own farm? Nessa searched in vain for some way to avoid being forced to spend an unknown amount of time under this man’s punitive command, even though she’d all but asked for it. ‘I’m a jockey and I work at our family farm—I can’t just walk away from that.’
Barbier’s black gaze flicked dismissively over her body again before meeting her eyes. ‘A jockey? Then how have I never heard of you?’
Nessa flushed. ‘I haven’t run many races. Yet.’ In recent years she’d gone to university and got a degree, so that had taken her out of the circuit for some time. Not that she was about to explain herself to Barbier.
He made a scathing sound. ‘I’m sure. Being a jockey is gritty, hard work. You look as if a puff of wind would knock you over. Somehow I can’t really see you rousing at dawn and putting in a long day of the back-breaking training and work that most jockeys endure. Your pretty hands would get far too dirty.’
Nessa bristled and instinctively hid her hands behind her back, conscious of how unpretty they were, but not wanting to show Barbier, even in her own defence. She still felt raw after his stinging remark, I can’t say that you’d be my type.
The unfairness of his attack left her a little speechless. Her family had all worked hard at their farm for as long as she could remember, getting up at the crack of dawn every day of the week and in all kinds of weather. Her family had certainly never lived a gilded life of leisure. Not even when Nadim had bought them out and pumped money into their ailing business.
‘Who do you ride for, then?’
She forced down the surge in emotion and answered as coolly as she could, ‘My family stables, O’Sullivans. I’m well used to doing my share of the work, believe it or not, and I’ve been training to be a jockey since I was a teenager. Just because I’m a woman—’
He held up a hand stopping her. ‘I have no issue with female jockeys. What I do have an issue with are people who get a free pass on their family connections.’
If Nessa had bristled before, now she was positively apoplectic. She’d had to work twice as hard to prove herself to her own family, if not even more. But she was aware that to really prove herself she’d have to get work with another trainer. It was a sensitive point for her.
‘I can assure you,’ she said in a low voice full of emotion, ‘that my being a jockey is not a vanity project. Far from it.’
She might have laughed if she were able to. Vanity—what was that? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn make-up.
Barbier looked unimpressed. ‘Well, I’m sure the family farm will cope without you.’
Nessa realised that she was damned if she walked out the door and and damned if she didn’t. But there was only one way of containing the situation and making sure that the rest of her family weren’t dragged into it, and that was doing as Barbier said. She wished she could rewind the clock and be safe at home in bed...but even as she imagined that scenario something inside her rejected it. Rejected the possibility of never having had the opportunity to see this man up close. The shock of that revelation made her stop breathing for a second, its significance terrifying to contemplate.
But the fact was that Nessa’s blood was throbbing through her veins in a way she’d never experienced before. Not even after an exhilarating win on a horse.
Shame bloomed deep inside her. How could she betray her own brother, her family, like this? By finding this man so...compelling? Telling herself that stress was making her crazy, she asked, ‘What will I be doing here?’ She tried to quash lurid images of herself, locked in a tower being fed only bread and water.
Barbier’s eyes flicked up and down over her body as if gauging what she might be capable of. Nessa bristled all over, again.
‘Oh, don’t worry, we’ll find something to keep you occupied, and of course any work you do will be in lieu of payment. Until your brother resurfaces, his debt is now yours.’
Barbier straightened up to his full intimidating height and Nessa’s pulse jumped.
‘I will have Armand escort you back to your home to retrieve what you need. You can give me your car keys.’
This was really happening. And there was nothing she could do about it. Nessa reluctantly reached into her pocket for her keys and took the car key off the main ring, all fingers and thumbs. Eventually she got it free, skin prickling under the laser-eyed scrutiny of Barbier.
She handed it over, a little devil inside her prompting her to say, ‘It’s a vintage Mini. I doubt you’ll fit.’ Even the thought of this man coiling his six-foot-plus frame into her tiny battered car was failing to spark any humour in the surreal moment. She really hadn’t expected the night to turn out like this...and yet she could see now that she’d been supremely naive to assume it would be so easy to infiltrate the Barbier stud.
He took the key. ‘It won’t be me retrieving your car.’
Of course. It would be a minion, despatched to take care of the belongings of the woman who was now effectively under house arrest for the foreseeable future.
Not usually given to dramatics, Nessa tried to quell her nerves. She was within five kilometres of her own home, for crying out loud. What was the worst this man could do to her? A small sly voice answered that the worst he could do had nothing to do with punishment for Paddy’s sins, and everything to do with how he made her feel in his presence. As if she were on a roller coaster hurtling towards a great swooping dip.
Barbier turned away and opened the office door to reveal the huge burly man still standing outside. They spoke in French so rapid that it was beyond Nessa’s basic grasp of the language to try and understand what they were saying.
Barbier turned back to her, switching to English. ‘Armand will escort you home to collect your things and bring you back here.’
‘Can’t I just return in the morning?’
He shook his head, looking even more stern now, and indicated for her to precede him. Mutely, Nessa stepped over the threshold and followed the thick-set security man back out the way she’d come. In the courtyard there was a sleek four-by-four car waiting. Armand opened a car door for her.
For a second Nessa hesitated. She saw the entrance to the courtyard and a glimpse of freedom, if she moved fast. From behind her she heard a deep voice. ‘Don’t even think about it.’
She turned around. Barbier was right behind her and looked even more intimidating in the dark. Taller, more austere. His face was all hard bones and slashing angles. Not even the softness of that provocative mouth visible.
Nessa put her hand on the car door, needing something to hold onto. ‘What happens when I come back?’
‘You’ll be informed when you do.’
Panic made her blurt out, ‘What if I refuse?’
She saw the gallic shrug. ‘It’s up to you but you’ve made it clear you don’t want to involve your family. If you refuse to return I can guarantee that that will be the least of your worries. You would be an accessory to a crime.’
Nessa shivered again in the cool, night-time air. She had no choice, and he knew it. Defeated, she turned and stepped up into the vehicle, and
