Susan Stephens Selection: The French Count's Mistress / The Spaniard's Revenge / Virgin for Sale / Bedded by the Desert King

‘I haven’t got all day, Kate,’ he prompted.

Yes, she thought irritably. The indulgent note in his voice was unmistakable. He did think of her as that little girl. She had brought it upon herself. All those years of carving a niche for herself in one of the most competitive business arenas had been erased in a moment by market stall clothes.

‘Kate?’ His voice had grown sharper. ‘I’m sorry, Kate, but I really must insist—’

His tone of voice left her in no doubt that they had almost passed the point where she had any credibility left. Guy de Villeneuve’s switch from sexual predator to time-starved tycoon was effortless and Kate knew she would have to match his mood or capitulate.

‘I’m not selling the cottage back to you,’ she said at last. ‘I’m going to live in it.’

The Count’s face betrayed no emotion whatever as he reached for a folder from a pile stacked in front of him.

‘Well?’ Kate pressed. ‘Don’t you have anything to say?’

‘There are a few things I think I need to explain to you about La Petite Maison,’ he said as he slipped some documents from the folder and laid them out on the desk.

‘I disagree,’ Kate said firmly. ‘It all seems pretty clear to me. The cottage used to belong to my aunt, Madame Broadbent. And now it belongs to me.’

‘I am aware that the cottage you refer to was included in the estate of Madame Broadbent,’ the Count agreed evenly. ‘But until today—’

‘You had no idea—’

‘To whom she had bequeathed it,’ he murmured as he scanned the papers. After checking them briefly he pushed them across the desk to her.

‘Before I look at these,’ Kate said, fixing him with a determined stare, ‘I would like to know what has happened to the money I have been paying into your estate office. You can’t tell me there isn’t a record—’ She stopped. Something in his expression warned her that this was not the moment to jump on her high horse.

‘I am aware of every payment received for La Petite Maison,’ the Count assured her. ‘But those transactions show nothing more than a company name.’ Picking out a couple more sheets, he passed them over to her.

Kate’s stomach contracted. Even Guy de Villeneuve could not be expected to know that Freedom Holidays was her company. But that didn’t excuse the state of the cottage. As she felt his gaze resting on her she pretended interest in the invoice… But his sexual aura was lapping around her senses, clouding her mind with erotic images that had nothing to do with the purpose of her visit.

‘But if all these payments are in order,’ she began huskily, ‘how do you explain the neglect at the cottage?’ She tossed the invoices back across the desk to avoid looking at him.

‘Ancient covenants govern La Petite Maison just the same as they do all the other cottages on the estate. Also it is leasehold. Accordingly, I don’t need to explain my actions. The fact that I choose to—’

‘You choose to?’ Kate flared, even though her logical mind told her he was acting honourably.

‘Certainement,’ he confirmed.

‘So, no one has any rights except you?’ Her emotional self took another battering as he answered her heated question with just a slight lift of his shoulders.

‘Who else did you imagine owned the land on which all the estate cottages stand, Kate?’

‘You—’ She found herself flailing about mentally, wondering why on earth she hadn’t confronted this obvious fact before. Why had she chosen to ignore the reality of Guy de Villeneuve as a neighbour? And now it seemed as landlord too!

‘That is correct,’ he said, making a bridge of his fingers on which to rest his chin.

She knew he was waiting to see what her response would be now she knew he held all the cards. Well, that look might have weakened other women— ‘I have found no record of my aunt ever making a payment for ground rent,’ she said, confronting the gaze he was levelling at her with an unwavering stare. ‘And I have checked through every one of her documents thoroughly—’

‘All except the deeds for the cottage, I presume,’ he observed, keeping his eyes trained on her face.

As she watched them darken from silver-grey to steel and then grow blacker still she raced to gather her wits while she still had some left. ‘Well, yes,’ she admitted. ‘I left that to my solicitor. And he said…’ Her voice tailed away.

Mr Jones had been at pains to explain that property law pertaining to ancient estates in France could be quite a minefield. He had asked her to make an appointment so that they could have a proper discussion regarding his many concerns. But she had been too busy to meet him—too busy making plans for this, her new venture.

As if scenting victory, the Count had grown very still like a jungle cat about to pounce. ‘It was remiss of your solicitor not to mention—’

‘No,’ Kate admitted reluctantly. ‘I am the one to blame. My solicitor wanted to go through everything with me in detail. I just haven’t had time—’

‘Ah,’ the Count said as if to imply that she might have done better to slow down and prioritise. ‘Is there something else?’ he added shrewdly.

‘Yes,’ Kate said, feeling she was on to something. ‘You still haven’t explained why there are no records of Aunt Alice ever making payment for a lease—’

‘Madame Broadbent was never asked for money,’ the Count revealed quietly. ‘As one of my mother’s closest friends it would have been highly inappropriate to exact any form of payment from her.’

‘You seemed to have no trouble accepting mine,’ Kate said, feeling unaccountably stung by this revelation.

‘All your payments will be returned with interest.’

‘But I don’t want them returned. I want the money spent on the cottage,’ she insisted again.

‘C’est impossible,’ he said with finality. ‘There will no longer be any independent cottages on my estate.’

‘What are you talking about?’

Unfolding his impressive frame, the Count got to his feet. ‘You will find my offer more than generous,’ he said in a voice that suggested their meeting was over. ‘I can assure you that everyone else has been more than satisfied—’

‘Oh, really?’

‘Oui, vraiment.’ His voice was clipped and dry, but abruptly his steely gaze softened. ‘Come on, Katie,’ he urged. ‘What do you need a second home in France for if you are so busy—?’

‘My name is Kate!’ Kate flared, horrified to hear the break in her voice.

‘Kate,’ he amended easily. ‘But, however you like to be called, you still haven’t answered my question.’

From cool and collected businesswoman, Kate suddenly found herself plunged into an emotional maelstrom she couldn’t contain. ‘Well, here’s one for you,’ she said hotly as she sprang up to confront him. ‘Are you trying to tell me that everyone—absolutely everyone else has accepted this deal?’ The way she stressed the last word turned it into an accusation.

‘I’m not trying to tell you anything, Kate,’ the Count countered calmly. ‘It’s a fact. And I’m not offering anyone a deal. I’m making them a fair offer.’

Kate couldn’t speak for a moment as she stood mashing her lips together in total impotence while fractured images of blissful childhood holidays flashed behind her eyes—holidays she had naïvely imagined she could recreate. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she said stubbornly.

‘Believe it,’ he returned steadily. ‘The days when holiday homes were an integral part of the Villeneuve estates are in the past.’

‘But what about all the other tenants—their relatives—friends?’ Kate said heatedly as the eclectic group of characters that used to holiday on the estate each year gathered in her mind. ‘Don’t you care about them at all?’

‘The people to whom I presume you are referring used the cottages as second homes—holiday homes,’ he said patiently. ‘And without a single exception they were all delighted to accept my offer.’

‘Well, I’m not,’ Kate said, clenching her fists into balls of frustration.

‘You haven’t heard what’s on offer yet,’ he pointed out.

‘And I don’t need to,’ Kate assured him as her heart struggled to accept the fact that she could not hold on to the past by sheer force of will.

‘Ca suffit maintenant! You must listen to what I have to say, Kate,’ he insisted firmly. ‘This is a working estate now, not a holiday camp.’

‘It never was a holiday camp,’ she fired back at him. ‘And I seem to remember a time when your family welcomed visitors.’ But the heat was seeping out of her attack. He had made it quite clear that there was no crusade for her to embark on—it was far too late for that.

‘That may have been true when my father was alive,’ he conceded gently. ‘But the Villeneuve estates are destined to make a great deal of money now. These vineyards will eventually become some of the most profitable in the world—’

‘Money!’ Kate muttered angrily as she turned away to lash her arms around her body in a defensive hug. ‘Is profit and loss all you care about now?’ She swung round to confront him again.

She had always known that once Guy de Villeneuve took over the running of the estates he would make a success of it…of his life…of everything. She pulled her gaze away when she saw that the corners of his mouth were slipping down in a rueful smile.

‘I’m sorry you feel like that, Kate,’ he said evenly. ‘I know money isn’t everything. But would you rather the estate went bankrupt…that families who have lived in the village for generations were scattered to the four winds? Because that’s where harsh reality was leading. I haven’t enjoyed every part of this revival, despite what you think. Yes, sacrifices have had to be made. But something had to give and I was determined it wouldn’t be those people who depend on me for their livelihoods.’ And, when she didn’t reply and only hugged herself closer in the full knowledge that what he was saying made sense, he added softly, ‘Think what you will of me, Kate. But the fact remains that times have changed and so have I. And so must you—’

‘No!’ she flared passionately, suddenly overcome with a great dread of leaving France—of abandoning her hopes, her dreams. The very idea was insupportable. ‘Take your wretched ground rent! Ten years in advance if you must! I own the lease on the cottage now and I have no intention of selling it back to you. You’ll just have to conduct your business around me.’

‘That can be arranged,’ he agreed thoughtfully.

Too thoughtfully, Kate realised, even through the red haze of anger that was threatening to engulf her. He seized every barb she flung his way and sent back a rainbow. In that sense if no other nothing had changed between them. She was still the wilful tomboy in thrall to Guy de Villeneuve’s mastery. But she was a successful woman now, with her own business empire to run, she reminded herself furiously. And this obduracy on his part was infuriating and unfair. He clearly wasn’t going to take her seriously, unless—

‘So, you’ll conduct your business around me while I carry out my business from the cottage?’ she demanded as the need to provoke a reaction overtook her caution. She watched as one of his upswept ebony brows quirked in mild surprise and waited for what she confidently expected would be a huge explosion.

‘Your business?’ he enquired softly.

‘That’s what I said.’

But what do you intend to—?’

‘Oh, more of the same,’ Kate confessed vaguely, flipping her wrist as if what it was need not concern him.

‘The same as what, Kate?’ he pressed, an ominous note sounding now in his mellow tone. ‘Having established that you are in fact the principal shareholder of Freedom Holidays,’ he continued, as if reasoning everything through out loud, ‘I can hardly imagine that you intend to set up one of your vast Internet travel shops in the heart of the French countryside. Where will you get your customers from? Not to mention your staff—’

‘For what I have in mind,’ Kate revealed, feeling her confidence growing by the second, ‘I am the only member of staff necessary.’ She knew she had struck a goal at last and had the satisfaction of seeing his handsome brow pleat in puzzlement.

‘But all your other sites are on the high street—’

‘No. You’re missing the point,’ she said, feeling the same rush of excitement she felt each time she contemplated this new turn in her career.

‘Vraiment, I am?’ he said, bringing his brows together to view her through narrowed silver-slit eyes.

‘This isn’t going to be like my other sites,’ she said, struggling to rein back her enthusiasm in case she gave too much away too soon.

‘A new venture?’

‘You could say that,’ she admitted, forced to look away from his sharp stare.

‘So, explain what you mean,’ he insisted in a tone that was gentle in the same way that he might be gentle with a fishing line before giving it that final tug.

Or gentle like an extremely persuasive and ultimately demanding caress, Kate thought, momentarily losing her train of thought. Changing tack, she went back on the attack.

‘That’s more than enough information for now,’ she said, relishing the unaccustomed sense of having outmanoeuvred him for once. ‘I shall expect your people to come tomorrow and pull down all the boards covering my windows, tidy the garden, reconnect the mains services—’

‘Seigneur! Is that all?’

And now she gave him the full benefit of her confident emerald stare. ‘I’m not joking, Guy’ she warned. ‘I’ve paid good money for the upkeep of La Petite Maison and now I want to see some results. The whole place is in a chaotic state…and I thought I was paying for—’

‘What, Kate?’ His eyes were like flint.

Sensation ripped through her—awareness, longing and then finally, after a huge internal battle, resolve. ‘You’ll see to it?’

‘There’s hardly any point—’

‘No point?’

‘I thought I had made myself clear, Kate. There are to be no more holiday homes on the Villeneuve estate—’

‘And I thought I made myself equally clear,’ Kate returned tensely. ‘La Petite Maison is not going to be a holiday home. And, what’s more, it’s not for sale—to you, or to anyone else.’

‘You may come to regret that decision—’

‘Are you threatening me, Guy?’

Rather than checking him, this challenge only served to unleash something primal in his gaze, so that what had once been so direct, so uncompromising, grew dangerously hot. Throwing his head back, he loosed a short and very masculine laugh. ‘Still so fiery, Kate,’ he growled approvingly. ‘Still my little spitfire, aren’t you, Katie Foster?’

The possessive note in his voice…domination almost, released a tidal wave of longing inside Kate’s chest—a tidal wave that swept quickly to inhabit each one of her erotic zones. And not singly, allowing her time to adjust and conceal, but all at once so that she gasped and reddened as instinctively she swayed towards him.

‘A spitfire on heat, Katie?’ he suggested sardonically as he moved away.

Reduced to shaking her head in violent denial, Kate managed to gasp out a correction on her childhood name at least. But even as she uttered the reprimand she knew by his face that it fell on deaf ears.

‘So,’ he said, clearly relishing the moment, ‘it’s good to see that nothing’s changed since we last met.’

His arrogance was astounding, but at least it served as a wake-up call.

‘You might find that quite a lot has changed in ten years,’ Kate said tensely. ‘Not least of which is my capacity for standing up for myself.’

‘Excellent,’ he drawled mildly in French. ‘I love a good fight.’

His bold stare sent ribbons of fire curling down her spine. She watched transfixed as he reached up to loosen his silk tie with one strong tanned hand and then went on to free a couple of buttons at the neck of his crisp white shirt.

‘Maybe some things have changed,’ he agreed as he viewed her through storm-grey eyes. ‘But, as far as I can see, only for the better.’

Kate tried to look away as he lazily fingered the blue-black stubble shading his jaw but found she couldn’t.

‘Stop it!’ she warned as he prowled a step closer. ‘You were wrong about me ten years ago. And you’re just as wrong about me now.’ She saw his eyes gleam at the recollection.

‘Ten years ago there was some excuse for your behaviour,’ he said sternly, his mouth curving with pleasure when he saw how easily the authority in his voice melted her. ‘You were only sixteen,’ he continued relentlessly. ‘And, if I remember the occasion correctly, it was you who made a mistake, not me.’

As he exhaled the last words on a sigh of mock-regret the thunderous pulse in her chest moved down to a lower and far more receptive area.

‘By imagining you were a gentleman?’ she demanded breathlessly, fighting to keep her voice steady as she tried not to betray what was happening.

He shrugged off the insult. ‘By imagining I would take advantage of you when you were little more than a child.’ As his darkly amused glance swept over her it seemed to confirm that she no longer qualified for this consideration.

‘You didn’t have to—’

‘Didn’t have to what?’ he cut in. ‘Throw you over my shoulder and transport you back to the safety of Madame Broadbent’s arms?’

‘They were a damn sight safer than yours!’ She was unprepared for the sensual onslaught precipitated by the images of that one careless remark. But even remembering her clumsy attempt to make a pass at him all those years ago wasn’t to blame for the colour that rushed to her cheeks. It was his friends’ faces when Guy had hoisted her into his arms and carried her away from his party and back to her aunt’s cottage. She felt the humiliation as keenly now as she had done at the time.

‘I’ll forget it if you will,’ he suggested wryly. ‘Shall we start again from scratch?’

‘Not a chance!’ Kate flared as she struggled to free her mind from the embarrassment. She wasn’t expecting him to move at all…let alone so fast. She gasped when he seized hold of her arms in his warm, strong grip.

‘Still the same unbroken filly longing for a master to ride her into submission,’ he murmured.

The surge of sensation hit with such force that Kate anchored her gaze on the fluttering pennant of a ship under full sail in an undoubtedly priceless oil painting and prayed her knees wouldn’t give way.

But the sound of satisfaction that came from somewhere deep in his throat went on teasing her arousal. ‘I am not one of your polo ponies,’ she managed as he suddenly let her go. ‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that!’

‘I’ll speak to you any way I like. And I dare,’ he said, emphasising the word in a low voice full of amusement, ‘because I’m guessing there’s still everything to play for.’ And then he touched her, running his hands up and down her naked arms with a touch so light it was unbearable, while he watched her trembling with almost clinical interest.

‘This isn’t a game,’ Kate gasped as his hands rested then tightened again on her arms. She knew it was useless to try and pit her strength against his. Since the last time they had seen each other the Count had only grown broader, taller, stronger…and infinitely more desirable. Mashing her lips together fiercely, she refocused fast. Softening in his arms briefly defused his assault and as he released her she reclaimed her professional persona. ‘OK,’ she said coolly. ‘Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps we should start afresh.’

The Count acknowledged this apparent change of heart with a thoughtful twist of his sensuous mouth. ‘Bien,’ he agreed, viewing her keenly. ‘You’d better tell me what you’ve got in mind.’

CHAPTER TWO

WHEN Kate left the château she was feeling more battle-shocked than she could ever remember but confident too that she had achieved at least a partial victory; in business that was usually enough for her to lay the foundations for something far more conclusive on the next occasion. The buzz of excitement that always accompanied a hard-won deal was thrumming through every nerve in her body. But was it the deal or something else? Even if her mind was awash with ideas for her new venture now that she had bought herself some time, she couldn’t ignore the fact that seeing Guy de Villeneuve again had really shaken her up.

She paused with her hand on the door of her rented Jeep. The meeting had gone better than she might have expected. Guy had agreed to send his men to tear down the last of the wooden boards covering her windows and clear the worst of the weeds and brambles from the garden. He was also going to see about having the mains services reconnected for her, although the vagaries of local bureaucracy meant this might take some time. The fact that he appeared to have accepted she would not be selling the lease of the cottage back to him, but intended to live in it instead, should have been enough for her. But the part of her mind that handled less tangible matters was very badly shaken indeed. She had never come out of a business meeting with nipples so tight they burned. And the very last thing she needed was erotic fantasies taking her eye off the ball when she had no electricity, only a mobile phone and candles, and her first guests arrived in—she pulled a face as she glanced at her wristwatch—a little under three weeks’ time!

No. She hadn’t been totally straight with Monsieur le Comte. But Guy’s discovery that she intended to live in the cottage had been enough of a shock for him for one day. If he knew she intended to turn the picturesque dwelling into a holiday retreat for exhausted executives… Kate closed her eyes briefly against the image of sheer fury that was conjured up and then firmed her lips determinedly. For now as far as Guy de Villeneuve was concerned, ignorance was bliss.

The customary pin-neat state of Aunt Alice’s charming home had lulled her into a false sense of security, Kate realised as she drew to a halt outside the rose-festooned archway marking the cinder path to the front door. Accepting the first bookings had been such a thrill for her she had not even stopped to consider the possibility that everything could deteriorate so quickly. But here in the Garden of France, easily a thousand miles further south than where she lived in England, everything grew so much faster. Even the weeds seemed to possess a special vigour, she noticed as she made her way down the overgrown path. And that was just outside the cottage, she thought ruefully as she slipped the heavy iron key into its impressive lock. Thanks to the boarded-over windows, the hot, airless interior had provided an ideal breeding ground for just about every species of insect she could think of.

Yet even now as the door swung open on its well-oiled hinges she half-expected to find everything unchanged since her last visit. Could that day of laughter and relaxation really have been just six short months ago? There had been no hint of the storm clouds to come…and no Count Guy de Villeneuve to muddy the water. He had yet to return home and claim his inheritance. But everything had changed since the terrible car accident that had killed her aunt and Guy’s father, Kate realised, and the sooner she accepted that fact, the better.

As the door shut with a decisive thud she gave in to a great wave of loss, pausing for a moment with her back pressed against the dark polished oak and both her eyes and mind closed against the alteration. The desecration of the cottage was nothing in comparison to the hollow in her heart that used to be filled by a bubbly old lady with sharp, periwinkle-blue eyes. But just thinking about Aunt Alice was enough to invoke her indomitable spirit and, dashing the tears from her face, Kate feasted her eyes on what did remain at La Petite Maison.

Deciding to make a note of every repair that could possibly be needed once the immediate damage was made good, she stepped outside again and stood hands on hips surveying her new domain. Quirky described it to perfection, she decided. Even the higgledy-piggledy roof tiles shaded from deepest coral to palest sand formed a hat several sizes too large for the half-timbered frame. And, since she had torn down the offending boards from two of the front windows, they winked benignly at her like friendly eyes set in whitewashed walls which billowed out in places like plump chalky cheeks. She felt a rush of pride and affection, as if La Petite Maison was a child about to embark upon a new stage in its life, and she the bow from which this arrow would be launched.