Innocent in His Diamonds

She grabbed the handle, her need to get out of Bastien’s disturbing sphere of control paramount. ‘Tell your driver to stop the car.’

Speculative eyes narrowed on her face. She was close to hysteria, but she didn’t care. The need to escape was a living, writhing being inside her, demanding compliance.

‘So you intend to flout the law and walk away from your responsibilities?’ he asked, his voice a chilled knife.

‘I intend to walk away from your bullying tactics. Don’t think I don’t know why you’re doing this.’

‘And why is it, exactly?’

Because of what happened in Cannes! Because of what my mother did to your family!

She swallowed the words. Voicing the details of their jagged past didn’t seem like such a good idea.

‘What good will taking me out of the country do? I’m much better off here, finding out what happened, don’t you think?’ she countered.

‘I have no wish to be hauled to jail for breaking the law, Miss Duval. Besides, how are you going to find out who supposedly framed you?’

She bit her lip. ‘I don’t know yet.’

One eyebrow quirked. ‘Let me know when you have a plan of action. In the meantime we follow the judge’s ruling to the last letter.’

Despite his steady gaze and even steadier words Ana experienced a dark foreboding. Something dangerous lurked beneath his outward calm, warning her that once she took this step there would be no going back.

The thought seized her in its grip. ‘No. I’m not going to hide from my situation, but neither am I going to Geneva with you.’

A look of cynical resignation crossed his face but he didn’t speak.

The limo stopped at a traffic light. Without waiting for an answer, she yanked open the door.

For a split second she anticipated his icy voice ordering her to stay put, or—worse—the hands that had taken such domineering control of her at the courthouse hauling her back inside. But a heartbeat later she stood on the pavement, breathing in clear, fresh air.

Free.

Not stopping to examine the weird anti-climactic sensation enveloping her, she slammed the door and whirled away.

The icy January wind cut through her flimsy dress, its bite so ferocious it took her breath away. Clutching her purse in one hand, she pulled the lapels of the warm jacket around her. The sign for Charing Cross tube station beckoned. She started towards it. Only to stumble to a stop after a few steps.

As suddenly as it rose, her elation ebbed.

What was she doing?

‘You intend to walk away from your responsibilities?’

Guilt gnawed at her. She’d done nothing wrong. She could repeat that to herself a thousand times over. Yet it didn’t alter the reality of her situation.

Whether she liked it or not, she owed Bastien Heidecker. He might not have had grounds to fire her two months ago, but he had grounds now.

More importantly, he’d saved her from prison. He hadn’t been obliged to bail her out or even to show up in court. But he had.

The memory of the fifteen-year-old Bastien who’d cleaned her cut when she’d fallen in his parents’ garden in Verbier slammed into her thoughts. With crystal clarity she recalled his gentle hands as he’d tended her wound and the stoic but kind smile he’d bestowed on her once the plaster was in place. Even his admonishment to be careful on the loose steps leading to the garden had been gentle.

That had been the one and only time Bastien had genuinely smiled at her.

She pushed the memory away. There was an ocean of difference between that Bastien and this one. And even that Bastien had been an anomaly. It had been the only time during that whole miserable winter that he’d softened towards her. The rest of the time he’d frozen her out, looked right through her with those arctic grey eyes as if she didn’t exist.

The urge now to pretend he didn’t exist, to keep walking, was strong.

But she couldn’t move. Her sense of integrity wouldn’t allow her. Despite their chaotic past, he’d stuck his neck out for her.

And she’d never walked away from her responsibilities before.

She spun around. The lights had turned green and the limo was pulling into the traffic. Panicked, she raced after it, cursing as her heels nearly sent her flying again.

‘Wait!’

Her shout was useless as the car sped away. Cold that had nothing to do with the freezing weather gripped her chest.

In the face of her mother’s faithlessness Ana had tried to live her life by a strict moral code. And she’d just let herself down spectacularly.

Noticing the curious glances from passers-by, she swiped a hand over her face.

When the mobile phone rang she didn’t recognise where it came from. Glancing down, she realised she still wore Bastien’s jacket.

Frantically, she tore through the pockets, grabbed the phone and answered it.

‘Have you come to your senses yet?’

* * *

Bastien watched Ana fight to control her irritation, the rise and fall of her chest rapid as she took several deep breaths. Against his will, his mouth twitched at the effort it took for her to remain silent. The child he’d known all those years ago wouldn’t have held back her Latin temper at being made to chase after his car.

With her seatbelt on, her breasts stood out in proud prominence, the thin material of her dress displaying the tight peaks of her nipples. His senses stirred again, deeper, as he recalled how they felt, how they tasted. In her agitation earlier she’d bitten her lip repeatedly, making it fuller, redder than usual, making her natural, sensual pout even more pronounced, despite her mouth being pursed with displeasure.

He clamped down on the hot fizz of arousal and wrenched his gaze away. Unfortunately there was nowhere else on her body he could look without increasing the unwelcome sensations rampaging through him, threatening to drown him. Looking out of the window the way he’d tried earlier didn’t work.

For reasons he couldn’t comprehend his senses were sharply attuned to every move Ana Duval made. But this time he refused to succumb to the spell she was weaving.

He preferred curvy petite blondes with no baggage. He carried enough baggage from his childhood to last him a lifetime. And Ana Duval carried plenty of her own.

It was the reason he’d tried to have her thrown off his advertising campaign two months ago, when he’d discovered who his management team had chosen for the ads.

He’d been stunned when she’d actually smiled on seeing him on the boat. As if she was pleased to see him. When he’d made the reason for his visit clear she’d slowly, gracefully, uncurled herself from that sensual pose she’d been holding, faced him and dared him to do his worst.

And he nearly had...

Luckily he’d stopped himself in time—had walked away convinced that Ana, with her lithe, svelte figure and river of shining black hair, held no thrall for him.

Now he glanced into her wide, accusing eyes and willed the pounding in his blood away. He would never succumb to her temptation. Never be drawn into the emotional quagmire she carried with her. He was more than content living in his emotionally desolate state.