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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.
