Barbara Wallace – Daring to Date the Boss / The Tycoon Who Healed Her Heart: Daring to Date the Boss / The Tycoon Who Healed Her Heart (страница 8)

Armand moved her chair in. ‘Monika is finished for the day, but I will pass on thanks to the appropriate place.’

‘Thanks,’ she sighed, reflecting on Armand’s courtesy with a slightly uncomfortable feeling. Probably his good manners were ingrained in him, but it had the feel of subtle undercurrents, as seductive as they were dangerous. She felt as if she’d fallen into unfamiliar waters from the moment he’d come into her life, pulling her with gentle insistence out to sea.

Don’t think about it. Don’t look at him. Frowning, she looked beneath the grill plate and saw cheese bubbling in the little flat pans. ‘This looks delicious.’

‘It is, and so easy. Just cook what you like to eat, and when it’s ready pick what you want to eat, put it on your plate and pour the cheese over.’

The flavour burst on her tongue with the first mouthful. ‘Oh, this is superb, Armand,’ she murmured when her mouth was empty. ‘No wonder it’s a national dish—I’d eat it—’

‘Rachel?’

Her eyes snapped open at his tone of voice which, though quiet, held inexplicable warning. A tiny shiver ran through her spine and she forgot about the food. ‘What is it?’

He was looking only at his plate, seeming to enjoy the smell of his food. ‘Someone’s watching us through the terrasse door. She’s looking right at you.’

She heard one of her vertebrae snap into place as she straightened, but she didn’t look around. ‘You said she?’

‘Try to relax, Rachel,’ he said softly, still not looking at her. ‘It’s okay. I recognise her. It’s Amelia Heffernan, a regular visitor to the resort—she’s a widow, an incurable romantic, and also incurably nosy. She only arrived today. She must have heard the rumours of a woman staying here and came to check for herself.’

One by one, her vertebrae relaxed again. She drew in a breath, her first in almost a minute. She looked at him, trying not to show her fear. ‘Does she watch TV?’

‘She’s elderly—of course she does. And, yes, she loves the chat shows.’

Rachel turned cold all over. ‘Armand, if she recognises me and tells anyone …’

She couldn’t quite interpret his smile. ‘From where she’s standing, she can’t see your face. Stand up and come to me.’ He rose to his feet, moving to her. ‘Smile at me. Our ruse won’t work if you look like you’d rather walk into an iron maiden than into my arms.’

She looked down, shaking her head. ‘I can’t do it. I just can’t.’

He reached her chair, but didn’t touch it, only her shoulder. ‘Rachel,’ he murmured, ‘You don’t know me. You have no reason to trust me. But right now I’m all you have.’

Slowly she lifted her face, turning her neck so she looked into his eyes. In them she saw not the predatory male after dominance, not even tenderness, but a reluctant understanding. It made her breath catch.

‘Sometimes you have to leap,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s your choice.’

He was right. It had to be now or never.

Her heart beat a hard tattoo as she rose to shaky feet and he turned her body so she was in his arms. The look on his face was confident, a man sure of his welcome. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe …

‘It’s just like those days when the last thing you wanted was to be in front of the camera, Rachel. Remember? I’m smiling for her. If I must, I’ll kiss you for her. But none of it’s real. It’s all rehearsed. It’s not who we are. This man is not who I am. I’m helping you, nothing more.’

Rachel gulped, and nodded. Somehow his words made it easier to snuggle in. ‘It’s not real,’ she whispered to herself as she wrapped her arms around his neck. ‘It’s not real.’

‘This is the only way she won’t be able to see your face from any angle,’ Armand whispered, holding her against his body, her cheek against his heart.

Despite the tender reassurance, she suddenly rocketed back a few months in time, standing in Pete’s arms, waving to the audience the day after he’d first hit her. ‘Smile, Rachel,’ he’d muttered. ‘They all love us. Smile for them.’ He’d squeezed her waist, right where he’d hit her the night before after seeing that her fan rating was higher than his. He had been reminding her of who was in control, both in the show and in life.

‘Rachel?’

Her vision cleared, and she saw Armand looking down at her, tender and troubled. He wasn’t Pete, and she felt safer with this stranger than she had with anyone in a long time.

That gave her the courage to try. ‘Smile at me,’ she muttered through gritted teeth. ‘She’ll never believe it if you look at me like you’re scared I might break any second.’

He gave a soft chuckle and lowered his face to hers. Rachel jerked back before she could stop herself. ‘Make the leap, Rachel,’ he whispered, moving close again. ‘Trust me.’

She bit her lip, saw that look again, the sadness and the pain beneath the confident hunter—the wounded wolf. She gave permission in a tiny nod. ‘Do it.’

His lips barely touched one side of her mouth, and then the other side, in sweet mimickry of the real thing, leaving her heart banging like a jackhammer right up as high as her throat. Then he drew her closer still but, though it looked loving—seductive even—she was in his arms in a hold more gentle and protective than any she’d ever known. ‘I’m not him,’ Armand whispered into her hair.

Slowly, still trying to take air into lungs that wouldn’t behave and fill, she nodded. Not real? It was all too real, and something buried deep inside her came shimmering back to life. She could hardly remember the last time anyone had held her, unless it was for an audience. Though they had an audience of one now, Armand’s tender hold made her feel as if they were alone, that he was holding her because he wanted to …

He bent down to murmur against her ear. ‘Frau Heffernan has been coming to the resort since its reopening, and is very loyal. She just wants to know what’s going on. So, for now pretend to dance with me. She’ll interpret it as a private romance. She’ll love having the power of knowledge no one else has and, beyond teasing me about it in quiet moments, nothing will be said, certainly not in public.’

With a tender hand he moved her head so her face was buried against his chest as he hummed a song. He moved her in a slow shuffle, always keeping her face from the clear terrasse doors, protecting her with every movement he made.

She felt so safe. She felt his heart beating against her cheek, heard the swishing of his breath in and out as they danced. He wound his fingers through hers, held her waist with a light, reassuring clasp. How he managed to give her personal space when he held her like a lover, she couldn’t understand—but he did. Somehow he knew she couldn’t bear any form of male dominance.

He’d given her the choice in everything since he’d invaded her life.

It was a revelation to her as new and wondrous to her as a bud unfurling. Armand had walked away from the life Pete craved like a drug. Armand allowed her to hold her power without punishing her for it. And, yes, he let her know who was in control—she was.

His arms were so gentle, his hands so tender. She wanted to melt into him, to fall into this safe, beautiful place and never leave …

No. She’d been alone too long, that was all. Even on her wedding day part of her had felt lonely and lost. At nineteen she hadn’t known why; at thirty-two, she understood. Though Pete had always been extravagant with compliments and the words ‘I love you’, his self-love was all-absorbing, and allowed for nothing but the shallowest of affection for anyone else. The day she’d rebelled against his wishes, he’d shown her who was boss in punishing blows.

But now Armand had come into her life with his tender arms and his kindness, and he was a greater threat to her well-being than if he had been holding a sub-machine gun to her head.

And yet she couldn’t move from this hold, more seductive than any practiced caress could be. No wonder they called him the Wolf. He knew how to charm her into a state of hypnotic compliance, trusting him within hours of meeting him.

‘Is she gone?’ she whispered after what seemed like hours, minutes, seconds—she couldn’t work it out but, while it seemed too long, it wasn’t long enough.

He’s a stranger. She needed space now.

‘Not yet,’ he said quietly. ‘She’s got her heavy-weather gear on. She’s there until we notice her.’

Her fingertips were quivering as she fought against running, against holding on with all the strength she had. ‘What do you think?’

‘It’s your call, Rachel. I can look at her, embarrass her into leaving.’

About to assent, she thought of what it might cost him as the owner and hesitated. ‘Would you do that if I were a woman you—you …?’

‘Wanted to make love with?’ His voice sounded smoky now, and a hot shudder touched her skin with slow, sensuous fingertips. ‘No, I probably wouldn’t have noticed her at all. By now I’d have carried you to the bedroom.’

Gulp, gulp … The lump in her throat just wouldn’t go away. ‘I … Herr Bollinger …’

‘It’s Armand—and if I carry you to the bedroom tonight it will only be for show. I don’t abuse women, or persuade them against their will, Rachel Chase. Remember that.’

At that, she stilled so totally she felt her pulse in her throat—and then from somewhere inside her, the fighter came back. ‘Then don’t speak to me so intimately. We’re strangers sharing a cabin, no more than that—and, please remember, I’m still a paying guest.’