Innocent in His Diamonds

His gaze skimmed the silky fall of her straight black hair, the slim, delicate structure of her lissom figure and the legs that had once been described by a fawning companion as forty-two inches of creamy paradise.

Against his will his body stirred in remembrance of having that body close to his only two months ago, of soft, meaningless words whispered in his ear.

He smashed away the memory, took his seat at the head of the table and focused on his second-in-command. ‘What’s the latest on the share price?’

He received a wary grimace. ‘Less than half of what it was yesterday and still falling.’

‘What are the lawyers saying? Can they make this go away?’ he shot back.

Henry glanced down at his watch. ‘There’s a court hearing at two o’clock this afternoon. They’re hoping since this is Miss Duval’s first offence the judge will be lenient—’

‘Alleged offence.’ Bastien ground out the words.

Henry frowned. ‘Excuse me, sir?’

‘Until there’s clear evidence to prove otherwise, this is merely an alleged offence, non?’

Other board members fidgeted. Henry’s gaze darted to the screen. ‘But she was caught on camera with the drugs in the VIP area of the nightclub—’

Bastien’s lips compressed. He’d already seen the footage some enterprising fool had flooded the internet with on the way from Heathrow. So had the Geneva board members of Heidecker Bank—the largest, most elite private bank in the world and the mother company of Diamonds by Heidecker. Their reaction had reflected his own outrage. He needed to nip this problem in the bud.

He had the trust of most of the board, but the stigma never went away.

Like father, like son.

He was nothing like his father. He’d made it his mission since that dismal summer to prove to himself that sharing DNA didn’t meant sharing deplorable traits. He’d succeeded for twelve years—until one small misstep two months ago had unearthed a doubt he hadn’t been able to erase since. He’d given in to seductive words and an alluring body and he’d almost lost his focus...

He raised his gaze, stared at the culprit and struggled to keep his cool.

The likelihood of Ana’s innocence was less than marginal, but he kept this to himself.

‘Despite what the alleged evidence says, Ana Duval is the face of the DBH range. Our diamonds are worn by the wives of heads of state and A-list celebrities all over the world. Until she’s categorically proved guilty her offences remain strictly alleged, and we’ll do everything to promote that innocence—is that understood?’

Bastien waited until he received nods of agreement before rising.

The sense of déjà vu was overwhelming. The deep, unshakable notion of history repeating itself would have been laughable had he given it any thinking room. But for the sake of his company and his reputation he couldn’t dwell on the past.

Ana Duval might look like a younger version of the woman who’d ripped his family apart, but he was not as weak as his father.

He had to stand by his employee. Distancing himself would only send a message that the allegations had teeth and sound a death knell to the Diamonds by Heidecker ad campaign.

‘How are we handling the media?’ he asked his senior press officer.

‘We’re taking the “no comment” route.’

He nodded. ‘Maintain that for now. But draft a statement denying the allegations and send me a copy.’ He turned to Henry. ‘Send feelers out to our competitors. We have to be ready to sell the company if things keep heading south.’

He was first and foremost a businessman. Before this scandal the signature DBH brand of diamonds had held its own and even excelled in a saturated market. But he knew first-hand how scandal could rock even the safest, most solid foundation—destroy the strongest family.

‘Isn’t that a bit precipitate?’ Henry asked hesitantly.

Across the gleaming surface of the conference table Ana Duval’s dangerously captivating face stared back at him.

‘Sometimes you have to cut out the threat of disease before it gets the chance to take hold and spread.’

* * *

Ana Duval rubbed her wrists. Memories of handcuffs closing over her flesh remained vivid and frightening more than twelve hours after the fact.

Even more terrifying was the judge’s ruling. The preliminary hearing had been alarmingly quick, and the female judge had shown zero sympathy so far.

Ana jumped to her feet. ‘Two hundred thousand pounds? I’m sorry, Your Honour, but that’s—’

‘Miss Duval! We’ll handle this,’ her lawyer said hurriedly as the judge paused and glared at her.

Ana fought not to cower. This whole thing was preposterous. Even if she sold everything remotely of worth in her life she would still fall hopelessly short. She sank back into her seat and rubbed her wrists again, certain that any minute now she’d be dragged back to that dank, soulless cell.

Beside her, the lawyers representing the Heidecker Corporation scrambled into a huddle. She let their voices wash over her and quickly calculated how much money she had in the bank. It didn’t take long.

God, she was going to jail. For using her inhaler. An inhaler that had mysteriously vanished, to be replaced in her purse by another one filled with heroin. The absurdity of her situation would have been comical if it hadn’t been so serious.

Watching her mother pop pill after pill at the slightest hint of unhappiness or adversity had instilled a hatred of substance abuse in Ana at a very early age. Only a very serious asthma attack a year ago had finally convinced Ana to carry her inhaler with her at all times.

Ironic that the very object that was supposed to save her life was what could now ruin it.

The lawyers finally stopped chattering. She opened her mouth to demand to know what was going on. And stopped.

The tingle invading her body was not unfamiliar. She hadn’t experienced it in a long time. In fact— Her heart began a discordant hammer as she recalled the last time she’d felt like this.

It had been on her second day of shooting the first phase of the Diamonds by Heidecker ads. Reclining on the sun-washed deck of a super-yacht in Cannes, bored out of her mind, she’d wondered how soon she could get away to call her father and congratulate him on his latest archaeological find.

The tingle had started much like this one—easing its way up her toes, engulfing her ankles, her calves, weakening her knees, singeing the secret place between her legs. The tingle had stopped there, establishing an almost possessive hold, before rising to engulf her whole body.

Then, as now, she’d wanted to run, to hide and cover herself—a ridiculous notion, considering her profession more often than not involved flaunting herself. Finally, just when she’d felt light-headed from the sensation, the photographer had wrapped the shoot.

Uncoiling from her pose, she’d turned her head.

And had encountered the silver gaze of Bastien Heidecker.

What had happened afterwards still had the power to stop her breath, to raise her heart-rate to dangerous levels no matter how much she tried to downplay the memory.

She turned her head now and encountered the same piercing gaze.

The breath shot from her lungs and that unnerving tingling engulfed her whole body, turning it from numb to fiery within seconds. Her every nerve-ending screeched in awareness of the man whose gaze pinned her to her chair, imprinting and condemning all in one go.

She watched in silence as, without breaking eye contact, he strode to the lawyers and spoke in deep, low tones.

The lead counsel nodded and cleared his throat and Bastien turned towards her, his towering six-foot-two frame and confident tread causing heads to turn in the courtroom. He took a seat directly behind her and with an autocratic jerk of his chin ordered her to face forward.