Bastien’s mood blackened even more. ‘Of course I have—but I find it preposterous that you would attribute the surge to a picture in the tabloids.’
‘You underestimate the power of the media,’ Claude replied, his eyes flicking to Ana. ‘Perhaps as much as you underestimate the power of a liaison romantique.’
Ana made a strange little sound—a cross between a snort and a cough. He finally looked her way, slicing her a look that straightened the amused curve of her mouth. When she lifted a brow in silent challenge he ground his teeth, cursing the memory of her seductive warmth pressed against him, the subtle thrust of her tongue against his, which was pulling him from reality.
What was wrong with him?
He knew how lethal she was to his control and yet he couldn’t stop his body from reacting like a randy sailor on shore leave.
Turning his head, he concentrated on the old man. ‘You must be going blind, Claude. There is no such—’
Ana spoke up. ‘Bastien, I think what your chairman is trying to say is don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.’
A smattering of amusement rolled around the conference room.
‘If the picture is helping the DBH range to thrive, despite the hit it took yesterday, surely that can’t be a bad thing?’ she went on.
‘Précisément. Women across the globe are reading the newspaper this morning, sighing over the picture and wishing they were in Mademoiselle Duval’s shoes. That’s already translating to a surge in profits. If you ask me, your little courthouse adventure was quite ingenious. Perhaps we should make Ana an honorary member of the board.’
Bastien’s gaze slid back to her and he saw a wide smile spread across her face. Every male breath in the room had caught at the incredible sight.
His teeth ground harder. ‘Perhaps you’re forgetting the small matter of your trial?’
Her smile dimmed and her throat moved in a delicate swallow. Her eyes blazed as they locked on his, a determined fire lighting their depths. ‘I’m quite confident I’ll be proved innocent by the time the trial rolls around.’
‘Don’t make promises you may not be able to keep, Miss Duval.’
‘I’m seriously committed to finding out the truth behind what happened and to making your campaign a success. If I fail you can do with me what you will,’ she replied, a tinge of anger in her voice.
His gaze dropped to the soft pout of her mouth and another rush of heat speared through him. For a single moment he hated himself for wanting her to fail just so he could bend her to his will, take what she’d unwittingly offered.
But then the thought of Ana behind bars, locked away from the world, slid through his mind. Something tightened in his chest, growing stronger as a memory long buried surfaced out of nowhere. It pierced so deep his breath faltered.
Ana—eight years old, running down the steps at Verbier to show him something. She’d always been doing that...plucking random things from the house or the garden to show him, unwilling to accept that he just wanted to be left alone.
Alone to deal with his father’s betrayal; with his mother’s abandonment. Alone to grieve the loss of the perfect family unit he’d taken for granted.
Slowly Bastien glanced around the room. He’d forgotten he had an audience. The same way he’d forgotten where he was when he’d kissed her earlier.
Jaw tightening, he rose. ‘This meeting is over,’ he said into the curious silence.
Chairs screeched on wooden floors one by one and the room emptied.
Then he took a deep sustaining breath and turned to her. ‘What the hell did you think you were playing at?’
‘What?’
‘You were supposed to remain silent until you were called on to speak.’
One elegant brow rose. ‘You mean like some sort of marionette, ready to perform on command?’
Heat rose up his neck. ‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Then what exactly did you mean?’
He shoved a hand through his hair, words completely failing him. Striding to the drinks tray set in a corner of the conference room, he splashed vintage cognac into a crystal tumbler and sent the fiery liquid coursing down his throat.
It was only the afternoon...just...but he didn’t care.