to match.

It wasn’t only his heart she’d broken. She’d ground his pride, his belief that he could read anyone’s intentions at a glance and keep himself safe from the kind of grasping predators who teemed over this city like ants, under her heel. She’d completely altered the way he’d seen himself, who he was, as surely as if she’d severed one of his limbs.

Yet she still held herself well, which irritated him. She still had that dancer’s easy grace and the supple muscle tone to match. He took in her small, high breasts beneath that sleeveless white shirt with the draped neck, then the efficient pencil skirt that clung to the swell of her hips, and his hands remembered the lush feel of both. The slick perfection of her curves beneath his palms, always such a marvel of femininity in such a lean frame. The exquisite way she fit in his hands and tasted against his tongue. She’d left her legs bare, toned and pretty, and all he could think about was the way she’d wrapped them around his hips or draped them over his shoulders while he’d thrust hard and deep inside of her.

Stop, a voice inside him ordered, or you will shame yourself anew.

Her disguise—if that was what it was—did nothing to hide her particular, unusual beauty. She’d never looked like all the other girls who’d flocked around him back then. It was that fire in her that had called to him from that first, stunning clash of glances across the set of the music video where they’d met. She’d been a backup dancer in formfitting tights and a sport bra. He’d been the high-and-mighty pseudo director who shouldn’t have noticed her with a band full of pop stars hanging on his every word. And yet that single look had singed him alive.

He could still feel the same bright flames, even though she’d darkened her hair and wore sensible, professional clothes today that covered her mouthwatering midriff and failed to outline every last line of her thighs. Like the efficient secretary to his mother that he knew she’d proved herself to be over these past years, for some reason—and Giancarlo refused to let himself think about that. About her motives and intentions. Why she’d spent so long playing this game and why she’d bothered to excel in her position here while doing it. Why he couldn’t look at her without wanting her, even with all of this time between them. Even knowing exactly what she’d done.

“Is this where you tell me your sob story?” he asked coldly, taking a grim pleasure in the way she reacted to his voice. That little jump, as if she couldn’t control this crazy thing between them any more than he could. “There’s always one in these situations, is there not? So many reasons. So many excuses.”

“I’m not sobbing.” He couldn’t read that lovely oval of a face, with cheekbones made for a man to cradle between his palms and that wide mouth that begged to be tasted. Plundered. “And I don’t think I’ve made any excuses. I only apologized. It’s not the same thing.”

“No.” He let his gaze move over her mouth. That damned mouth. He could still feel the slide of it against his, or wrapped hot and warm around his hardness, trailing fire and oblivion wherever she used it. And nothing but lies when she spoke. “I’ll have to see what I can do about that.”

She actually sighed, as if he tried her patience, and he didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh or throttle her. He remembered that, too. From before. When she’d broken over his life like a hurricane and hadn’t stopped tearing up the trees and rearranging the earth until she was gone the same way she’d come, leaving nothing but scandal and the debris of her lies in her wake.

And yet she was still so pretty. He found that made him angrier than the rest of it.

“Glaring ferociously at me isn’t going to make me cry,” she said, and he wanted to see things in those chameleon eyes of hers. He wanted something, anything, to get to her—but he knew better, didn’t he? She hadn’t simply destroyed him, this time. She’d targeted his mother and she’d done it right under his nose. How could he imagine she was anything but evil? “It only makes the moment that much more uncomfortable.” She inclined her head slightly. “But if it makes you feel better, Giancarlo, you should go right ahead and try.”

He did laugh then. A short, humorless little sound.

“I am marveling at the sight of you,” he said, sounding cruel to his own ears, but she didn’t so much as blink. “You deserve to look like the person you really are, not the person you pretended you were.” He felt his mouth thin. “But I suppose this is Hollywood magic in action, no? The nastiest, most narcissistic things wrapped up tight in the prettiest packages. Of course you look as good as you did then.” He laughed softly, wanting it to hurt. Wanting something he said or did to have some effect on her—which told him a bit more than he wanted to know about his unresolved feelings about this woman. “That’s all you really have, is it not?”

CHAPTER TWO

GIANCARLO HAD FANCIED himself madly in love with her.

That was the thing he couldn’t forgive, much less permit himself to forget, especially when she was right here before him once again. The scandal that had ruined his budding film career, that had cast that deep, dark shadow over what had been left of his intensely private, deeply proper father’s life, that had made him question everything he’d thought he’d known about himself, that had made him finally leave this damned city and all its demons behind him within a day of the photos going live—that had been something a few shades worse than terrible and it remained a deep, indelible mark on Giancarlo’s soul. But however he might have deplored it, he supposed he could have eventually understood a pampered, thoughtless young man’s typical recklessness over a pretty girl. It was one of the oldest stories in the world.

It was his own parents’ story, come to that.

It was the fact that he’d been so deceived that he’d wanted to marry this creature despite his lifelong aversion to the institution, make her his countess, bring her to his ancestral home in Italy—he, who had vowed he’d never marry after witnessing the fallout from his parents’ tempestuous union—that made his blood boil even all these years later. He’d been plotting out weddings in his head while she’d been negotiating the price of his disgrace. The fury of it still made him feel much too close to wild.

She only inclined her head again, as if she was perfectly happy to accept any and all blame he heaped on her, and Giancarlo didn’t understand why that made him even more enraged.

“Have you nothing to say?” he taunted her. “I don’t believe it. You must have lost your touch in all these years, Nicola.” He saw her jerk, as if she really did hate that name, and filed that away as ammunition. “I beg your pardon. Paige. You can call yourself whatever you want. You’ve obviously spent too much time with a lonely old woman if this is the best you can do.”

“She is lonely,” Paige agreed, and he thought that was temper that lit up her cheeks, staining them, though her voice was calm. “This was never meant to be a long-term situation, Giancarlo. I assumed you’d come home and recognize me within the month. Of course, that was three years ago.”

It took him a moment to understand what it was he was feeling then, and he didn’t like it when he did. Shame. Hot and new and unacceptable.

“The world will collide with the sun before I explain myself to you,” he bit out. Like how he’d managed to let so much time slip by—always so busy, always a crisis on the estate in Italy, always something. How he’d avoided coming here and hurt his mother in the process. Those things might have been true—they were why he’d finally forced himself to come after an entire eighteen months without seeing Violet on one of her usual press junkets around the globe—but they certainly weren’t this woman’s business.

“I didn’t ask you to explain anything.” She lifted one shoulder, still both delicate and toned, he was annoyed to notice, and then dropped it. “It’s simply the truth.”

“Please,” he scoffed, and rubbed his hand over his face to keep from reacting like the animal he seemed to become in her presence. Ten years ago he’d thought that compulsion—that need—was passion. Fate. He knew better now. It was sheer, unadulterated madness. “Do not use words you cannot possibly know the meaning of. It only makes you look even more grasping and base than we both know you are already.”

She blinked, then squared her shoulders, her chin rising as she held his gaze. “Do I have time to get a list of approved vocabulary words in what remains of my five minutes? Before you have me thrown over Violet’s walls and onto the street?”

Giancarlo looked at her, the breeze playing in her inky dark hair with its auburn accents, the sun shifting through the vines that stretched lazily above them in a fragrant canopy, and understood with a painful surge of clarity that this was an opportunity. This woman had been like a dark, grim shadow stretching over his life, but that was over now. And he was so different from the man he’d been when she’d sunk her claws in him that he might as well have been a stranger.

She had never been the woman she’d convinced him she was. Because that woman, he had loved. That woman had been like a missing piece to his own soul that he’d never known he lacked and yet had recognized instantly the moment he’d seen her.

But that was nothing but a performance, a stern voice whispered in his head.

And this was the second act.

“Does my mother know that you are the woman who starred in all those photos a decade ago?” he asked, sounding almost idle, though he felt anything but. He slid his hands into his pockets and regarded her closely, noting how pale she went, and how her lips pressed hard together.

“Of course not,” she whispered, and there was a part of him that wondered why she wanted so badly to maintain his mother’s good opinion. Why should that matter? But he reminded himself this was the way she played her games. She was good—so good—at pretending to care. It was just another lie and this time, he’d be damned if he believed any part of it.

“Then this is what will happen.” He said it calmly. Quietly. Because the shock of seeing her had finally faded and now there was only this. His revenge, served nice and cold all these years later. “I wouldn’t want to trouble my mother with the truth about her favorite assistant yet. I don’t think she’d like it.”

“She would hate it, and me,” Nicola—Paige threw at him. “But it would also break her heart. If that’s your goal here, it’s certainly an easy way to achieve it.”

“Am I the villain in this scenario?” He laughed again, but this time, he really was amused, and he saw a complex wash of emotion move over her face. He didn’t want to know why. He knew exactly what he did want, he reminded himself. His own back, in a way best suited to please him, for a change. This was merely the dance necessary to get it. “You must have become even more delusional than your presence here already suggests.”

“Giancarlo—”

“You will resign and leave of your own volition. Today. Now.”

She lifted her hands, which he saw were in tight fists, then dropped them back to her sides, and he admired the act. It almost looked real. “I can’t do that.”

“You will.” He decided he was enjoying himself. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. “This isn’t a debate, Paige.”

Her pretty face twisted into a convincing rendition of misery. “I can’t.”

“Because you haven’t managed to rewrite her will to leave it all to you yet?” he asked drily. “Or are you swapping out all the art on the walls for fakes? I thought the Rembrandt looked a bit odd in the front hall, but I imagined it was the light.”

“Because whatever you might think about me, and I’m not saying I don’t understand why you think it,” she rasped, “I care about her. And I don’t mean this to be insulting, Giancarlo, but I’m all she has.” Her eyes widened at the dark look he leveled at her, and she hurried on. “You haven’t visited her in years. She’s surrounded by acolytes and users the moment she steps off this property. I’m the only person she trusts.”

“Again, the irony is nearly edible.” He shrugged. “And you are wasting your breath. You should thank me for my mercy in letting you call this a resignation. If I were less benevolent, I’d have you arrested.”

She held his gaze for a moment too long. “Don’t make me call your bluff,” she said quietly. “I doubt very much you want the scandal.”

“Don’t make me call your bluff,” he hurled back at her. “Do you think I haven’t looked for the woman who ruined my life over the years? Hoping against hope she’d be locked up in prison where she belongs?” He smiled thinly when she stiffened. “Nicola Fielding fell off the face of the planet after those pictures went viral. That suggests to me that you aren’t any more keen to have history reveal itself in the tabloids than I am.” He lifted his brows. “Stalemate, cara. If I were you, I’d start packing.”

She took a deep breath and then let it out, long and slow, and there was no reason that should have bothered him the way it did, sneaking under his skin and making him feel edgy and annoyed, as if it was tangling up his intentions or bending the present into the past.

“I genuinely love Violet,” she said, her eyes big and pleading on his, and he ignored the tangling because he knew he had her. He could all but taste it. “This might have started as a misguided attempt to reach you after you disappeared, I’ll admit, but it stopped being that a long time ago. I don’t want to hurt her. Please. There must be a way we can work this out.”

He let himself enjoy the moment. Savor it.

This wasn’t temper, hot and wild, making him act out his passions in different ways, the line between it and grief too finely drawn to tell the difference. Too much time had passed. There was too much water under that particular bridge.

And she should never have come here. She should never have involved his mother. She should never have risked this.

“Giancarlo,” she said, the way she’d said it that bright and terrible morning a decade ago when he’d finally understood the truth about her—and had seen it in full color pictures splashed across the entirety of the goddamned planet. When he’d showed up at the apartment she’d never let him enter and had that short, awful, final conversation on her doorstep. Before he’d walked away from her and Los Angeles and all the rest of these Hollywood machinations he hated so deeply. Five painful minutes to end an entire phase of his life and so many of his dreams. “Please.”

He closed the distance between them with a single step, then reached over to pull on the end of that dark, glossy hair of hers, watching the auburn sheen in it glow and shift in the light. He felt more than heard her quick intake of breath and he wanted her in a thousand ways. That hadn’t dimmed.

It was time to indulge himself. He was certain that whatever her angle was, her self-interest would win out over self-preservation. Which meant he could work out what remained of his issues in the best way imaginable. Whatever else she was, she was supple. He had her.

“Oh, we can work it out,” he murmured, shifting so he could smell the lotion she used on her soft skin, a hint of eucalyptus and something far darker. Victory, he thought. His, this time. “It requires only that you get beneath me. And stay there until I’m done with you.”

She went still for a hot, searing moment.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

Her changeable eyes were blue with distress then, and he might have loathed himself for that if he hadn’t known what a liar she was. And what an actress she could be when it suited her. So he only tugged on her plait again and watched her tipped-up face closely as comprehension moved across it, that same electric heat he felt inside him on its heels.

That, Giancarlo told himself, was why he would win this game this time. Because she couldn’t control the heat between them any more than he could. And he was no longer fool enough to imagine that meant a damned thing. He knew it was a game, this time.

“I want to make sure I’m understanding you.” She swallowed, hard, and he was certain she’d understood him just fine. “You want me to sleep with you to keep my job.”

He smiled, and watched goose bumps rise on her smooth skin. “I do. Often and enthusiastically. Wherever and however I choose.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I assure you, I am. But by all means, test me. See what happens.”

Her lips trembled slightly and he admired it. It looked so real. But he was close enough to see the hard, needy press of her nipples against the silk of her blouse, and he knew better. He knew she was as helpless before this thing between them as he was. Maybe she always had been. Maybe that was why it had all got so confused—she’d chosen him because he was Hollywood royalty by virtue of his parents and thus made a good mark, but then there’d been all of this to complicate things. But he didn’t want to sympathize with her. Not even at such a remove.

“Giancarlo...” He didn’t interrupt her but she didn’t finish anyway, and her words trailed off into the afternoon breeze. He saw her eyes fill with a wet heat and he had to hand it to her, she was still too good at this. She made it so believable.

But he would never believe her again, no matter the provocation. No matter how many tears she shed, or almost shed. No matter how convincingly she could make her lips tremble. This was Hollywood.

This time, he wouldn’t be taken by surprise. He knew it was all an act from the start.

“Your choices are diminishing by the minute,” he told her softly. It was a warning. And one of the last he’d give her. “Now you have but two. Leave now, knowing I will tell my mother exactly why you’ve left and how you’ve spent these past years deceiving her. It might break her heart, but that will be one more black mark on your soul, not mine. And I’d be very surprised if she didn’t find some way to make you pay for it herself. She didn’t become who she is by accident, you must realize. She’s a great deal tougher than she looks.”

“I know she is.” Her gaze still shimmered with that heat, but none of it spilled over—and he reminded himself that was acting talent, not force of will. “And what’s the second choice?”

He shrugged. “Stay. And do exactly as I tell you.”

“Sexually.” She threw that at him, her voice unsteady but her gaze direct. “You mean do as you tell me sexually.”

If she thought her directness would shame him into altering his course here, she was far stupider than he remembered. Giancarlo smiled.

“I mean do as I tell you, full stop.” He indulged himself then, and touched her. He traced the remarkable line of her jaw, letting the sharp delight of it charge through his bones, then held her chin there, right where he could stare her down with all the ruthlessness he carried within him. “You will work for me, Paige. On your back. On your knees. At your desk. Whatever I want, whenever I want, however I want.”

He could feel her shaking and he exulted in it.

“Why?” she whispered. “This is me, remember? Why would you want to...?”

Again, she couldn’t finish, and he took pleasure in these signs of her weakness. These cracks in her slick, pretty armor. Giancarlo leaned in close and brushed his mouth over hers, a little hint of what was to come. A little test.

It was just as he remembered it.

All that fire, arcing in him and in her, too, from the shocked sound she made. All that misery. Shame and fury and ten years of that terrible longing. He’d never quite got past it, and this was why. This thrumming, pounding excitement that had only ever happened here, with her. This unmatched hunger. This beautiful lie that would not wreck him this time. Not this time.

He needed to work it all out on that delectable body she’d wielded like a weapon, enslaving him and destroying him before she’d finally got around to killing him, too. He needed to make her pay the price for her betrayal in the most intimate way possible. He needed to work out his goddamned issues in the very place they’d started, and then, only then, would he finally be free of her. It had only been two months back then. It would have burned out on its own—he was sure of it, but they hadn’t had time. He wanted time to glut himself, because only then would he get past this.

Giancarlo had to believe that.

“I know exactly who you are,” he told her then, and he didn’t pretend he wasn’t enjoying this. That now that the shock had passed, he wasn’t thrilled she’d proved herself as deceitful as he remembered. That he wasn’t looking forward to this in a way he hoped scared her straight down into her bones—because it should. “It’s long past time you paid for what you did to me, and believe me when I tell you I have a very, very detailed memory.”

“You’ll regret it.” Her voice was like gauze and had as much effect.

“I’ve already regretted you for a decade, cara,” he growled. “What does it matter to me if I add a little more?”

He leaned in closer, felt her quiver against him and thrilled to it. To her, because he knew her true face this time. He knew her. There would be no losing himself. There would be no fanciful dreaming of marriage and happy-ever-afters in the Tuscan countryside, deep in all the sweet golden fields that were his heritage. There would only be penance. Hers. Hard, hot, bone-melting penance, until he was satisfied.

Which he anticipated might take some time.

“This doesn’t make sense.” Did she sound desperate or did he want her to? Giancarlo didn’t care. “You hate me!”

“This isn’t hate,” he said, and his smile deepened. Darkened. “Let’s be clear, shall we? This is revenge.”

* * *

Paige thought he would leap on her the moment she agreed.

And of course she agreed, how could she do anything but agree when Violet Sutherlin had become the mother her own had been far too addicted and selfish and hateful to pretend to be? How could she walk away from that when Violet was therefore the only family she had left?

But Giancarlo had only smiled that hard, deeply disconcerting smile of his that had skittered over her skin like electricity.

Then he’d dropped his hand, stepped away from her and left her alone.

For days. Three days, in fact. Three long days and much longer nights.

Paige had to carry on as if everything was perfectly normal, doing her usual work for Violet and pretending to be as thrilled as the older woman was about the return of her prodigal son. She’d had to maintain her poise and professionalism, insofar as there was any professionalism in this particular sort of job that was as much about handling Violet’s personal whims as anything else. She’d had to try not to give herself away every time she was in the same room with Giancarlo, when all she wanted to do was scream at him to end this tension—a tension he did not appear to feel, as he lounged about, swam laps in the pool and laughed with his mother.

And every night she locked herself into the little cottage down near the edge of the canyon that was her home on Violet’s property and tortured herself until dawn.

It was as if her brain had recorded every single moment of every single encounter she’d ever had with Giancarlo and could play it all back in excruciating detail. Every touch. Every kiss. That slick, hard thrust of his possession. The sexy noise he’d made against her neck each time he’d come. The sobs echoing back from this or that wall that she knew were hers, while she writhed in mindless pleasure, his in every possible way.

By the morning of the fourth day she was a mess.

“Sleep well?” he asked in that taunting way of his, his dark brows rising high when he met her on the back steps on her way into the big house to start her day. Violet took her breakfast and the trades on a tray in her room each morning and she expected to see Paige there, too, before she was finished.

Giancarlo stood on the wide steps that led up to the terrace, not precisely blocking her way, but Paige didn’t rate her chances for slipping past him, either. Had she not been lost in her own scorching world of regret and too many vivid memories as she’d walked up the hill from her cottage, she’d have seen him here, lying in wait. She’d have avoided him.

Would you? that sly voice inside her asked.

A smart woman would have left Los Angeles ten years ago, never to return to the scene of so much pain and betrayal and heartache. A smart woman certainly wouldn’t have got herself tangled up with her ex-lover’s mother, and even if she had, she would have rejected Giancarlo’s devil’s bargain outright. So Paige supposed that ship had sailed a long time ago.

“I slept like a baby,” she replied, because her memories were her business.

“I take it you mean that in the literal sense,” he said drily. “Up every two hours wailing down the walls and making life a misery, then?”

Paige gritted her teeth. He, of course, glowed with health and that irritating masculine vigor of his. He wore an athletic T-shirt in a technical fabric and a pair of running shorts, and was clearly headed out to get himself into even better shape on the surrounding trails that scored the mountains, if that were even possible. No wonder he maintained that lean, rangy body of his that appeared to scoff at the very notion of fat. She wished she could hate him. She wished that pounding thing in her chest, and much lower, was hate.

“I’ve never slept better in my life,” she said staunchly.

Her mistake was that she’d drifted too close to him as she said it, as if he was a magnet and she was powerless to resist the pull. She remembered that, too. It had been like a tractor beam, that terrible compulsion. As if they were drawn together no matter what. Across the cavernous warehouse where she’d met him on that shoot. Across rooms, beds, showers. Wherever, whenever.

Ten years ago she’d thought that meant they were made for each other. She knew better now. Yet she still felt that draw.

Paige only flinched a little bit when he reached over and ran one of his elegant fingers in a soft crescent shape beneath her eye. It was such a gentle touch it made her head spin, especially when it was at such odds with that harsh look on his face, that ever-present gleam of furious gold in his gaze.

It took her one shaky breath, then another, to realize he’d traced the dark circle beneath her eye. That it wasn’t a caress at all.

It was an accusation.

“Liar,” he murmured, as if he was reciting an old poem, and there was no reason it should feel like a sharp blade stuck hard beneath her ribs. “But I expect nothing else from you.”

Bite your tongue, she ordered herself when she started to reply. Because she might have got herself into this mess, twice, but that didn’t mean she had to make it worse. She poured her feelings into the way she looked at him, and one corner of that hard, uncompromising mouth of his kicked up. Resignation, she thought. If they’d been different people she might have called it a kind of rueful admiration.

But this was Giancarlo, who despised her.

“Be ready at eight,” he told her gruffly.

“That could cover a multitude of sins.” So much for her vow of silence. Paige smiled thinly when his brows edged higher. “Be ready for what?”

Giancarlo moved slightly then on the wide marble step, making her acutely aware of him. Of the width of his muscled shoulders, the long sweep of his chiseled torso. Of his strength, his heat. Reminding her how deadly he was, how skilled. How he’d been the only man she’d ever met, before or since, who had known exactly what buttons to push to turn her to jelly, and had. Again and again. He’d simply looked at her, everything else had disappeared and he’d known.

He still knew. She could see it in that heat that made his dark eyes gleam. She could feel it the way her body prickled with that same lick of fire, the way the worst of the flames tangled together deep in her belly.

She felt her breath desert her, and she thought she saw the man she remembered in his dark gaze, the man as lost in this as she always had been, but it was gone almost at once as if it had never been. As if that had been nothing but wishful thinking on her part.

“Wear something I can get my hands under,” he told her, and there was a cruel cast to his desperately sensual mouth then that should have made her want to cry—but that wasn’t the sensation that tripped through her blood, making her feel dizzy with something she’d die before she’d call excitement.

And as if he knew that too, he smiled.

Then he left her there—trying to sort out all the conflicting sensations inside of her right there in the glare of another California summer morning, trying not to fall apart when she suspected that was what he wanted her to do—without a backward glance.

* * *

“I think he must be a terribly lonely man,” Violet said.

They were sitting in one of the great legend’s favorite rooms in this vast house, the sunny, book-lined and French-doored affair she called her office, located steps from her personal garden and festooned with her many awards.

Violet lounged back on the chaise she liked to sit on while tending to her empire—“because what, pray, is the point of being an international movie star if I can’t conduct business on a chaise?” Violet had retorted when asked why by some interviewer or another during awards season some time back—with her eyes on the city that preened before her beneath the ever-blue California sky and sighed. She was no doubt perfectly aware of the way the gentle light caught the face she’d allowed age to encroach upon, if only slightly. She looked wise and gorgeous at once, her fine blond hair brushed back from her face and only hinting at her sixty-plus years, dressed in her preferred “at home” outfit of butter-soft jeans that had cost her a small fortune and a bespoke emerald-green blouse that played up the remarkable eyes only a keen observer would note were enhanced by cosmetics.

This was the star in her natural habitat.

Sitting in her usual place at the elegant French secretary on the far side of the room, her laptop open before her and all of Violet’s cell phones in a row on the glossy wood surface in case any of them should ring, Paige frowned and named the very famous director they’d just been discussing.

“You think he’s lonely?” she asked, startled.

Violet let out that trademark throaty laugh of hers that had been wowing audiences and bringing whole rooms to a standstill since she’d appeared in her first film in the seventies.

“No doubt he is,” she said after a moment, “despite the parade of ever-younger starlets who he clearly doesn’t realize make him look that much older and more decrepit, but I meant Giancarlo.”

Of course she did.

“Is he?” Paige affected a vague tone. The sort of tone any employee would use when discussing the boss’s son.

“He was a very lonely child,” Violet said, in the same sort of curious, faraway voice she used when she was puzzling out a new character. “It is my single regret. His father and I loved each other wildly and often quite badly, and there was little room for anyone else.”

Everyone knew the story, of course. The doomed love affair with its separations and heartbreaks. The tempestuous, often short-lived reunions. The fact they’d lived separately for years at a time with many rumored affairs, but had never divorced. Violet’s bent head and flowing tears at the old count’s funeral, her refusal to speak of him publicly afterward.

Possibly, Paige thought ruefully as she turned every last part of the story over in her head, she had studied that Hollywood fairy tale with a little more focus and attention than most.

“He doesn’t seem particularly lonely,” Paige said when she felt Violet’s expectant gaze on her. She sat very still in her chair, aware that while a great movie star might seem to be too narcissistic to notice anyone but herself, the truth was that Violet was an excellent judge of character. She had to be, to inhabit so many. She read people the way others read street signs. Fidgeting would tell her much, much more than Paige wanted her to know. “He seems as if he’s the sort of man who’s used to being in complete and possibly ruthless control. Of everything.”

The other woman’s smile then seemed sad. “I agree. And I can’t think of anything more lonely,” she said softly. “Can you?”

And perhaps that conversation was how Paige found herself touching up what she could only call defensive eyeliner in the mirror in the small foyer of her cozy little cottage when she heard a heavy hand at her door at precisely eight o’clock that night.

She didn’t bother to ask who it was. The cartwheels her stomach turned at the sound were identification enough.

Paige swung open the door and he was there, larger than life and infinitely more dangerous, looking aristocratic and lethal in one of the suits he favored that made him seem a far cry indeed from the more casual man she’d known before. This man looked as if he’d sooner spit nails than partake of the Californian pastime of surfing, much less lounge about like an affluent Malibu beach bum in torn jeans and no shirt. This man looked as forbidding and unreachable and haughtily blue-blooded as the Italian count he was.

Giancarlo stood on the path that led to her door and let his dark eyes sweep over her, from the high ponytail she’d fashioned to the heavy eye makeup she’d used because it was the only mask she thought he’d allow her to wear. His sensual mouth crooked slightly at that, as if he knew exactly what she’d been thinking when she’d lined her eyes so dramatically, and then moved lower. To the dress that hugged her breasts tight, with only delicate straps above, then cascaded all the way to the floor in a loose, flowing style that suggested the kind of casual elegance she’d imagined he’d require no matter where he planned to take her.

“Very good, cara,” he said, and that wasn’t quite approval she heard in his voice. It was much closer to satisfaction, and that distinction made her pulse short-circuit, then start to drum wildly. Erratically. “It appears you are capable of following simple instructions, when it suits you.”

“Everyone can follow instructions when it suits them,” she retorted despite the fact she’d spent hours cautioning herself not to engage with him, not to give him any further ammunition. Especially not when he called her that name—cara—he’d once told her he reserved for the many indistinguishable women who flung themselves at him. Better that than “Nicola,” she thought fiercely. “It’s called survival.”

“I can think of other things to call it,” he murmured in that dark, silken way of his that hurt more for its insinuations than any directness would have. “But why start the night off with name-calling?” That crook of his mouth became harder, deadlier. “You’ll need your strength, I suspect. Best to conserve it while you can.”

He’s only messing with you, she cautioned herself as she stepped through the door and delivered herself into his clutches, the way she’d promised him she would. He wants to see if you’ll really go through with this.

So did she, she could admit, as she made a show of locking the front door, mostly to hide her nerves from that coolly assessing dark gaze of his. But it was done too fast, and then Giancarlo was urging her into a walk with that hand of his at the small of her back, and their history seemed particularly alive then in the velvety night that was still edged with deep blues as the summer evening took hold around them.

Everything felt perilous. Even her own breath.

He didn’t speak. He handed her into the kind of low-slung sports car she should have expected he’d drive, and as he rounded the hood to lower himself into the driver’s seat she could still feel his hand on that spot on her back, the heat of it pulsing into her skin like a brand, making the finest of tremors snake over her skin.

Paige didn’t know what she expected as he got in and started to drive, guiding them out of Violet’s high gates and higher into the hills. A restaurant so he could humiliate her in public? One of the dive motels that rented by the hour in the sketchier neighborhoods so he could treat her like the whore he believed she was? But it certainly wasn’t the sharp turn he eventually took off the winding road that traced the top of the Santa Monica Mountains bisecting Los Angeles, bringing the powerful car to a stop in a shower of dirt right at the edge of a cliff. There was an old wooden railing, she noted in a sudden panic. But still.

“Get out,” he said.

“I, uh, really don’t want to,” she said, and she heard the sheer terror in her own voice. He must have heard it too, because while his grim expression didn’t alter, she thought she saw amusement in the dark eyes he fixed on her.

“I’m not going to throw you off the side of the mountain, however appealing the notion,” he told her. “That would kill you almost instantly.”

“It’s the ‘almost’ part I’m worried about,” she pointed out, sounding as nervous as she felt suddenly. “It encompasses a lot of screaming and sharp rocks.”

“I want you to suffer, Paige,” he said softly, still with that emphasis on her name, as if it was another lie. “Remember that.”

It told her all manner of things about herself she’d have preferred not knowing that she found that some kind of comfort. She could have walked away, ten years ago or three days ago, and she hadn’t. He’d been the one to leave. He’d hurled his accusations at her, she’d told him she loved him and he’d walked away—from her and from his entire life here. This was the bed she’d made, wasn’t it?

So she climbed from the car when he did, and then followed him over to that rail, wary and worried. Giancarlo didn’t look at her. He stared out at the ferocious sparkle, the chaos of light that was this city. It was dark where they stood, no streetlamps to relieve the night sky and almost supernaturally quiet so high in the hills, but she could see the intent look on his face in the reflected sheen of the mad city below, and it made her shake down deep inside.

“Come here.”

She didn’t want to do that either, but she’d promised to obey him, so Paige trusted that this was about shaming her, not hurting her—at least not physically—and drifted closer. She shuddered when he looped an arm around her neck and pulled her hard against the rock-hard wall of his chest. The world seemed to spin and lights flashed, but that was only the beaming headlights of a passing car.

Giancarlo stroked his fingers down the side of her face, then traced the seam of her lips.

Everything was hot. Too hot. He was still as hard and male as she remembered, and his torso was like a brand beside her, the arm over her shoulders deliciously heavy, and she felt that same old fire explode inside of her again, as if this was new. As if this was the first time he’d touched her.

He didn’t order her to open her mouth but she did anyway at the insistent movement, and then he thrust his thumb inside. It was hotter than it should have been, sexy and strange at once, and his dark eyes glittered as they met hers with all of Los Angeles at their feet.

“Remind me how exactly it was I lost my head over you,” he told her, all that fury and vengeance in his voice, challenging her to defy him. “Use your tongue.”

Paige didn’t know what demon it was that rose in her then, some painful mixture of long lost hopes and current regrets, not to mention that anger she tried to hide because it was unlikely to help her here, but she did as she was told. She grabbed his invading hand with both of hers and she worshipped his thumb as if it were another part of his anatomy entirely, and she didn’t break away from him while she did it.

She didn’t know how long it went on.

His eyes were darker than the night around them, and the same hectic gold lit them, even as it burned within her. She felt molten and wild, reckless and lost, and none of that mattered, because she could taste him. He might hate her, he might want nothing more than to hurt her, but Paige had never thought she’d taste him again. She’d never dreamed this could happen.

She told herself it didn’t matter, those things she felt deep inside her that she didn’t want to acknowledge. Only that this was a gift. It didn’t matter what else it was.

He pulled his thumb out then and shifted her so they were facing each other, and the space between them seemed dense. Electric.

“I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your touch,” he said, and though his tone was cruel his voice was rougher than it had been, and she told herself that meant something. It meant the same thing her breathlessness did, or that manic tightening deep in her belly, that restlessness she’d only ever felt with him and knew only he could cure.

He smiled, and it was so beautiful it made her throat feel tight, and she should have known better. Because he wasn’t finished.

“Get on your knees, Paige,” he ordered her. “And do it right.”

CHAPTER THREE

FOR A MOMENT Paige thought she really had pitched over the side of the hill, and this taut, terrible noise in her head was her own scream. But she blinked and she was still standing there before Giancarlo, he was still waiting and she didn’t want him to repeat himself.

She could see from that faintly mocking lift to his dark brows and that twist to his lips that he knew full well she’d heard him.

“Not here, surely,” she said, and her voice sounded thin and faraway.

“Where I want. How I want. Was I unclear?”

“But I—” She cleared her throat. “I mean, I don’t—”

“You appear to be confused.” His hands were still on her, and that didn’t help. The offhanded sweep of his thumbs against the tender skin of her bare shoulders made her want to scream, but she didn’t think she’d stop if she started. “I this, I that. This isn’t about you. This is about me.”

“Giancarlo.”

“I told you what to do,” he said coolly. “And what will happen if you don’t.”

She jerked back out of his grip, furious in a sudden jolt, and not only because she knew he could have held her there if he liked. But because he hated her and she hated that he did. Because he was back in her life but not really, not in the way she’d refused to admit to herself she’d wanted him to be.

God, in those first months, those first years, she’d expected him to appear, hadn’t she? She’d expected him to seek her out once his initial anger passed, once the last of the scandal had died down. To continue that conversation they’d had outside her apartment the morning the pictures had run, so swift and terrible. Because they might have been together only a short time, but he’d known her better than anyone else ever had. Or ever would. Maybe not the details of her life, because she’d never wanted anyone to know those, but the truth of her heart. She’d been so sure that somehow, he’d understand that there had to have been extenuating circumstances....

But he’d never come.

So perhaps it was a very old grief that added to the fury and made her forget herself completely.

“Is this really what you want?” she demanded, forgetting to hold her tongue, the taste of his skin still a rich sort of wine in her mouth, making her feel something like drunk. “Is this what a decade did to you, Giancarlo?”

“This is what you did to me.” He didn’t use that name then, but she was sure they could both hear it, Nicola hanging in the air and weaving in and out of the scent of the night-blooming jasmine and rosemary all around them. “And this is exactly what I want.”

“To force me. To make me do things I don’t want to do. To—” She found she couldn’t say it. Not to the man who was the reason she knew that love could be beautiful instead of dark and twisted and sick. Not to the man who had made her feel so alive, so powerful, so perfect beneath his touch. “There are words, you know. Terrible words.”

“None of which apply.” He thrust his hands in the pockets of that suit, and she wondered if he found it hard to keep them to himself. Was she as sick as he was if that made her feel better instead of worse? How could she tell anymore—what was the barometer? “You don’t have to do anything. I have no desire to force you. Quite the opposite.”

“You told me I had to do this—to—to—”

“Don’t stutter like the vestal virgin we both know you are not,” he said silkily, and she wondered if he’d forgotten that she’d been exactly that when she’d come to him ten years ago. If he thought that was another lie. “I told you that you had to obey me. In and out of bed.”

“That I had to have sex with you at your command or leave,” she gritted out.

He didn’t quite shrug, or smile. “Yes.”

“So then I do, in fact, have to do something. You are perfectly happy to use force.”

“Not at all.” He shrugged as if he didn’t care what happened next, but there was a tension to those muscled shoulders, around his eyes, that told her otherwise. And it wasn’t in the least bit comforting. “You’re welcome to leave. To say no at any time and go about your life, such as it is, using whatever name appeals to you. I won’t stop you.”

It was as if her heart was in her mouth and she felt dizzy again, but she couldn’t look away from that terrible face of his, so sensual and impassive and cruel.

“But if I do that, you’ll tell Violet who I am. You’ll tell her I...what? Stalked you? Deliberately hunted her down and befriended her to get to you?”

“I will.” His face hardened and his voice did, too. “It has the added benefit of being the truth.”

But Paige knew better, however little she could seem to express it to him. She knew what had grown between her and Violet in these past years, and how deeply it would wound the other woman to learn that Paige was yet one more leech. One more user, trying to suck Violet dry for her own purposes. It made her feel sick to imagine it.

“That’s no choice at all.”

“It’s a choice, Paige,” he said with lethal bite. “You don’t like it, perhaps, but that doesn’t make it any less of a choice, which is a good deal more than you offered me.”

“I can’t hurt her. Don’t you care about that? Shouldn’t you?”

“There are consequences to the choices you make,” he said with a certain ruthless patience. “Don’t you understand yet? This is a lesson. It’s not supposed to be fun.” That smile of his was a sharp blade she was certain drew blood. “For you.”

For a moment she thought she’d bolt, though it was a long walk to anywhere from high up on this hill. She didn’t know how she kept herself still, how she stayed in one piece. She didn’t know how she wasn’t already in a thousand shattered bits all over this little pull out on the side of the deserted road, like a busted-out car window.

“Tell me, then,” she managed after a moment, keeping her head high, though her eyes burned, “how does this lesson plan work, exactly? You say you don’t want to force me, but you’re okay with me forcing myself? When it’s the last thing I want?”

“Is it?” He shook his head at her, that smile of his no less painful. “Surely you must realize how little patience I have for lies, Paige.” He let out a small sound that was too lethal to be a laugh. “If I were to lift your dress and stroke my way inside your panties, what would I find? Disinterest?”

Damn him.

“That’s not the point. That’s biology, which isn’t the same thing as will.”

“Are you wet?”

It wasn’t really a question, and her silence answered it anyway. Her bright red cheeks that she was sure were like a flare against the night. A beacon. Her shame and fury and agony, and none of that mattered because she was molten between her legs, too hot and too slippery, and he knew it.

He knew it by looking at her, and she didn’t know which one of them she hated more then. Only that she was caught tight in the grip of this thing and she had no idea how either one of them could survive it. How anything could survive it.

“Please,” she said. It was a whisper. She hardly knew she spoke.

And the worst part was that she had no idea what she was asking for.

“We’ll get to the begging,” he promised her.

Giancarlo looked as ruthless as she’d ever seen him then, and it only made that pulsing wet heat worse. It made her ache and hunger and want, and what the hell did that make her? Exactly what he thinks you are already, a voice inside her answered.

And he wasn’t finished. “But first, I want you on your knees. Right here. Right now. Don’t make me tell you again.”

* * *

He didn’t think she’d do it.

They stood together in the dark, close enough that any observer would think them lovers a scant inch away from a touch, and Giancarlo realized in a sudden flash that he didn’t want her to do it—that there was a part of him that wanted her to refuse. To walk away from this thing before it consumed them both whole and then wrecked them all over again.

To stop him, because he didn’t think he could—or would—stop himself.

Seeing her had taken the brakes off whatever passed for his self-control and he was careening down the side of a too-steep mountain now, heedless and reckless, and he didn’t care what he destroyed on the way down. He didn’t care about anything but exploring the phrase a pound of flesh in every possible way he could.

She didn’t blink. He didn’t think either one of them breathed. He saw her clench her hands into fists, saw her stiffen her spine. He wanted to stop her from running. From not running. From whatever was about to happen next in this too-close, too-dark night, where the only thing that moved was that long dress of hers, rippling slightly against the faint breeze from the far-off sea.

Then she moved, in a simple slide of pure grace that was worse, somehow, than all the rest. It reminded him of so many things. The supple strength and flexibility of her body, her lean curves, and all the ways he’d worshipped her back before he’d known who she really was. With his hands. His mouth. His whole body. She was his memory in lovely action, a stark and pretty slap across his face, and when she was finished she was settled there on her knees before him.

Just as he’d asked. Demanded.

Giancarlo stared down at her, willing back all of his self-righteous fury and the armor it provided, but it was hard to remember much of anything when she was staring up at him, her eyes wide and mysterious and her lips slightly parted, making the carnal way she’d taken his thumb inside her mouth seem to explode through him all over again.

Making him realize he was kidding himself if he thought he was in control of this.

As long as she didn’t realize that, Giancarlo thought, he’d manage. So he waited, watching her as he did. The night seemed much darker than it was, heavy on all sides and far fewer stars above than in the skies over his home in Tuscany, and he felt the ragged breath she took. That same old destructive need for her poured through him, rocketing through his veins and into his sex, making him clench his jaw too tight to keep from acting on it.

He felt like granite—everywhere—when she tilted herself forward and propped herself against his thighs, her palms like fire, her mouth much too close to the part of him that burned the hottest for her.

“Your mother thinks you’re lonely,” she said.

It took him a moment to understand the words she spoke in that husky tone of voice, and when he did, something he didn’t care to identify coursed through him. He told himself it was yet more anger. He had an endless well where this woman was concerned, surely.

Giancarlo reached down and took her jaw in his hand, tugging her face up so he could look down into it, and it was the hardest thing he’d done in a long, long time to keep himself in check. In control. To crush the roaring thing that wanted only to take her, possess her and force himself to think, instead.

“That’s not going to work,” he told her softly. He was so hard it very nearly hurt, but he stood there as if he could do this all night, and he felt the faintest shiver move through her, making it all worthwhile.

“What do you mean? That’s what she said.”

“It doesn’t matter if she hauled out her photo albums and wept over pictures of me as a fat, drooling infant,” he said mildly, though his hand was hard against her jaw and he could feel how much she wanted to yank herself back, away from him. He could feel the flat press of her hands on his thighs, and the heat there that neither one of them had ever been any good at harnessing. “You’re not bringing it up now, on your knees in the dirt because I ordered it, because you have a sudden interest in my emotional well-being.”

“I could be interested in nothing but your emotional well-being and you’d tell me I was only running a con,” Nicola—Paige said, with more bravado than he might have displayed were he the one kneeling there in the dark. “I don’t know why I bother to speak.”

“In this case,” he said silkily, moving his hand along the sweet line of her jaw, her cheek, cradling her head with a softness completely belied by the lash in his words, “it is because you hope to shame me into stopping this. Why else bring up my mother when you’re about to take me into your mouth at last?”

Her mouth fell open slightly more, as if in stunned astonishment, and he laughed, though it wasn’t a very nice sound.

“Fine,” she said, though her voice sounded like a stranger’s. “Whatever you want.”

“That is the point I am trying to make to you, Paige,” he bit out then, holding her immobile, so she had no choice but to gaze back at him, and he was a terrible man indeed, to revel in the temper he saw in her changeable eyes. “‘Whatever I want’ isn’t an empty phrase. It could mean pleasuring me by the side of the road without any consultation whatsoever about your feelings on the subject. It is what I want. Are you beginning to understand me? How many object lessons do you think you will require before this sinks in?”

She said something in reply but the night stole her words away, and she cleared her throat. She was trembling fully then, and he might have felt like the monster all that accusation in her gaze named him, but he could see the rest of it, too. The stain of color on her cheeks. That glassy heat in her eyes. And beneath the hand he still held to her face and against her neck, the wild drumming of her pulse, pounding out her arousal in an unmistakable beat.

He knew that rhythm better than he knew himself. He thought it might have been the only honest thing about her, then and now.

“How long?” she whispered.

“Until what?”

“Until this is done.” She moistened her lips and he felt it like her wicked mouth, wet and soft and deep, and nearly groaned where he stood.

“Until I’m bored.”

“A few hours, then,” she said, with a remnant of her usual fire, and he smiled.

“I don’t imagine you’ll be that lucky.” He traced a pattern from that stubborn chin of hers to the delicate shell of her ear, then back. “I’ve had a long time to think about all the ways I’d like to make you crawl. Then pay. Then crawl some more. There’s no telling how long it could take.”

“And yet when you had the chance, you talked to me for three seconds and then disappeared for a decade,” she pointed out.

He felt that same wash of betrayal, that same kick in the gut he’d felt that long-ago day when he’d realized she’d used him the way his own mother always had—and it had been far more shattering, because Violet had only sold him out when he was clothed.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” he said, as harshly as he could in that same soft voice. “I didn’t then. I don’t now. I thought I’d made that clear.”

A car passed by on the winding mountain drive, the headlights dancing over them, and he saw something bleak in her eyes, across her lovely face. He told himself there was no echo at all inside him, no hollow thing in his chest.

“Then we’d better get started with the humiliation and sexual favors, hadn’t we?” she said with a cheerfulness that was as pointed as it was feigned, and he felt her hands tighten against his thighs. She moved them up toward his belt and he didn’t know he meant to stop her until he did.

He watched her face as he helped her rise to her feet, and he didn’t let go of her arm when she was standing, the way he should have done.

“And here I thought we were right on target to get arrested for public indecency,” she whispered, her voice still sharp but something raw in her chameleon gaze. “They could throw me in jail and charge me for solicitation and it would be like all your dreams come true in one evening.”

“This is my dream,” he growled at her, his hand wrapped tight around her arm and that fever in his blood. His revenge, he thought. At last. “It’s not the act itself that matters, cara. That’s a privilege you haven’t earned. It’s the surrender. It’s all about the surrender.” He laughed then, a dark sound he felt in every part of him, as if it was a part of the night and as dangerous, and then he let her go. It was harder than it should have been. “You’ll learn.”

* * *

It became clear to Paige in the week that followed that it wasn’t Giancarlo’s intention to actually make her have sex with him whenever and wherever he chose, no matter what provocative things he might say to the contrary. That would have been easy, in its way. He was far more diabolical than that.

He wanted her in a constant state of panic, with no idea what he might do next. He wanted her to think of nothing at all but him and the little things he made her do to prove her obedience that were slowly driving her insane.

It’s all about the surrender, he’d said. Her surrender. And she was learning what he’d meant.

One day—after nearly a week filled with anticipation and the faintest of touches, always in passing and always unexpected, all of which still felt like a metal collar around her neck that he tightened at will—he found her in Violet’s expansive closet, putting together a selection of outfits with appropriate accessories for Violet to choose between for the event the star was scheduled to attend that evening.

“Pull up your skirt, take off your panties—if you are foolish enough to be wearing any—and hand them to me,” Giancarlo said without preamble, making Paige jump and shiver into a bright red awareness of him, especially because her mind had been a long way away.

Ten years ago away, in fact, and treating her to a play-by-play, Technicolor and surround-sound replay of one of their more adventurous evenings in the Malibu house down on the beach she had no idea if he still owned.

“What?” she stammered out, but her body wasn’t in any doubt about his instructions. Her breasts bloomed into an aching heaviness, making her bra feel too tight and too scratchy against her skin. Her stomach flipped over, and below, that shimmering heat became scalding.

And that was only at the sound of his voice. What would happen if he touched her this time?

“Is this your strategy, cara? To feign ignorance every time I speak to you?” He loomed in the doorway, looking untamed and edgy, furious and male. He’d forgone the exquisite suits and running apparel today and looked more like the Giancarlo she remembered in casual trousers and a top that was more like a devotional poem extolling the perfection of his torso than anything so prosaic as a T-shirt. “It’s already tiresome.”

She was standing too straight, too still, on the other side of the central island that housed Violet’s extensive jewelry collection, entirely too aware that she resembled a deer stuck fast in the glare of oncoming headlights. But she couldn’t seem to move.

Anything besides her mouth, that was. “I did try to warn you that this would get boring.”

Giancarlo’s mouth crooked slightly and made hers water. His eyes were so dark the gold in them felt as much like a caress as a warning, and she was terribly afraid she could no longer tell the difference.

“Show me that you know how to follow directions.” He folded his arms over that chest of his and propped a shoulder against the doorjamb, but Paige wasn’t the least bit fooled. He looked about as casual and relaxed as a predator three seconds before launching an attack. “And I’d think twice before making me wait, if I were you.”

“It’s all the threats,” she grated at him. “They make me dizzy with fear. It’s hard to hear the instructions over all the heart palpitations.”

“I’m certain that’s true.” That crook in his mouth deepened. She was fascinated. “But I think we both know it isn’t fear.”

Paige couldn’t really argue with that, and she certainly didn’t want him to wander any closer and prove his point—did she? She glanced down at her outfit, the short, flirty little skirt with nothing on beneath it, and realized that she’d obeyed him without thinking about it when she’d dressed this morning. Make sure that I have access to you, should I desire it, he’d told her two nights ago, a harsh whisper in the hallway outside Violet’s office. She’d obeyed him and in so doing, she’d revealed herself completely.

When she raised her gaze to his again, he was smiling, a fierce satisfaction in his dark gold eyes and stamped across that impossibly elegant face of his. He jerked his chin at her, wordlessly ordering her to show him, and her hands moved convulsively, as if her body wanted nothing more than to prove itself to him. To prove herself trustworthy again, to jump through any hoop he set before her—

But that wasn’t where this was headed. This wasn’t a love story. No matter how many memories she used to torture herself into imagining otherwise.

“Come over here and find out for yourself, if you want to know,” she heard herself say. Suicidally.

Giancarlo only shook his head at her, as if saddened. “You seem to miss the point. Again. This is not a game that lovers play, cara. This is not some delightful entertainment en route to a blissful afternoon in bed. This is—”

“Penance,” she finished for him, with far more bitterness than she should have allowed him to hear. “Punishment. I know.”

“Then stop stalling. Show me.”

Paige could see he meant it.

She told herself it didn’t matter. That he’d seen all of her before, and in a far more intimate setting than this. That more than that, he’d had his mouth and his hands on every single inch of her skin, in ways so devastating and intense that she could still feel it ten years later. So what did it matter now? He was all the way across the room and he wanted her to balk. To hate him. That was why he was doing this, she was sure.

So instead, she laughed, like the carefree girl she’d never been. Paige stepped out from behind the center island so there could be no accusations of hiding. She watched his hard, hard face and then, slowly, she reached down and pulled her skirt up to her hips.

“Satisfied?” she asked when she was fully bared to his view—because she was.

She’d been so lost in her guilt, her shame, her own anger at everything that had happened and Giancarlo too, that she’d forgotten one very important fact about this thing between them that Giancarlo had been using to such great effect.

It ran both ways.

He stared at her—too hard and too long—and she saw the faintest hint of color high on those gorgeous cheeks of his. And that hectic glitter in his dark eyes that she recognized. Oh yes, she recognized it. She remembered it.

She knew as much about him as he did about her, after all. She knew every inch of his body. She knew his arousal when she saw it. She knew he’d be so hard he ached and that his control would be stretched to the breaking point. The chemistry between them wasn’t only his to exploit.

She stood there with her skirt at her waist, supposedly debasing herself before the only man she’d ever loved, and Paige felt better than she had in years. Powerful. Right, somehow.

“Looked your fill?” she asked sweetly when the silence stretched on, taut and nearly humming. He swallowed as if it hurt him, and she felt like a goddess as he dragged his gaze back to hers.

“Come here.” His voice was a rasp, thick and hot, and it moved in her like joy.

She obeyed him and this time, she was happy to do it. She walked toward him, reveling in the way her blood pounded through her and her skin seemed to shrink a size, too tight across her bones. Because he could call this revenge. He could talk about hatred and penance. But it was still the same thick madness that felt like a rope around her neck. It was still the same inexorable pull.

It was still them.

Paige stopped in front of him and let out a surprised breath when he moved, reaching down to gather her wrists in his big hands and then pull them behind her, securing them in one of his at the small of her back. Her skirt fell back into place against the sensitized skin of her thighs, her back arched almost of its own accord, and Giancarlo stared down at her, a hard wildness blazing from his eyes.

Paige remembered that, too.

She didn’t know what he looked for, much less what he saw. He stared at her for a moment that dragged out to forever and she felt it like panic beneath the surface of her skin. Like an itch.

And then he jerked her close, her hands still held immobile behind her back, and slammed his mouth to hers.

It wasn’t a brush of his mouth, a tease, like before. It wasn’t an introduction.

He took her mouth as if he was already deep inside of her. As if he was thrusting hard and driving them both toward that glimmering edge. It was more than wild, more than carnal. He bent her back over her own arms, pressing her breasts into the flat planes of his chest, and he simply possessed her with a ruthless sort of fury that set every part of her aflame.

She thrilled to his boldness, his shocking mastery. The glorious taste of him she’d pined for all these years. The sheer rightness.

Paige kissed him back desperately, deeply, forgetting about the games they played. Forgetting about penance, about trust. Forgetting her betrayal and his fury. She didn’t care what he wanted from her, or how he planned to hurt her, or anything at all but this.

This.

There was too much noise in her head and too much heat inside of her and she actually moaned in disappointment when he pulled back, holding her away from him with that iron strength of his that reminded her how gentle he was with it. How truly demanding, because he knew—as he’d always known—exactly what she wanted. How far away from force all of this really was.

“You kiss like a whore,” he said, and she could see it was meant to be an insult, but it came out sounding somehow reverent, instead.

She laughed. “Have you kissed many whores, then? You, the exalted Count Alessi, who could surely have any proper woman he wished?”

“Just the one.”

She should be wounded by that, Paige thought as she studied him. She should feel slapped down, put in her place, but she didn’t. She cocked her head to one side and saw the fever in his dark gaze, and she knew that whatever power he had over her, she had it over him, too. And more, he was as aware of that as she was.

“Then how would you know?” she asked him, her voice like a stranger’s, breathy and inviting. Nothing like hurt at all. “Maybe the whore is you.”

“Watch your mouth.” But he’d moved closer again, his shoulders filling her vision, her need expanding to swallow the whole world. Or maybe it was his need. Both of theirs, twined together and too big to fit beneath the sky.

“Make me,” she dared him, and he muttered something in Italian.

And then he did.

He let go of her hands to take her face between his hard palms, holding her where he wanted her as he plundered her mouth. As he took and took and then took even more, as if there was no end and no beginning and only the madness of their mouths, slick and hot and perfect. The fire between them danced high and roared louder, and he didn’t stop her when Paige melted against him. When she wound her arms around his neck and clung to him, kissing him back as if this was the reunion she’d always dreamed of. As if this was a solution, not another one of his clever little power games.

And she didn’t know when it changed. When it stopped being about fury and started to taste like heat. When it started to feel like the people they’d been long ago, before everything had gone so wrong.

He felt it, too. She felt him stiffen, and then he thrust her aside.

And for a long moment they only stared at each other, both of them breathing too fast, too hard. Paige tried to step back and her legs wobbled, and Giancarlo scowled at her even as his hand shot out to steady her.

“Thank you,” she said, because she couldn’t help herself. Her mouth felt marked, soft and plundered, and Giancarlo was looking at her as if she was a ghost. “That certainly taught me my place. All that punitive kissing.”

She didn’t know what moved across his face then, but it scraped at her. It hurt far worse than any of his words had. She had to bite her own tongue to keep from making the small sound of pain that welled up in her at the sight of it.

“It will,” he promised her, a bleakness in his voice that settled in her bones like a winter chill. Like the fate she’d been running from since the day she’d met him, loath as she was to admit it. “I can promise you that. Sooner or later, it will.”

* * *

Kissing her had been a terrible mistake.

Giancarlo ran until he thought his lungs might burst and his legs might collapse beneath him, and it was useless. The Southern California sun was unforgiving, the blue sky harsh and high and cloudless, and he couldn’t get her taste out of his mouth. He couldn’t get the feel of her out of his skin.

It was exactly as it had been a decade ago, all over again, except this time he couldn’t pretend he’d been blindsided. This time, he’d walked right into it. He’d been the one to kiss her.

He cursed himself in two languages and at last he stopped running, bending over to prop his hands on his knees and stare down the side of the mountain toward his mother’s estate and the sprawl of the city below it in the shimmering heat of high summer. It was too hot here. It was too familiar.

Too dangerous.

It was much too tempting to simply forget himself, to pick up where he’d left off with her. With the woman who was no longer Nicola. As if she hadn’t engineered his ruin, deliberately, ten years ago. As if she hadn’t then tricked her way to her place at his mother’s side with a new name and God only knew what agenda.

As if, were he to bury himself in her body the way he wanted to do more than was wise and more than he cared to admit to himself, she might transform into the woman she’d already proved she wasn’t in the most spectacular way imaginable.

He was already slipping back into those old habits he’d thought he’d eradicated. The work he’d left in Italy was piling up high, and yet here he was, running off steam in the Bel Air hills the way he’d done when he was a sixteen-year-old. She was the first thing he thought of when he woke. She was what he dreamed about. She was taking over his life as surely as she ever had, very much as if this was her revenge, not his.

He was an addict. There was no other explanation for the state he was in, hard and ready and yearning, and he didn’t want that. He wanted her humbled, brought low, destroyed. He wanted her to feel how he’d felt when he’d woken that terrible morning to find his naked body splashed everywhere for the entire world to pick over, parse, comment upon, like every other time his private life been exploited for Violet’s gain—but much worse, because he hadn’t seen the betrayal coming. He hadn’t thought to brace himself for impact.

He wanted this to hurt.

Giancarlo straightened and shoved his hair back from his forehead, the past seeming to press against him too tightly. He remembered it all too well. Not just the affair with Nicola—Paige, he reminded himself darkly—in all its blistering, sensual perfection, as if their bodies had been created purely to drive each other wild. But the parts of that affair he’d preferred to pretend he didn’t remember, all these years later. Like the way he’d always found himself smiling when they’d spoken on the phone, wide and hopeful and giddy, as if she was sunshine in a bottle and only his. Or the way his heart had always thudded hard when she’d entered a room, in the moment before she’d seen him and had treated him to that dazzling smile of hers that had blotted out the rest of the world. The way she’d held his hand as if that connection alone would save them both from darkness, or dragons, or something far worse.

Oh yes, he remembered.

And he remembered the aftermath, too. After the pictures ran in all those papers. After those final, horrible moments with this woman he had loved so deeply and known not at all. After he’d done the best he could to clear his head and then made his way back to Italy. To face, at last, his elderly father.

His father, who had felt denim was for commoners and had thought the only thing more tawdry than Europe’s aristocracy was the British royals, with their divorces and dirty laundry and jeans. His father, Count Alessi, who could have taught propriety and manners to whole nunneries and probably had, in his day. His father, who had been as gentle and nobly well-meaning as he was blue-blooded. Truly the last of his kind.

“It is not your fault,” he’d told Giancarlo that first night in the wake of the scandal. He’d hugged his errant son and greeted him warmly, his body so frail it had moved in Giancarlo like a winter wind, a herald of the coming season he hadn’t wanted to face. Not then. Not yet. “When I married your mother I knew precisely who she was, Giancarlo. It was foolish to imagine she and I could raise a son untainted by that world. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened.”

Perhaps his father’s disappointment in him had cut all the deeper because it had been so matter-of-fact. Untouched by any hint of anger or vanity or sadness. There was nothing to fight against, and Giancarlo had understood that there had been no one to blame but himself for his poor judgment. His father might have been antiquated, a relic of another time, but he’d instilled his values in his only son and heir.

Strive to do good no matter what, he’d told Giancarlo again and again. Never make a spectacle of oneself. And avoid the base and the dishonorable, lest one become the same by association.

Giancarlo had failed on all counts. It was why he knew that the vows he’d made when he was younger were solid. Right. No marriage, because how could he ever be certain that someone wanted him? And no heirs of his own, because he’d never, ever, subject a child to the things he’d survived. He might not be able to save himself from his own father’s disappointment, he might find his life trotted out into public every time his mother starred in something new and needed to remind the world of her once upon an Italian count fairy-tale marriage, but it would end with him.

Damn Nicola—Paige—for making him think otherwise, even if it had only been for two mostly naked months a lifetime ago.

It was that, he thought as he broke into a run again, his pace harder and faster than before as he hurtled down the hill, that he found the most difficult to get past. He hated that she had betrayed him, yes. But far worse was this thing in him, dark and brooding, that yearned only for her surrender no matter how painful, and that he very much feared made him no different than she was.

He thought he hated that most of all.

CHAPTER FOUR

AFTER A LONG SHOWER and the application of his own hand to the part of him that least listened to reason, Giancarlo prowled through the house, his fury at a dull simmer. An improvement, he was aware.

La Bellissima was the same as it ever was, as it had been throughout his life, he thought as he moved quietly through its hushed halls, gleaming with Violet’s wealth and consequence in all its details. The glorious art she’d collected from all over the planet. The specially sourced artisan touches here and there that gave little hints of the true Violet Sutherlin, who had been born under another name and raised in bohemian Berkeley, California. Old Hollywood glamor mixed with contemporary charm, the house managed to feel light and airy rather than overfed, somehow, on its own affluence.

Much like Violet herself, all these years after her pouty, sex kitten beginnings in the mid-seventies. He should know, having been trotted out at key moments during her transition from kitten to lion of the industry, as a kind of proof, perhaps, that Violet could do more than wear a bikini.

There was the time she’d released a selection of cards he’d written her as a small child, filled with declarations of love that the other kids at school had teased him about all the way up until his high school graduation. There was the time she’d spent five minutes of her appearance in a famous actor’s studio interview telling a long, involved anecdote about catching him and his first girlfriend in bed that had humiliated fourteen-year-old Giancarlo and made his then-girlfriend’s parents remove her to a far-off boarding school. He knew every inch of this house and none of it had ever been his; none of it had ever been safe. He was as much a prop as any of the other things Violet surrounded herself with—only unlike the vases, he loved her despite knowing how easily and unrepentantly she’d use him.

He followed the bright hall toward Violet’s quarters, knowing how much she liked to spend her days in the office there with its views of the city she’d conquered. He had memories of catapulting himself down this same hallway as a child, careening off the walls and coming to a skidding halt in that room, only to climb up on the chaise and lie at his mother’s feet as she’d run her lines and practiced her voices, her various accents, the postures that made her body into someone else’s. He’d found her fascinating, back then. He supposed he still did, and Giancarlo couldn’t remember, then, at what age he’d realized that Violet was better admired than depended upon. That her love was a distantly beautiful thing, better experienced as a fan than a family member. The first time she’d released a photo of him he’d found embarrassing? Or the tenth, with as little remorse?

He only knew they’d both been far happier once he’d accepted it.

Giancarlo paused in the doorway, hearing his mother’s famous laugh before he saw her. She wasn’t in her usual place today, reclining on her chaise like the Empress of Hollywood. She was standing at the French doors instead, bathed in soft light from the summer day beyond with a mobile phone in her hand, and even though there was no denying her celebrated beauty, his gaze went straight to the other woman in the room as if Violet wasn’t there at all.

Paige sat at the fussy little desk in the corner, typing something as a male voice responded to whatever Violet had said from her mobile phone, obviously on speaker. Paige was frowning down at her laptop as her fingers flew over the keys, and when Violet turned toward her to roll her eyes at her assistant, Giancarlo could see the face Paige made in immediate response.

Sympathetic. Fully on Violet’s side. Staunch and true, he’d have said, if he didn’t know better.

He’d seen that expression before. That was the woman he’d loved in all the passionate fury of those two months of madness. Stalwart. Loyal. Not in any way the kind of woman who would sell a man out and print it all up in the tabloids. He’d have sworn on that. He’d have gambled everything.

Giancarlo still couldn’t believe how wrong he’d been.

His stomach twisted, and it took everything he had not to make a noise, not to bellow out his fury at all of this—but mostly at himself.

Because he wanted to believe, still. Despite everything. He wanted there to be an explanation for what had happened ten years ago. He wanted Paige—and when had he started thinking about her by that name, without stumbling over it at all?—to be who she appeared to be. Dedicated to his mother. Deeply sorry for what had gone before, and with some reason for what she’d done. And not the kind of self-serving reason Violet always had...

He wanted her back.

And that was when Giancarlo woke up with a jolt and recognized the danger he was in. History could not repeat itself. Not with her. Not ever.

“Darling,” Violet said when she ended her call, turning from the window and smiling at him. “Don’t lurk in the hallway. It was only my agent. A whinier, more demanding fool I have yet to meet, and yet I’m fairly certain he’s the best there is.”

But what Giancarlo noticed was the way Paige straightened in her chair, her eyes wide and blue when they flew to him, then quickly shuttered when she looked back to her keyboard.

He could think of a greater fool than his mother’s parasitical agent. It was something about finding himself back in Los Angeles, he thought as he fought back his own temper, as well as seeing Paige again. It would have been different if he’d encountered her in some other city. Somewhere that held no trace of who they’d been together. But here, their history curled around everything, like a thick, encroaching smog, and made it impossible to inhale without confronting it every time.

With every goddamned breath.

“I must return to Italy,” he said shortly. Almost as if he wasn’t certain he’d say it at all if he didn’t say it quickly and that, of course, made him despise himself all the more.

“You can’t leave,” Violet said at once. Giancarlo noticed Paige seemed to type even more furiously and failed to raise her head at all. “You’ve only just arrived.”

“I came because it had been an unconscionably long time, Mother,” he said softly. “It was never my intention to stay away so long. But I have a solution.”

“You are moving back to Los Angeles,” Violet said, a curve to her mouth that suggested she didn’t believe it even as she said it. “I’m delighted. That Malibu house is far too nice to waste on all those renters.”

“Not at all.” He wanted to study Paige instead of his mother but he didn’t dare. Still, he was as aware of her as if she was triple her own size. As if she loomed there in his peripheral vision, a great dark cloud, consuming everything. “You must come to Italy. Bring your assistant. Stay for the rest of the summer.”

Violet looked startled for a moment, but then in the next her face smoothed out, and he recognized the mask she wore then. As impenetrable as it was graceful. A vision of loveliness that showed only what she wanted seen, and nothing else. Violet Sutherlin, the star. Giancarlo didn’t know what it said about him that he found this version of her easier to handle than the one who pretended motherhood was her primary concern.

“Darling, you know my feelings about Italy,” she murmured, and a stranger might have believed her wry, easy tone. “I love it with all my heart. But I’m afraid I buried that heart with your father.”

“Not that Italy,” he said. He smiled, though he understood he was speaking as much to the silent woman in the corner of his eye as to his mother. “My Italy.”

“Do you have your own?” Violet asked. She laughed again. “You have been busy indeed.”

“I’ve completely transformed the estate,” Giancarlo said quietly. “I know we’ve discussed all these changes over the years, but I’d like you to see them for yourself. I think Father would be proud.”

“I know he would,” Violet said with a glimmer of something raw in her gaze and the sound of it in her voice, and Giancarlo knew he had her. Paige knew it too, he could tell. He felt more than saw her stiffen at her desk, and it took everything he had to keep the triumph from his voice, the sheer victory from his face. “Of course, Giancarlo. I’d love to see Tuscany again.”

He only let himself look at Paige again when he was certain he had himself under complete control. Like iron, he thought fiercely. Like the old houses he’d rebuilt on the ancestral estate in Tuscany, stone by ancient stone, forcing his will and vision onto every acre.

He would take her away from Los Angeles, where history seemed to infuse every moment between them with meaning he didn’t want. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of this sooner.

In the far reaches of Tuscany, as remote as it was possible to get in one of the most famous and beloved regions of the world, she would be entirely dependent on him. Violet could relax in the hands of his world-class staff, her every need anticipated and met, and he would have all the time in the world to vanquish this demon from his past, for good. All the time he needed to truly make her pay.

Because that was what he wanted, he reminded himself. To make her pay. Everything else was memory and fantasy and better suited to a long night’s dream than reality.

“Wonderful.” Giancarlo tried not to gloat, and knew he failed when Paige frowned. And it was still a victory. It was still a plan. And it would work, he was sure of it. Because it had to. “We leave tonight.”

* * *

Paige had dreamed of Italy her whole life.

When she was a child, she’d sneaked library books into her mother’s bleak trailer in the blistering heat of the rocky Arizona desert. She’d waited for Arleen to pass out before she’d lost herself in them, and she’d dreamed. Fierce dreams of cypress trees in stern columns marching across a deep green undulation of ancient fields. Monuments to long lost gods and civilizations gone centuries before her birth, red-roofed towns clustered on gentle hills beneath a soft, Italian sun.

Then she’d met Giancarlo, who carried the lilt of Italy in every word he spoke, and her dreams had taken on a more specific shape. Even back then, when he’d wanted to play around in Hollywood more than he’d wanted to tend to his heritage, he’d spoken of the thousands of rural acres that his father had only just started to reclaim from the encroaching wilderness of a generation or two of neglect. They were his birthright and in those giddy days ten years ago she’d dared to imagine that she was, too.

And now she was finally here, and it turned out it was extraordinarily painful to visit a place that she’d once imagined might be her home and now knew never, ever would be. More than painful—but she told herself it was the jet lag that made her ache like that. Nothing a good night’s sleep on solid ground wouldn’t cure.

Even if it was this solid ground.

The vast estate sprawled across a part of Tuscany that had been in the Alessi family in one form or another since the Middle Ages. It was dotted with old farmhouses Giancarlo had spent the past decade painstakingly renovating for a very special class of clientele: people as wealthy as his mother and as allergic to invasions of their privacy as his father had been. As Paige supposed he must be himself now, after his too-public shaming at her own hands.

Here at Castello Alessi and all across its hilly lands, thick with olive groves and vineyards, lavender bushes and timeless forests of oak trees—according to the splashy website Paige had accessed a hundred times before and once again from the plane when she’d accepted she was really, truly coming here at last—such privacy-minded people could relax, secure in the knowledge that the “cottages” they’d paid dearly either to rent or to buy outright and fashion to their liking were as private and remote as it was possible to get while still enjoying world-class service akin to that of the finest hotels, thanks to Giancarlo’s private, around-the-clock staff.

But none of that applied to Paige, she was well aware.

They’d landed on a private airstrip in a nearby valley after flying all night. It had been a bright, somehow distinctly Italian summer morning, filled with yellow flowers and too-blue skies, and a waiting driver had whisked them off to the estate some forty minutes away. It was a long, gorgeous drive, winding in and around the hills of Tuscany that looked exactly as Paige had imagined them while also being somehow so much more than she’d anticipated. Violet had been installed in the lavishly remodeled castello itself, arrayed around a welcoming stone courtyard with heart-stopping views and her own private spa with waiting staff to pamper her at once, as if she was truly the High Queen of Italy.

Paige, on the other hand, Giancarlo ushered into a Jeep and then personally drove far out into the heart of the property, until all she could see in all directions was the gently rolling countryside and one lone house at the top of the nearest hill. All of it so gorgeous and yet so familiar, as if she’d been here before and recognized it like a homecoming, and yet, she was forced to keep telling herself, none of this was hers. Not the perfect sky, the charming lane, the pretty little houses on this or that ridge. Not hers. The man beside her least of all.

“Are you deliberately stranding me out here as some kind of punishment?” she asked him, when it became clear that a smaller cottage down in the valley beneath that lone house was where he was headed. She was doing her best not to look at him, braced beside her in the smaller-by-the-moment front of his Jeep as they bumped along the lazy dirt road that meandered toward the little stone house, because she was afraid it might make all these raw emotions inside of her spill over into tears. Or worse. “Don’t you think that looks a little bit strange?”

“My mother will be waited on hand and foot in the castello,” he said, his gruff voice either impatient or triumphant, and Paige couldn’t tell which. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. “And if by some chance she needs you while undergoing a battalion of spa treatments, never fear, the Wi-Fi is excellent. I trust she can manage to send out an email should she require your presence.”

“So the answer is yes,” Paige said stiffly as he pulled up in front of the cottage. He turned the key in the ignition and the sudden quiet seemed to pour in through the open windows, as terrifying as it was sweet. “This is a punishment.”

“Yes,” he said in that low way of his that wrapped around her and made her yearn, then made her question her own sanity. “I am punishing you with Tuscany. It is a fate worse than death, obviously. Just look around.”

She didn’t want to look around, for a thousand complicated reasons and none she’d dare admit. It made her feel scraped to the bone and weak. So very weak. So she looked at him instead, which wasn’t really any better.

“You think I don’t know why you brought me here, but of course I do.” She laughed, though it was a hollow little sound and seemed to make that scraped sensation expand inside of her. “You’re making sure I have nowhere to run. I think that counts as the most basic of torture methods, doesn’t it?”

“Correction.” He aimed a smile at her that didn’t quite reach the storm in his eyes, but made her feel edgy all the same. “I don’t care if you know. It isn’t the same thing.”

Paige pushed her way out of the Jeep, not surprised when he climbed out himself. Was this all a prologue to another one of these scenes with him—as damaging as it was irresistible? She tucked her hands into the pockets of the jeans she’d worn on the long flight and wished she felt like herself. It’s only jet lag, she assured herself. Or so she hoped. You’ve read about jet lag. Everyone says it passes or no one would ever go anywhere, would they? But she didn’t feel particularly tired. She felt stripped to the bone instead. Flayed wide-open.

And the way he looked at her didn’t help.

“How long?” she asked, her voice not quite sounding like her own. “How long do you think you can keep me here?”

Giancarlo pulled her bags from the back and carried them to the door of the cottage, shouldering it open and disappearing inside. But Paige stayed where she was, next to the Jeep with her eyes on the rolling green horizon. The sweet blue of the summer sky was packed with fluffy white clouds that looked as if they were made of meringue and were far more beautiful than all of her dreams put together, and she tried her best not to cry, because this was a prison—she knew it was—and yet she couldn’t escape the notion that it was home.

“I’ll keep you as long as I like,” he said from the doorway, his voice another rolling thing through the morning’s stillness, like a dark shadow beneath all that shine. “This is about my satisfaction, cara. Not your feelings. Or it wouldn’t be torture, would it? It would be a holiday.”

“By your account, I imagine I don’t have any feelings anyway, isn’t that right?” She hadn’t meant to say that, and certainly not in that challenging tone. She scowled at the stunning view, and reminded herself that she’d never really had a home and never would. Longing for a place like this was nothing more than masochistic, no matter how familiar it felt. “I’m nothing but a mercenary bitch who set out to destroy you once and is now, what? A delusional stalker who has insinuated herself into the middle of your family? For my own nefarious purposes, none of which have been in evidence at all over the past three years?”

“I find parasite covers all the bases.” Giancarlo drawled that out, and it was worse, somehow, here in the midst of so much prettiness. Like a creeping black thing in the center of all that green, worse than a mere shadow. “No need to succumb to theatrics when you can merely call it what it is.”

She shook her head, that same old anguish moving inside of her, making her shake deep in her gut, making her wish for things she knew better than to want. A home, at last. Love to fill it. A place to belong and a person to share it with—

Paige had always known better. Dreams were one thing. They were harmless. No one could have survived the hard, barren place where she’d grown up, first her embittered mother’s teenage mistake and then her meal ticket, without a few dreams to keep them going. Much less what had happened ten years ago. What her mother had become. What Paige had nearly had to do in a vain attempt to save her.

But wishes were nothing but borrowed trouble. And she supposed, looking back, that had been the issue from the start—being with Giancarlo had made her imagine she could dare to want things she knew, she knew, could never be hers. Never.

You won’t make that mistake again in a hurry, her mother’s caustic voice jeered at her.

Paige risked a look at Giancarlo then, despairing at the way her heart squeezed tight at the sight of him the way it always had, at that dark look on his face that was half hunger and half dislike, at the way she had always loved him and understood she always would, and to what end? He would have his revenge and she would endure it and somehow, somehow, she would survive him, too.

It hurts a little bit more today than it usually does because you’re here and you’re tired, she tried to tell herself. But you’re fine. You’re always fine. Or you will be.

“I know you don’t want to believe me,” she said, because she had always been such an idiot where this man was concerned. She had never had the slightest idea how to protect herself. Giancarlo had been the kind of man who had blistering affairs the way other people had dinner plans, but she had fallen head over heels in love with him at first glance and destroyed them both in the process. And now she wanted, so desperately, for him to see her, just for a moment. The real her. “But I would do anything for your mother. For a hundred different reasons. Chief among them that she’s been better to me than my own mother ever was.”

“And here I thought you emerged fully grown from a bed of lies,” he said silkily. He paused, his dark eyes on her, as if recognizing how rare it was that Paige mentioned her own mother—but she watched him shrug it off instead of pursuing it and told herself it was for the best. “I was avoiding the city my mother lived in all these years and the kind of people who lived in it, not my mother. A crucial distinction, because believe me, Paige, I would also do anything for my mother. And I will.”

There was a threat in the last three words. A promise. And there was no particular reason it should thud into her so hard, as if it might have taken her from her feet if she hadn’t already been braced against all of this. The pretty place, the sense of homecoming, the knowledge he was even more lost to her when he stood in front of her than he had been in all their years apart.

“I loved my mother, too, Giancarlo,” Paige said, and she understood it was that scraped raw feeling that made her say such a thing. Giancarlo would never understand the kind of broken, terrible excuse for love that was the only kind Paige had ever known, before him. The sharp, scarring toll it exacted. How it festered inside and taught a person how to see the world only through the lens of it, no matter how blurred or cracked or deeply twisted. “And that never got me anything but bruises and a broken heart.” And then had taken the only things that had ever mattered to her. She swallowed. “I know the difference.”

He moved out of the doorway of the cottage then, closing the distance between them with a few sure steps, and Paige couldn’t tell if that was worse or better. Everything seemed too mixed up and impossible and somehow right, too; the gentle green trees and the soft, lavender-scented breeze, and his dark gold eyes in the center of the world, making her heart beat loud and slow inside her chest.

Stop it, she ordered herself. This is not your home. Neither is he.

“Is this an appeal to my better nature?” Giancarlo asked softly. Dangerously. “I keep telling you, that man is dead. Killed by your own hand. Surely you must realize this by now.”

“I know.” She tilted up her chin and hoped he couldn’t see how lost she felt. How utterly out of place. How hideously dislocated if it seemed that he was the only steady thing here, this man who detested her. “And here I am. Isolated and at your beck and call. Just think of all the ways you can make me pay for your untimely death.”

She couldn’t read the shadow that moved over his face then. His hand moved as if it was outside his control and he ran the backs of his fingers over the line of her jaw, softly, so softly, and yet she knew better than to mistake his gentleness for kindness. She knew better than to trust her body’s interpretations of things when it came to this man and the things he could do to it with so seemingly careless a touch.

The truth was in that fierce look in his eyes, that flat line of his delectable mouth. The painful truth that nothing she said could change, or would.

He wanted to hurt her. He wanted all of this to hurt.

“Believe me,” he said quietly. Thickly, as if that scraped raw thing was in him, too. “I have thought of little else.”

Paige thought he might kiss her then, and that masochist in her yearned for it, no matter what came after. No matter how he made her pay for wanting him, which she knew he would. She swayed forward and lifted her mouth toward his and for a moment his attention seemed to drift toward her lips—

But then he muttered one of those curses that sounded almost pretty because it was in Italian. And he stepped back, staring at her as if she was a ghost. A demon, more like. Sent to destroy him when it was clear to her that if there was going to be any destruction here, it would be at his hands.

It was going to be her in pieces, not him. And Paige didn’t understand why she didn’t care about that the way she should. When he looked at her, she didn’t care about anything but him and all these terrible, pointless wishes that had wrecked her once already. She should have learned her lesson a long time ago. She’d thought she had.

“I suggest you rest,” he said in a clipped tone, stalking back toward the driver’s side of the Jeep. “Dinner will be served at sunset and you’ll wake up starving sometime before then. That’s always the way with international flights.”

As if he knew she’d never left the country before, when she’d thought she’d hidden it well today. His knowing anyway seemed too intimate, somehow. The sort of detail a lover might know, or perhaps a friend, and he was neither. She told herself she was being ridiculous, but it was hard to keep looking at him when she felt there had to be far too much written across her face then. Too much of that Arizona white trash dust, showing him all the things about her she’d gone to such lengths to keep him from ever knowing.

“At the castello?” she asked, after the moment stretched on too long and his expression had begun to edge into impatience as he stood there, the Jeep in between them and his hand on the driver’s door. “That seems like a bit of a walk. It was a twenty-minute drive, at least.”

“At the house on the hill,” he said, and jerked his head toward the farmhouse that squatted at the top of the nearest swell of pretty green, looking sturdy and complacent in the sunlight, all light stones and an impressive loggia. “Right there. Unless that’s too much of a hike for you these days, now that you live on a Bel Air estate and are neck deep in opulence day and night. None of it earned. Or yours.”

Paige ignored the slap. “That really all depends on who lives there,” she replied, and it was remarkably hard to make her voice sound anything approximating light. “A troll? The Italian bogeyman? The big, bad wolf with his terrible fangs?”

His mouth moved into that crooked thing that made her stomach flip over and her heart ache. More. Again. Always.

“That would be me,” he said softly, and she thought he took a certain pleasure in it. “So that’s all of the above, I’d think. For your sins.”

* * *

A long nap and a very hot shower after she woke made Paige feel like a new person. Or herself again, at last. She had been too weary and inexplicably sad to explore the cottage when Giancarlo had driven away, so she did it now, with the whisper-soft robe she’d found in the master bathroom wrapped around her and her feet bare against the reclaimed stone floors, her wet hair feeling indulgent against her shoulders as she moved through the charming space.

It was a two-story affair in what had looked from the outside like a very old stone outbuilding. Inside, it was filled with the early-evening light thanks to the tall windows everywhere, the exposed beams high above, and the fact the interior was wholly open to best take advantage of what would otherwise have felt like a small space. Stairs led from the stone ground floor to the loft above, which featured a large, extraordinarily comfortable bed in the airy room nestled in the eaves, a small sitting area with a balcony beyond, and the luxurious master bath Paige had just enjoyed.

The main floor was divided into an efficient, cheerful kitchen with a happily stocked refrigerator, a cozy sitting area with deep sofas arranged around a wide stone fireplace, a small dining area that led out to a patio that spanned the length of the cottage and led into a small, well-tended garden. And everywhere she looked, behind everything and hovering near and far and more beautiful by the moment, the Tuscan view.

Home, she thought, despite herself.

Evening had crept in with long, deep shadows that settled in the valley and made art out of the soft green trees, the cypress sentries and the rounded hills on all sides. The road that had felt torturously remote when Giancarlo had driven her here looked like something from one of her beloved old books now, winding off into the distance or off into dreams. Paige stood there in the window until the air cooled around her, and realized only when she started back up the stairs that she hadn’t breathed like that—deeply and fully, all the way down to her feet, the way she had when she’d danced—in a very long time.

Almost as if she was comfortable here. As if she belonged. She’d felt that way in only one other place in her whole life, and had been as wrong. Giancarlo’s Malibu home, all wood and glass, angled to best let the sea in, had only been a pretty house. This was a pretty place.

And when you leave here, she told herself harshly, you will never come back. The same as that house in Malibu. Everyone feels at home in affluent places. That’s what they’re built to do.

Paige dressed slowly and carefully, her nerves prickling into a new awareness as she rifled through her suitcase. Should she wear the sort of thing she would wear if this was a vacation in Italy she happened to be taking by herself? Or should she wear something she suspected Giancarlo would prefer, so he could better enact his revenge? On the one hand, jeans and a slouchy sweatshirt, all comfort and very little style. On the other, a flirty little dress he could get his hands under, like before. She didn’t have the slightest idea which way to go.

“What do you want?” she asked her sleepy-eyed reflection in the bathroom mirror, her voice throaty from all that sleep.

But that was the trouble. She still wanted the same things she’d always wanted. She could admit that, here and now, with Giancarlo’s Italy pressing in on her from all sides. The difference was that this time, she knew better than to imagine she’d get it.

Paige dried her hair slowly, her mind oddly empty even as the rest of her felt tight with all the things she didn’t want to think about directly. Taut and on edge. She pulled on a pair of soft white trousers and a loose sort of tunic on top, a compromise between the jeans she’d have preferred and what she assumed Giancarlo would likely want to see her wear, given the circumstances.

“What he’d really like is me, as naked as the day I was born and crawling up that hillside on my hands and knees,” she muttered out loud and then laughed at the image, the sound creaky and strange in the quiet of the cottage. She kept laughing until a wet heat pricked at the back of her eyes and she had to pull in a ragged breath to keep the tears from pouring over. Then another.

Paige frowned as she slipped her feet into a pair of thonged flat sandals. When was the last time she’d laughed like that? About anything?

What a sad creature you’ve become, she scolded herself as she dug out her smartphone from her bag and scrolled through her messages. But the truth was, she had always been a fairly sad thing, when she looked back at the progression of her life. Sad and studious or determined and stubborn, from the start. It had been the only way to survive the chaos that had been her mother. There had only been one two-month stretch of laughter in her life, gleaming and overflowing and dizzy with joy, and she’d ruined it ten years ago.

“My goodness,” Violet said in her grand way when she picked up her private line, after Paige apologized for disappearing and then sleeping for hours, “this is Italia, Paige. One must soak in la dolce vita, especially when jet-lagged. I plan to spend the night in my lovely little castle, getting fat on all the marvelous local cuisine! I suggest you do the same.”

And Paige would have loved to do the same, she thought when she finally stepped out of her cottage into the cool evening, the Tuscan sky turning to gold above her. But she had a date with her sins instead.

Sins that felt like wishes granted, and what was wrong with her that she didn’t want to tell the difference between the two?

She took her time and yet the walk was still too short. Much too short.

And Giancarlo waited there at the crest of the hill, his eyes as hard as his body appeared loose and relaxed, in linen trousers and the sort of camel-colored sport coat that made her think of his aristocratic roots and her lack of them. And Paige was suddenly as wide-awake as if she’d drowned herself in a vat of espresso.

He looked like something more than a man as he waited there, at first a shadow next to the bold upright thrust of a thick cypress tree, then, as she drew closer, very distinctly himself. He’d clearly watched her come all the way up the side of his hill, and she wasn’t sure if she’d seen him from afar without realizing it or if it was that odd magnetic pull inside of her that had done it, pointing her toward him as unerringly as if she’d been headed straight to him all along.

Home, that thing in her whispered, and she didn’t have the strength to pretend she didn’t feel it when she did. Not tonight.

She stopped when she was still some distance away and looked back the way she’d come, unable to keep the small sigh of pleasure from escaping her lips. There was the hint of mist in the valley the lower the sun inched toward the hills, adding an elegant sort of haunting to the shadows that danced between them, and far off in the distance the castello stood tall and proud, lights blazing against the coming night. It was so quiet and perfect and deeply satisfying in a way Paige hadn’t known anything could be. Gooseflesh prickled up and down her arms and she felt it all like a heavy sob in her chest, rolling through her, threatening her very foundations.

Or maybe that was him. Maybe it had always been him.

“It’s gorgeous here,” she said, which felt deeply inadequate. “It doesn’t seem real.”

“My father believed that the land is our bones,” Giancarlo said. “Protect it, and we strengthen ourselves. Conserve it and care for it, and we become greater in its glory. Sometimes I think he was a madman, a farmer hiding in an aristocrat’s body.” His gaze moved over her face, then beyond her, toward the setting sun. “And then another sunset reminds me that he was right. Beauty is always worth it. It feeds the soul.”

“He sounds like some kind of poet.”

“Not my father. Poets and artists were to be championed, as one must always support art and culture for the same reason one tends the land, but Alessis had a higher calling.” He shook his head. “Endless debt and responsibility, apparently. I might have been better off as an artist, come to that.”

“If I had a home like this, I don’t think I’d mind doing whatever it took to keep it,” Paige said then. She remembered herself. “I don’t think anyone would.”

She thought Giancarlo smiled, though his face was obscured in the falling dark and then she knew she must have imagined it, because this wasn’t that kind of evening no matter how lovely it was. He wasn’t that kind of man. Not anymore. Not for her.

“Come,” he said. He reached out his hand and held it there in the last gasp of golden light, and Paige knew, somehow, that everything would be divided into before and after she took it. The world. Her life. This thing that was still between them. And that precarious, wildly beating creature inside her chest that was the battered ruins of her heart.

His mouth crooked slightly as the moment stretched out. She made no move; she was frozen into place and wasn’t sure she could do anything about it, but he didn’t drop his hand.

“Did you make me dinner?” she asked, her voice shockingly light when there was nothing but heaviness and their history and her treacherous heart inside of her, and she thought neither one of them was fooled. “Because food poisoning really would be a punishment, all joking aside.”

“I am Italian,” he said, with a note of amused outrage in his voice, which reminded her too strongly of all that laughter they’d shared a lifetime ago. As if the only things that had mattered in the whole world had been there in his smile. She’d thought so then. She thought maybe she still did, for all the good that would do her here. “Of course I can cook.” He paused, as if noticing how friendly he sounded and remembering how inappropriate that was tonight. As if he, too, was finding it hard to recall the battle lines he’d drawn. “But even if I couldn’t, the estate has a fleet of chefs on call. Meals are always gourmet here, no matter who prepares them.”

“Careful,” she said softly, more to her memories and her silly heart than the man who stood there before her, still reaching out to her, still her greatest temptation made flesh. Still the perfect embodiment of all the things she’d always wanted and couldn’t have. “I might forget to be suitably intimidated and start enjoying myself. And then what would happen?”

He definitely smiled that time, and Paige felt it like a deep, golden fire, lighting her up from the inside out. Making her shiver.

“Surrender takes many forms,” he replied into the indigo twilight that cloaked them both, now that the sun had finally sunk beneath the furthest hill. “I want yours every way I can get it.”

“I can surrender to la dolce vita,” she said, as airily as possible, as if her tone of voice might make it so. “I understand that’s the point of Italy.”

He still stood there, his hand out, as if he could stand like that forever. “That’s as good a place to start as any.”

And there was no real decision, in the end. There had been so many choices along the way, hadn’t there? Paige could have got a different job three years ago. She could have left Violet’s house and employ the moment Giancarlo had appeared, or anytime since. She could have declined the offer of that “date” that night, she could have stayed standing up instead of sinking to her knees by the side of that road, she could have shown him nothing in Violet’s closet that day but her back as she walked away from him. She could have refused to board his plane, refused to leave her cottage tonight, locked herself inside rather than climb this hill to stand before him like this.

He hadn’t happened to her, like the weather. She’d chosen this, every step of the way, and even here, even stranded in the countryside with this man who thought so ill of her, she felt more at home than she had in years. Maybe ever. She supposed that meant she’d made her decision a long time ago.

So Paige reached out her hand and slid it into his. She let the heat of him wash through her at that faintly rough touch, his palm warm and strong and perfect, and told herself it didn’t matter what happened next.

That she’d surrendered herself to Giancarlo a long time ago, whether he understood that or not.

CHAPTER FIVE

“IF THIS IS your revenge,” Paige said, a current of laughter in her voice though her expression was mild, “I think I should confess to you that it tastes a whole lot like red wine.”

He should do something about that, Giancarlo thought, watching her move through the refurbished ground floor of his renovated house. She was still so graceful, so light on her feet. Like poetry in motion, and he’d never been able to reconcile how she could flow like that and have turned out so rotten within. He’d never understood it.

It doesn’t matter what you understand, he snapped at himself. Only what you do to make this thing for her go away—

But something had happened out there as the sun set. Something had shifted inside him, though he couldn’t quite identify it. He wasn’t certain he’d want to name it if he could.

“It may prove to be a long night, cara,” he told her darkly, pouring himself a glass of the wine they made here from Alessi grapes. “This is merely the beginning.”

“The civilized version of revenge, then,” she murmured, almost as if to herself, running her fingers along the length of the reclaimed wood table that marked his dining area in the great, open space he’d done himself. In soothing yet bright colors and historically contextual pieces, all of which dimmed next to that effortless, offhanded beauty of hers. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

This didn’t feel like revenge. This felt like a memory. Giancarlo didn’t want to think too closely about that, but the truth of it slapped at him all the same. It could have been any one of the long, lush evenings they’d shared in Malibu a decade back that still shimmered in his recollection, as if the two of them had been lit from within. It shimmered in him now, too. Again. As if this was the culmination of all the dreams he’d lied and told himself he’d never had, in all those years since he’d left Los Angeles and started bringing the estate back to life.

There was too much history between them, too much that had gone wrong to ever fix, and yet he still caught himself watching her as if this was a new beginning. But then, he had always been such a damned fool where this woman was concerned, hadn’t he?

Earlier he’d stood in the courtyard of the castello with Violet, toasting her first night back in Italy since his father’s funeral eight years ago, and he’d felt a sense of deep rightness. Of homecoming, long overdue. These hills held his happiest childhood memories, after all. When his parents had both been alive, and in those early years, so much in love it had colored the air around them.

“You’ve done a marvelous thing here, darling,” Violet had said, smiling as much at him as at the achingly perfect view.

“I remember the days when we couldn’t drive out the gates in Bel Air without having to fight our way through packs of photographers,” he’d said, gazing out at the slumbering hills, all of them his now, his birthright and his future. His responsibility. And not a single paparazzo in a thousand miles or more. No lies. No stories. Only the enduring beauty of the earth. “Just to get to school in the morning.”

“The tabloids giveth and the tabloids taketh away,” Violet had said drily, looking as chic and elegant as ever though she wore her version of lounge wear and what was, for her, a practically cosmetic-free face. “It’s never been particularly easy to navigate, I grant you, but there did used to be a line. Or perhaps I’m kidding myself.”

“I want this place to be a refuge,” he’d told her then. “It’s nearly fifteen miles to the nearest main road. Everything is private. It’s the perfect retreat for people who can’t hide anywhere else.”

Violet had tasted her wine and she’d taken her time looking at him again, and he’d still been unsure if she was pausing for dramatic effect or if that was simply how she processed emotion. She was still a mystery to him and he’d long since accepted she always would be. Or anyway, he’d been telling himself he’d accepted it. It might even have been true.

“Yes,” she’d said, “and it’s very beautiful. It’s always been beautiful. I imagine I could live here quite happily and transform myself into one of those portly, Italy-maddened expatriates who are forever writing those merry little Tuscan memoirs and waxing rhapsodic about the light.” Her brows had lifted. “But which one of us is it that feels they need a hiding place, Giancarlo? Is that meant to be you or me?”

“Never fear, Mother,” he’d replied evenly. “I have no intention of having children of my own. I won’t have any cause to hide away, the better to protect them from prying eyes and a judgmental world. Perhaps I, too, will flourish in the heat of so many spotlights.”

She’d only smiled, enigmatic as ever, seemingly not in the least bit chastised by what he’d said. Had he expected otherwise? “Privacy can be overrated, my darling boy. Particularly when it better resembles a jail.”

And now he stood in the cheerful lounge of the house he’d taken apart and put back together with his own two hands, and watched the woman he’d once loved more than any other walk through the monument—he wouldn’t call it a jail—he’d built to his own unhappiness, his lonely, broken, betrayed heart.

How had he failed to realize, until this moment, that he’d built it for her? That he’d been hiding here these past ten years—deliberately keeping himself some kind of hermit, tucked away on this property and in this very cottage? That it was as much his refuge for her as it was from her?

That notion made something like a storm howl in him, deep and long. And as if she could read his mind, Paige turned, a small smile on that distracting mouth of hers.

“I always liked your films,” she said, her voice the perfect complement to the carefully decorated great room, the furnishings a mix of masculine ease and his Italian heritage, as if he’d planned for her to stand there in its center and make it all work. “I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that that kind of attention to detail should spill over into all the things you do.”

“My films were laughable vanity projects at best,” he told her, that storm in his voice and clawing at the walls of his chest. “I should never have taken myself seriously, much less allowed anyone else to do the same. It’s an embarrassment.”

Paige wrinkled her nose and he thought that might kill him, because finding her adorable was far more dangerous than simply wanting her. One was about sex, which was simple. The other had consequences. Terrible consequences he refused to pay.

“I liked them.”

“Shall we talk about the things you like?” Giancarlo asked, and he sounded overbearingly brooding to his own ears. As if he was performing a role because he thought the moment needed a villain, not because he truly wanted to put her back in her place. “Your interest in photography and amateur porn, for instance?”

Some revenge, he thought darkly. Next you’ll try to cuddle her to death with your words.

But she only smiled in that enigmatic way of hers, and moved closer to one of the paintings on the wall, her hands cupped around her glass of wine and that inky black hair of hers falling in abandon down her back, and it wasn’t cuddling he thought about as he watched her move. Then bite her lower lip as she peered up at the painting. It wasn’t cuddling that made his blood heat and his mouth dry.

“I don’t understand why I’m here,” Paige said, so softly that it took him a moment to realize she’d spoken. She swiveled back to look at him, framed there like a snapshot, the woman who had destroyed him before the great, bright canvas that stretched high behind her, all shapes and emotion and a swirl of color, that he hadn’t understood until tonight had reminded him of her.

Giancarlo told himself it was a sour realization, but his sex felt heavy and the air between them tasted thick. Like desire. Like need.

Like fate.

“It seems as if you’ve achieved what you set out to do,” she continued as if she couldn’t feel the thickness, though he knew, somehow, that she could. “You’ve separated me from Violet without seeming to do so deliberately, which I’m assuming was your purpose from the start. But why bring me all the way here? Why not leave me in California and spirit Violet away? And having made me come all the way here,” Paige continued, something he couldn’t identify making her eyes gleam green in the mellow light, “why not simply leave me to rot in my little cottage? It’s pretty as prison cells go, I grant you. Very pretty. It might take me weeks to realize I’m well and truly trapped there.”

He let his gaze roam over her the way his hands itched to do. “You’ve forgotten the most important part.”

“The sex, yes,” Paige supplied, and she didn’t sound particularly cowed by the idea, or even as outraged as she’d been back in Los Angeles. Her tone was bland. Perhaps too bland. “On command.”

“I was going to say obedience,” he said, and he didn’t feel as if he was playing a game any longer. He was too busy letting his eyes trace over her curves, letting his hands relish the tactile memory of her face between them as if she’d burned her way into his flesh. He could still taste her, damn it. And he wanted more.

“Obedience,” she repeated, as if testing each syllable of the word as she said it. “Does that include feeding me a gourmet dinner in this perfect little mansion only a count would call a cottage? Are you entirely sure you know what obedience involves?”

Giancarlo smiled, or anyway, his mouth moved. “That’s the point. It involves whatever I say it involves.”

He took a sip of his wine as he walked over to the open glass doors that led out to the loggia, nodding for her to join him outside. Stiffly, carefully—as if she was more shaken by their encounter than she appeared, and God help him, he wanted that to be true—she did.

Because the truth was so pathetic, wasn’t it? He still so badly wanted her to be real. To have meant some part of the things that had happened between them. All these years later, he still wanted that. Giancarlo despaired of himself.

A table waited out in the soft night air, bright with candles and laden with local produce and delicacies prepared on-site, while a rolling cart sat next to it with even more tempting dishes beneath silver covers. It was achingly romantic, precisely as he’d ordered. The hills and valleys of the estate rolled out beneath the stars, with lights winking here and there in the distance, making their isolation high up on this terrace at a remove from all the world seem profound.

That, too, was the point.

He moved to pull her chair out for her like the parody of the perfect gentleman he had never quite been and waited as she settled in, taking a moment to inhale her scent. Tonight she smelled of the high-end bath products he had his staff stock in the cottages, vanilla and apricots, and that hint of pure woman beneath.

“This house was a ruin when I started working on it,” he told her, still standing behind her, because he didn’t know what his face might show and he didn’t want her to see it. To see him. He succumbed to a whim and ran his fingers through her hair, reveling in the heavy weight of the dark strands even as he remembered all the other times she’d wrapped him in the heat and sweetness of it. When she’d crawled over him in that wide bed in Malibu and let her hair slip and tumble all over his skin as she tortured him with that sweet mouth of hers, driving them both wild. Giancarlo hardened, remembering it, and her hair was thick silk in his hands. “It sits on its original foundation, but everything else is changed. Perhaps the walls still stand, but everything inside is new, reclaimed, or altered entirely. It might look the same from a distance, but it isn’t.”

“I appreciate the metaphor,” Paige said, with a certain grittiness to her voice that he suspected meant her teeth were clenched. He smiled.

“Then I hope you’ll appreciate this, too,” he said as he rounded the table and sat down across from her, stretching out his legs before him as he did. “This is the Italian countryside and everything you can see in every direction is mine. You could scream for days and no one would hear you. You could try to escape and, unless you’ve taken up marathon running in your spare time, you’d run out of energy long before you found the road. You claimed to be obedient in Los Angeles because it suited you. You wanted your job more than you minded the loss of your self-respect, such as it is. Here?” He shrugged as he topped up their wineglasses with a bottle crafted from grapes he’d grown himself and then sat back, watching her closely, as she visibly fought not to react to his cool tone, his calmly belligerent words. “You have no other choice.”

“That’s not at all creepy,” Paige said, though he could have sworn that gleam of green in her chameleon gaze was amusement, however beleaguered. “I’m definitely the terrifying stalker in this scenario, not you.”

Giancarlo laughed. “Not that I would care if it really was creepy, but I don’t think you really think so, do you? Shall we put it to the test?”

He wanted her to push him, he understood. He wanted to see for himself. He wanted to peel those crisp white trousers from her slim hips and lick his way into her wetness and heat and know it was all for him, the way he’d once believed it was. The way he’d once believed she was.

Soon, he assured himself as his body reacted to that image with predictable enthusiasm. Soon enough.

“Again,” Paige said tightly, taking a healthy gulp of her wine, “it seems to me that there are more effective forms of payback than a romantic dinner for two, served beneath the starry night sky on what might be the most intimate terrace on the entire planet.” She looked out at the view as the heavens sparkled back at her, as if they were performing for her pleasure. “I suspect you might be doing it wrong.”

“Ah, Paige,” Giancarlo said softly. “You lack imagination.” Her eyes swung back to his and he smiled again, wider, pleased when that seemed to alarm her. “The romantic setting will only make it more poignant, will it not, when I order you to strip and sit there naked as we eat. Or when I demand that you please me with your mouth while I soak in the view. Or when I bend you over the serving table and make you scream out my name until I’m done.” He let his smile deepen as her eyes went very green, and very round. “The more civilized the setting, the more debauched the act,” he said mildly. “I find there is very little more effective.”

She looked stunned, and then something like wistful, and he almost broke and hauled her into his arms—but somehow, somehow, he reined himself in. Just a little bit longer, he promised himself. She blinked, then coughed, and then she folded her hands together in her lap with such precision that Giancarlo knew she was torturing herself with all those images he’d put in her head.

Va bene.

“You say that as if this isn’t the first time you’ve done this.” Her voice was his own little victory, so raspy was it then, with that stunned heat in her gaze and that band of color high on her cheeks. “Do you spend a lot of time enacting complicated revenge fantasies, Giancarlo? Is that another one of your heretofore hidden talents—like architecture and interior design, apparently?”

“I went to architecture school after university,” he said, and something about the fact she didn’t know that bothered him. Had he never told her his own story? Had he been as guilty of wearing a false persona ten years ago as she had been? Had it simply been the rush, the need that had kept them in bed and focused on other things? Had it been by her design—or had it been his own selfishness at play? He shoved that disconcerting thought aside. “But when I was finished, I decided I wanted to leverage my position as Violet’s son, instead. That didn’t work out very well for either one of us, did it?” He reached over and removed the silver cover from the plate of antipasti in front of her, then from his own, and smiled at her when she looked confused. “The salsicce di cinghiale is particularly good,” he told her. “And you should be certain to eat well. We have a very long night ahead of us.”

He expected her to do as she was told. It took a moment or two for him to realize that she hadn’t moved. That she appeared to have frozen solid where she sat and was staring at him with a stricken sort of expression on her face.

Giancarlo lifted a brow. “Was I unclear?”

“I appreciate all the tension and drama,” Paige said after a moment. “I don’t think I realized how very much you take after your mother until now. That’s a compliment,” she added in a hurry when he frowned at her. “But I’ll pass.”

“That is not an option you have.” He shrugged. “You persist in thinking what you want comes into play here. It doesn’t.”

“What will you do?” she asked softly, so softly it took a moment for him to hear the challenge beneath the words, and then to see it there in her chameleon eyes. “Make me scream for people who won’t hear me? Make me walk for days in search of a road that’s still hours from anywhere? Force me to stay in that gorgeous little cottage down the hill like a bird in a cage?”

“Or, alternatively, merely call my mother and tell her exactly who you are,” he suggested. “A fate you felt was worse than death and far more terrible than anything I might do a week ago.”

But tonight she only shook her head and she didn’t avert her gaze, reminding him of that moment in his mother’s closet across the world. Reminding him he’d never controlled this woman, not even when she’d agreed to let him.

“I think if you were going to do that, Giancarlo, you would have. You wouldn’t have dragged me across the planet and then presented me with wine and a four-course meal.”

He laughed, a smoky little sound against the night. It did nothing to ease the mounting tension. “Do you really want to test that theory?”

She leaned forward, holding his gaze, and his laughter dried up as if it had never been. He was aware of everything at once. The stars above them, the faint breeze that teased him with the intoxicating scent of her. The rich food before them, the dancing candlelight. The way she sat now, the wide neck of her brightly patterned tunic falling open as she leaned toward him, hinting at the soft curves beneath.

And all that fire, as bright as it had ever been, burning them both where they sat.

Her gaze was like a touch on his, and he felt it everywhere. “I have a different theory.”

“I’m all ears, of course. Every inmate is innocent, every killer was merely misunderstood, every con man an artist in his soul, et cetera. Tell me your sob story, cara.” He felt his mouth crook. “I knew you would, sooner or later.”

But Paige only smiled, and her eyes were so green tonight they rivaled his own lush fields. It moved in him like summer, an exultation of all that boundless heat that spiked the air between them.

“You don’t want revenge. Not really. You want sex.”

Her smile deepened when he only stared back at her, that mouth of hers still an utter distraction, still his undoing. Her gaze proud and unwavering and he had no defense against that, either.

“You don’t want to admit it, given what happened the last time we had sex, but look where we are.” She lifted a shoulder, somehow encompassing the whole of the estate in that simple little gesture. “You’ve made sure there couldn’t possibly be a camera here. You’ve cut us off from the rest of the world. And you’re calling it revenge because you’re furious that you still want me.”

“Or because wanting you is only part of it,” he replied, stiffer than he should have sounded, because it was that or let loose the wild thing in him that wanted nothing but her however he could have her. That didn’t give a toss about the rest of it as long as he got his hands on her one more time. Just one more time. “And not mutually exclusive with revenge, I assure you.”

Her smile seemed to pierce straight through him then, heat and fire and danger, and it sank straight to his sex.

Making him nothing at all but that wildness within.

“Call it whatever you want,” she suggested in that rough voice of hers that hinted at her own dark excitement, that called to him like a song the way it always had. That sang in him still, no matter how he tried to deny it. “Call it hate sex. I don’t care, Giancarlo.” She shrugged. “Whatever it is, whatever you need to call it to feel better about it, I want it, too.”

* * *

“I beg your pardon?” Giancarlo’s voice was a rough whisper that somehow sounded in Paige like a bellow.

It was the wine, Paige told herself as she stared back at him, her own words seeming to cavort between them on the heavily laden tabletop, making it impossible to see or hear much of anything else. Of course it was the wine—though she’d only had a few sips—and the lingering jet lag besides, though she didn’t feel anything like tired at the moment.

Nothing else could possibly have made her say such things, she was sure, much less throw down the gauntlet to a battle she very much feared might be the end of her.

She opened her mouth to take it back, to laugh and claim she’d been kidding, to break the strange, taut spell that stretched between them and wrapped them tight together, caught somewhere in that arrested expression that transformed his beautiful face. But Giancarlo lifted an aristocratic hand that stopped her as surely as if he’d placed it over her mouth, and she knew she really shouldn’t have shivered in a rush of dark delight at the very image.

“I find I’m not as trusting as I used to be,” he told her, though untrusting wasn’t how she would have described the wolfish look in his dark eyes then. “It is a personality flaw, I am sure. But I’m afraid you’ll have to offer proof.”

She was watching his mouth as if it was a show, which was only part of the reason Paige didn’t understand what he’d said. She blinked. “Proof?”

“That this is not another one of your dirty little games that will end up painting the front page of every godforsaken gossip rag in existence.” He lounged back in his chair, but his eyes were hot, and she had the notion that he was coiled to strike. “You understand my reticence, I’m sure.”

“And I’d offer you my word,” she said, not sure how she kept her tone so light, as if dirty little games hadn’t pricked at her and hurt while it did, because he had no idea what kind of dirt she’d been drowning in back then, “but somehow, I’m betting that won’t be enough for you.”

“Sadly, no,” he agreed. He sounded anything but sad. “Though it pains me to cast such aspersions on your character, even if only by insinuation.”

“Oh, that’s what that look on your face is.” Her tone was arch and if she hadn’t known better, if she hadn’t known it was impossible, she might have thought she was enjoying herself here. “It looks a bit more like glee than pain from this side of the table, I should tell you.”

Giancarlo smiled, dark and intent. “I can’t imagine why.”

The night air seemed to shimmer in the space between them, in the flickering light of the candles and in the velvety dark that surrounded the table like an embrace. He settled even farther back in his chair and stretched his legs out again, like an indolent god awaiting a sacrifice, and Paige knew she should put a stop to this before it got out of control—but she didn’t. The truth was she didn’t want to stop it. She didn’t want to do anything but this.

“Strip.” It was a hoarse command, rich and dark, like the finest chocolate poured over her skin, and she should have been outraged by his arrogance. Instead, she wanted to bathe in it. In him.

Wasn’t that always what she’d wanted?

She didn’t pretend she hadn’t heard him or that she didn’t understand. “Here?”

“Right here.” His dark gaze burned, gold and onyx, daring her. “Unless there is some new reason you refuse to obey me this time?”

“You mean, besides the fact that we’re sitting outside? Where anyone could see us engaged in all manner of shocking acts? I thought you had a horror of public displays of anything.”

“How shocking could a simple strip show be?” he asked, and there was something else in his gaze then, sharp and hard. “It has slipped your mind, perhaps, that the entire world has already seen us having sex. I doubt anything we do could possibly shock them now. Unless you’ve learned new tricks since I last saw you?”

“Nothing but the same old tricks here,” she said, keeping her tone the same as it was, as if that slap of history hadn’t made her feel dizzy at all. It was too bad nothing seemed to keep her from wanting him. She was that masochistic. “I’m sorry to disappoint you. Should I keep my clothes on?”

Paige saw that flash of fury in his gaze once more, but it melted into molten heat in the space of a heartbeat, as if they were both masochists here. Somehow, that made her feel better.

“No,” he said in a low voice. “You most certainly should not.”

“Then it seems I have no choice but to obey you, as promised,” she said quietly. “Despite your poor, apparently unshockable neighbors and the things they might see.”

“The closest resident aside from my mother is over forty miles away tonight,” Giancarlo said, as if impatient. But she could see the fire in his gaze. She could practically taste his need. “Your modesty is safe enough, such as it is. What other excuses do you have?” He let out a bark of something not quite laughter. “We might as well address them all now and be done with them.”

“What happens after I strip for you?” Paige asked, almost idly, but she was already pushing her chair back with a too-loud scrape against the stones, then rising to her feet. “This is daring, indeed, to get me naked and then leave me standing here all alone. Is that the plan? It’s something of a waste, I’d think.”

“First we’ll worry about whatever cameras you might have secreted on that body of yours,” he told her, and if she hadn’t known him she might have thought him cold. Unmoved by all of this. But that wild, uninhibited lover she’d known lurked there in the sensual curve of his lips, that gleaming thing deep in his gaze. Giancarlo might hate her, but he wanted her as much as she did him. And Paige clung to that, perhaps harder than she should have. She clung to it as if it was everything and opted not to listen to the alarms that rang out in her at the thought. “Then we’ll worry about what to do with that body.”

“Whatever you say, Count Alessi,” she murmured, which was as close to obedient as she’d ever come. She saw a certain appreciation for that—or for her wry tone, more like—in his dark eyes, but then it was time to dance.

Because that was what this was. Paige didn’t pretend otherwise. The only music was his breath and hers, the only audience the primeval explosion of stars above them. She hadn’t danced in years. Ten years, in fact. But she could feel him in her feet, in her hips. In the glorious stretch of her arms over her head. Her pulse and her breath. She could feel him everywhere, better than any sound track with her own hopeful heartbeat like the kick of drums, and she danced.

She poured herself into each undulation of her hips, each exultant reach of her hands. She’d kicked off her shoes when she’d stood and she curled her toes down hard into the smooth stones beneath her, feeling what was left of the day’s heat against her soles and that wildfire that only arced higher between the two of them as she moved. She tried her best to catch the sensation in the movement of her hips, her legs, her torso. She took her time peeling off her trousers, managing to kick them aside with a flourish, and then she moved closer to him as she rid herself of her shirt, as if his intent expression beckoned her to him.

She took her time with her bra, offering her breasts to him when she finally dropped it at her side, and she smiled at the way he moved in his chair, his gaze a wild touch on her skin, so fierce it made her nipples pull taut. And she wasn’t done. She kept up the dance, the ecstatic dance, and she made it her apology, her regret. She told him all about her love and her silly, shattered hopes with every move she made, and when she stepped out of her panties she didn’t know which one of them was breathing more heavily.

Paige only knew that he was standing, too. And that she was naked before him and she still wasn’t done.

Naked in the Tuscan night, she danced for all those dreams she’d let carry her away as a girl. For the dream she’d destroyed with a single phone call and a cashed check ten years ago, and none of it worth the sacrifice, in the end. It was like skinny-dipping, warm and cool at once, the summer air a sensual caress against her flesh. She danced for the joy she’d only ever felt in this man’s presence, the laughter she still missed, the love she’d squandered for good reasons that seemed nothing but sad in retrospect.

She danced and she danced, and she might have danced all night, but Giancarlo swept her into his arms instead, high against his chest, and that was like a much better dance. Hotter and more intense, and then his mouth came down on hers, claiming her and destroying her that easily.

He came down hard on top of her and she loved it. That lean, hard body of his crushing her with his delicious weight, his narrow hips keeping her legs apart, and it took her a moment to realize that he’d moved them over to one of the sun chaises that sat around the gleaming, sleek pool that jutted out from the loggia toward the vineyards. And that he’d lost his jacket in the move.

And he looked as gorgeously undone as she felt, and very nearly as wild.

“Giancarlo,” she whispered, the dance still running madly in her veins, almost as addictive as he was. “Don’t stop.”

“I give the orders, not you,” he growled, but his lips were curved when they took hers all over again.

And then everything slowed down. Turned to honey, thick and sweet.

Giancarlo feasted on her as if she were the gourmet meal his chefs had prepared for him, and beneath his talented mouth she felt almost that cherished, that perfect. She wanted his naked skin pressed to hers more than she could remember wanting anything else, ever, but he kept her too busy to peel his shirt back from his strong shoulders.

He kissed her until her head spun, and then he followed the line of her neck, tasting her and muttering dark things in Italian that she told herself she was happy she didn’t understand.

Even if they moved in her like music, dark and compelling, sex and magic and Giancarlo, at long last.

He found her breasts and pulled one of the proud nipples deep into his hot mouth, and she didn’t care what he said. Or in what language. She arched into him, mindless and needy, and he punished and praised her with his lips, his tongue, the scrape of his teeth. He played with her until she begged him to stop and then he only laughed and kept going, sending a catapult of pure wildfire straight down into her core.

She thought for a panicky, wondrous second that he might throw her straight over the edge with only this—

But he stopped, as diabolical as ever, raising his dark head to take in the flushed heat on her face and all down her neck. Her sensual distress. Her driving need.

“This punishment appears to be far more effective than you imagined it would be, cara,” he murmured, his voice another sensual shiver against her sensitive skin, with its echoes of the playfully wicked lover she’d met so long ago. “It’s almost as if you forgot what I can do to you.”

“Thank you for the harsh lesson, Count Alessi,” she whispered, not trying too hard to keep her tone anything approaching respectful when she was this close to the edge. “May I have another?”

He laughed, and she did too, and she didn’t know if she’d been kidding or if she’d meant it when he returned his attention to her body, shifting to crawl down farther. If these were harsh lessons indeed, or gifts. He left a shimmering trail of fire from her breasts to her belly, and when he paused there, his breath fanning out over the hungriest part of her, Paige realized she was breathing as heavily as if she was running a race. The marathon he’d mentioned earlier, God help her.

“You’d better hold on,” he warned her, dark and stirring and right there against her sex. “I’m going to stop when I’m done, not when you are.”

And then he simply bent his head and licked his way into her.

Paige ignited.

She went from the mere sensation of burning straight into open flame. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She arched against the exquisite torment of his wickedly clever mouth, or she tried to escape it, and either way, it didn’t matter. He gripped her hips in his strong hands and he tasted her molten heat as if it was his own greatest pleasure, and before she knew it she was bucking against him, her hands buried deep in his thick, dark hair.

Calling out his name like a prayer into the night.

And he was as good as his word. He didn’t stop. He didn’t wait for her to come back down, to come back to herself. He simply kept on tasting her, settling in and taking his time, laughing against her tender flesh when she begged him to stop, laughing more when she begged him to keep on going.

The fire poured back into her, hotter and higher than before, and then he plunged two fingers deep inside of her and threw her over the side of the world. Again.

This time, when she shuddered her way back to earth, Giancarlo had moved off her to stand beside her, his hard hands impatient as he pulled her to her feet. It took her a moment to realize he’d finally stripped but she had no time to appreciate it, because he was lying back on the chaise and pulling her down to sit astride him.

“I want to watch,” he told her, his voice dark and nearly grim with need, and it lit that flame inside of her all over again.

And then he simply curled his strong hands around her hips the way he had a thousand times before, the way she’d never dreamed he would again, and thrust home.

CHAPTER SIX

HE WAS INSIDE her again. At last.

Finally.

Giancarlo thought the sensation—far better than all his pale memories across these long years, far better than his own damned hand had ever been—might make him become a religious man.

She was so damned hot, molten and sweet and slick and his, and she still held him so tightly, so snugly, it was nearly his undoing. Her hair was that deep black ink with hints of fire and it tumbled all around her in a seductive tousle, falling to those breasts of hers, still high and pert, the tips already tight again and begging for his mouth.

Paige looked soft and stunned, exactly how he liked her best, exactly how he remembered her, and then she made everything better by reaching out to prop her hands against his chest. The shift in position made her sink down even farther on him, making them both groan.

He let his hands travel back to cup the twin globes of her delectable bottom, and tested the depth of her, the friction. God help him, but she was perfect. She had always been perfect. The perfect fit. The perfect fire.

Perfect for him.

Giancarlo had somehow forgotten that, in all the long years since he’d last been inside her. He’d convinced himself he’d exaggerated this as some kind of excuse for his own idiocy—that she’d been nothing more than a pretty girl with a dancer’s body and all the rest had been a kind of madness that would make no sense if revisited.

But this was no exaggeration. This was pure, hot, bliss. This was that same true perfection he remembered, at last.

Paige looked down at him, her gaze unreadable. Bright and something like awed. And then she started to move.

He had watched her dance ten years ago, and he had wanted her desperately. He’d watched her dance tonight, that astonishing performance for him alone, equal parts sensual and inviting, and he’d thought he might die if he didn’t find a way inside her. But nothing compared to this dance. Nothing came close.

She braced herself against him, her hands splayed wide over his pectoral muscles, while her hips set a lazy, shattering, insistent rhythm against his. And Giancarlo was lost.

He forgot about revenge. He forgot about their past. Her deceit, his foolish belief in her. All the terrible lies. The damned pictures themselves, grainy and humiliating. He lost his plans in the slide of her body against his, the sleek thrill that built in him with every rocking motion she made. Every life-altering stroke of the hardest part of him so deep, so very deep, in all of her soft heat.

“Make me come,” he ordered her, in a stranger’s deep growl. He saw her skin prickle at the sound of it, saw the way she pulled her lower lip between her teeth as if she was fighting back the same wave of sensation he was. “Make it good.”

Not that it could be anything but good. Not that it ever had been. This was a magical thing, this wild, hot fire that was only theirs. He could feel it every time he sank within her. He knew it every time he pulled back. He felt it in the sure pace she set with her hips, the tight hold of her flesh against his. He wanted it to go on forever, the way he’d thought it would when he’d met her that first time.

The way it should have, that little voice that was still in love with her, that had never been anything but in love with her, whispered deep inside him.

But she was following his orders and this was no time for regrets. She moved against him, lush and lovely, her hips a sinuous dance, a well-cast spell of longing and lust and too many other things he refused to name. He’d thought he’d lost her forever and yet she was here, moving above him, her lovely body on display because he’d wanted it, holding him so deep inside her he couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. He didn’t want to know.

“Your wish is my command, my count,” she teased him, her voice a husky little dream, and then she did something complicated with her hips and the world turned to flames all around them.

When he finally exploded, a bright rush of fire turned some kind of comet, rocketing over the edge of the night, he heard her call out his name.

And then follow him into bliss.

* * *

Giancarlo did not welcome reality when it reasserted itself.

Paige lay slumped over him, her face buried in his neck, while he was still deep inside of her. He opted not to think about how easy it was to hold her, or how she still seemed to have been crafted especially to fit in his arms, exactly this way. It took him much longer than it should have to get his breathing under control again. He held her the way a lover might, the way he always had before, and stared out over the top of her head at the faint lights on distant hills and the smear of starlight above.

He wished he didn’t care about the past. More than that, he wished he could trust her the way he had once. He wished so many things, and yet all of the stars were fixed tonight, staring down at him from their cold positions, and he knew better.

Paige was an accident waiting to happen. He’d been caught up in that accident once—he wouldn’t subject himself to it again. Even he wasn’t foolish enough to walk into the same trap twice. No matter that it felt like glory made flesh to touch her again, like coming home after too long away.

He would learn to live without that, too. He had before.

She shifted against him, and he felt the brush of her lips over his skin and told himself it was calculated. That everything about her was calculated. There was no use remembering the afternoons they’d spent curled around each other in his huge bed surrounded by the Malibu sea. When she’d tasted him everywhere with her eyes closed, as if she couldn’t help herself, as if her affection was as elemental as the ocean beyond his windows or the sky above and she had no choice but to sink into it with all of her senses.

That had been an act. This was an act. He needed to remember it.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the show.

“You’ve obviously been practicing,” he said, to be horrible. To remind them both that this was here and now, not ten years back. “Quite a lot, I’d say, were I to hazard a guess.”

He felt her tense against him, but almost thought he’d imagined it when she sat up a moment later, displaying her typical offhanded grace. And then she smiled slightly as she looked down at him.

“I was about to compliment you on the same thing,” she said, a brittle sort of mischief and something else lighting up her gaze. “You must have slept with a thousand women to do that so well! My congratulations. Especially as I would have said there weren’t ten women you could sleep with in a hundred miles, much less a thousand. The privileges of wealth, I presume?”

“You’re hilarious.” But he couldn’t help the crook of his mouth. “I have them flown in from Rome, of course.”

“Of course.” She wrinkled her nose at him, and it was as dangerous as it had been earlier. It made him want things he knew he couldn’t have. He couldn’t have them, and more to the point, she couldn’t give them. Hadn’t he learned anything? “You realize, Giancarlo, that people might get the wrong idea. They might begin to think you’re a playboy whore.”

“They won’t.”

“Because you tell them so?” She shook her head, her expression serious though her mysterious eyes laughed at him. “I think that tactic only works with me. And not very well.”

“Because,” he said, his hands moving to her bottom again, then higher along the tempting indentation in her lovely back to tug her down to him, “a man is only a playboy whore when he appears to be having too much of a certain kind of uncontrolled fun in public. I can do all the same things in private and it doesn’t count. Didn’t you know?”

Her attention dropped to his mouth and he wanted it there. He was already hardening within her again and she shifted restlessly against him as if she encouraged it, making the fire inside him leap to new life that easily.

“It all counts,” she breathed. “Or none of it does.”

“Then I suppose that makes us all whores, doesn’t it?” he asked. He indulged himself and sank his hands deep into her hair, holding her head fast, as he tested the depth of her again and found her hotter around him. Wetter. Better, somehow, than before. That quickly, he was like steel. “But let’s be clear. How many lovers have you taken in the last ten years?”

“Less than your thousand,” she said, her voice a thin little thing, as her hips met his greedily. Deliciously. He grunted, and then pulled out to flip them around, coming down over her again and drawing her legs around his waist. He teased her heat with the tip of his hardness, and he didn’t know what it was that drove him then, but he didn’t let her pull him into her.

“How many?” he asked. He had no idea why he cared. He didn’t care. He’d imagined it a thousand times and it scraped at him and it changed nothing either way. But he couldn’t seem to stop. “Tell me.”

Her eyes moved to his, then away, and they looked blue in the shadows. “What does it matter? Whatever number I pick, you’ll think the worst of me.”

“I already think the worst of you,” he said, the way he might have crooned love words a lifetime ago, and he couldn’t have said what he wanted here. To hurt her? Or himself? To make this all worse? Or was this simply his way of reminding them both who they were? “Why don’t you try the truth?”

“None,” she said, and there was an odd expression on her face as she said it. He might have called it vulnerable, were she someone else. “I told you there were no new tricks.”

It took another beat for him to process that, and then something roared in him, a primal force that was like some kind of howl, and he thought he shook though he knew he held himself perfectly still.

“Is that a joke?” But he was whispering. He barely knew his own voice.

Her wide mouth twisted and her gaze was dark with something he didn’t want to understand. Something that couldn’t possibly be real.

“Yes,” she said, her voice broken and fierce at once. “Ha ha, what a joke. I meant ten. Twenty. How many lovers do you imagine I’ve taken, Giancarlo? What number proves I’m who you think I am?”

He heard her voice break slightly as she asked the question, and a kind of ripple went through her lush body. He felt it. This time when she urged him into her, he went, slick and hard and even better than before, making him mutter a curse and press his forehead to hers. And he didn’t have the slightest idea if this was his form of an apology, or hers.

“I don’t care one way or the other,” he lied, and he didn’t want to talk about this any longer. He didn’t want to revisit all those images he’d tortured himself with over the years. Because his sad little secret was that he’d never imagined her in prison, the way he’d told her he had. He’d imagined her wrapped around some other man exactly like this and he’d periodically searched the internet to see if he could find any evidence that she was out there somewhere, doing it with all that same joy and grace that had undone him.

And it had killed him, every time. It still killed him.

So he took it out on her instead, in the best way possible. He set a hard pace, throwing them headfirst into that raging thing that consumed them both, and he laughed against the side of her neck when she couldn’t do anything but moan out her surrender.

He held on, building that perfect wildness all over again, making her thrash and keen, and when he thought he couldn’t take it any longer he reached between them and pressed hard against the center of her need, making her shatter all around him.

And he rode her until he could throw himself into that shattering, too. Until he could forget the truth he’d heard in her voice when she’d told him there hadn’t been anyone since him, because he couldn’t handle that—or what he’d seen on her face that he refused to believe. He refused.

He rode her until he could forget everything but this. Everything but her. Everything they built between them in this marvelous fire.

Until he lost himself all over again.

* * *

“Violet is asking for you,” Giancarlo said.

Paige had heard him coming from a long way off. First the Jeep, the engine announcing itself high on the hill and only getting louder as it wound its way down toward her cottage. Then the slam of the driver’s door. The thud of the cottage’s front door, and then, some minutes later, the slide of the glass doors that led out to where she sat, curled up beneath a graceful old oak tree with her book in her lap.

“That sounds like an accusation,” she said mildly, putting her book aside. He stood on the terrace with his hands on his lean hips, frowning at her. “Of course she’s asking for me. I’m her assistant. She might be on vacation here, but I’m not.”

“She needs to learn how to relax and handle her own affairs,” he replied, somewhat darkly. Paige climbed to her feet, brushing at the skirt she wore, and started toward him. It was impossible not feel that hunger at the sight of him, deep inside her, making her too warm, too soft.

“Possibly,” she said, trying to concentrate on something, anything but the sensual spell he seemed to weave simply by existing. “But I’m not her therapist, I’m her personal assistant. When she learns how to relax and handle her own affairs, I’m out of a job.”

Her heart set up its usual clatter at his proximity, worse the closer she got to him, and she didn’t understand how that could still happen. They’d been here almost a week. It should have settled down by now. She should have started to grow immune to him, surely. After all, she already knew how this would end. Badly. Unlike the last time, when she’d been so blissfully certain it would be the one thing in her life that ended well, this time she knew better. Their history was like a crystal ball, allowing her to see the future clearly.

Maybe too clearly. Not that it seemed to matter.

She stopped when she was near him but not too near him, and felt that warm thing in the vicinity of her heart when he scowled. He reached over and tugged her closer, so he could land a hard kiss on her mouth. Like a mark of possession, she thought, more than an indication of desire—but she didn’t care.

It deepened, the way it always deepened. Giancarlo muttered something and angled his head, and when he finally pulled back she was wound all around him and flushed and there was that deep male satisfaction stamped all over his face.

“Later,” he told her, like a promise, as if she’d been the one to start this.

And in this past week, Paige had learned that she’d take this man any way she could have him. She imagined that said any number of unflattering things about her, but she didn’t care.

“I might be busy later,” she told him loftily.

He smiled that hard smile of his that made her ache, and he didn’t look particularly concerned. “I will take that chance.”

And she would let him, she knew. Not because he told her to. Not because he was holding anything over her head. But because she was helpless before her own need, even though she knew perfectly well it would ruin her all over again....

Later, she told herself. I’ll worry about it later.

Because later was going to be all the years she got to live through on the other side of this little interlude, when he was nothing but a memory all over again. And she wasn’t delusional enough to imagine that there was any possibility that when this thing with Giancarlo ended he might permit her to remain with Violet, in any capacity. He was as likely to fall to his knees and propose marriage.

She moved around him and into the house then, not wanting him to read that epic bit of silliness on her face, when that notion failed to make her laugh at herself the way it should have. When it made everything inside of her clutch hopefully instead. You are such a fool, she chided herself.

But then again, that wasn’t news.

Paige swept up her bag and hung it over her shoulder, then followed Giancarlo out to his Jeep. He climbed in and turned the key, and she clung to the handle on her side of the vehicle as he bumped his way up the old lane and then headed toward the castello in the distance.

It was another beautiful summer’s day, bright and perfect with the olive trees a silvery presence on either side of the lane that wound through the hills toward Violet, and Paige told herself it was enough. This was enough. It was more than she’d ever imagined could happen with Giancarlo after what she’d done, and why did she want to ruin it with thoughts of more?

But the sad truth was, she didn’t know how to be anything but greedy when it came to this man. She wanted all of him, not the parts of himself he doled out so carefully, so sparingly. Not when she could feel he kept so much of himself apart.

She’d woken the morning after that first night to find herself in his bed. Alone. He’d left her there without so much as a note, and she’d lectured herself about the foolishness of her hurt feelings. She’d told herself she should count herself lucky he hadn’t tossed her out his front door at dawn, naked.

What she told herself and what she actually went right on feeling, of course, were not quite the same thing.

Modify your expectations, girl, she’d snapped at herself on the walk down the hill to her cottage. The birds had been singing joyfully, the sun had been cheerful against her face, she was in Italy of all places, and Giancarlo had made love to her again and again throughout the night. He could call it whatever he wanted. She would hold it in her battered little heart and call it what it had meant to her.

Because she hadn’t lied to him. She hadn’t touched another man since him, and she’d grown to accept the fact she never would. At first it had hurt too much. She’d seen nothing but Giancarlo—and more important, his back, on that last morning when he’d walked away from her rather than talk about what had happened, what she’d done. Then she’d started working for Violet and it had seemed as if Giancarlo was everywhere, in pictures, in emails, in conversation. Paige had had the very acute sense that so much as going out to dinner with another man was some kind of treason—which she’d known was absurd. Beyond absurd, given the way in which she’d betrayed him. She’d made certain he hated her. He’d walked away from her without a single backward glance. Why should he care what she did?

And yet somehow, each of these ten years had crept by and he was still the only man she’d ever slept with. She’d been unable to contain the small, humming thing inside her then as that thought had kept her company on her walk. It had felt a little bit too much like a kind of silly joy she ought to have known better than to indulge.

But he’d turned up that night, his face drawn as if he’d fought a great battle with himself, and he hadn’t seemed interested in talking about whether he’d lost or won. He’d led her up her stairs, thrown her on her bed, and kept them up for another night—this time, she’d noted, with the condoms they’d failed to use before.

They hadn’t talked about that first night and its lack of birth control. Just like ten years ago, they hadn’t talked about a thing.

And that was how it had been since her arrival, Paige thought now, as they drew closer to the castello. She’d never spent much time wondering what it felt like to be a rich man’s kept woman before now. What she thought people in this part of the world might call a mistress. But she imagined it must be something like this past week.

Nothing but the pleasures of their flesh. No unpleasant topics, save the odd bout of teasing that never quite landed a hard punch. Nothing but sex and food and sex again, until she felt glutted on it. Replete. Able to know him at a touch, taste him when he wasn’t there, scent him on any breeze.

The last time she’d felt so deeply a part of her own body, her own physical space, she’d been dancing more hours of the day than she’d slept.

She didn’t tell him that, either. That she filled these golden, blue-skied days with dancing, as if the first dancing she’d done on that initial night with him had freed her. Paige hadn’t understood how lost she’d been until she found herself out in the field near her cottage, dancing in great, wide circles beneath the glorious Tuscan sky with tears running down her face and her arms stretched toward the sun. She wanted nothing more than to share that with him.

But Giancarlo drove the Jeep with the same ferocity he did everything else—except in bed, where he indulged every sense and took his sweet time—and with that same hard edge of his old dark fury beneath it.

Almost as if he, too, preferred the little fairy tale they’d been living this past week, where she existed purely to please him, and did, again and again.

Paige knew better than to ask him about it. Or to tell him the things that moved in her, sharp and sweet, in this place that felt more like home every day. This was a no-talking zone. This was a place of sun and sex and silence. It was the only possible way it could work.

Like all temporary things, all stolen moments, it could only be a secret, or it would implode.

“What have you been up to all this time?” Violet asked, peering at Paige from her position on one of the castello’s lovely couches, her iPad in her lap and her voice no more than mildly reproving. “I thought perhaps you’d been sucked into one of the olive groves, never to be seen again.”

“You should have told me you needed me!” Paige exclaimed instead of answering the question. Because she didn’t want to know what Violet would think about the help touching her son. She didn’t want to risk her relationship with either one of them. “I thought I was giving you some much-needed time and space to yourself!”

“My dear girl,” Violet said, sounding amused, “if I wanted time and space to myself, I would have chosen a different life altogether.”

Paige was too aware of Giancarlo’s dark, brooding presence on the other side of the living room then, lounging there against the massive stone fireplace, supposedly scrolling through his phone’s display. She was certain he was hanging on every word. Or did she simply want to be that important to him?

There was no answer to that. Not one that came without a good dose of pain in its wake.

“I’m here now,” Paige said stoutly, trying to focus on the woman who had always been good to her, without all these complications and regrets. Not that she’d give you the time of day if she knew who you really were, that rough voice that was so much like her mother’s snarled at her.

“Then I have two questions for you,” Violet replied, snapping Paige back to the present. “Can you operate a manual transmission?”

That hadn’t been what Paige was expecting, but that was Violet. Paige rolled with it. “I can.”

It was, in fact, one of the few things she could say her mother had taught her. Even if it had been mostly so that Paige could drive the beat-up car she owned to pick her up, drunk and belligerent, from the rough bars down near the railroad tracks.

“And do you want to drive me to Lucca?” Violet smiled serenely when Giancarlo made an irritated sort of noise from the fireplace across the room and kept her eyes trained on Paige. “If memory serves, it has wonderful shopping. And I’m in the mood for an adventure.”

“An adventure with attention or without?” Paige asked without missing a beat, though she was well aware it had been a long time since Violet had gone out on one of her excursions into the public without expecting attention from the people who would see her out and about.

“Without,” Giancarlo snapped, from much closer by, and Paige had to control a little jump. She hadn’t heard him move.

“With, of course,” Violet said, as if he hadn’t spoken. “No one has fawned over me in a whole week, and I require attention the way plants require sunlight, you know. It’s how I maintain my youthful facade.”

She said it as if she was joking, but in that way of hers that didn’t actually allow for any argument. Not that it was Paige’s place to argue. Her son, however, was a different story.

“You’re one of the most famous women in the world,” Giancarlo pointed out, and the dark thing Paige heard in his voice was a different animal than the one he used when he spoke to her. More exasperated, perhaps. Or more formal. “It’s not safe for you to simply wander the streets alone.”

“I won’t be alone. I’ll have Paige,” Violet replied.

“And what, pray, will Paige do should you find yourself surrounded? Mobbed?” Giancarlo rolled his eyes. “Hold the crowd off with a smart remark or two?”

“I wouldn’t underestimate the power of a smart remark,” Paige retorted, glaring at him—but his gaze was on his mother.

“That was a long time ago,” Violet said softly. With a wealth of compassion that made Paige stiffen in surprise and Giancarlo jerk back as if she’d slapped him. “I was a very foolish young woman. I underestimated the kind of interest there would be—not only in me, but in you. Your father was livid.” She studied her son for a moment and then rose to her feet, smiling faintly at Paige. “We were in the south of France and I thought it would be a marvelous idea to go out and poke around the shops by myself. Giancarlo was four. And when the crowds surrounded us, he was terrified.”

“The police were called,” he said, furiously, Paige thought, though his voice was cold. “You had to be rescued by armed officials and you never went out without security again—and neither did I. I hope you haven’t spent your life telling this story as if I was an overimaginative child who caused a fuss. It wasn’t a monster in my closet. It was a pack of shouting cameramen and a mob of fans.”

“The point is, my darling, you were four,” Violet said quietly. “You are not four any longer. And while I flatter myself that I remain relevant, I am an old woman who has not commanded the attention of packs of paparazzi in a very long time. I’m perfectly capable of enjoying an afternoon with my assistant and, if you insist, one driver.”

“And you wonder why I refuse to have children,” he growled at her, and it took every shred of self-preservation Paige had to keep from reacting to that. To Giancarlo and the pain she could hear beneath the steel in his voice. “Why I would die before I’d subject another innocent to this absurd world of yours.”

“I didn’t wonder,” Violet replied. “I knew. But I hoped you’d outgrow it.”

“Mother—”

“I don’t like being locked away in Italian castles, Giancarlo,” she said, and there was steel in the way she said it, despite the smile she used. It was the famous star issuing a command, not a mother. “If you cast your memory back, you’ll remember that I never have.”

There was a strange tension in the room then. And though she knew better, though it would no doubt raise the suspicions of the woman who could read anyone, standing right there beside her, Paige found herself looking to Giancarlo as if she could soothe him somehow. As if he’d let her—

And she found that great darkness blazing in his eyes as he slowly, slowly turned his attention from Violet to her.

As if this was something she’d done, too.

Because, of course, she had. When he’d been far older than four. And what she’d done to him hadn’t been an accident.

The truth of that almost knocked her sideways, and she would never know how she remained standing. She wanted to tell him everything, and who cared what Violet thought? She wanted to explain about her mother’s downward spiral. The money owed, the threats from the horrible Denny, the fear and panic that she’d thought were just the way life was. Because that was how it had always been. Paige wanted him to understand—at last—that she never, ever would have sacrificed him if she hadn’t believed she had no other choice. If she hadn’t been trapped and terrified herself, with only hideous options on all sides.

But this wasn’t the place and she knew—she knew—he wouldn’t want to hear it anyway. He didn’t want to know why. He only wanted her to pay.

He didn’t realize that she had. That she still did. Every moment since.

And so she stood there, she said nothing the way she’d always said nothing and somehow she managed not to fall to her knees. Somehow Paige managed not to break into pieces. Somehow, she stared back at him as if she’d never broken his heart and she wished, hard and fierce and utterly pointless, that it were true.

“Don’t worry,” he said quietly, as if he was answering his mother. All of that darkness in his gaze. All of the betrayal, the loss. The terrible grief. It made Paige’s chest ache, so acutely that she forgot to worry that Violet would be able to sense it from a few feet away. So sharp and so deep she thought it might have been a mortal blow, and how could anyone hide that? “I remember everything.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.