by Abby Green
It was the only fulfilment he wanted. He had no desire for the things most normal people wanted—family, security, love. What was love anyway? It was a foreign concept to Luc that came far too close to believing in trust, and such notions as fate and chance.
He couldn’t understand Nessa’s blind defence of her brother—unless she was getting something out of it too. It was inconceivable she was doing it out of pure affection or loyalty.
All that existed for him were the solid successes he’d manifested out of sweat and dogged ambition. The legacy he would leave behind would tell a different story from the one he’d been handed at birth. His name would endure as a gold standard in racing.
And yet now, for the first time, he had the disquieting suspicion that even if every one of his peers were to look him in the eye with the utmost respect, he’d still feel less than them.
A movement to the far right in the stud stableyard area caught Luc’s eye and he welcomed the distraction. He turned his head just in time to catch a flash of dark red hair coiling down a slim back before Nessa disappeared around a corner. His reaction was instant and intense, making him scowl even harder at his body’s lack of control.
His body pulsed with need. He should be pushing this woman further away, leaving it to his staff to keep her in check. But instead he was bringing her closer.
He was experiencing a kind of hunger he’d only felt once before, when he’d had his first taste of the wider world outside the gloomy Parisian suburbs and had made the vow to never end up back there again. He’d taken that hunger, and used it.
This hunger, however, would be crushed. Because it could do nothing to enhance his success, or his life. Resisting her would be a test of his will to not demean himself.
* * *
‘Here—last job of the day, love, go up and do the boss’s private suite. He’s due back from Paris later this evening and I never had a chance to get around to it, what with the preparations for the party this weekend.’
Nessa took the basket containing cleaning products from Mrs Owens and hated that her skin got hot just at the mention of the boss and that he was returning soon. He’d been at his Paris stables for the past three days, which hadn’t felt as much of a respite as Nessa had thought it would.
Angry with herself for still being so aware of him when he wasn’t even here, she focused on feeling relieved that the day was nearly over. There was something particularly soul-sucking about doing housework all day, every day, and as Nessa had polished the silver earlier she’d revised her opinion that Luc Barbier wasn’t petty.
They’d also been busy preparing for a huge party that was being thrown at the house that weekend, to launch the most prestigious racing event in the Irish season.
Just as the homely housekeeper was turning away she stopped and said, ‘I’ve left fresh bedlinen in his room, so just strip the bed and remake it. Once you’re done with that you’re off for the evening.’
Nessa went upstairs to the second floor of the villa-style country house, still marvelling at the opulence. It was about two hundred years old. All the bedroom suites were on the second floor. The first floor was taken up with Barbier’s—Luc’s—office and a gym. There was also a vast media room with a private cinema and informal meetings rooms.
The ground floor held the grand ballroom—prepared for the party now—with French doors opening out onto exquisite manicured gardens. It also had the main, and less formal, dining rooms and reception rooms.
The basement was where the vast kitchen and staff quarters were laid out. All in all a very grand affair. It certainly put Nessa’s family farmhouse to shame, even though it too had been refurbished to a high standard since Iseult had married Nadim. It was a far more modestly sized house, though.
Nessa reached the second floor, and walked to the end of the corridor past all the guest rooms to where Luc’s rooms were based. He had one entire wing, and she found she was holding her breath slightly as she opened the door.
His scent hit her instantly. Woody and musky. It curled through her nose and deep into the pit of her belly. Cursing herself for her reaction, she strode into the main reception room, dumping the basket of cleaning supplies and resolutely opening the sash windows to let some air in. She told herself the room was musty, not musky and provocative.
Still, she couldn’t help but look around. The room was huge and open plan, with soft grey furnishings in muted tones. The same stunning modern art that she’d seen in his office was dotted around the walls, along with sculptures, huge coffee-table books on photography, art, and movies. More books than she’d ever seen in her life, ranging from thrillers to the classics.
The decor and objects reflected a far more cerebral man than Nessa would have guessed existed under Barbier’s brooding, sexy exterior.
She had to force herself to remember why she was here and not give into the impulse to pluck out a book from the shelves and curl up on one of the sumptuous couches to read. She realised that she was more weary than she’d realised—the stress of the situation and hard work, mixed with nights of fitful sleep, wasn’t a good combination. But she wasn’t a wilting lily, and normally worked harder than most, so it annoyed her to find herself feeling tired now.
She scooped up the cleaning supplies and set to work dusting and cleaning. Eventually, as if she’d been putting it off, she went into the bedroom area. She opened the doors and the first thing that hit her eyeline was the bed. It was massive, dominating the room. Much like the man.
It was a modern bed with a dark grey headboard that reminded her ridiculously of his eyes and how they could turn dark silver. A detail she shouldn’t even be aware of.
Apart from the bed there were some built-in wardrobes, a sleek chest of drawers and bedside tables. What was striking was the absence of anything of particularly personal value. No photos. No stuff. Just some clothes draped on one of the chairs and the rumpled bedsheets, which she avoided looking at.
Then she spied two more doors that revealed a walk-in closet and a luxurious bathroom complete with wetroom shower and a tub that looked big enough to take a football team.
Nessa set about cleaning the bathroom, trying not to breathe in his scent, which was everywhere. She picked up a bottle of cologne and guiltily sniffed it before putting it down again hastily.
Disgusted with herself, she finished cleaning and went back into the bedroom, pulling off the crumpled sheets and trying not to imagine that they were still warm from his body. Would he sleep naked? He seems like the kind of man who would...
Nessa stopped dead for a moment, shocked at the vivid turn of her imagination, and at the way she suddenly hungered to know what he would look like—imagining the sexy naked sprawl of that big bronzed body all too easily, and knowing her imagination probably fell far short of reality. Her pulse became slow and hot.
She had to face the unpalatable fact that Luc Barbier had succeeded where no other man had. He’d awoken her hormones from their dormant state. Their virginal state. And it was beyond humiliating that the first man she should feel lust for was the last man who would ever look at her like that.
She’d often wondered why she’d never felt particularly roused by other boys’ kisses at university, and her lack of response had earned her a reputation of being standoffish. She’d closed inwards after that, choosing to avoid exposing herself and risk being mocked.
Nessa made the bed as clinically as she could, ignoring the faint dent near the centre that indicated where he slept. When she was done she made one more sweep of the rooms to make sure she hadn’t missed anything and collected all the cleaning materials. She stepped inside the bedroom one last time to run her eye over the now-pristine bed and was about to step back out and shut the door when something caught her eye outside.
She went over to the window, putting the basket down for a moment. The view took her breath away; the sun was setting over the gallops, bathing everything in a lush golden light. There were no horses being exercised now, bu
t Nessa could remember how it felt to harness a thoroughbred’s power as it surged powerfully beneath her. There was a wide window seat and Nessa sat down, curling her legs underneath her, enjoying the view for an illicit moment.
Nessa suspected that she knew exactly why she had avoided physical intimacy until now. Their mother’s death had profoundly affected everyone in her family: Iseult had grown up overnight to become their mother and much more, and the boys had gone off the rails in their own ways but had always turned to each other. Even though Nessa was a twin to Eoin, they’d never had that bond people spoke of.
Their father had gone to pieces.
But Nessa had been too young to do much but internalise all of her own pain and grief, too acutely aware of everyone else’s struggles to let it out. She’d always been terrified of what might come out of her if she did. It had been easier to retreat emotionally, and concentrate on her dreams of being a great jockey.
But sometimes the pain in her chest—her unexpressed grief—took her breath away. And sometimes, when she looked at her sister Iseult with her husband and she saw their incredibly intimate bond, she felt envious of that relationship, even as it made her heart palpitate with fear. She couldn’t imagine ever allowing herself to love someone that much, for fear of losing them. For fear of the devastation the loss would cause.
Up until now she’d avoided sex because getting close to someone had seemed like too high a price. And yet, when she thought of Luc Barbier, the last thing on her mind was the emotional price.
* * *
Luc was tired and frustrated. He’d spent the last three days working intensively with one of his brightest hopes, a horse called Sur La Mer. He was due to race in a few weeks in France but none of his jockeys seemed capable of getting the horse to perform to his maximum ability. Luc would ride the horse himself if he weren’t six feet four and two hundred pounds.
Luc was also frustrated in a far more difficult area—sexually. It was not a state he was used to. He didn’t do sexual frustration. He desired a woman, he had her and he moved on.
But only one woman had dominated his thoughts in France. Nessa O’Sullivan. He’d gone to a glitzy charity auction in Paris that was abounding with beautiful women. Not one had piqued his interest. Instead he’d found himself wondering what Nessa would look like out of those jeans that seemed to be shrink-wrapped to her taut thighs. Or the series of worn T-shirts that did little to conceal her lithe body and firm breasts. Or what her hair would look like teased into luxurious waves, rippling down a bare back.
Dieu. He cursed himself as he strode down the corridor to his bedroom, relishing the prospect of a cold shower and bed.
But when Luc opened the door to his bedroom all of his instincts snapped onto high alert. An old habit from when his environment had spelled danger from sunrise to sunset.
He saw the basket of cleaning supplies first, on a table near the door. And then he saw her and his breath stopped in his chest. He wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t hallucinating.
She was curled up on the wide window seat, fast asleep. Her knees were leaning to one side, and her head was leaning against the window as if she’d been looking at the view of the gallops.
He moved closer and his hungry gaze tracked down over her body—he was disappointed that she wasn’t wearing the jeans and T-shirt combination that had enflamed his imagination. She was wearing the plain black trousers and black shirt that all his household staff wore. Flat, functional sneakers.
The shirt had untucked from her trousers, and he could see the tiniest bare patch of her waist and her paler than pale skin. Blood roared to his head and groin in a simultaneous rush.
He was incensed at her effect on him, and at his growing obsession with her.
As if finally becoming aware of his intense scrutiny, she shifted slightly and Luc looked at her face to see long dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks for a moment before her eyes opened sleepily. He watched as she slowly registered where she was, and who was in front of her.
Her cheeks flushed and those huge eyes widened until all he could see was dark, golden green. He wanted to slip right into those pools and lose himself...
A tumult raged inside him as she looked up and blinked innocently, as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. He might have almost believed for a second that she hadn’t planned this little set-up.
‘Well, well, well, what do we have here?’ He looked her over slowly and thoroughly, fresh heat flooding his veins when he saw the thrust of her breasts against the shirt. It made his voice harsh. ‘You would have been much more comfortable and made it easier for both of us if you’d stripped naked and waited in my bed.’
CHAPTER FOUR
NESSA LOOKED UP at Luc Barbier, who was towering over her with a dark scowl on his face and stubble on his jaw. For a blessed foggy moment, just before the adrenalin kicked in, his words hung harmlessly in the air between them.
His hair was tousled, as if he’d been running a hand through it, and he was wearing a white shirt, open at the neck, revealing a glimpse of dark skin. Awareness sizzled to life, infusing her with an urgency she felt only around him.
And then his words registered. It was like an electric shock or a slap across the face. Nessa was wide awake, and she scrambled off the window seat to stand on wobbly legs.
Her hair was coming loose from where it had been piled messily on her head to keep it out of the way. She was thoroughly rumpled, she smelled of cleaning products and he really thought...? Bile rose in her throat.
‘How dare you insinuate such a thing?’ Her voice was scratchy from sleep and she was burningly aware—even as she said that—of how bad this looked. She cursed herself for allowing her weariness to get the better of her.
Luc’s head reared back, arms folded across his chest. ‘I walk into my bedroom and find a woman, pretending to be asleep, waiting for me...like I said, they’re usually in my bed and wearing a lot less but the message is essentially the same. They’re here for one thing.’
Nessa was speechless at his sheer arrogance. Eventually she managed to get out, through waves of indignation and far more disturbing physical reactions, ‘Well, I hate to burst your ego bubble but that was the last thing on my mind. I was cleaning your room, then I sat down for a minute and I fell asleep. I apologise for that. But I did not come here to...to...’
He raised a brow. ‘To seduce me?’
Before she could respond to that, he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘I might as well tell you now that kinky role-play doesn’t really do it for me. I’m a traditionalist that way. When I make love it’s intense, thorough and without the need for embellishment.’
A flash of heat went up Nessa’s spine to imagine just how intense his lovemaking would be. Little beads of sweat broke out between her breasts and in the small of her back. Anger rose too. Anger that it was him who was firing up all her nerve-endings.
‘I am not here to make love with anyone. My only crime was to fall asleep on the job and if you’ll excuse me now I’ll leave you in peace.’
She went to step away and out of his orbit but he caught her arm after muttering something that sounded very French and rude under his breath. His hand encircled her whole upper arm and his fingers were brushing the side of her breast. Nessa’s pulse rocketed, and in the dim lights of the room—night had fallen outside...just how long had she been asleep?—all she could see were the forbiddingly gorgeous lines of Luc’s face.
‘Peace?’ He almost spat the word out. ‘I’ve had precious little peace since your brother absconded with one million euros and then his temptress of a sister turns up to play sidekick. Just what is your agenda, Nessa? What game are you playing here? Because I warn you now that you will get burned if you think you can play with me and get away with it.’
His dark intensity was totally intimidating, but somehow Nessa managed to pull her arm free and step away. Shakily she said, ‘I’m not playing any games. I wouldn’t know how. I really didn’t come here
with some nefarious intention to seduce you.’
She bit her lip to stop a semi-hysterical giggle from emerging. She wouldn’t know how to seduce her way out of a paper bag, never mind a man like Luc Barbier. The very notion was ridiculous.
His mouth thinned. ‘You really expect me to believe that you fell asleep like Sleeping Beauty in the fairy tale, waiting for her prince?’
Heat rushed into her cheeks—she had been mooning about his suite like some lovelorn teenager earlier. It wasn’t like her at all. ‘I don’t believe in fairy tales,’ she said stiffly. ‘And don’t worry, I know you’re no prince.’
He put two hands on her arms now, swinging her around to face him properly. His eyes had turned to cold steel. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I...’ Words got stuck in Nessa’s throat. She couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything but Luc’s face above hers. The sensual lines were mesmerising. ‘I didn’t mean anything.’
Except she had, she realised. She’d just articulated it badly. This man was no prince, he was a marauding sultan, or a king. Uncultivated and suave all at once. Infinitely hard but also soft, as when he’d put a hand to his horse.
His mouth twisted. ‘I might never be a prince, but you’re in no position to look down on me, the sister of a common thief who thought she could seduce her way to paying back her brother’s debt. Like I said, you could have saved a lot of conversation if you’d been waiting in my bed naked instead of playing out this elaborate charade of innocence.’
Nessa’s hand had lifted and connected with Luc’s cheek before she even realised what she’d done. Shock coursed through her system as the sting registered on her hand and Luc’s face turned from the blow. All her anger drained away instantly.
He turned back slowly, face even darker now, a livid handprint showing on his cheek. Horrified, Nessa used his name for the first time. ‘Luc, I’m so sorry. But I didn’t mean it like that, and Paddy’s not a common thief. He’s really not—’
