scent suffused her. Clean, musky...arousing. The warmth of his skin attacked her senses, throwing her back to that night on his yacht, when she’d let her emotions get the better of her. Her pulse quickened, her insides clenched tight as deep, illicit pleasure stole over her.
Ignoring the gossip-hungry media closing in on them, Bastien aimed straight for the black limousine with tinted windows idling on the pavement. One of the three burly men paving the way for them held the door open and they slid inside.
For several heartbeats neither of them moved. The door thudded shut. Silence cloaked them. The muted sound of the running engine hummed through her but still Ana didn’t move. Her gaze skimmed the side of his face, unable to look away as she studied his arresting profile the way an artist studied his subject and committed it to memory.
The rocking of the car leaving the pavement caused her lips to graze the side of his neck.
Bastien exhaled sharply.
Her lids grew heavy as fierce sensation shot through her, radiating from her lips to spread over her body. The deep yearning to touch her mouth to his skin again became a surprisingly forceful rush of lust through her blood.
Abruptly Bastien leaned forward and deposited her on the seat opposite. With measured movements he secured her seatbelt before seeing to his own.
Ana felt the loss of his warmth as acutely as the loss of air in her lungs. She wanted to lift her fingers to her lips, press them against the tingling to keep it there for a moment longer, but Bastien had his laser gaze fixed on her, was watching her every move, waiting to pounce on any sign of weakness.
Fiercely she reminded herself that she wasn’t weak...that she’d withstood worse. Growing up with a mother like hers had equipped her with a backbone that could endure most things. So what if Bastien seemed to find his way under her armour with minimum effort? She wasn’t about to cower under his formidable personality.
Gathering her composure, she cleared her throat. ‘Thanks for helping me with the paparazzi—although I would’ve have handled it fine on my own.’
He sent her a stony look and settled back in his seat.
‘Explain to me exactly what happened last night,’ he commanded.
She raised her chin. ‘Why? I’m sure you’ve seen the footage on the internet by now. One of your lawyers seemed ecstatic that it was trending on social media.’
One dark blond eyebrow lifted. ‘That’s all you have to say about the situation?’
‘You won’t believe me if I tell you, so what’s the point?’ she snapped, remembering his accusation in the courtroom.
He shrugged. ‘We’ll call this your second chance. You have my undivided attention, so let’s hear it.’
‘You’ve already decided what the truth is, Bastien. You said as much earlier when you referred to my “drug-fogged brain”.’
‘So you do remember that?’ came his reply.
‘Your mind’s already made up, so why should I waste my breath?’
His smile mocked her. ‘Because I want to hear what happened from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.’
A spurt of anger speared through her. But alongside the anger came a small dart of hurt that he didn’t believe her.
She contemplated silence, not dignifying his suspicions with an answer. But just as quickly she dismissed it. He was her boss. Her DBH contract had another month to run before she was finally free to join her father in Colombia. And a major condition of her contract stipulated her propriety and the maintenance thereof. The charges against her had put the DBH ad campaign at serious risk.
Bastien’s presence in London—in court, in this car—made that fact painfully obvious.
He slowly straightened, leaned forward, and rested his hands on his knees without once taking his eyes off her. Ana knew she wouldn’t get away without offering some kind of explanation.
She went with the simple truth. ‘I suffer from asthma.’
He frowned, slate-grey eyes narrowing. ‘I don’t recall reading that in your personnel file.’
‘You mean when you read it once you knew I was the one your management had hired for the campaign and tried to get me fired?’
It was the reason he’d been in Cannes that day. The reason he’d sent everyone away, leaving them alone on the yacht. The reason she’d ended up nearly losing her self-respect...
He didn’t show an ounce of regret. ‘Yes.’
She ignored the sharper dart of pain. ‘Conditions that don’t hamper the execution of my job aren’t listed on my file, and asthma isn’t generally a life-threatening illness. But I have it and I have to manage it, so...’ She shrugged.
Lauren Styles, the owner of her agency, Visuals, and her own personal agent, had been aware of her condition and happy to keep it under wraps unless it hampered her job.
Lauren, once a model herself, was more of a mother to her than her own mother had ever been. Her loyalty and support were faultless. Which was another reason why she couldn’t afford to jeopardise the DBH campaign or clash with its CEO.
‘Go on.’
‘My flatmate, Simone, invited me to her birthday party last night. I don’t normally go to nightclubs because of the artificial smoke and recirculated air—I suffered a bad attack at a club last year. Halfway through the party I began to feel unwell.’
‘Why didn’t you just leave?’ he demanded.
‘I tried to. Simone begged me to stay.’
‘Even though she knew you were ill?’ Scepticism marred his tone.
‘She doesn’t know about my asthma.’
His brows lifted.
‘We’ve only been sharing a flat for two months. Anyway, I went into the cloakroom, splashed some water on my face, and used my inhaler when I got back to my table. I decided to stay for another half-hour. I went to the bar to get a bottle of water. When I returned to my seat the bouncers were waiting for me with the police. They showed me the security camera video, asked if it was me. I confirmed it was.’
Bastien pursed his lips.
‘I didn’t know then what it was all about, okay? They took me outside and asked to search my bag. They found the inhaler, charged me with possession of heroin and here we are.’
Silence cloaked the dark interior of the luxurious car. Outside, sunlight glinted off the buildings of Central London as they edged through the traffic on the Strand. Inside she was as cold as the January freeze they were experiencing. She pulled Bastien’s jacket closer around her. For a few stolen seconds she let the scent of his body suffuse her senses. Then she looked up and found him watching...waiting.
‘What? I’ve told you everything.’
He sat back, settled one ankle over his knee and drummed his fingers on the
