The Best Of The Year - Modern Romance. Annie West
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.
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