The Virgin's Debt To Pay

He cursed and threw down his pen and stood up from his desk, stalking over to the window that looked down over the stables. He couldn’t see her and that irritated him even more when he’d deliberately avoided meeting her since her arrival, not wanting to give her the idea that their extended dialogue the other night would ever be repeated. Now he was distracted. When he couldn’t afford to be distracted.

He’d only just managed to convince Gio Corretti that the slight delay in money arriving to his account was due to a banking glitch.

Luc’s reputation amongst the exclusive thoroughbred racing fraternity had been on trial since he’d exploded onto the scene with a rogue three-year-old who had raced to glory in four consecutive Group One races.

Success didn’t mean respect though. He was an anomaly; he had no lineage to speak of and he’d had the temerity to invest wisely with his winnings and make himself a fortune in the process.

Everyone believed his horses were better bred than he was, and they weren’t far wrong. The rumours about his background merely added colour to every other misconception and untruth heaped against his name.

But, as much as he loved ruffling the elite’s feathers by making no apology for who he was, he did want their respect. He wanted them to respect him for what he had achieved with nothing but an innate talent, hard work and determination.

The last thing he needed was for more rumours to get around, especially one suggesting that Luc Barbier couldn’t control his own staff. That he’d been stupid enough to let one million euros disappear from his account.

Even now he still felt the burn of recrimination for finding Paddy O’Sullivan’s open expression and infectious enthusiasm somehow quaint. He should have spotted a thief a mile away. After all, he’d grown up with them.

Luc tensed when he heard the faint sound of laughing again. Adrenalin mixed with something far more ambiguous and hotter flooded his veins. Nessa O’Sullivan was here under sufferance for her brother—and that was all. The sooner she remembered her place and what was at stake, the better.

* * *

‘Who were you talking to?’

Nessa immediately tensed when she heard the deep voice behind her. She turned around reluctantly, steeling herself to see Barbier for the first time since that night. And she blinked.

The skies were blue and the air was mild but, in that uniquely Irish way, there seemed to be a mist falling from the sky and tiny droplets clung to Barbier’s black hair and shoulders, making him look as if he were...sparkling.

His hands were placed on lean hips. Dark worn jeans clung to powerful thighs and long legs. He was wearing a dark polo shirt. The muscles of his biceps pushed against the short sleeves, and the musculature of his impressive chest was visible under the thin material.

He couldn’t look more virile or vitally masculine if he tried. Nessa’s body hummed in helpless reaction to that very earthy and basic fact.

‘Well?’

Nessa was aghast at how she’d just lost it there for a second, hypnotised by his sheer presence.

She swallowed. ‘I was just talking to one of the grooms.’

‘You do realise you’re not here to socialise, don’t you, O’Sullivan?’

Tendrils of Nessa’s hair escaped the hasty bun she’d piled on her head earlier, and whipped around her face in the breeze. Her skin prickled at her reaction to him and irritation made her voice sharp. ‘It’s hard to forget when I’ve been assigned little more than a cell to sleep in and a pre-dawn wake-up call every day.’

She was very conscious of the unsubtle stench of horse manure clinging to her. And of her worn T-shirt tucked into even more worn jeans. Ancient knee-high boots. She couldn’t be any less his type right now.

A calculating glint turned his eyes to dark pewter. ‘You assured me you were accustomed to hard work and you did offer your services in the place of your brother—if this is too much for you...’ He put out a hand to encompass the yard around them.

Nessa stiffened at the obvious jibe. He was clearly expecting her to flounce out of here in a fit of pique. And yes, the work was menial but it was nothing she hadn’t done since she’d started walking and could hold a broom. That, and riding horses. Not that he’d believe her.

She squared her shoulders and stared him down. ‘If you don’t mind, the yard has to be cleaned by lunchtime.’

Barbier looked at the heavy platinum watch encircling his wrist, and then back to her. ‘You’d better keep going then, and next time don’t distract my employees from their own work. Flirting and gossiping won’t help your brother out of his predicament or make things any easier for you here.’

Flirting? For a second Nessa’s mind was blank with indignation when she thought of the groom she’d been talking to—a man in his sixties. But before she could think of anything to say in her own defence, Barbier had turned his back and was walking away.

In spite of her indignation, Nessa couldn’t stop her gaze following his broad back, seeing how it tapered down to those slim hips and a taut behind, lovingly outlined by the soft worn material of his jeans. He disappeared around a corner and Nessa deflated like a balloon. She turned around in disgust at herself for being so easily distracted, and riled.

Feeling thoroughly prickly and with her nerves still jangling, Nessa turned the power-hose machine back on and imagined Barbier’s too-beautiful and smug face in every scrap of dirt she blasted into the drains.

* * *

‘She’s totally over-qualified, Luc. She’s putting my own staff to shame, doing longer hours. I shouldn’t even be saying this but the yard and stables have never been so clean.’ Luc’s head groom laughed but soon stopped when Luc fixed him with a dark look.

‘No, you shouldn’t. Maybe you need new staff.’

Simon Corrigan swallowed and changed the subject. ‘Can I ask why we’re not paying her? It seems—’

‘No, you can’t.’ Luc cut him off, not liking the way his conscience was stinging. He was many things, but no one had ever faulted him on his sense of fairness and equality. But only he and Pascal Blanc knew what was behind Paddy O’Sullivan’s sudden disappearance, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Nessa had been working at his stables for a week now. She hadn’t turned tail and run or had a tantrum as he’d expected. He could still see her in his mind’s eye—standing in the yard the other day, her back as straight as a dancer, face flushed, amber-green eyes bright and alive. That soft lush mouth compressed. Long tendrils of dark red hair clinging to her hot cheeks as she’d obviously struggled to keep her temper in check.

Her T-shirt had been so worn he could make out the shape of her breasts—small, lush swells, high and firm.

He could also remember the feeling that had swept through him when he’d heard her carefree laugh. It hadn’t been anger that she might be up to something. It had been something much hotter and ambiguous; a sense of possessiveness that had shocked him. It wasn’t something he felt for anything much, except horses or business acquisitions.

‘Where is she now?’ Luc asked Corrigan abruptly.

‘She’s helping to bring the stallions in from the paddocks. Do you want me to give her a message?’

Luc shook his head. ‘No, I’ll do it.’

But when Luc got to the stallions’ stables Nessa was nowhere to be seen and all the stallions had been settled for the evening. Feeling a mounting frustration, he went looking for her.

* * *

‘You are a beautiful boy, aren’t you? Yes, you are...and you know it too. Yes, there you go...’ The three-year-old colt whinnied softly in appreciation as he took the raw carrot from Nessa’s hand and she rubbed his nose.

She knew she shouldn’t be here in the racing section of Barbier’s stables, where the current thoroughbreds resided, but she hadn’t been able to resist. She felt at peace for the first time in days, even as her body actually ached with the need to feel a horse underneath her with all that coiled power and strength and speed. But she wouldn’t be riding again for a while.

‘You were told to stay away from this area.’

And just like that Nessa’s short-lived sense of peace vanished and was replaced by an all-too predictable jump in her heart-rate. She turned around to see Barbier standing a few feet away, arms folded. He was wearing a white shirt, and it made his skin look even darker. His hair touched the collar, curling slightly.

‘I’m on a break,’ she responded defensively, wondering if he was this autocratic with all his employees. But she had to admit that, so far, everyone seemed pretty content to be working here. She’d found out that the employee who’d been fired on the spot had been smoking weed and she’d had to concede that he would have suffered a similar fate on their own stud farm. Barbier had also enrolled the employee on an addiction course. It was disconcerting to realise that perhaps he wasn’t as ruthless as she’d like to believe.

Barbier moved now and closed the distance between them before she could take another breath. He snatched the rest of the carrot out of her hand, frowning. ‘What are you feeding Tempest?’

‘It’s just a carrot.’ She pulled her hand back into her chest disconcerted by the shock his fleeting touch had given her.

He glared at her, and he was far too close, but Nessa’s back was against the stall door and the horse. She was trapped.

‘No one is allowed to feed my horses unless they’re supervised.’

Her mouth dropped open and then she sputtered, ‘It’s just a carrot!’

He was grim. ‘A carrot that could contain poison or traces of steroids for all I know.’

Nessa went cold. ‘You think I would harm your horses?’

His jaw was as hard as granite. ‘I’m under enough scrutiny as it is. I don’t need the possible accomplice of a thief messing around with my valuable livestock. I don’t know what you’re capable of. How did you know that this is the horse?’

Nessa struggled to keep up. ‘What horse?’

Now Barbier was impatient. ‘The horse I bought from Gio Corretti.’

Nessa swallowed. ‘I had no idea, I just came in for a visit. He seemed agitated.’

Barbier’s gaze went from her to the horse behind her and she took the opportunity to slide sideways, putting some distance between them. He put out a hand and stroked the side of Tempest’s neck, murmuring soft words in French. Nessa’s gaze locked onto his big hand stroking the horse, and she had to struggle not to imagine how that hand might feel on her. She’d never in her life imagined a man stroking her—she must be losing her mind.

The horse pushed his head into Barbier’s hand and Nessa glanced at Barbier to see his features relax slightly. For a heady moment she imagined that there was no enmity between them and that he might not always look at her as if she’d just committed a crime. She wondered what he’d look like if he smiled and then she glanced away quickly, mortified at herself and afraid he would read her shameful thoughts on her face.

Barbier said, ‘He’s been agitated since he arrived, not settling in properly.’

Welcoming the diversion from her wayward imagination, Nessa replied, ‘He’s probably just pining for his mother.’

Barbier looked at her sharply, his hand dropping away. ‘How would you know such a thing?’

Nessa flushed and kept avoiding his eye. How could she explain the weird affinity for horses that she shared with her sister and father? She shrugged. ‘I just guessed.’

Barbier’s voice was harsh. ‘Gio Corretti told me and your brother that we might have issues settling the colt because he hadn’t been separated from his mother until recently, which is unusual. That’s how you know.’

Nessa looked at Barbier and saw the condemnation and distrust in his eyes. How could she defend a gut feeling? She shrugged and looked away. ‘If you say so.’

Without realising it, Nessa’s hand had instinctively lifted up to touch the horse again, until suddenly Barbier reached out and took it. Nessa jumped at the weird electricity that sparked whenever they got too close. She tried to pull her hand back but his grip was too firm. And warm.

He was holding her palm facing upwards, and asked grimly, ‘What is this?’

She looked down and saw what he saw: her very unpretty hands, skin roughened from her training as a jockey and blistered from the last few days of hard work. Humiliated at the thought that he’d see this as proof she wasn’t used to work, she yanked her hand back and cradled it to her chest again. ‘It’s nothing.’

She backed away towards the entrance. ‘I should go—my break is over.’ She turned and forced herself to walk and not run away, not even sure what she was running from. But something about the way he’d just taken her hand and looked so disapproving to see the marks of her labour made her feel incredibly self-conscious and also a little emotional, which was truly bizarre.

Nessa couldn’t recall the last time anyone had focused attention on her like that. Her sister had done her best but she wasn’t their mother. Their father hadn’t been much use while he’d drowned his sorrows.

So they’d had to fend for themselves mostly. She hadn’t even realised until that moment how much another’s touch could pierce her right to the core. And for it to have been Luc Barbier was inconceivable and very disturbing. She didn’t have an emotional connection with that man—the very notion was ridiculous.

* * *

Luc watched as Nessa walked quickly out of the stables and around the corner with an easy athletic grace that made him wonder what she’d be like on a horse. Excellent, his instincts told him, as much as he’d like to ignore them.

He was still astounded at the apparent ease with which she’d calmed Tempest, who was one of the most volatile horses Luc had ever bought. But also potentially one of the best, if his hunch about the colt’s lineage was right. Certainly Gio Corretti had asked for top dollar, so he’d clearly suspected potential greatness too.

Luc turned back to the horse, who pushed his face into Luc’s shoulder, nudging. Did Luc really believe Nessa would poison the horse? He held up the innocuous, gnarled carrot and eventually fed it to the horse with a sigh.

The answer came from his gut: no, she wouldn’t poison his horse. She’d looked too shocked when he’d said it. But the fact was that, until her brother reappeared or the money did, the jury was out on Nessa O’Sullivan and he had to keep her under close scrutiny. He’d be a fool not to suspect that brother and sister were working in tandem.

Luc told himself it was for this reason, and not because her raw hands had twisted something inside his gut, that he was about to move her to where she could be kept under closer scrutiny.

CHAPTER THREE

‘I’M MOVING YOU out of the stables and into the house.’

Nessa looked at Luc Barbier where he stood behind his desk. She’d been summoned here a few minutes ago by the head groom, Simon Corrigan, and she’d tried not to let the understated luxury of the grand old Irish country house intimidate her.

This was where Barbier’s suite of private offices were based and now she stood on thick sumptuous carpet and was surrounded by dark oak panelling. Books filled floor-to-ceiling shelves. In contrast to the rather conservative decor, there was modern art on the walls that tickled at Nessa’s curiosity. And behind Barbier, a massive window where Nessa could see the training gallops in the distance. An amazing view and one that made her yearn to be on a horse.

But she dragged her attention back to what he’d said. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I said, I’m moving you into the house.’ He enunciated the words slowly, which only made his accent more noticeable. Nessa still couldn’t get over the raw, untameable energy that emanated from the man, in spite of the luxe surroundings.

She felt a bit dense. ‘Why?’

‘My housekeeper has lost one of her household assistants and so I told her you would fill in.’

‘Household assistant,’ Nessa said slowly as it sank in. ‘You mean a cleaner?’

Barbier grimaced faintly. ‘I think they prefer the term household assistant.’

A faint burn of humiliation washed up through her body. ‘This is because I went to see your racehorses.’

Barbier’s jaw tightened. ‘I’m not so petty.’

Nessa thought of being cooped up indoors cleaning floors and already felt claustrophobic. ‘You accused me of potential sabotage.’

Barbier’s jaw got even tighter. ‘At this point in time I have no idea what you’re capable of. You’ve put yourself in this position in a bid to convince me your brother is innocent. Mrs Owens, my housekeeper, needs someone to help her out—’

‘And I’m just the handy house-arrest guest you can move about at will to wherever it suits you,’ Nessa interrupted, feeling frustrated and angry.

‘You’re the one who is here by choice, Nessa. By all means you’re free to walk out this door at any time, but if you do I won’t hesitate to involve the local police.’

Nessa tipped up her chin, feeling reckless. ‘So why don’t you do it, then? Just call them!’

Barbier didn’t look remotely fazed at her outburst. ‘Because,’ he said easily, ‘I don’t believe it serves either of our interests to involve the law at this point. Do you really want to drag your family name into the open and inform everyone of what your brother has done?’

Nessa went cold inside when she thought of the lines of pain already etched into her father’s face. Indelible lines that would never fade even in spite of his much better mental state. She thought of Iseult’s frantic worry and her husband, Nadim, who would undoubtedly storm in to take over—just weeks before their baby was due.

Nessa looked at the man in front of her and hated him at that moment. Hated the way he was able to hold her to ransom so easily, and then that hatred turned inwards. She only had herself to blame. And Paddy.

She had taken responsibility and she couldn’t crumble now.

She forced down an awful feeling of futility and said, ‘No, I don’t want anyone to know what has happened. If I stay and do as you ask, can you promise that you won’t report what Paddy has done?’

Barbier inclined his head slightly. ‘Like I said, it serves us both to keep this to ourselves for the time being.’

Nessa wondered why he was so reluctant to let this get out, but then she realised that he would hardly like it to be known that payment for a horse had gone astray. It would put off potential sellers everywhere.

For a fleeting moment Nessa considered threatening to leak this news in return for Barbier’s assurance that Paddy wouldn’t be prosecuted. But she realised, without even testing him, that Barbier was not a man who could be so easily manipulated.

Apart from which, she didn’t have the stomach for blackmail, and there would be no way that Paddy’s reputation could remain unsullied. He might never get the chance to prove his innocence, and with the stain of possible theft and corruption on his record he’d never get a job in the industry he loved again. It would ruin him. Not to mention the disappointment of their father and sister...

As if privy to her thoughts, Barbier said, ‘You’re the only insurance Paddy has at the moment. His only guarantee of any kind of protection. You walk out of here and that’s gone, along with any sliver of doubt I may have about his guilt.’

Nessa’s heart thumped hard at that. So there was a chance that Barbier might believe in Paddy, if she could just convince him to return and explain what had happened. She had to cling onto that.

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