The Dare Collection June 2019. Rachael Stewart

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СКАЧАТЬ he pulled out, then set about adjusting my clothes before taking care of his. When he was done, he brushed a soft kiss on my lips, his gaze searching my face.

      ‘I missed you. Did you miss me?’

      I shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

      He laughed, the sound low, pleased and pleasing. ‘I’ll see you outside in five minutes, okay?’

      Still caught in a post-orgasm haze, I nodded and watched him saunter towards the door. Then I scrambled to my feet, frantically searched the floor and came up empty. God, he didn’t... ‘Damian!’

      He paused with one hand on the door. ‘Yeah?’

      ‘Give me back my panties,’ I demanded in a fierce whisper.

      He raised one haughty eyebrow. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, darling. Now shift that delicious arse or you’re going to be late.’

      He stepped out with the easy confidence of a man who didn’t give a damn who saw him walk out of a ladies’ restroom.

      And I knew I was in deep trouble when I turned around and caught my wide, bright smile in the mirror.

      Filming wrapped up late evening on Tuesday, a high-spirited post-production meeting marking the end of the segment. When the senior producer indicated that he would love for me to return for the next season, I politely declined.

      My objective had been achieved—Damian Mortimer under my sexual control.

      He might be his own man in every other area of his life but with every look, every subtle touch, he was mine sexually.

      But for how long...?

      This project was almost over. I’d landed the deal that with careful, clever marketing would put Nevirna on the international map.

      After France, there would be no valid reason to keep seeing Damian. No reason to keep him in my bed.

      This time the pain in my heart was sharp. Acrid.

      Altered in a way I couldn’t pinpoint exactly but felt deep inside.

      * * *

      The helicopter ride from Bordeaux-Merignac Airport to Damian’s chateau on the edge of the Garonne valley was swift and exhilarating. And passed in almost as much of a blur as leaving Manhattan and experiencing Damian’s incredible private jet and all the extravagance that both had to offer.

      ‘We’re flying over the property now,’ Damian said through the mic attached to his headphones.

      The view below was breathtaking. Rolling green hills, farmland and endless copses of trees were intersected by a large winding stream. But none of it compared to the majesty of the classic rectangular French chateau standing proudly on its own hill. Set on three floors and made of stone that gleamed white gold in the bright sunshine, the frontage boasted arched windows, with two slate-roofed turrets jutting out from each corner.

      ‘Welcome to Chateau des Nuages,’ he said as the chopper set down gently on its own helipad.

      I stepped out, looked around and the scene was so magnificent, I was almost afraid to breathe. Almost afraid to fall in love with a place that wasn’t Westport, Connecticut.

      Almost afraid to...fall in love.

      No. No, no, no.

      ‘Nuages means...?’ I asked hurriedly as if words would halt the chaos happening inside.

      ‘Clouds.’ He pointed to the west turret almost ablaze in the setting sun. ‘On stormy days it feels like you’re floating on a bed of clouds when you’re up there.’

      For a single moment I wished we weren’t surrounded by clear dusk. That the sky was filled with fat fluffy clouds so I could experience that magic with Damian.

      I shook myself free of the fantasy as we headed towards the chateau. ‘How long have you had this property?’ I asked, just for something practical to drag my head out of the clouds.

      ‘A few years. I look in on it once or twice a year.’

      ‘Other than that it just sits idle?’

      He shrugged.

      I looked at the spectacular structure looming up before us. ‘How many rooms?’

      ‘Twenty bedrooms. Nine reception areas. Assorted outhouses and stables.’

      ‘That seems...excessive.’

      He gave me a tense little smile as he opened a set of French doors and ushered us into a vast hallway with gleaming herringbone parquet floors and two immense stone fireplaces. ‘I’m a Mortimer. I’m conditioned to do everything with my family in mind, whether I want to or not. Right this minute Gideon is buying an almighty great yacht big enough to fit the whole Mortimer clan even though we all hate each other.’

      ‘Because like you, he hates failing too?’

      He tensed, then faced me at the foot of a grand, sweeping staircase. ‘Perhaps I’m practising what has been ingrained in me since I was old enough to understand.’

      My heart banged against my ribs, fleeing whatever he was about to say. ‘Which is?’

      His eyes were hard. Piercing. ‘That everyone has an agenda. And that it’s rarely selfless.’

      A chill crawled over my skin, sank deep into my blood. I wanted to reject that allegation but...how could I? I wanted to demand what his agenda was, but again...how could I?

      We were here because I had an agenda of my own. One that seemed to grow more nebulous by the second.

      Confused emotions roiled inside me, rending me speechless.

      Footsteps approached, as if summoned by some unknown signal to interrupt that exact moment. The slim elderly woman who appeared was simply but impeccably dressed. Damian chatted to her in flawless French before he turned to me.

      ‘This is Margret, the housekeeper—’ He stopped when his phone buzzed.

      He pulled it out, stared at the screen and exhaled angrily. The gaze he flashed me was distracted. ‘I have to take this, Neve. Margret will show you to your room. Feel free to explore on your own but stay away from the second floor. I don’t want the surprise ruined.’

      I realised I was staring at his departing figure when Margret cleared her throat. ‘Would mademoiselle like a quick tour?’

      I wanted to say, no, mademoiselle would like to know what had just happened. Instead I summoned a smile. ‘Yes, please.’

      Then came the progression through stunning room after stunning room, each with an identity of its own but somehow melding in perfect symmetry with the whole. Crown mouldings blended seamlessly with hand-painted mosaics. Stone archways invited exploration of beautiful rooms with spectacular views.

      By the time I was shown into my suite on the third floor, Chateau des Nuages owned a piece of my heart.

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