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

He leaned forward, hands on the table. ‘I stay here as usual, and will order a whole range of groceries to be delivered here, whatever you need. That won’t cause remark, as I often cook for myself. Some lunches and dinners I will spend in the resort with the guests, but I’ll be here the rest of the time. That’s my normal routine and we don’t need to break it. If by any chance someone sees you or us together, it’s easy for me to pretend to be indulging in a private romance with a mystery woman. Your name will never be mentioned. I’ll deal with inquisitive people.’ He lifted his brow with a cool, imperious air.

She bit her lip over that stunning, alive smile that filled her face. It made her look like a naughty conspirator. ‘I can see how that would work. I certainly wouldn’t ask, if you looked at me like that.’

He held in the grin; her mercurial moods were as infectious as they were baffling. ‘No member of the press can come unannounced through the gates onto the resort land, since the resort is solidly booked for months in advance. The only way in is through the dated key-card we send guests, and everyone that comes here wants the same level of privacy you need. If you stay here, you’ll have the luxury of being able to say nothing. If you cover yourself when you go out, and don’t talk to anyone but my staff, there is no reason that anyone should recognise you.’

‘You did,’ she pointed out. ‘Your staff did.’

He gave her a wry smile. ‘I heard your voice before I saw your face. It’s the voice that gives you away. Your show is on several channels here, dubbed into Italian, French or German for three of them, but the English cable-channel uses your face and voice for an advertisement for the show.’

She frowned and sighed. ‘I thought I’d be anonymous here.’

‘You are what you are, Rachel, but only for as long as you choose to stay famous. If you want to walk away from the life, people begin to forget soon enough and you can get on with whatever it is you want to do with your future.’

He’d spoken almost harshly, yet she smiled at him as if he’d handed her the key to the door of freedom. ‘Thank you,’ she said very softly, her eyes alight with relief, her entire face wreathed in the brilliance of her smile.

He had to wrench his gaze from her. When she came alive like that, it almost hurt him to look. ‘We can keep the pretence up for as long as you need.’

‘Oh, Armand … You don’t know what you just said, do you?’

Jerked back by her first use of his name, by the wonder in her tone, he saw the whole room had come alight with the force of that marvellous smile. It was so bright he fought the urge to blink and turn away. ‘What?’ he asked, fighting to keep his tone even and smooth. For years, he’d kept the façade seamless. How did she pull apart the edges of his control like that and look inside his soul without trying?

‘I might want a year, two years—and then you’d be stuck with me,’ she quipped, but wryly, so self-mockingly, he wondered if she had any plans to return to her public life. He noticed that she’d neatly sidestepped his subtle query on how much time she’d need with the lame joke.

His brows lifted. ‘I doubt it,’ he said, just as dryly. ‘There’s just one personal question I must ask: is there a prospective Mr Chase on the horizon to upset our plans?’

That subtle stiffening of her shoulders spread across her face and body. With deliberate grace, she sipped at coffee that must be nearly cold by now. ‘No.’

Though there was an invisible sign screaming ‘back off’ in neon letters, he forged on. ‘And there’s no chance of your reconciling with Dr Pete?’

She stilled for a few ticks of the clock, a few moments that seemed for ever. Her fingers rubbed absently at her right wrist again. It was an unconscious movement, a picture that told a million words he didn’t want to read. It was almost a full minute before she spoke. ‘No.’

Again, it was all she said. Though he waited another full minute for her to continue, she merely lifted her brows and turned her face to the big French cross-beamed doors leading to the balcony. She stared out over the terrasse to the Alpine peaks soaring above them with so much absent absorption, it bordered on rudeness.

In Armand’s experience, the less he said, the more a woman rushed to fill the silence. But Rachel sat silently, with a half-defiant smile that told him she didn’t care what he thought. No details given, not even an explanation as to why there was emphatically no man to fill the void Dr Pete had left.

When she remained stubbornly silent, he tossed a bomb to make her speak. ‘Don’t you want to know what I wish in return?’

Without looking at him, she said without expression, ‘You’ve already told me, I think. You want me to endorse the new resort for you, to extol the privacy and luxury of this one too, perhaps. You want me to bring other celebrities to your new resort when it’s built. You want me to advertise your resorts.’

By now he wasn’t taken aback by her perceptive guess—but he noticed that she didn’t even ask if she was right. ‘Yes, that is what I want,’ he said with a similar lack of animation, hiding how damned important it was to him. Someone as loved around the world as Rachel Rinaldi could help him crack the lucrative upper-end of the American market, and she’d fallen right into his lap. He could make the deal without months of negotiations and the endless hassle of speaking through lawyers and agents. He studied her face for a reaction. ‘Is it a deal?’

She shrugged with that slow elegance that felt like a wall being erected brick by brick. ‘I’m willing to do it, if you’re satisfied with such a poor bargain.’

He almost laughed in her face. Getting a woman as world-renowned as Mrs Pete to endorse his resorts was a coup of marvellous proportions for him, and she had to know it. ‘A poor bargain?’ he asked, tilting his head in clear enquiry. ‘Come on, Ms Chase, stop fishing for compliments. The whole world knows you were the one who caused the ratings jump in your husband’s show when it began failing. I’ve heard about the offer made to you since your split with Dr Pete. Your fans demanded you have your own chat show, taking Dr Pete’s place.’

‘That’s no surprise. Thanks to my, eh, husband’s public announcements about his love life and mine, half the world has heard about the offer.’

‘It’s all over the Internet and the news. People want to know where you are, what you’re up to.’

‘Trending now,’ she retorted in a self-mocking tone. She turned to him at last, but those big eyes were filled with an odd blend of self-deprecating humour and challenge. ‘But did you see that I’d accepted the offer? Is your idea contingent on my signing up for the show? You may be destined for disappointment.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of having my resort endorsed by a has-been, despite being one of the ilk myself,’ he said curtly.

‘I doubt anyone would call you a has-been. From what I hear, you chose to walk away from acting at the peak of your career—and this resort is truly beautiful without being overly opulent or flashy.’

He said, touched by the genuine praise, ‘Thank you, Rachel.’

She made a thoughtful face. ‘You know, when you think about it, loads of products get excellent endorsement returns from the average has-been.’ When he least expected it, she grinned. ‘I guess the regular Joe on the street will be able to identify with someone like me. My work has always been among the normal people. You’re quite perceptive, Herr Bollinger. It may turn out to be a sound business plan, if only your average schmuck could afford to stay here.’

She’d given away more than she knew. ‘So Dr Pete lied about the reconciliation and leaving you for the other woman in the first place? You’re not taking the job, either?’

Her cheerful demeanour vanished in an instant. ‘No comment.’

He squared his shoulders and sat back, only then realising he’d leaned forward, his hand almost touching hers across the table. What the hell had he been thinking to ask? He’d always prided himself on his discretion. So why had he asked?

Because, until now, women have told me their life story without my needing to make an effort. Rachel is my first failure since I was a teenager.

In an attempt to lighten the suddenly charged atmosphere, he said, ‘By the way, this is not the place to say “schmuck” to mean a person. People won’t understand. The original word means jewellery, mostly used, but it’s a general term.’

Her brows lifted, her darkness vanished in an instant. ‘My, how words change meaning in other languages!’ And she laughed, a rippling sound, loud and free. When she laughed, Rachel Chase laughed from the heart, and it made him want to laugh with her.

She was a constant surprise to him. Learning the little he knew about her had felt like he’d been pulling teeth, yet it left him feeling oddly fascinated, with a desire to know more.

Rachel was far from his usual type of woman. There was a sense that she’d left the most delicious parts of her conversation unspoken. Perhaps that was the source of his interest? ‘Maybe the meaning is not so different,’ he suggested, to discover what she’d say. Learning a single fact about this woman took more digging than he’d ever needed before. ‘It’s still something used, something tossed aside because someone no longer wanted it.’

She pulled a thoughtful face, looking like a pensive pixie. ‘That makes sense. We Americans merely made the leap from thing to person. Poor schmuck,’ she said again, and laughed. As if the sun had come out from behind clouds, the room seemed to light up with her face.

Armand had to drag his gaze away and get back to the business at hand. ‘So are you agreeable to my idea? If so, I’ll bring my suitcase in. Which bedroom are you using?’

She pointed to a door.

‘Ah, my mother’s old room.’ Before she could do more than briefly look horrified, he put up a hand. ‘Maman lives in her own house a few hours’ flight from here. She visits a few times a year. She’s not coming until summer now. She would be the first to say you’re welcome, Rachel.’ The name kept slipping so naturally from his lips, he barely noticed. ‘I’ll keep my room. The third is now a study, if you’ve noticed, with wireless Internet and computer. I can work in the hotel for a few hours a day, and if you need to work—’ he saw her stiffen again and added ‘—or need to keep up your communications, feel free.’

‘Thank you.’ Her voice was subdued, but she neither confirmed nor denied the subtle probe. It seemed he’d finally met the woman who didn’t want or need to defend herself against the accusations her ex had levelled at her. Whatever the truth was inside the story of Dr and Mrs Pete’s break-up, Rachel Chase obviously did not want or need to unburden herself to a stranger about her life, no matter how much he was helping her.

He didn’t care if she wanted to keep to herself—actually, it was quite refreshing. So from now on she would have what she wanted from him: peace and quiet.

‘I need to work for a couple of hours. I’ll be back before dinner.’ He gathered the lunch plates and coffee paraphernalia on one tray and stacked the other beneath. ‘There’s no point in hiding that I have a guest stying with me when people saw you take the tray. Do you mind if I order dinner for us? Is there anything you don’t like? What do you like to drink—wine, water, soft drinks?’

‘I don’t eat really spicy food, it burns my stomach,’ she confessed with a fledgling smile.

Strange, the way her smile hit him every time. Every time she did it, something or someone new seemed to peep out from behind the confident, caring persona of the woman he’d seen on TV—neither the frightened kitten nor the cool, defensive rebel he’d dealt with today. ‘And what is your drink of choice?’

‘I tend to stick to water at night, though I love the hot chocolate they make here.’

‘Consider it done; I’ll order both.’ He picked up the tray. ‘I’ll see you later.’

‘Um, Herr Bollinger?’

He turned at the door, looking over his shoulder. ‘My name is Armand.’

‘Armand …’ The name rolled off her tongue with that gorgeous southern accent of hers. It sent the oddest feeling through him, a sense of waiting fulfilled. ‘Thank you. I’ll try not to be too much trouble.’

He almost said a paying guest is never trouble, but he held it in. Seeing the smothered anxiety beneath her calm façade, he wondered what had happened to make her feel unworthy of even the most basic help—but he was afraid he already knew.

‘I am doing very little,’ he said coolly. ‘A few weeks sharing my cabin, and I get an endorsement of my resort in return.’

When he saw her shoulders finally relax, he felt the tension disappear from his body, but when he left the cabin his mind was racing. If a woman as loved by her fans as Rachel Rinaldi could feel that she was a bother just by sharing his cabin, there had to be a damned good reason.

There must also be a reason why she wasn’t giving her side of the story to the world. Surely she must know that, given her intense popularity, she’d be believed?

There were definite, unexpected depths to this woman, layers she didn’t want him to see, things he didn’t want to know.

He’d failed Maman—he’d left her to the abuse he couldn’t stop until his father’s death. He didn’t know what the hell he could do to help Rachel. Anything he tried would probably make things worse. But he was committed to spending the next few weeks with her.

So what could he do to ensure it wasn’t a disaster that would send her running from here before he got his endorsement?

CHAPTER FOUR

‘WHAT is this?’

Rachel looked at the electrical apparatus sitting in the centre of the table with vague suspicion. It looked like some sort of grill, with small-handled pots beneath the heating bars. A wonderful smell permeated the air: cheesy, but like no cheese she’d ever eaten. Bowls of food sat around the grill and a range of foods was sizzling on the rectangular grill-plate above.

‘You haven’t had this before?’ Armand asked, looking surprised. ‘You’ve been in Switzerland for weeks. Surely Max recommended it at least once?’

When she shook her head, he smiled with what looked like genuine pleasure. ‘Then I shall be the first to share this experience with you. This is raclette, a traditional Swiss food for winter—but usually it’s only served with potatoes and pickles. I like to switch it up a bit, add more to the menu.’

‘It smells divine.’

He used little wooden spade-like objects to flip the food over. ‘I order this for my first dinner whenever I return from being away.’

For a moment the impulse to ask where he’d been rose in her throat, but she forced it down. It wasn’t as if they were friends. They were strangers sharing a cabin and an agreement, no more. He’d respected her secrets; she would be showing the worst form of ingratitude if she didn’t do the same for him.

The trouble was that his patter, and the new food, had begun to relax her from the feeling of trepidation at his return tonight—that, and the jeans and sweatshirt he wore, both old but comfortable, by the looks of it. Everything felt informal, especially Armand himself—as if it was a deliberate ploy. She couldn’t help but wonder if there was something else he wanted from her.

But the way he moved in those clothes was so fluid, with such natural grace, she felt a surge of envy—and another emotion she didn’t want to identify. But she was a functioning woman, and any woman still breathing had to appreciate a man this masculine and this beautiful.

Although she’d showered this evening, she was still wearing a simple jeans and pullover. It was all she’d brought with her when she’d fled LA. She’d left everything behind: her name, her trademarks, any and all memories of Pete and her TV persona. And every day that she pulled on her comfy clothes, saw her natural brown hair, ring-free left hand, no make-up and didn’t have to endure another day of hunger to remain svelte for the camera was another happy day.

There was no way she’d play the perfect doll again. Not for any man.

But her half-hearted attempt at defiance died with her first sight of him in his jeans. Without that little surge of rebellion to protect her emotions, she felt naked. She’d never been happy without having some form of barrier. Her mother had taught her that. Her mother’s ladylike behaviour had been her protection from the hurt from her daddy’s careless philandering.

But no form of refined protest Rachel tried had ever stopped Pete from railroading her. Nor did it seem to work with Armand. She guessed she just didn’t have the way of it.

‘Please, come and sit down,’ he said with a smile, as if he hadn’t noticed her silence. ‘It’s ready to eat.’

‘Full points to Monika for the setting,’ she murmured as she sat down, anxious to give her new friends all the praise she could.

Armand moved her chair in. ‘Monika is finished for the day, but I will pass on thanks to the appropriate place.’

‘Thanks,’ she sighed, reflecting on Armand’s courtesy with a slightly uncomfortable feeling. Probably his good manners were ingrained in him, but it had the feel of subtle undercurrents, as seductive as they were dangerous. She felt as if she’d fallen into unfamiliar waters from the moment he’d come into her life, pulling her with gentle insistence out to sea.

Don’t think about it. Don’t look at him. Frowning, she looked beneath the grill plate and saw cheese bubbling in the little flat pans. ‘This looks delicious.’

‘It is, and so easy. Just cook what you like to eat, and when it’s ready pick what you want to eat, put it on your plate and pour the cheese over.’

The flavour burst on her tongue with the first mouthful. ‘Oh, this is superb, Armand,’ she murmured when her mouth was empty. ‘No wonder it’s a national dish—I’d eat it—’

‘Rachel?’

Her eyes snapped open at his tone of voice which, though quiet, held inexplicable warning. A tiny shiver ran through her spine and she forgot about the food. ‘What is it?’

He was looking only at his plate, seeming to enjoy the smell of his food. ‘Someone’s watching us through the terrasse door. She’s looking right at you.’

She heard one of her vertebrae snap into place as she straightened, but she didn’t look around. ‘You said she?’

‘Try to relax, Rachel,’ he said softly, still not looking at her. ‘It’s okay. I recognise her. It’s Amelia Heffernan, a regular visitor to the resort—she’s a widow, an incurable romantic, and also incurably nosy. She only arrived today. She must have heard the rumours of a woman staying here and came to check for herself.’

One by one, her vertebrae relaxed again. She drew in a breath, her first in almost a minute. She looked at him, trying not to show her fear. ‘Does she watch TV?’

‘She’s elderly—of course she does. And, yes, she loves the chat shows.’

Rachel turned cold all over. ‘Armand, if she recognises me and tells anyone …’

She couldn’t quite interpret his smile. ‘From where she’s standing, she can’t see your face. Stand up and come to me.’ He rose to his feet, moving to her. ‘Smile at me. Our ruse won’t work if you look like you’d rather walk into an iron maiden than into my arms.’

She looked down, shaking her head. ‘I can’t do it. I just can’t.’

He reached her chair, but didn’t touch it, only her shoulder. ‘Rachel,’ he murmured, ‘You don’t know me. You have no reason to trust me. But right now I’m all you have.’

Slowly she lifted her face, turning her neck so she looked into his eyes. In them she saw not the predatory male after dominance, not even tenderness, but a reluctant understanding. It made her breath catch.

‘Sometimes you have to leap,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s your choice.’

He was right. It had to be now or never.

Her heart beat a hard tattoo as she rose to shaky feet and he turned her body so she was in his arms. The look on his face was confident, a man sure of his welcome. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe …

‘It’s just like those days when the last thing you wanted was to be in front of the camera, Rachel. Remember? I’m smiling for her. If I must, I’ll kiss you for her. But none of it’s real. It’s all rehearsed. It’s not who we are. This man is not who I am. I’m helping you, nothing more.’

Rachel gulped, and nodded. Somehow his words made it easier to snuggle in. ‘It’s not real,’ she whispered to herself as she wrapped her arms around his neck. ‘It’s not real.’

‘This is the only way she won’t be able to see your face from any angle,’ Armand whispered, holding her against his body, her cheek against his heart.

Despite the tender reassurance, she suddenly rocketed back a few months in time, standing in Pete’s arms, waving to the audience the day after he’d first hit her. ‘Smile, Rachel,’ he’d muttered. ‘They all love us. Smile for them.’ He’d squeezed her waist, right where he’d hit her the night before after seeing that her fan rating was higher than his. He had been reminding her of who was in control, both in the show and in life.

‘Rachel?’

Her vision cleared, and she saw Armand looking down at her, tender and troubled. He wasn’t Pete, and she felt safer with this stranger than she had with anyone in a long time.

That gave her the courage to try. ‘Smile at me,’ she muttered through gritted teeth. ‘She’ll never believe it if you look at me like you’re scared I might break any second.’

He gave a soft chuckle and lowered his face to hers. Rachel jerked back before she could stop herself. ‘Make the leap, Rachel,’ he whispered, moving close again. ‘Trust me.’

She bit her lip, saw that look again, the sadness and the pain beneath the confident hunter—the wounded wolf. She gave permission in a tiny nod. ‘Do it.’

His lips barely touched one side of her mouth, and then the other side, in sweet mimickry of the real thing, leaving her heart banging like a jackhammer right up as high as her throat. Then he drew her closer still but, though it looked loving—seductive even—she was in his arms in a hold more gentle and protective than any she’d ever known. ‘I’m not him,’ Armand whispered into her hair.

Slowly, still trying to take air into lungs that wouldn’t behave and fill, she nodded. Not real? It was all too real, and something buried deep inside her came shimmering back to life. She could hardly remember the last time anyone had held her, unless it was for an audience. Though they had an audience of one now, Armand’s tender hold made her feel as if they were alone, that he was holding her because he wanted to …

He bent down to murmur against her ear. ‘Frau Heffernan has been coming to the resort since its reopening, and is very loyal. She just wants to know what’s going on. So, for now pretend to dance with me. She’ll interpret it as a private romance. She’ll love having the power of knowledge no one else has and, beyond teasing me about it in quiet moments, nothing will be said, certainly not in public.’

With a tender hand he moved her head so her face was buried against his chest as he hummed a song. He moved her in a slow shuffle, always keeping her face from the clear terrasse doors, protecting her with every movement he made.

She felt so safe. She felt his heart beating against her cheek, heard the swishing of his breath in and out as they danced. He wound his fingers through hers, held her waist with a light, reassuring clasp. How he managed to give her personal space when he held her like a lover, she couldn’t understand—but he did. Somehow he knew she couldn’t bear any form of male dominance.

He’d given her the choice in everything since he’d invaded her life.

It was a revelation to her as new and wondrous to her as a bud unfurling. Armand had walked away from the life Pete craved like a drug. Armand allowed her to hold her power without punishing her for it. And, yes, he let her know who was in control—she was.

His arms were so gentle, his hands so tender. She wanted to melt into him, to fall into this safe, beautiful place and never leave …