Daring to Date the Boss / The Tycoon Who Healed Her Heart

‘I ordered a white wine. Will you take some?’ he asked in a European way as he poured a glass. Looking up with a smile, he held it out to her.

As she took the glass—she loved a good Chardonnay—it occurred to her what she’d seen behind the waiter holding her tray. ‘There were people watching us from the restaurant terrace.’

Herr Bollinger nodded as he sat again. ‘Naturally, Ms Chase. My regular visitors have worked out that some VIP must have taken over my cabin in my absence—but I saw no one with a telephoto lens, so I doubt they saw you clearly. The cabin’s over three-hundred metres from the main resort.’ He began eating, seeming unperturbed. ‘And that leads me to my original subject. We have a mutual problem, and we need to work out a solution that works for both of us.’

Rachel tilted her head. ‘Why is my presence such a problem for you?’

He looked up. ‘I don’t bring lovers to my home, Ms Chase,’ he said, cool as the snow outside. He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The lone wolf didn’t want to deal with the complications that arose from this: the expectations from the women he dated. ‘I expect it will be worse for you, with your husband publicly claiming your reconciliation. The pictures showing you together are obviously a mock-up, since he’s in LA and you’re here.’

If there was a question in his words, she wasn’t answering. She picked up her fork and began spearing lettuce and tuna.

‘Rebuke accepted, Ms Chase,’ he said dryly, ‘But you can’t just hide from the issue this time. We share this problem. I can’t sort it out without some sort of communication.’

‘Mutual confidences, you mean?’ she retorted. ‘No thanks. You decide what you want to do. You own the place.’ She popped the food in her mouth before she said too much.

After a little silence, he asked quietly, ‘Are you always so impetuous? You don’t know me. My solution might not suit you at all.’

‘You have almost as much to lose as I do,’ she said when she’d swallowed her food. She took a gulp of wine—a crime, really, given that it was true Burgundian Chardonnay. ‘We both need this resolved with discretion. It’s not as if you’re going to ask me to be your mistress.’

‘Is that so impossible?’ he asked with an elliptical smile that set her nerves on edge.

‘Given your anger over keeping this as your private hideaway without your future lovers invading? Yes, of course it is.’ She shoved a forkful in her mouth, letting him deal with her insights. She was curious to know if he’d be as sarcastic as Pete when she’d out-talked him.

At least I know he won’t hit me. I’m a paying guest, and he wants discretion as much as I do. He can’t afford to antagonise me.

And the truth of it gave her the courage to speak her mind. She need not fear this man, and that was so liberating, she wanted to laugh with the joy of it. She barely remembered the last time she hadn’t been afraid of someone’s disapproval.

‘I don’t know whether to say touché or en garde,’ he murmured, his voice rich with enjoyment. Was he enjoying this crazy seesaw of a conversation?

It was almost a revelation to her—or a revolution; she wasn’t sure. Because she discovered, on thinking about it, that she was enjoying it too.

‘Feel free to use either,’ she said, waving a hand around, mock sword-fighting. She smiled at him.

It felt like a sock in the stomach, seeing that mega-watt, big-as-her-heart smile tossed his way. Armand stopped in his tracks, abruptly lost in it. She wasn’t flirting or trying to make a connection. There was no agenda, no personal gain; she was smiling just because she wanted to. And it was like seeing a blazing blue sky after a long, dull winter. The absolute lift of his spirits started low down and finished with a light, silvery feeling in his head, as if he could fly.

Why her effect on him amazed him so much, he wasn’t sure, when he’d met a thousand beautiful women—but he definitely didn’t want to explore the issue. ‘Can we work out stratagems before we duel?’ he asked with deliberate lightness. Any kind of probing sent her into tight-lipped silence. He could think of far better uses for that gorgeously smiling mouth the colour of a pink rose.

‘Where’s the fun in that?’ she mock-complained, her eyes shining like sunlight in dark wine.

Damn it, he had to watch his thoughts or he’d be in trouble. The last thing he’d ever do was start up a flirtation with a guest. It led to a hundred different routes, all marked ‘danger’.

‘You prefer to wing it?’ he asked, a deliberate probe. If nothing else, it would cut her friendliness, make her keep her distance again.

And it did. One shoulder lifted in a careless shrug. ‘Too many plans ruin the fun. Believe me, I know.’ Her voice was wry, and her smile slipped a little.

Armand didn’t bother asking the next question he was sure she wouldn’t answer. Besides, something about this woman lit places inside him that had been dark for too long. Though it scared the living daylights out of him, he had to know if it would work more than once. ‘Can we at least finish lunch before we begin our riposte?’

She blinked and chuckled. And that damned smile sent warmth and light into him so bright it hurt, little rainbow prism-shots. ‘I’m always braver after a glass.’ She lifted the wine glass but drank before he could raise his, make a toast or say anything remotely personal.

Why did so much about this woman seem to catch him out? Right now he only knew one thing: he barely knew her. So if he showed any sign of what she was capable of doing to him with a simple smile she’d bolt on the first train. Damn it, she wasn’t his type, so why was his body reacting so strongly?

‘This wine is heavenly. May I have more?’

Recalled by her abrupt words, Armand realised she’d caught him staring at her; she was blushing, biting her lip. Had his face shown what he’d been thinking? He poured the wine, drank his off and then refilled. ‘The vineyard is eight-hundred years old,’ he said to fill the silence. ‘The grapevines are almost as old.’

‘Amazing … Where I come from, anything a hundred years old is historic.’ She gulped the entire glass of wine down so fast Armand doubted it touched the edges before she looked at him with hard-earned resolve. ‘Look, can you please say what you came to say? The suspense is putting me off my lunch.’

How did she manage it, putting him in his place and making him want to smile at once, so dramatic over a salad? Not to mention the other parts of him that were breaking into an unwanted ‘hallelujah’ chorus whenever she looked at him or smiled.

Somehow he couldn’t dismiss it as a normal male reaction. Probably because this strange connection felt too intimate for just an hour’s acquaintance. With her stubborn courage and her willingness to shoulder her own burdens, Rachel Chase touched him somewhere he hadn’t felt before. It wasn’t normal for him. Usually when he felt something like this it was simple attraction. He’d ask them to dinner, enjoy hearing about the woman’s life, take it further at his leisure if she was willing, become bored in weeks and then give the nice kiss-off.

Rachel wasn’t anything like the usual women he was attracted to. Yet he was hurting, remembering, thinking—and, yes, he was enjoying himself, merely sitting here talking to her. Within half an hour she’d made him feel more than he had since he’d been twelve.

It only added piquant spice, knowing Rachel didn’t seem aware. No feminine antennae were on at all, looking for a man to fill the blank time in her life. She didn’t want him at all, barely thought of him as a man.

Then there was the flash he’d seen in her eyes, unmistakable, almost horrifying. For a single moment she’d been afraid of him; she’d been willing to run rather than be near him.

He had to tread lightly here. Just by crossing his own threshold he’d been dragged into undercurrents he wasn’t prepared to swim.

‘As I said, I know you’re Mrs Pete,’ he said. ‘Given what the media’s printed about your personal life, your need for privacy at this time is perfectly understandable.’

One by one, Rachel’s vertebrae relaxed. It seemed she wouldn’t have to find a new place to go—at least, not yet. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

‘But I need to make some amendments to the current arrangements.’ His voice was smooth and even but she almost heard his heartbeat picking up, felt that unknown but strong emotion vibrating through him. ‘I have assigned Monika to make up your room and bring your meals while you stay with us.’

Rachel felt the blush stain her cheeks. ‘Have there been many complaints against the staff spending time with me?’

Armand Bollinger nodded curtly, and she knew they’d reached the heart of his problem. From what she’d read of him on the plane coming over to Europe, he had rebuilt this place from the ground up after a fire had destroyed almost everything about eighteen years ago—the same fire that had taken the life of his father. The enormous amount of high-flying Guillaume Bollinger’s debt only became clear after his death, and speculation was rife on whether his death had been deliberate. Armand Bollinger had just turned seventeen at the time, but he’d taken control of his family finances. With years of hard work and dedication, he’d paid his father’s debts before he recreated this five-star resort. He obviously didn’t take his success for granted.

Thanks to her, his professional prestige had taken a hit. She knew too well how that felt.

‘This situation is my fault.’ She gazed at him in determined apology, trying to ignore that odd thrill racing through her body, just by looking into those dark-lashed, storm-grey eyes. An article from about a decade ago floated into her memory: the hypnotic eyes of the Wolf … ‘Please don’t fire anyone, Herr Bollinger. It wasn’t their fault. It was mine.’

‘I have no need or desire to fire anyone, Ms Chase. All my staff have given me complete satisfaction until now. I believe everyone deserves a second chance.’

‘Oh, yes,’ she agreed fervently, though he’d spoken in a voice almost as cold as the snow outside. ‘They do. And it really was my fault.’

‘So you’ve now said three times.’ As slow as the nod he’d given her moments before, a smile was born. Not the perfunctory stretching of lips she’d seen on rare pictures of him during the past decade, but a real, warm smile. The silly little thrill became outright shivers racing through her as fast as a Daytona driver. She’d seen loads of pretty boys in LA: models, actors and the rest. But she’d never seen such true, strong masculine beauty close up before. When he smiled, Armand Bollinger was devastating.

‘Moreover, I understand their fascination.’ Either not noticing her reaction, or not caring, he lifted the painted china coffee-pot sitting on a matching stand with a candle to keep it warm and offered it to her. Trying her best not to stare at him, she nodded and he poured it into her cup. ‘Having a real Hollywood star hiding out in our quiet resort is a scandal too delicious not to take part in.’ He held out the coffee cup to her.

She stiffened. ‘I thought you of all people would know the truth, Herr Bollinger, given your brief stint as both a French and international noir actor, years ago though it was. Stars belong in the sky.’ She took the cup and put it down fast; her hands were trembling. ‘But I agree that the whole world knows about my life.’

‘Or think they do,’ he said with a wryness that seemed to come from the heart. ‘But, as you know nothing about my real life, I know nothing of yours, Ms Chase. I merely made a generalisation on how average people feel about meeting the rich and famous.’

Startled, she looked up, but his concentration was on his refilled coffee, watching the steam rise. She opened her mouth and then shut it hard. Something about Armand Bollinger was dangerous … and seductive. Oh, he was good, if he could make her yearn to unburden herself within an hour of meeting.

‘I guess nobody knows anyone’s true story but those involved, unless their publicist gives a quote,’ she said lightly. ‘But you know the first rule of the media: never let truth get in the way of good sales for the tabloids.’ From staring at the curls of steam from her coffee, she looked up with a smile that was its own barrier, daring him to ask.

‘So I’ve heard.’ His tone sounded half a million miles away, a lifetime ago.

She found herself staring at him again against her will and even her need. It was as if he’d put her under hypnosis. He had a knack of being able to say so much with a few words, leaving her with the feeling of things unfinished, wanting more. It was as if an asteroid was flying by her, dragging her into its orbit as it passed.

This was the last thing she needed. All she’d wanted was her privacy, to pay her bills when she’d found the strength to face her life. He’d been the one to barge in here, expose her and then say everything and nothing at once. And she still didn’t know why he was here.

‘I think I’ve asked enough times, Herr Bollinger.’ She put down her cutlery and pushed the rest of the salad away from her. More trembling little thrills, more resolute denial. She said calmly enough, ‘What is it you’re asking of me?’

CHAPTER THREE

AFTER a long moment Armand leaned forward, looking into her face. Those eyes had a power he couldn’t define—unless it lay in their utter guilelessness. He’d played the game of love so long with other players, being straightforward with a strange woman felt almost unfamiliar. He followed her suit, pushing his half-eaten lunch away. This discussion was too important to blur with food. ‘It’s obvious that the past few months have been harder on you than most people know.’

He waited for an answer but, as if refusing to hand her power over even in confirmation or denial, she kept her chin high and said nothing but merely waited.

When it was obvious she wasn’t going to answer his unspoken question, to make his task any easier, he decided to plunge ahead. ‘You need a place to stay with discreet staff, without needing to go out in public, or do your own shopping, et cetera. My resort is the right place for you. We offer you all the services you need.’

After what seemed like minutes of waiting, she bowed her head, stiff and cold. Just as he’d have done—in fact it was what he had done when he’d been barely seventeen, a rising star in the art-house industry and the secrets surrounding his father’s death had been resurrected in the name of public entertainment. ‘Go on.’

‘But this cabin is my home. If I don’t stay in it while I’m here, it will cause the kind of remark and speculation you need least at the moment—but, again, if anyone sees you here and recognises you, you end up with the same problem.’

He saw the flash of fear cross her face before it disappeared. There was something deeper here she was worried about than just her public reputation. ‘I don’t know whether I caused your problem, you caused mine, or both,’ she said, with a slow kind of horror.

‘Both,’ he replied dryly. ‘Mine is but a minor nuisance, Ms Chase. I believe your problem to be more serious.’ He left the air filled with the question unspoken. The women he’d known usually rushed to fill a conversational gap if he made it intriguing enough.

This woman didn’t even look up, or seem to notice he’d left a half-question dangling there. ‘But I caused it. If I hadn’t left my room …’ Frowning hard, she shook her head.

If he was reading the look in her half-fallen eyes correctly, she felt as guilty as she did fearful—and he had her right where he wanted her. The future of his resorts could be smooth, and her life set back on the right course, with just a little manipulation.

But he’d been hurt and manipulated when he was a boy. Long ago, he’d sworn he would never inflict his will on another, no matter what benefits it could bring him. Yet here he was, playing the worst kind of game, being his father’s son. Was history repeating itself—the one thing he’d believed would never happen?

He refused to give in to the guilt coursing through him. Damn it, this time it’s right.

‘All the regular guests will wonder if I don’t stay here,’ he said, drowning the guilt beneath the weight of arguments he thought would convince her. Yes, he wanted something from her, but he was giving as much as he got, relatively speaking. He might gain financial rewards, but she got what she seemed to need desperately—peace and quiet. ‘Apart from family, I’ve never had any woman here so your presence has already caused speculation.’

Another look crossed her face, similar to when she’d asked about the complaints against the staff. ‘I didn’t realise …’ Her eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth opened, made soundless motions, and then she said faintly, ‘Again, I can only apologise for the trouble I’ve caused you.’

Her embarrassment was too genuine to deny. Armand felt a crazy urge to run out of the cabin, get some fresh air to clear his head. The spoiled-brat media darling he’d assumed her to be an hour ago might have railroaded his staff into bowing to her will, but this woman’s conscience seemed even more radiant than her smile. She reminded him of a clawless kitten. Whatever the truth was inside Dr Pete’s press releases, a Delilah this woman definitely was not.

This could be almost too easy, except that Armand refused to stoop to stealing candy from babies. Or use another person’s conscience against them, to make them sing his tune.

‘Since you’ve made the name change, and with the subtle amendments you’ve made to your appearance, you could probably take another room without issue,’ he said, giving her a last get-out if she wanted to take it. A sap to his conscience, even if he was sure she wouldn’t.

‘Your staff recognised me within a day, looking just like this,’ she replied, with a despairing rather than pugnacious note. ‘Apparently, my accent and voice give me away. I’ve been trying to learn Swiss German, but I’m about as good with accents as I am on skis.’

Armand felt an unusual urge to grin. Rachel Chase seemed almost disastrously honest—a definite downer for hiding in this electronic-media world, but it was a trait he strongly respected. ‘Then we go with my plan. I’ll stay here with you. I’ll go about my business through the day as usual. Monika will—’

‘You want me to stay here with you?’

The squeak in her voice wasn’t feigned. For all the stories Dr Pete had put out about her, she didn’t seem the kind to fall into the arms of a rich man when he showed up on her doorstep—even if it was his doorstep. ‘In another bedroom, Ms Chase,’ he said in cool amusement. ‘The cabin has four of them. You obviously took the word “proposition” to heart.’

A flare of pink touched her cheeks, but her eyes flashed. Though he waited a full minute, she made no retort, didn’t try to defend herself. ‘Go on,’ she said eventually, sounding as angry as she looked.

‘It’s a necessary evil,’ he said, fighting the renewed guilt of knowing he’d backed her into a corner, but torn between anger and amusement at the fact that he’d finally found a woman who not only didn’t leap at the idea of staying with him, but fought it all the way. ‘My staff’s coming and going to the cabin throughout the day while I was gone has already caused curiosity. My regular guests have asked who the VIP is that’s staying in my cabin, since I only arrived this morning.’

Again, he saw the riotous flush fill her cheeks. She looked quite pretty like that, in a country-girl fashion. Natural and pure. ‘You seem to have learned a lot in a few hours. What did you do, take a general survey?’

She was quick-minded, he’d give her that. ‘It’s my job to know what’s going on in my resort, Ms Chase.’

‘You do it well,’ she muttered, but it wasn’t a compliment.

He didn’t thank her; it would only inflame her anger at suddenly finding herself helpless in a situation that had felt safe until he’d invaded her sanctuary an hour ago. ‘As you do your job well, from what I’ve seen.’

She only shrugged in reply.

Goaded, he said in a silky-smooth voice, ‘I asked nothing of my guests, nor did I say anything. I didn’t need to. Your total avoidance of the other guests has caused curiosity amongst those who come here hoping for a certain kind of company. My staff has been avoiding all the guests’ questions, but you don’t want them putting the pieces of your puzzle together. In other words, you need a good cover story, Ms Chase.’

She sighed and nodded. ‘Call me Rachel,’ was all she said.

‘Rachel, then.’ In saying her name, Armand took a step into unknown territory. It didn’t feel as casual as it had in the past, probably because she’d offered the intimacy with such reluctance. ‘I am Armand.’

She only nodded, frowning, serious.

‘The assumption is that you must be famous or someone special to me, since my cabin’s always been off-limits. The first causes the kind of speculation you need least and, as to the second, my sisters are well known here. I could pass you off as a cousin, but it gives you no reason why you wouldn’t mingle with the guests. So either you leave on that train tonight, or become my lover in the eyes of anyone who asks when I refuse to explain who you are.’

He stopped when he saw her pale, a reaction no person could fake. With those enormous eyes, she looked like Bambi after his mother had been shot. ‘I think it’s best if I leave,’ she said quietly, rubbing her wrist with an absent yet anxious movement which was horribly familiar.

Armand’s gaze narrowed. He used to do that with his finger in the years before his father had died and he took control of his life.

He went on as if he’d seen nothing. ‘But if it got about that you needed to run from here, it would ruin the reputation of my resort—and it has too many potential hazards for you.’

‘Such as?’ In her clear-to-read expression, there was a mixture of wariness to trust and an almost desperate hope that he had an answer to her problem.

‘People already know you’re in the run, Rachel—your pictures are on magazines every week. The accent, not to mention the eyes and smile, will give you away. If you leave now and go elsewhere, someone will recognise you, no matter what name you use,’ he said quietly.

She let out a tiny sigh. ‘That’s what I’m afraid of. I thought of using coloured contact-lenses, but over brown eyes it never really works. They end up looking muddy or weird.’

‘Disguises aren’t the answer. You need to stay out of the public eye for now.’ He made the assumption a matter of fact and, as she nodded, he felt the anticipation soaring. ‘You’re safe here, Rachel.’

The frozen look on her face relaxed. Slowly, the dazzling smile that was as endearing as it was puzzling was turned his way. ‘In the time I’ve been here, every member of your staff has worked hard to protect my identity.’

That smile, not to mention the fear crouching beneath it, left Armand more confused by the moment; all his assumptions had been torn away. From the moment he’d seen her start at the sound of his voice, the fear in her eyes too genuine to deny, the pieces had fallen apart. The rubbing of her wrist left Armand to re-form a puzzle he didn’t want to put back together. More than most people, he knew that fame and wealth did not guarantee a happy, trouble-free life.

Rachel wasn’t hiding in his resort just to build suspense to the right pitch before granting an exclusive interview to some glossy magazine for the requisite six or seven figures.

‘Your need for privacy exactly tallies with my own wishes. I’m about to purchase land for my third resort. Like my first one, it’s on the French side of the Swiss Alps. The local authorities investigate all new building projects thoroughly; complaints from my current guests are the last thing I need until the deal goes through. So, by solving both our problems this way, the work on my new resort will go ahead smoothly—if you’ll agree to my deal.’

He’d hoped to have her hooked by this time, but she half-tilted her head away from him, her gaze riveted to something about four inches from his face. ‘I’m listening,’ was all she said, but with the air of waiting for the axe to fall on her.