A Tycoon to Be Reckoned With

Jerkily, he reached for the champagne bottle, refilled their glasses.

‘So...’ said Sarah, glancing between the two of them, casting about for something else to say that would be innocuous. ‘Philip seems very smitten with that scarlet monster of yours that he picked me up in.’

‘Monster?’ said Philip immediately. ‘She’s a beauty!’

‘Her growl is terrifying!’ Sarah countered, with a little laugh.

‘Wait till I drive you fast in it!’ Philip exclaimed. ‘Then you’ll hear her roar!’

She shuddered extravagantly, but Bastiaan addressed Philip directly. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I know you love the idea of racing around in a car that powerful, but I’m not having you smash yourself up. Or, worse, my car,’ he added, to lighten the rejection.

A mutinous look flashed briefly across Philip’s face. Sarah could see it.

‘Sab would be perfectly safe with me.’

Bastiaan shook his head. Inside, his thoughts were not just on the safety of Philip driving the powerful performance car. No way was Sabine going to use his car to further her aims with his cousin. It was not Sabine who needed to be kept safe—it was Philip.

‘Come out with me instead,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you its paces. We’ll do the Grande Corniche. How about tomorrow?’ he suggested.

Philip’s face lit. ‘Great!’ he enthused. His expression changed. ‘But...er...in the afternoon, OK?’

Bastiaan nodded. ‘Yes. Do your studies in the morning, then I’ll reward you with a spin after lunch.’ He turned to Sabine. ‘As you know,’ he said deliberately, ‘my cousin is here first and foremost to complete his university vacation assignments. Not to jaunt around on holiday, entertaining you.’

Sarah’s face tightened. ‘Yes, I am aware of that,’ she said coolly. Did he think she was inciting Philip to neglect his studies? Well, all the more reason to confront him this afternoon—warn him that he needed to remove Philip yet again.

And I need Bastiaan gone too. I haven’t got time for distractions—least of all by a man like this.

His gaze held hers, and for a moment, timeless and impossible, she felt as if her heart had stopped beating.

What power does he have? The question coiled in her mind like smoke. And the answer twisted in the same sinuous shape... Too much.

‘Good,’ replied Bastiaan. Her eyes had darkened in colour again. He wondered at it. Then a more potent thought overrode that. Emeralds, he found himself thinking—that was the jewel for her. Emeralds with the slightest hint of aqua—at her throat, her ears...

The vision of her draped in such jewels was instant, vivid. They would enhance her blonde beauty, catching the fire of her emerald eyes, displaying that beauty for him and him alone. He felt desire, raw and insistent, growl within him whenever he succumbed to the temptation of thinking about this beautiful, alluring woman—so unsuitable for his naive, infatuated cousin...

But for me it would be different.

Of course it would—to him she presented no danger. Sophisticated, worldly-wise, closer to his age than to Philip’s... Whatever his opinion of women who sought to part impressionable young men from their money, he was not susceptible to such wiles. He was not vulnerable to a woman like her.

But she... Ah, she would be vulnerable to him. Vulnerable to the desire for him that he could read in her like a book—a desire he shared and made no attempt to conceal. Why should he? For him there was no risk in succumbing to the flame that ran between them.

He took another fortifying mouthful of champagne, making his decision. Resolution streamed within him. Yes, he would do it!

Long lashes dipped over his dark eyes. He reached forward across the table, moving a bowl of ripe, succulent peaches towards Sabine. ‘May I entice you?’ he asked. And in his eyes was an expression that in no way indicated that it was to the fruit he was referring...

Her eyes flickered. He could see it. See the hint of green fire that signalled just as much as her dilating pupils that her sexual awareness of him was radiating out on all frequencies. He smiled, drawing an answering smile from her—an instinctive response. She took a peach and he was minutely aware of the delicate length of her fingers, the pale gloss of her nails.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured, and dragged her gaze away from him, as though she found it difficult to do so.

He saw the heightened colour on her cheeks as she placed the peach on her plate and started to slice it diligently, head bowed a little, as if she needed to focus on her task. Her chest was rising and falling a little faster than it had been before. Bastiaan sat back, lifting his champagne glass, satisfaction in his eyes.

Philip was helping himself from the fruit bowl as well, but unlike Sarah he bit enthusiastically into the peach from his hand, spurting juice. ‘These are really good,’ he said enthusiastically.

Sarah flicked her eyes to him. ‘Aren’t they?’ she agreed. ‘Just ripe and perfect.’

She was glad to talk about the ripeness of the fruit. Glad to turn her head to Philip and talk about something else. Glad to do anything to drag her consciousness away from the man at the opposite end of the table. Glad, too, a few minutes later, when Paulette arrived with a tray of coffee.

Sarah started to gather up the used plates, but the housekeeper snatched them from her, muttering darkly and casting meaningful glances between her and Philip.