To Wear His Ring Again (16 page)

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.'

Copyright © 2015 by Maya Blake