‘Apparently my father had already made a restaurant booking for them and refuses to cancel. He wants to show Lara and her parents some of the city’s nightlife.’
Her head turning in the direction of the château, she asked uneasily, ‘So who’s staying here tonight?’
‘Just you and me.’
Her eyes widened with horror.
Irritation flared inside him. He’d known she wouldn’t be keen for his company, but did she have to make it so obvious?
But then his indignation sank into guilt. He and he alone was the cause of all this tension. The least he could do was try to make this weekend somewhat tolerable for them both.
Leading her in the direction of the main entrance, he said, ‘Let me show you to your room. All of the château staff have this evening off as they will be working long hours in the coming days with the wedding.’ Inside the coolness of the double-height hallway of the château, his desperation to take a shower and have something cool to drink abated a fraction. The heatwave hitting most of south-west France for the past week was becoming unbearable. He kicked the front door shut with his heel, knowing he was only trying to kid himself—the weather had little to do with how he was overheating.
This always happened when Hannah was nearby.
Pale pink sleeveless blouse tucked into mid-thigh-length lemon shorts, plain white plimsolls on her feet, thick and glossy brown hair tied back into a high ponytail, she was all delicious curves and sweetness.
He uttered a low curse to himself. He knew he’d hurt her. She deserved better than him remembering how incredible it was to hold her, to feel her soft curves. But in truth, their relationship had been built on a bed of intoxicating mutual attraction.
He’d seen it flare in her eyes in the moments after they had first met, their handshake lasting a few seconds longer than necessary, neither trying to pull away.
That first day, as they’d sailed on his yacht, Sirocco, which had then been moored out of Port Solent but was now moored out of Royan, Hannah had been friendly but he could tell that she was avoiding being alone with him. He’d wanted to shrug off her indifference but in truth her reticence had intrigued him and the intelligence in her eyes and her close friendship with Lara had had him wanting to know her better.
She had turned down his invitation to meet for a drink later in the week.
So he’d orchestrated it for her to attend a dinner party he’d thrown in his Kensington town house. He’d hoped to impress her with his cooking but she’d left early, saying she had an early flight to Paris in the morning. As he’d walked her out to her awaiting taxi, for the first time ever, he’d felt tongue-tied. All night he’d been unable to stop staring across the table at her, her natural warmth that was evident behind her initially reserved nature, her genuineness, her authenticity lighting something inside him. On the few occasions she had looked in his direction, he’d seen that spark of attraction again, but she’d always snatched her gaze away. That night of the dinner party, he’d let her go, without pressing his lips to her cheek as he’d ached to, something deep inside him telling him he had to wait until she was ready to accept the spark between them.
Their paths had crossed several times in the months that had followed. He’d used to playfully remind her that his offer of meeting for a drink was still on the table but she would smile and turn away.
And then, one day, when they had all gone swimming in the Solent after another day sailing on his yacht, Sirocco, she’d watched him dive from the rail. When he’d emerged from the water deliberately close to her, her initial frown that had spoken of some deep internal turmoil had transformed into a gentle smile and she’d softly said, ‘I think I’m ready for that drink.’
He’d trod the cold English Channel water, grinning widely, not caring that everyone else in the party could see his delight. He’d wanted to stay there for ever, staring into Hannah’s soulful brown eyes, his heart beating wildly in delight and anticipation that had been more than about the desire to tug her gorgeous bikini-clad body towards him.
Now he led her up the main marble staircase of the château to the second floor where, at the end of the corridor, he opened the door to her bedroom. Hannah walked inside, her gaze widening as she took in the antique jade hand-painted wallpaper, the Louis XV furniture.