Bastien shrugged a broad shoulder and said nothing. Lilah caught the stewardess studying her with naked envy and thought, If only you knew the truth.
But what was the real truth? Lilah asked herself as the limo whisked her and Bastien through the crowded streets of London. She had given her word and Bastien had already delivered on his promises, which meant that he owned her body and soul for the foreseeable future. And that interpretation cast her as a complete victim, Lilah acknowledged ruefully—until she admitted the reality that one glance at Bastien’s exquisitely chiselled features and tall athletic physique reduced her to a melted puddle of lust and longing. He was incredibly attractive—and, taking into account his reputation as a legendary womaniser, a very large number of women agreed with her.
They were met at the door of a world-famous store and conveyed upwards in a lift, surrounded by a posse of attendants composed of a stylist, a personal shopper and sales assistants. Clearly Bastien had already stated his preferences, and they were shown into a private room where he was ushered into a seat. Lilah hovered, watching the approach of a tray of champagne, and then she was steered into a changing room, where an astonishingly large selection of clothing awaited her.
Surely trying on loads of clothes for Bastien’s benefit wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened to her? But if making her model the clothes he wanted her to wear was a deliberate ploy to annoy her, he had played a blinder. The demeaning concept of swanning around in clothing personally picked by Bastien set her teeth on edge.
With a flush on her cheeks, she stepped back into the room clad in a blue silk dress that clung to her like cling film.
Bastien kicked back in his comfortable chair, very much in the mood to enjoy himself. His burnished gaze rested on Delilah and the oddest sense of contentment settled over him. Amusement tilted his handsome mouth when she teetered dangerously in the very high heels she clearly wasn’t accustomed to walking in. The dress was rubbish: far too revealing. The only place Delilah would be encouraged to show that amount of flesh was in his bedroom and nowhere else.
He moved a dismissive hand and awaited the next outfit, a pale pink jacket and skirt that was cute as hell against her cloud of blue-black hair and bright blue eyes. There might not be much of her, Bastien conceded, but what she lacked in curves she more than made up for in class, and with a delicacy that he considered incredibly feminine. The first time he had seen Delilah she had put him in mind of a flawless porcelain doll—until he’d noticed how expressive her face was: an ever-changing fascinating vista of what she was feeling and thinking. And what he liked most about her face was that he could read it as easily as a child’s picture book.
‘I’m not modelling underwear for you,’ she warned him in a biting undertone.
Disconcerted, Bastien froze and lifted his arrogant, dark head to meet her bright eyes head-on, finally recognising the blaze of anger banked down there. ‘Not a problem,’ he assured her lazily. ‘We’ll save that show for the bedroom, glikia mou.’
Lilah’s cheeks blazed with sudden livid colour. ‘No, that’s not me,’ she parried abruptly. ‘If that’s what you want, you’ve picked the wrong girl!’
‘You’re perfect for me,’ Bastien assured her levelly.
‘Well, that’s not a compliment I can return,’ Lilah replied tartly. ‘After all, it’s obvious that we’re a match made in hell. You want a dress-up doll that does exactly what’s it’s told and I won’t do that.’
Bastien rose lithely to his feet and looked down at her from his commanding height with unreadable dark eyes. ‘That’s not what I want.’
‘You want all the imperfections airbrushed away. You want obedience. Clearly you want a woman with submissive traits, and yet I don’t have a submissive bone in my body! In fact, I’m more likely to argue with people who make unreasonable demands,’ Lilah shot back at him in angry frustration. ‘You’re the king of unreasonable demands, Bastien. So, what are you doing with me?’
‘You’re misinterpreting everything I’ve ever said to you,’ Bastien told her drily.
‘Am I?’ Lilah rolled her bright blue eyes, unimpressed by that accusation. ‘You’re such a control freak that you even want to choose the clothes I wear.’
‘That’s untrue,’ Bastien incised. ‘You’re more like a jewel I want to see polished up and placed in the right setting. I don’t want to see you wearing cheap clothes... I want to see you shine—’
‘Bastien!’ Lilah broke in helplessly, hopelessly confused by his attitude. He only wanted to have sex with her. He had been brutally honest about that reality. What did the clothes she wore have to do with a hunger that basic? Why on earth did he care what she wore?
She had paraded around for his benefit in one outfit after another. A vast wardrobe was being assembled for her use. She was stunned by that reality as well. For goodness’ sake, was Bastien planning to keep her for the rest of her life—and his? How would she ever wear even a quarter of these clothes while she was with him? This was a male who was famed for barely lasting a month with one woman. Yet she had been equipped with countless wardrobe choices—indeed, everything a woman could conceivably want for every possible occasion and every season. Late afternoon had already stretched well into evening to encompass the shopping trip.
‘We’ll go back to the hotel now for dinner,’ Bastien proposed, as if no dispute had taken place.
Lilah returned to the changing cubicle and selected a skirt and top from the rack to put on. She was being torn in two. On one level she wanted to fight Bastien, but on another she wanted to give him what he wanted to keep him happy. After all, how much was her own pride really worth when she could still clearly recall her father’s renewed energy and hope?
What Bastien had given could easily be taken away again, she reflected fearfully. By giving her father a job, Bastien had revitalised the older man’s drive and confidence. She should be grateful, she told herself urgently, but it was no use—she was too idealistic for such practicality. Unlike Bastien, she wanted sex to come packaged with romance and commitment.
Bastien took her back to an exclusive hotel and a very spacious suite. There were two bedrooms, and in the doorway of the first, Bastien paused to say, ‘This is your room. I like my own space.’
Relieved by the news that she would not have to share a bedroom and surrender all privacy, Lilah watched as the hotel staff carted in the boxes and bags containing her brand-new wardrobe as well as a sizeable collection of designer luggage.
Bastien turned to grasp the phone extended to him by one of his personal assistants. Lean, strong face intent, he began talking urgently in French while raising an impatient hand to summon his team. As he spoke he strode to the desk in the large reception room, where a laptop had already been set up for his use.
His attention had drifted away from Lilah at supersonic speed. She watched his staff move into action, unfurling phones and tablets to follow Bastien’s instructions. One name was mentioned repeatedly—Dufort Pharmaceuticals.
She kicked off her high heels and switched on the television in the far corner of the room. The fancy evening meal she had expected to eat in Bastien’s company did not materialise. Instead, about an hour later waiters arrived with trolleys of buffet food to feed staff more interested in standing upright to eat than sitting down.
‘Delilah!’ Bastien called across the length of the
