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

No. She’d been alone too long, that was all. Even on her wedding day part of her had felt lonely and lost. At nineteen she hadn’t known why; at thirty-two, she understood. Though Pete had always been extravagant with compliments and the words ‘I love you’, his self-love was all-absorbing, and allowed for nothing but the shallowest of affection for anyone else. The day she’d rebelled against his wishes, he’d shown her who was boss in punishing blows.

But now Armand had come into her life with his tender arms and his kindness, and he was a greater threat to her well-being than if he had been holding a sub-machine gun to her head.

And yet she couldn’t move from this hold, more seductive than any practiced caress could be. No wonder they called him the Wolf. He knew how to charm her into a state of hypnotic compliance, trusting him within hours of meeting him.

‘Is she gone?’ she whispered after what seemed like hours, minutes, seconds—she couldn’t work it out but, while it seemed too long, it wasn’t long enough.

He’s a stranger. She needed space now.

‘Not yet,’ he said quietly. ‘She’s got her heavy-weather gear on. She’s there until we notice her.’

Her fingertips were quivering as she fought against running, against holding on with all the strength she had. ‘What do you think?’

‘It’s your call, Rachel. I can look at her, embarrass her into leaving.’

About to assent, she thought of what it might cost him as the owner and hesitated. ‘Would you do that if I were a woman you—you …?’

‘Wanted to make love with?’ His voice sounded smoky now, and a hot shudder touched her skin with slow, sensuous fingertips. ‘No, I probably wouldn’t have noticed her at all. By now I’d have carried you to the bedroom.’

Gulp, gulp … The lump in her throat just wouldn’t go away. ‘I … Herr Bollinger …’

‘It’s Armand—and if I carry you to the bedroom tonight it will only be for show. I don’t abuse women, or persuade them against their will, Rachel Chase. Remember that.’

At that, she stilled so totally she felt her pulse in her throat—and then from somewhere inside her, the fighter came back. ‘Then don’t speak to me so intimately. We’re strangers sharing a cabin, no more than that—and, please remember, I’m still a paying guest.’

‘Touché, Ms Chase. That’s very good.’ A rumbling laugh rippled through his body and, though she fought against his power, he still infected her with his mirth. ‘And I will not point out that the fact that we’re in this situation is totally your own fault because you moved in on my private domain. My mother raised me to be a gentleman.’

She grinned against the windcheater he wore, which was as warm as his teasing comment. ‘And my mama raised me to be a southern lady. So don’t touch me without permission, Armand Bollinger. You might be a wolf, but I can become a she-bear without warning.’

‘Consider me appropriately chastened.’

The laughing tone made her feel absurdly happy. ‘How weird is this conversation, given our current circumstances?’ she whispered, feeling his skin touching hers. They were only hand to hand, cheek to cheek, but it moved with invisible fingertips into her soul.

‘That’s just what I was thinking.’ He relaxed his arms and looked down at her, smiling.

Oh, those silly hot shivers! ‘So, is she still there?’

He checked briefly without seeming to. ‘She is, in a covered corner of the terrasse, and watching us avidly. Time to implement plan B—the wolf must dare the she-bear and we’ll see who wins.’ He lifted her in his arms, his eyes twinkling as he smiled down at her. Slowly, he rubbed his cheek against hers with absolute gentleness. ‘You’re a very little bear. I can bearly feel you.’

Warm, safe and beautiful all at once—oh, this man was too seductive for his own good in making her feel this way, even when he was trying to reassure her with his teasing. ‘Ha ha. That’s because I’m fading away from hunger,’ she complained, trying to joke her way into a normal breathing pattern and heartbeat.

He sniffed and his face darkened. ‘The cheese is burning.’ He put her back down in her chair, turned back and strode over to the terrasse doors. After flashing a dark look at the elderly lady, he wound the built-in blinds down. He kept going even after the startled Frau Heffernan had scuttled away. ‘Good, now we can eat. I’ll clean the pans and be right back.’

Rachel was glad she was sitting down. Her knees really didn’t want to be straight at this point.

Armand’s knees seemed just fine. After he picked up the collection of little trays, he headed for the kitchen with a clean, confident stride. ‘Can you turn the heat down on the grill and take the food off the top while I clean these, please, Rachel? I’ll be back in a few minutes. Hopefully everything won’t get too cold.’

He spoke in his ordinary voice, as though nothing had happened.

Perhaps to him it hadn’t.

‘Okay, consider it done.’ After speaking as calmly as possible, Rachel drew a deep, slow breath, wondering how the world could turn upside down in a few hours. From feeling safely hidden away, she was out of her depth in waters as sweet as they were turbulent, and all because of one tycoon in shining armour …

Feeling a fervent kinship with the elderly woman—she wanted to scuttle away from Armand too, never come back and definitely never see him again—she made a noncommittal noise of assent and began moving the food from the grill.

‘Don’t think about it, just don’t think about it,’ she chanted beneath her breath. She shoved a crispy piece of bacon on her tongue and chewed on it despite the fact that it tasted like ashes in her mouth.

What just happened in there?

Armand leaned against the sink for a moment, just breathing. He tossed the raclette trays in the sink and ran warm, soapy water over them. Even as he cleaned out the hard cheese and washed them he was conscious of the crazy feeling that had sent him running in here. It hadn’t lessened, despite the space between them.

So stupid, to lose his temper over something as simple as burning cheese! He supposed he’d had to do something—and it was either take out his sudden anger on the raclette grill and Frau Heffernan, a rich widow without a life of her own, or give in to the consuming need to touch Rachel again.

How idiotic was it to touch a woman in his own home? And yet it felt so right.

He’d never brought a woman here, apart from Maman, Johanna and Carla. It was their home as much as his, since Papa had left it to them all equally. It had been almost all he’d had left to give after the fire destroyed the first resort, and he’d gambled away everything else. To Armand, this cabin was his home, a sacred place of refuge. He’d never brought a woman here until now.

At first, he’d thought it was simple pity. She was alone in a world turned against her, and her jerk of a husband had betrayed her publicly.

Then he’d seen the way she rubbed at her left wrist almost absently, as if in reminder. Maman had done the same thing, long after the breaks had healed from his father’s repeated beatings. When Rachel had caught him looking, she’d tried to hide it far too quickly, just as Maman had.

Armand seethed and burned still, just thinking about the shame and embarrassment on Rachel’s face. If that damned ‘doc with empathy’ had been here right now …

It came down to this: Rachel Chase needed protection from Rinaldi, and he could give it.

And you have to do it, because you didn’t protect your own mother.

There was the crux of it. More than twenty years ago, Armand had woken one night to see the truth he’d probably always known—his father had beaten Maman two shades too hard to hide the bruises; he’d broken her arm.

Armand couldn’t change the damage done to his family, but he’d stop Rinaldi from damaging Rachel any further. If Rinaldi showed up, he’d be here waiting.

Despite her spunk and her volatile changes, her inner strength and perception, Rachel was no she-bear. She couldn’t protect herself physically against the likes of Dr Pete, let alone stand against the media onslaught. Armand had the skills, the wealth and the place to protect her—and the reputation didn’t hurt. If Rinaldi showed his face here, he’d meet with the Wolf, all right—a wolf in protective mode. He didn’t care what it took right now, he’d keep Rachel safe.

But he could not and would not hold her again. It was too dangerous to the calm demeanour she needed from him. She needed to heal, not have her protector fantasising about making her his lover. And to make sure she was safe, he had to be in control of his emotions.

Damn it, when has touching a woman ever been this emotional for me?

‘So stop looking at her. Stop thinking about it,’ he growled to himself.

Stop remembering how it felt to hold her.

He had to remember instead that she’d called him Herr Bollinger, putting space between them the moment he’d shown her that his male imagination was running riot. She’s been through enough. She doesn’t want you for anything but protection. She needs a friend.

So a friend he’d be. Nothing had happened, really—just a new kind of male reaction to a sweet, curvy bundle of woman in his arms. End of story.

But every single one of the cheese trays had grooves in them from the steel wool he’d gouged into them with his cleaning efforts when he carried them back into the dining table.

When he glanced at her, she was sitting in her place with seeming calm, but her fingers were laced so tightly together they had white patches. Looking up, he saw the apprehension in those shimmering, far-too-expressive eyes, and the paleness of her cheeks.

Had he frightened her with his emotions? He smiled in rueful apology, but it felt as if he’d gouged his smile in place too. Reassure her; be gentle. A friend, only a friend.

This was going to be a very long few weeks.

CHAPTER FIVE

IT was almost nine the next morning when Armand—who’d risen at six, had showered, enjoyed breakfast and was currently working from the cabin office—heard the door of the other bedroom squeak slightly as if being opened. ‘Good morning, Rachel,’ he called.

He received only a grunt in reply. From the open door, he saw a pyjama-clad form holding a bundle of clothes dash past him to the bathroom. The door slammed behind her.

With raised brows, he kept working. Somebody, it seemed, was not a morning person—or, like most women he’d met, Rachel didn’t like appearing before others while she was looking her worst.

Not that she did. The brief flash past him had been candy-pink, all tousled hair, rumpled clothes, curvaceousness and, altogether, rather delicious.

Stop it. With a determined growl, he pushed the vision of her from his thoughts and kept working on the latest round of paperwork from the local officials for the new land.

Somebody obviously also liked long showers. It was almost half an hour later when she finally emerged. Her curvy shape was encased in similar jeans to last night, and a long-sleeved T-shirt with ‘sometimes your knight in shining armour is just a jerk in tin foil’ emblazoned on it. Clear-painted toes peeped from the open-ended hotel slippers. Her hair was shining, cheeks flushed and her skin glowed with health. Again, her face was free of make-up, but she still managed to look radiant. It was her eyes, her smile. With those weapons at her disposal, she’d never need the rest.

‘Now I’m human enough to say hi,’ she announced gaily as she shuffled towards him, the slippers making a soft swish-swish on the wooden floors. ‘Good morning, Armand. Did you sleep well?’

About to ask the same thing, he nodded, surprised anew that ‘Mrs Pete’ would be the one to ask first. ‘Thank you. And you?’

She nodded in return. ‘The beds here are very comfortable.’

‘You’ve been here a few weeks now, I believe. Do you have any thoughts on ways to improve the standard of the resort?’

Her smile slipped a touch. A wary kind of nervousness entered her eyes. He didn’t know what was going on. Such an innocuous question shouldn’t send her running for cover. ‘I only asked because I wish to attract all kinds of international guests.’ he said gently. ‘I’ve catered in the European style. You’re American—your honest opinion is the kind of feedback I need.’

‘Oh.’ She relaxed so visibly he could almost see her muscles uncoiling. ‘Well, while the rooms are wonderful, for people that want real privacy, or for family vacations or reunions, cabins like this would be in demand, I think.’

He frowned. ‘The suites aren’t enough?’

‘Oh, they’re wonderful,’ she rushed to say. ‘I—I was just thinking—you know, forget it. What do I know? I never stayed at a place like this until I was an adult. Your guests probably don’t want kids and noisy families here. It was a stupid thought.’

‘Rachel.’ With a hand on hers, he stopped the babbling. ‘I did cater this first resort for adults, and the second in Chamonix, but I want to extend for the third, make it more family-friendly. I loved it when we stayed here when I was a boy. Providing cabins helps the resort to compete with the sport hotels and bed and breakfasts.’ He typed the information quickly into the email he was composing to his architect and sent it. ‘Done.’

Then he turned to her and smiled again. ‘Thank you for that, Rachel. The more ideas I provide for the third resort, the better chance I have of acquiring the land. Laws for building resorts can be rather stringent here.’

‘You’re welcome,’ was all she said, but the look of shy delight on her face both moved and puzzled him. This level of insecurity surely went deeper than his suspicions. How could a woman so famous for giving good advice not be jaded by people’s thanks?

You’re getting in too deep here. She isn’t Maman. You can’t balance your debt to Maman and the girls by helping this woman.

He knew nothing of her outside the tabloids, such as why she had the name ‘Rhonda Braithwaite’ on her suitcases and ‘Rachel Chase’ on the passport she’d given at the reception desk. He didn’t know if she was a good person or …

Yes, he did know that, by the way she’d shouldered the blame instead of letting a single member of his staff be reprimanded. He knew it by the horror on her face when he had told her this was his cabin. He knew it by the way she hadn’t tried to bargain with him over his deal, though she had to know who was getting the better end of it.

And, damn it, he knew how good it felt to hold her in his arms—and he knew she’d felt it too, even if she didn’t want to be there.

Whether he wanted to get involved or not, he was already in way over his head here.

‘You never answered me yesterday, when I asked how long you thought you’d need my help here.’ He kept the question gentle, masking the intense need to show the turbulence inside. His anger wasn’t aimed at her, but at the men of the world who felt it was their right to abuse a woman or a child. Anger, because it seemed impossible to change one man’s way of thinking and behaviour, let alone the world’s. It will never happen again, they always said, until they lost their temper again.

‘Is time an issue for you? If so, I can go any time, really.’

Armand heard the undoubted tone of fear beneath the projected calm in her voice. She was using every trick in her psychologist’s book, not to charm him or pry into his life, but to hide her deepest emotions from him.

‘Well, it could be an issue if you were planning on staying here for the next five years,’ he said, angling for a laugh, or at least to make her relax a bit. ‘I do have three resorts to manage—at least once this next one’s built.’

‘And you ought to be there to oversee the project.’ The words were sympathetic now the psychologist’s persona she slipped into without a problem. He thought it was because then she could hide her real self—the woman she was ashamed of being. ‘As I said, there’s really no issue if you have to go at any time. If you don’t mind me staying, I’ll be fine here alone.’

Yet it was a problem for her. He knew that, but he had no right to ask. Even being her temporary protector didn’t cancel out the fact that he’d known her less than twenty-four hours. He couldn’t butt in on her private world.

So he tried the one way that seemed to work for her. ‘And still she doesn’t tell me her time frame. Rachel Chase, international woman of mystery … You didn’t tell me you worked for MI6. Or the CIA, since you’re American. Or are you?’ he riposted with a grin.

Her face relaxed. She bit her lip, but laughed anyway. She laughed like a child every time, laughed as though she meant it. It lit up the room. It lit up his safe, predictable world, and filled it with warmth, colour and enchantment.

‘Is two weeks okay with you, maybe three?’

The words broke into uncomfortable conclusions, giving the rainbow light and myriad warmth a time-limit. He was relieved; of course he was. It was best this way, short and sweet. He’d had small infatuations before with unattainable women and he’d recovered. Yes, he liked Rachel—found her adorable, damn it—and he definitely liked the way she felt in his arms. But it wouldn’t be a tragedy if she left tomorrow or the next day. Or in two weeks or three. He was stronger than that, had survived a lot worse disasters than a woman leaving his life after a few weeks. Facile venir, facile aller—easy come, easy go—that was his motto.

‘Good,’ he replied at last, with a cheerfulness that seemed overdone, even to his paranoid ears. ‘Two weeks is definitely doable—or even three or four.’

‘Really? I can stay? It’s not an issue for you?’ she asked, her eyes wide and her smile bouncing off those unseen prisms in the room. Rainbow reflections were everywhere …

He felt his eyes blink in astonishment at having made an offer she hadn’t asked for. What was wrong with him lately? ‘Yes, of course,’ he said smoothly. ‘You are a paying guest, after all.’

Something came and went in her face, a frisson of apprehension. Her smile faded to something weak and half-hearted. ‘Well, then, we both know where we are. The day I run out of funds, I’ll be out of your hair for good, Herr Bollinger.’

Brave words, but her fingers trembled. And he could have kicked himself. No doubt Dr Pete had frozen the accounts, hoping that sooner or later his newly renamed wife would be forced to come into the open and use electronic funds to survive. Then he could find her, and bring her to heel. She might already have run out of money.

It was only when she’d left the room, still clutching at her pyjamas—cute pink things with little cats on the telephone—that he realised she hadn’t called him Armand since he’d brought up the subject of her stay. She knew he was trying to manipulate her, however subtle he’d been in his effort. He’d tried to dig into her life, and again she’d given nothing away.

Two, maybe three weeks was all he had to get her out of danger—that was, if she didn’t run out of funds first. And, given his complete failure in getting a single personal concession from her, three weeks wouldn’t be nearly enough.

Without needing to think it through, he emailed Max again.

Nobody is to mention funds to Ms Chase. She is our honoured guest, for as long as she needs to be here.

He said nothing else, but he knew Max wouldn’t ask. It was Armand’s practise to allow respected clients some space and time to pay their bills. He’d always judged this by instinct alone and he’d never been wrong. They always came through sooner or later, and they’d all become numbered among his most loyal returning guests or even investors.

Now all he needed was to think of a reasonable excuse that would allow her to stay and still satisfy her pride. He just knew that, if he couldn’t come up with something really good, she’d leave with her head high, refusing his charity. He couldn’t let her vanish without trace, not when he was sure that sooner or later, she’d run into more trouble than she could handle alone.

That afternoon

‘It’s a simple contract, Rachel. You stay here until I’ve secured the new resort and I have the architect’s plans. Then I’ll take you there, and you can endorse at least two of my resorts with honesty.’

Rachel frowned at Armand, sensing something deeper than he was showing with this perfect courtesy. ‘Why do you need me to sign a contract? I’ve said I’ll do it.’

His eyes darkened to stormy grey, the hidden lightning beneath the handsome diplomat’s face. He only looked like that when he was hiding something. ‘Because then, if you change your mind and sign on for that show, or pursue other avenues with your career, you’re legally bound to this venture first.’

‘I’ve never broken a contract in my life,’ she replied, aiming for calm, but knowing her voice shook a little. ‘Whatever you’ve heard about me …’

His facial muscles didn’t shift; he looked calm, but she sensed the tempest buried deep inside his emotions, like black clouds on the edge of a summer-blue sky. ‘I’ve heard nothing to your detriment, Rachel. I don’t buy tabloids for entertainment. I’m merely used to conducting my business on more than a handshake or verbal agreement. I’ve found it’s safer that way—for both of us.’

‘I see.’ Now she couldn’t keep the stiffness from her tone. No matter how he couched it, it was obvious that he didn’t trust her. ‘Then I’ll fax a copy to my lawyer and have him read over it before I sign.’

A short pause, then he said, ‘Are you certain it’s wise to contact someone from home?’

No matter how tactfully he’d said it, the unspoken knowledge hovered between them. Silence had become her bulwark and shield, but with a few tactful words he’d given her a timely reminder. Yes, Pete would lean on her lawyer to divulge her whereabouts, should she contact him. She already knew he’d done the same with her parents and her sister, Sara. Until she’d turned off her phone, all their calls had been reproaches about abandoning ‘poor Pete’ in his time of need.

That Armand hadn’t spoken about Pete directly showed she was right. He already knew or suspected far too much.

‘Then I’ll find a lawyer in Zürich. One that speaks English,’ she added defiantly, before he could say it. ‘There must be loads of them.’

‘There are, and that’s your right, certainly. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. It’s best we keep this entire matter as a business arrangement.’ His tone was as withdrawn as hers. Though she knew it was stupid, she wondered what she’d said or done to put distance between them when just last night, they’d been so close.

Don’t think about it.

Like it or not, separated or not—even though Pete had cheated on her at least twice—she was still a married woman for another few weeks. She had no right to think about how much Armand’s holding her last night had affected her, let alone keep reliving how safe she’d felt How warm and tender his arms and hands had been. And the look in his eyes …

No. She had to remember, this arrangement was all just business: keep Rachel happy, keep her here, let her think you might be interested until the resort’s endorsed. And, if the ads fail, drop her like a hot potato.

That’s why he’s called the Wolf, right? He’ll do whatever it takes to make his ideas work. It’s said he hasn’t failed at anything he’s taken on since he was seventeen.

And yet, impatient with this wary reserve, sick of trusting no one, she picked up the five-page contract and read it through. It was exactly as he’d said: straightforward, no hidden clauses. She was to stay here free of charge until the deal went through for the resort on the Swiss side of the French border. Then she would appear on a series of endorsements for the Bollinger resorts, and that would be that.