âIf you were trying to prove a point with that...that display, I should warn you it proved nothing.â
His face remained impassive. âThat you feel the need to caution me speaks for itself.â
âWell, Iâd appreciate it if you didnât pounce on me without warning like that in future.â
His low laugh infused the dark interior of the car with rich sound. âYou think a gold-embossed request next time is going to make this insane chemistry between us more benign?â
âIâd prefer it if you didnât touch me at all.â She pulled the coat tighter around her, chilled despite the warmth of the car.
Once again sheâd let Bastien shake the foundations of her painfully constructed fortress of self-control and allowed her emotions to get the better of her.
How many times had she seen her mother succumb to the emptiness of lust and need, only to be left high and dry and even more embittered? And how many times had she borne the brunt of her motherâs misery? She couldnât,
wouldnât
give in to whatever deceptive, tumultuous sensations Bastien elicited from her.
She was in control of her life, of her feelings. And she aimed for it to stay that way.
âPromise me it wonât happen again.â The slight edge to her tone made her suck in a breath and battle to remain calm.
For several seconds he remained silent. Then he hooked a finger under her chin.
* * *
Bastien had watched her struggle to bring herself under control and felt a strange kinship with her as he battled his own raging libido. Things had got out of hand far too quickly.
He knew the full cost of giving oneâs emotions free rein. Heâd watched his mother wear her heart on her sleeve every dayâonly to have it exploited, twisted and broken apart until only a shell remained. A shell that had had no use for a sonâs presence, never mind his love.
His aim since that bleak winter had been to protect himself against that feeling at all costs. And heâd succeeded...for the most part. Until Ana.
His gaze dropped to her still-damp lipsâlips that had tasted much sweeter than heâd remembered from that one other time when heâd lost control and let her slip beneath his guard. The day heâd almost stripped her naked on the deck of his yacht.
His groin hardened all over again as he recalled the smooth valley between her breasts, now fully covered with the wide lapels of a coat two sizes too big. His mouth had grazed the hard nub of her nipple only briefly, but the imprint remained vivid, branded on his lips.
With a swallowed groan he dropped his hand, willed his control back, and cast around wildly for a subject to kill the desire swirling inside him.
âHowâs your mother these days?â
In the dim light her eyes widened warily at the change of subject before she glanced down at her hands. He knew very well that he hadnât answered her question, or given her the promise she sought. He had no intention of doing so.
Ana Duval had no right to seek promises from him. Certainly not ones he wasnât entirely sure he could keep. She unsettled him far too much, emotionally and physically, for him to be anywhere near certain about any damned thing.
When she looked up her anxious expression was gone, replaced by an icy hauteur that was meant to freeze him out. He almost laughed.
âSheâs fineâbut somehow I think you know that.â
She wasnât wrong. Lily Duvalâs thirst for the limelight made her impossible to ignore.
âSince weâre being polite, howâs your father?â she returned, her tone conversational, as if sheâd bounced back from the passionate storm that had so nearly ravaged them.
But the wild pulse beating at her throat betrayed her. He prided himself on his control, and even he hadnât brought his body to heel yet.
âMy father retired seven years ago. He and my mother live in Gstaad for
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