The Best Of The Year - Modern Romance. Annie West

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      Ana made a strange little sound—a cross between a snort and a cough. He finally looked her way, slicing her a look that straightened the amused curve of her mouth. When she lifted a brow in silent challenge he ground his teeth, cursing the memory of her seductive warmth pressed against him, the subtle thrust of her tongue against his, which was pulling him from reality.

      What was wrong with him?

      He knew how lethal she was to his control and yet he couldn’t stop his body from reacting like a randy sailor on shore leave.

      Turning his head, he concentrated on the old man. ‘You must be going blind, Claude. There is no such—’

      Ana spoke up. ‘Bastien, I think what your chairman is trying to say is don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.’

      A smattering of amusement rolled around the conference room.

      ‘If the picture is helping the DBH range to thrive, despite the hit it took yesterday, surely that can’t be a bad thing?’ she went on.

      ‘Précisément. Women across the globe are reading the newspaper this morning, sighing over the picture and wishing they were in Mademoiselle Duval’s shoes. That’s already translating to a surge in profits. If you ask me, your little courthouse adventure was quite ingenious. Perhaps we should make Ana an honorary member of the board.’

      Bastien’s gaze slid back to her and he saw a wide smile spread across her face. Every male breath in the room had caught at the incredible sight.

      His teeth ground harder. ‘Perhaps you’re forgetting the small matter of your trial?’

      Her smile dimmed and her throat moved in a delicate swallow. Her eyes blazed as they locked on his, a determined fire lighting their depths. ‘I’m quite confident I’ll be proved innocent by the time the trial rolls around.’

      ‘Don’t make promises you may not be able to keep, Miss Duval.’

      ‘I’m seriously committed to finding out the truth behind what happened and to making your campaign a success. If I fail you can do with me what you will,’ she replied, a tinge of anger in her voice.

      His gaze dropped to the soft pout of her mouth and another rush of heat speared through him. For a single moment he hated himself for wanting her to fail just so he could bend her to his will, take what she’d unwittingly offered.

      But then the thought of Ana behind bars, locked away from the world, slid through his mind. Something tightened in his chest, growing stronger as a memory long buried surfaced out of nowhere. It pierced so deep his breath faltered.

      Ana—eight years old, running down the steps at Verbier to show him something. She’d always been doing that...plucking random things from the house or the garden to show him, unwilling to accept that he just wanted to be left alone.

      Alone to deal with his father’s betrayal; with his mother’s abandonment. Alone to grieve the loss of the perfect family unit he’d taken for granted.

      Slowly Bastien glanced around the room. He’d forgotten he had an audience. The same way he’d forgotten where he was when he’d kissed her earlier.

      Jaw tightening, he rose. ‘This meeting is over,’ he said into the curious silence.

      Chairs screeched on wooden floors one by one and the room emptied.

      Then he took a deep sustaining breath and turned to her. ‘What the hell did you think you were playing at?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘You were supposed to remain silent until you were called on to speak.’

      One elegant brow rose. ‘You mean like some sort of marionette, ready to perform on command?’

      Heat rose up his neck. ‘I didn’t say that.’

      ‘Then what exactly did you mean?’

      He shoved a hand through his hair, words completely failing him. Striding to the drinks tray set in a corner of the conference room, he splashed vintage cognac into a crystal tumbler and sent the fiery liquid coursing down his throat.

      It was only the afternoon...just...but he didn’t care.

      ‘Is that a celebratory drink or a Damn, Ana isn’t getting fired drink?’

      Bastien whirled. She stood behind him, her arms folded across her slender midriff, the picture of composure. Or was it quiet triumph?

      For the first time he’d let his emotions get the better of him in the boardroom. He wanted to see her ruffled, shaken, off balance. The way he was feeling.

      ‘It’s a Where the hell has my sanity gone? drink. You want one?’

      ‘No, thanks. I know where mine is.’

      ‘Do you? Then bravo.’ He raised his glass to her.

      She frowned and drew closer, those long, shapely legs capturing his attention as she moved, bringing a seductive scent that instantly surrounded him. A few feet away she stopped, doe eyes wide and alluring.

      ‘What’s really going on, Bastien?’

      ‘Why do you insist on using my name when I’ve made it clear it’s off-limits?’

      She flinched and the band around his chest tightened.

       Hell...

      ‘Because, despite those horrid vibes you give out, I still want to remain civil.’ An intimate smile curved her perfect, pouting lips.

      Lust rose to mingle with anger. Bastien wanted to reach for her, demonstrate his ire in unmistakably graphic terms. Instead he reached behind him, grabbed the bottle, poured another measure of cognac and raised the glass to his lips.

      ‘I don’t need your civility, Miss Duval. But if you carry on like this I may well take you up on the invitation you keep issuing. Maybe that will get you from underneath my skin once and for all.’

CHAPTER FIVE

      SEVERAL IMAGES FLASHED across her brain, each one more graphic than the last. Furiously, she tried to blink them away, praying that the fire spiralling upwards from her belly wouldn’t engulf her whole body.

      He took his time swirling his drink, savouring a taste of the amber liquid, before he quirked one amused eyebrow at her. ‘Nothing to say?’

      ‘It’s not going to work.’

      That stopped him. ‘Excuse me?’

      ‘No matter how much you try to rile me, it’s not going to work.’

      ‘Mon Dieu, you’re as stubborn as you were when you were eight years old.’

      She nodded. ‘And you’ve become an expert at hiding your feelings—albeit under a veneer of brusqueness СКАЧАТЬ