Pride After Her Fall

She threaded her own fingers through her hair and then realised she was trying to recreate the feelings he’d evoked in her. She snatched her hand back, pressing it in her lap.

Feeling as if she might be slumping unattractively, Lorelei tried to sit up a little straighter, assume a more ladylike posture—only to find she was actually still upright. There had been no slippage...only a complete and utter inner landslide...

It was all about how she felt inside, she realized. All loose and relaxed and devil-may-care. The stake of anxiety she’d been tied to all day had gone. Mon Dieu—she ran an unsteady hand through her curls—the man was a miracle-worker. What on earth would it be like if...?

Nash gave her a slashing smile as if he understood exactly how it would be.

* * *

The courtyard was in full afternoon sun when the Veyron idled to a stop.

Nash killed the engine and without a word to her—not that they had exchanged many words driving up, at least not any important ones, as to what they were doing, if he’d be staying, where this was going—he was out of the car and coming around, lifting her door.

Lorelei tried to think fast. She was more than a little worried about inviting him inside. Most of the rooms in the villa were emptied of furniture, and the general air of neglect that hung over the place was worse on the inside. She hadn’t minded having people in last night, with all the lights and champagne flowing and the rooms thick with people, but in the harsh light of day she knew how bad it looked. And after this morning’s series of disasters she suddenly wanted Nash to think well of her.

But Nash wasn’t paying any attention to the house.

He was looking down at her.

She hadn’t quite appreciated just how big he was until this moment. She’d had a taste of it this morning, but in her heels some of the height discrepancy had been dealt with. Right now, Louboutins dangling from one hand, handbag from the other, she was only too aware of his powerful shoulders, the strength of his arms and how easily he could overpower her.

It was a jolting thought. Not that he had given her any reason to think he was a threat to her safety—on the contrary. But she was a woman who lived alone and he was...

A famous man who was hardly going to turn into Jack the Ripper.

He shut the car door behind her. ‘Shall we go inside?’

‘Ah, oui. Of course.’ She picked her way across the gravel, thinking there was no of course about it.

At the front door he held out his hand.

‘Key?’

‘It’s open,’ she said, struck by his old-fashioned attitude, and pushed open the heavy front door.

Nash shoved his hand against the panelling, holding it wide for her.

‘Anyone else home?’

‘Non. I live alone.’

His eyes found hers. They were so close she could see the unusual darker rim around the blue iris. Suddenly she knew why those eyes gave the impression of such an intense blue.

‘You shouldn’t live alone,’ was all he said.

Her gaze dropped helplessly to the firm line of his mouth.

‘That’s why I throw a lot of parties.’

He didn’t smile as she wanted him to. Nor did he kiss her. But she’d already worked out that Nash wasn’t going to do much of what she wanted him to. He was his own man in ways she hadn’t quite encountered before and it was in equal measures confusing and unbearably exciting.

His heavy tread rang out on the stone floor and the cool emptiness of the house closed in around them. Lorelei shivered slightly as her mood did its usual dip. Almost as if he was reading her, Nash stepped up behind her and she had an odd sensation of his strength and solidity. She rather liked it.

She liked it a lot. And all of a sudden she realised this man didn’t feel like a threat to her. He was making her feel safe. And safety had been the most elusive of conditions in her life.

Her father had taught her to live with risk; her grandmaman had constantly moved the goalposts to keep her forever striving to do her best. Past boyfriends had relied on her to keep the wolf from the door with her inheritance, her network of social contacts.

None of them had ever made her feel safe.

It was probably illusory. He was a big, take-charge guy and he’d been sweet to her all along the line. No wonder she was having rescue fantasies.