The Best Of The Year - Modern Romance. Annie West
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