by Maya Blake
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 lap
top 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.