A Tycoon to Be Reckoned With

But did she dare? That was what it came down to. As Sabine she had the protection of her persona—that of a woman who could deal with transient affairs...the kind a man like Bastiaan would want.

Would he still want me if I were Sarah?

Or was this burning passion, this intensity of desire, the only thing he wanted? He had said nothing of anything other than enjoying each hour with her—had not spoken of how long he wanted this to last or what it meant to him, nor anything at all of that nature.

Is this time all he wants of me?

There seemed to be a heaviness inside her, weighing her down. She stole a sideways look at Bastiaan. He was focussed on the road, which was building up with traffic now as they neared Nice. She felt her insides give a little skip as her gaze eagerly drank in his strong, incisive profile—and then there was a tearing feeling in its place.

I don’t want to leave him. I don’t want this to end. It’s been way, way too short!

But what could she do? Nothing—that was all. Her future was mapped out for her and it did not include any more time with Bastiaan.

Who might not want to spend it with her anyway. Who might only want what they were having now. And if that were so—if all he’d wanted all along was a kind of fleeting affair with Sabine—then she must accept it.

Sabine would be able to handle a brief affair like this—so I must be Sabine still.

As Sarah she was far too vulnerable...

She took a breath, steeling herself. Her time with Bastiaan was not yet up—not quite. There was still tonight—still one more precious night together....

And perhaps she was fearing the worst—perhaps he wanted more than this brief time.

Her thoughts raced ahead, borne on a tide of emotion that swelled out of her on wings of hope. Perhaps he would rejoice to find out she was Sarah. Would stand by her all through her final preparations for the festival—share her rejoicing if they were successful or comfort her if she failed and had to accept that she would never become the professional singer she had set her sights on being.

Like an underground fire running through the root systems of a forest, she felt emotions flare within her. What they were she dared not say. Must not give name to.

Right man—wrong time...for now...

But after the festival Bastiaan might just become someone to her who would be so much more than this incandescent brief encounter.

‘Shall we stop here in Nice for a while?’

Bastiaan’s voice interrupted her troubled thoughts, bringing her back to the moment.

‘They have some good shops,’ he said invitingly.

The dress she was wearing was pretty, but it was not a designer number by any means. Nor were any of the clothes she wore—including that over-revealing evening gown she wore to sing in. He found him

self wanting to know just how a dress suitable for her beauty would enhance her. Splashing out on a wardrobe for her would be a pleasure he would enjoy. And shopping with her would keep at bay any unnecessary temptation to worry about the cheque she had exclaimed over. He would not think about it—would not harbour any suspicions.

I’m done with such suspicions. I will banish them—not let them poison me again.

But she shook her head at his suggestion. ‘No, there’s nothing I need,’ she answered. She did not want to waste time shopping—she wanted to get back to the villa. To be with Bastiaan alone in the last few dwindling hours before she had to go.

He smiled at her indulgently. ‘But much, surely, that you want?’

She gave a laugh. She would not spoil this last day with him by being unhappy, by letting in the world she didn’t want to think about. ‘What woman doesn’t?’ was her rejoinder.

Then, suddenly, her tone changed. Something in that world she didn’t want to let in yet demanded her attention. Attention she must give it—right now.

‘Oh, actually...could we stop for five minutes? Just along here? There’s something I’ve remembered.’

Bastiaan glanced at her. She was indicating a side street off the main thoroughfare. Maybe she needed toiletries. But as he turned the car towards where she indicated, a slight frown creased his forehead. There was something familiar about the street name. He wondered why—where he had seen it recently.

Then she was pointing again. ‘Just there!’ she cried.

He pulled across to the pavement, looked where she was pointing, and with an icy rush cold snaked down his spine.