was almost nine the next morning when Armand—who’d risen at six, had showered, enjoyed breakfast and was currently working from the cabin office—heard the door of the other bedroom squeak slightly as if being opened. ‘Good morning, Rachel,’ he called.
He received only a grunt in reply. From the open door, he saw a pyjama-clad form holding a bundle of clothes dash past him to the bathroom. The door slammed behind her.
With raised brows, he kept working. Somebody, it seemed, was not a morning person—or, like most women he’d met, Rachel didn’t like appearing before others while she was looking her worst.
Not that she did. The brief flash past him had been candy-pink, all tousled hair, rumpled clothes, curvaceousness and, altogether, rather delicious.
Stop it. With a determined growl, he pushed the vision of her from his thoughts and kept working on the latest round of paperwork from the local officials for the new land.
Somebody obviously also liked long showers. It was almost half an hour later when she finally emerged. Her curvy shape was encased in similar jeans to last night, and a long-sleeved T-shirt with ‘sometimes your knight in shining armour is just a jerk in tin foil’ emblazoned on it. Clear-painted toes peeped from the open-ended hotel slippers. Her hair was shining, cheeks flushed and her skin glowed with health. Again, her face was free of make-up, but she still managed to look radiant. It was her eyes, her smile. With those weapons at her disposal, she’d never need the rest.
‘Now I’m human enough to say hi,’ she announced gaily as she shuffled towards him, the slippers making a soft swish-swish on the wooden floors. ‘Good morning, Armand. Did you sleep well?’
About to ask the same thing, he nodded, surprised anew that ‘Mrs Pete’ would be the one to ask first. ‘Thank you. And you?’
She nodded in return. ‘The beds here are very comfortable.’
‘You’ve been here a few weeks now, I believe. Do you have any thoughts on ways to improve the standard of the resort?’
Her smile slipped a touch. A wary kind of nervousness entered her eyes. He didn’t know what was going on. Such an innocuous question shouldn’t send her running for cover. ‘I only asked because I wish to attract all kinds of international guests.’ he said gently. ‘I’ve catered in the European style. You’re American—your honest opinion is the kind of feedback I need.’
‘Oh.’ She relaxed so visibly he could almost see her muscles uncoiling. ‘Well, while the rooms are wonderful, for people that want real privacy, or for family vacations or reunions, cabins like this would be in demand, I think.’
He frowned. ‘The suites aren’t enough?’
‘Oh, they’re wonderful,’ she rushed to say. ‘I—I was just thinking—you know, forget it. What do I know? I never stayed at a place like this until I was an adult. Your guests probably don’t want kids and noisy families here. It was a stupid thought.’
‘Rachel.’ With a hand on hers, he stopped the babbling. ‘I did cater this first resort for adults, and the second in Chamonix, but I want to extend for the third, make it more family-friendly. I loved it when we stayed here when I was a boy. Providing cabins helps the resort to compete with the sport hotels and bed and breakfasts.’ He typed the information quickly into the email he was composing to his architect and sent it. ‘Done.’
Then he turned to her and smiled again. ‘Thank you for that, Rachel. The more ideas I provide for the third resort, the better chance I have of acquiring the land. Laws for building resorts can be rather stringent here.’
‘You’re welcome,’ was all she said, but the look of shy delight on her face both moved and puzzled him. This level of insecurity surely went deeper than his suspicions. How could a woman so famous for giving good advice not be jaded by people’s thanks?
You’re getting in too deep here. She isn’t Maman. You can’t balance your debt to Maman and the girls by helping this woman.
He knew nothing of her outside the tabloids, such as why she had the name ‘Rhonda Braithwaite’ on her suitcases and ‘Rachel Chase’ on the passport she’d given at the reception desk. He didn’t know if she was a good person or …
Yes, he did know that, by the way she’d shouldered the blame instead of letting a single member of his staff be reprimanded. He knew it by the horror on her face when he had told her this was his cabin. He knew it by the way she hadn’t tried to bargain with him over his deal, though she had to know who was getting the better end of it.
And, damn it, he knew how good it felt to hold her in his arms—and he knew she’d felt it too, even if she didn’t want to be there.
Whether he wanted to get involved or not, he was already in way over his head here.
‘You never answered me yesterday, when I asked how long you thought you’d need my help here.’ He kept the question gentle, masking the intense need to show the turbulence inside. His anger wasn’t aimed at her, but at the men of the world who felt it was their right to abuse a woman or a child. Anger, because it seemed impossible to change one man’s way of thinking and behaviour, let alone the world’s. It will never happen again, they always said, until they lost their temper again.
‘Is time an issue for you? If so, I can go any time, really.’
Armand heard the undoubted tone of fear beneath the projected calm in her voice. She was using every trick in her psychologist’s book, not to charm him or pry into his life, but to hide her deepest emotions from him.
‘Well, it could be an issue if you were planning on staying here for the next five years,’ he said, angling for a laugh, or at least to make her relax a bit. ‘I do have three resorts to manage—at least once this next one’s built.’
‘And you ought to be there to oversee the project.’ The words were sympathetic now the psychologist’s persona she slipped into without a problem. He thought it was because then she could hide her real self—the woman she was ashamed of being. ‘As I said, there’s really no issue if you have to go at any time. If you don’t mind me staying, I’ll be fine here alone.’
Yet it was a problem for her. He knew that, but he had no right to ask. Even being her temporary protector didn’t cancel out the fact that he’d known her less than twenty-four hours. He couldn’t butt in on her private world.
So he tried the one way that seemed to work for her. ‘And still she doesn’t tell me her time frame. Rachel Chase, international woman of mystery … You didn’t tell me you worked for MI6. Or the CIA, since you’re American. Or are you?’ he riposted with a grin.
Her face relaxed. She bit her lip, but laughed anyway. She laughed like a child every time, laughed as though she meant it. It lit up the room. It lit up his safe, predictable world, and filled it with warmth, colour and enchantment.
‘Is two weeks okay with you, maybe three?’
The words broke into uncomfortable conclusions, giving the rainbow light and myriad warmth a time-limit. He was relieved; of course he was. It was best this way, short and sweet. He’d had small infatuations before with unattainable women and he’d recovered. Yes, he liked Rachel—found her adorable, damn it—and he definitely liked the way she felt in his arms. But it wouldn’t be a tragedy if she left tomorrow or the next
