by Nell Harding
“And what was that?” she demanded suspiciously.
“The real thing.”
Every word was a dagger to Kate. He said exactly what she might have dreamed he would say, but in other circumstances where she was herself, not an imposter. “Hmmm,” was all she managed, not wanting to acknowledge the obvious complement when it was unfounded. “Well, you were the opposite of what I expected. And completely different from the first impression you gave me.”
It was his turn to look suspicious. “And what exactly would that first impression have been?”
Kate looked directly at him. “Icy cold. Impersonal. Hard.”
A slow smile spread across Sebastien’s face. “Nobody except my family ever really dares to tell me what they think of me anymore,” he said quietly. “You’re different. There’s none of the posing and pretences, no acting.”
Kate winced inwardly and tried to hurry the conversation past these conscience-traps. “We were talking about you there, actually, not me. Now you’re supposed to ask me what my current impressions of you are.”
“What if they were correct?” he challenged her, looking serious.
“Then you’ve done a one-eighty,” Kate replied coolly. “You’ve changed. Or else you’re putting on a good act to charm an innocent tourist such as myself.”
Sebastien ran his hand along his jaw line thoughtfully. “I’d say I had changed for a while and now I’m coming back to myself. You remind me of things that I’d forgotten, things I used to enjoy.”
“Such as?” she prodded, hoping that she knew what his response would be.
“Having fun,” he said simply. “Playfulness.” He paused for a moment, and then looked into her eyes. “Letting go. I suppose I’d stopped trusting women, letting them get under my skin. But you’ve brought back that feeling of trust.”
The guilt that had been growing in Kate throughout the conversation now turned to complete horror. How could she have let things get this far? There was no excuse for letting him trust her like this when she knew that eventually her lies had to be revealed. By now her fear of betraying his trust was enormous and she had so much more to lose. But she absolutely had to say something before this went any further.
She felt her hands grow clammy as her pulse started to race and her mouth went dry. She licked her lips, trying to select the right words to begin, but before she had uttered a sound he had leaned over the table and put a finger against her lips, hushing her.
“Michelle, if this was one of your musicals I’d be singing “Show Me Now”,” he told her, sounding amused but keeping his finger where it was. “Now is not the time for more words. The response I was hoping for was more like this.”
He rose to his feet smoothly and towered over her. “Come with me,” he commanded, pulling her to her feet. He fumbled in his pocket for his wallet and left a note on the table, then dragged her toward the door. She was still trying to think how to stop things while he draped her jacket over her shoulders and led her outside with sudden urgency into the cold street.
She looked up into the heat of his gaze and felt herself burning. It was as if a lion had been lazily socialising with his pride all evening and now had risen to his feet, stretched and come to life, ready to hunt. He looked down at her purposefully and she found herself powerless to speak, unable to do anything but wait helplessly for him to move.
His gaze never left her face as he took her hands in his, gently but firmly prying loose the opera programme that she was still clutching. Holding her two hands he pulled her towards him until she could feel his breath condensing in the night air above her head. Slowly she raised her face and was drawn by magnetism against his until they froze just centimetres away.
“Michelle,” he breathed, and for an agonising instant she was afraid that he wouldn’t kiss her. Then she was afraid that she would never get enough as his lips descended on hers with an explosive passion, feeding the hunger that had been building in her for weeks.
She had no idea how long they stood there, locked in a desperate kiss in front of the little bar. Her entire world had been reduced to the feel of the man in front of her, holding her upright as she collapsed into his kiss, letting his strength carry her as she finally let go of all of her doubts, her guilt, her analysing. Nothing existed but Sebastien and the heat of his lips against her cold skin.
It was Sebastien who finally broke away with a moan, staring down at her with animalistic intensity as he devoured her with his dark eyes, his breathing ragged. Kate came slowly to her senses as if drunk, the gradual awareness of the empty street around her and her own cold feet. All she wanted was more, more kissing, more of Sebastien, more of this moment. She almost whimpered as he pulled himself straight and backed away, gently releasing her to find her balance again.
He kept his eyes locked on hers as he raised his hand for a cab. The taxi purred up quietly from where it had been waiting in the darkness and Sebastien opened the rear door, helping Kate into the welcome warmth of the interior. As soon as he climbed in beside her, Kate reached for his face and pulled him to her, surprising herself with her own ferocity as she continued the kiss.
The taxi ride was far too short. Somehow Sebastien managed to pay the driver and open the door, never letting go of her arm, clutching her firmly as if she might disappear. They kissed on the way to the elevator and in the elevator and in front of his flat while he grappled with the lock. He was already pulling at her coat and letting his own fall to the floor as they kissed their way down the hall to his bedroom door.
In one smooth move he bent down and swept up her legs in his strong arms as he lifted her from the floor and pushed open the door with his shoulder. He carried her inside, kicked the door shut behind them and brought her over to the bed, his lips fused to hers the entire time.
Chapter Eighteen
Morning light was filtering through a chink in the heavy curtains when Kate awoke. An enormous smile lit up her face as she rubbed her eyes sleepily, thinking of the past night. She rolled over languidly, enjoying the touch of silk sheets on her bare skin as she remembered the feel of Sebastien’s body against hers. They had barely slept all night, just drifting off in each other’s arms in the small hours of the morning, exhausted but ecstatic.
But even a passionate night of love-making and two hours of sleep hadn’t prevented Sebastien from rolling out of bed at six in the morning to deal with some business calls to Japan and India, to compensate for time zone differences. He had kissed her gently and tucked her in snugly before jumping in the shower and heading out.
“Sleep as long as you like,” he told her on his way out. “Just remember that Nick and Caro are coming over to have breakfast with Simon, so you might not want to streak back to your room.”
She noticed that he had considerately left a bathrobe neatly folded on a chair beside the bed, along with a note that read “In case you find it a bit too early for that dress. See you later, love.”
Kate reached for the note without getting up, smiling dreamily to herself as she looked at last night’s clothing strewn across the room and her elegant dress heaped in a pile on the floor.
“I Could Have Danced All Night,” she warbled, finally sitting up and stretching lazily as she looked around Sebastien’s room. It was a large corner room with walk-in closets, an en-suite bathroom and a massive desk in front of windows that ran to the high ceiling. Apart from the trail of shed clothing, the room was orderly, which didn’t surprise her.
She was waking up in Sebastien’s room. The thought made her giddy, and a wave of excited energy replaced her fatigue. She bounded out of bed and started singing again as she slipped into the waiting housecoat and pocketed the note because of the joy of seeing that he had signed it “love”.
She was in love. There was no doubt, no mistaking the rush of pure joy when she thought of Sebastien. Beyond the chemistry there was a much deeper connection, that sense of team that she had enjoyed with him from the start, of belonging together.
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She still hadn’t told him about Michelle, but now she was convinced that it wouldn’t matter, as long as she told him today. They had spoken a bit in the night, but only sweet nothings as she lay with her head against his bare chest and he played with her hair. She could have told him then, she realised now as she considered it, but it had seemed so unimportant somehow compared to the discovery of each other that they had been conducting. Their mutual passion had swept everything else away.
It did matter, of course, she corrected herself as she tied the dressing gown snugly and stared at herself in a full-length mirror. Her hair was a mass of tangles which would take slow and painful work with a comb to undo. She ran her hand ineffectively through the hair on top of her head and stopped when it caught in a knot of snarls. Catching the movement in the mirror, she grinned at the familiarity of the gesture, thinking of Sebastien’s distracted habit and the dishevelled mess that resulted.
Well, there was nothing to be done about her hair, she decided with resignation. It wasn’t as if anybody would doubt what had happened between her and Sebastien when they saw her come out of his room.
And she was fine with that. Proud, almost, if it didn’t feel like a young man boasting of his conquests to feel pride in winning somebody’s affections. But Sebastien’s friends had assumed from the start that they were a couple, she remembered. So she had nothing to hide.
Nonetheless, she felt a bit conspicuous as she strolled past the breakfast table minutes later, her bare feet showing beneath the thick white bathrobe and last night’s dress bundled up under one arm, her little Italian shoes held in the other hand.
She nodded briefly at the English crowd sitting around the table, unable to stop a sheepish grin from spreading ear to ear as she tried to hurry toward her room unobtrusively on tiptoe.
“Michelle!” Carol called happily; oblivious to the social awkwardness Kate was feeling. “Good morning! Ever since I met you I was sure I recognised your face from somewhere and I’ve just won a bet on it. I owe you half my winnings to be fair.”
Kate froze in mid-step as Carol picked up a newspaper that was lying open on the table and pointed to an article. “I was certain that I’d seen your face before. I said to Simon, I never forget a face. But of course you writers use a nom de plume when you write. Bingo!”
She held the paper aloft triumphantly as Kate felt her world come crashing down around her. Icy fingers of terror gripped at her heart and her mind screamed that this wasn’t real, this wasn’t happening. A horrible feeling was rising in her chest, constricting it and making her feel like she might be ill.
All modesty forgotten, she leapt for the table, snatching the newspaper from Carol’s hand and staring at the column desperately as if she’d never seen it before. There it was, Kate’s Corner, with a small photo of her smiling face at the top. The photo dated back at least five years but there was no mistaking her.
The week in question had been entitled “Strangers in Paradise”. In it she had gently made fun of herself as an ignorant foreigner who could barely order a pain au chocolat without causing pain to a francophone, with a comment or two about her failure to meet Swiss housekeeping standards or to live up to the rigorously scheduled society where even your laundry days were dictated to you by your landlord. It was a light piece with nothing in it that could seriously cause offense to anybody.
“I really enjoy your outlook on things,” Carol was saying. “Fresh and fun. Enough of us being the whinging poms, eh?”
Kate barely heard her. She threw the paper back down on the table and covered her face with both hands, trying not to hyperventilate. Had Sebastien seen this?
Nick and Carol were laughing, obviously unaware of the significance of their discovery.
“It’s alright, Michelle,” Nick said with a laugh. “We aren’t going to announce your real identity to the whole of Switzerland, if that’s what you’re worried about. But a friend in North London sent us the paper because your column mentioned Verbier. “
“It did seem a coincidence,” Carol continued for her husband. “It’s such a local paper, it seemed funny that they would talk about Verbier. But now it all makes sense.” She beamed happily at the successful resolution of the mystery.
But Kate collapsed into a chair with a moan as a feeling of nausea and denial swept over her. She sent Simon a desperate look and he shifted his gaze uncomfortably. Her final hope shattered. If Simon knew the implications of this newspaper, then Sebastien must have seen it as well.
Her worst fears were confirmed when Simon mumbled awkwardly, “Sebastien asked me not to give you a copy of that photo from last night, Michelle.” He sent her a reproachful look.
“Simon!” Kate cried out in anguish. “It isn’t what you think. I have to explain to Sebastien. Is he at the office?”
Nick chuckled heartily. “You’ll have to get used to the workaholic habits of your lover, Michelle. He had a call from India and something came up about an orphanage he’s helping to sponsor, part of that make-amends project after the fiasco last year.”
“He took the first flight to Bombay,” Carol filled in helpfully. “He should be in the air by now.”
Kate felt like she was caught in a nightmare. He couldn’t really be on a flight to Bombay, could he? She had been lying in his arms just hours ago, knowing that she belonged there.
If this had been a film, she would be jumping in a taxi to the airport and catching him before his flight left, convincing him to stay. Or taking the next flight to India and finding him there in some grotty little orphanage, where everybody would break into a Bollywood-style dance and sing. Where in the hell did movie heroines get that sort of money? She could certainly not afford a ticket to India. And as for catching him at the airport, not only was she too late, she knew that she wouldn’t be able to convince him to stay anyway.
He thought she was a liar and a fraud. Not thought it, but knew it, Kate corrected herself bitterly. She had always been direct and honest in her life and now her one foray into deception was going to cost her the best man she’d ever met.
She could feel her senses and emotions becoming dull as reality sank in. He was gone, convinced that she had betrayed him, won his trust to sell inside stories about the family. Even if she could talk to him or write to him, he would never believe her now.
She looked up wearily to see Nick and Carol watching her with worry.
“He probably won’t be gone more than a couple of weeks,” Carol offered hopefully. “And you can always call him. He takes that work phone everywhere.”
“His work will always take a lot of his time, Michelle,” Nick said warningly. “If he’s not flying off to tend to business, or stuck in endless meetings, he brings it with him. Phone calls in the mountains, business guests at the chalet on weekends. It’s all so much part of his life, he doesn’t seem to notice anymore.”
Kate was too distraught to feel embarrassed by their assumption that she was merely over-reacting to a supposed two-week separation. He wouldn’t be coming back to her. Or if he did return to the chalet, it would be to fire her. In fact, she was probably already fired. He couldn’t really keep a spy in his employment, just waiting for a revealing photo to sell to the tabloids.
The sensible part of her mind was already thinking ahead. She would have to find a new job, a new place to live. She probably wouldn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to the Pichard family, although that might be better than having to face them once they thought she had betrayed their trust.
She rose to her feet mechanically, ignoring Nick and Carol’s puzzled glances and Simon’s sternly appraising gaze. It was horribly rude of her, but she couldn’t even bring herself to say goodbye properly with her tongue feeling leaden and lifeless. All she managed was a brief nod in the direction of the table as she gathered up her clothes, pulled them against her chest and continued slowly and stiffly back to the guest room.
Once she had closed the door behind her, she dropped her dress and shoes des
pondently on the floor and threw herself onto the bed. Hot tears poured down her face and she muffled her sobs in a pillow. Not only had she lost the man she loved, he thought she had betrayed him and this thought made her misery complete.
She let herself cry until she was exhausted, giving in to the blackness that seemed to paint every thought she now had. Suddenly her unplanned future seemed empty and lost instead of full of potential as it had when she first came to Verbier. If she had told him herself, if she had overcome that selfish hesitation, she was sure that he would have reacted differently. In the end it was her cowardice and dishonesty that had ruined everything. She really didn’t deserve Sebastien Pichard.
With a final shuddering sob, she pushed herself back up off the bed. She looked bleakly at her reflection in the mirror, the red and blotchy face, the running nose, the crow’s nest of hair. Somehow she would have to force herself to function, to pick her way through the ruins of her dream and to face the mess she had made.
Shame and loss battled for supremacy as she made her way to the shower, letting the hot water soothe her raw nerves and wash away twenty-four hours’ worth of intense living and wildly oscillating emotions. The heat also made her aware of how little sleep she’d had and she was tempted to crawl between the satiny sheets and simply hide in unconsciousness.
Instead, she pulled her jeans and a sweater from her bag and dressed herself again in her own clothes, quickly repacking her overnight bag with her own things. At least she could regain her true identity again as Kate Finnigan, although right now it was not an identity to claim with any pride.
She left the bags of untouched new clothing against the wall. They could still be returned to the shops as a slight indication that she wasn’t all bad, that she wasn’t trying to take advantage of the family’s generosity towards her.
