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‘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.
