A Tycoon to Be Reckoned With

The words echoed in her head, mocking her. How often had she said them?

Even right from the start, when her eyes had set on the man who had invaded her dressing room that night, invaded her life...

Invaded my heart...

She felt a choke rising in her throat, constricting her breathing. She forced it back. She would not give in to it. Would not give in to the bleakness that was like a vacuum inside her, trying to suck all the joy out of this moment for her.

My work will be enough—it will be!

That was all she had to remember. All she had to believe.

Lie though it was...

* * *

An hour later she had had enough of celebration. The exhaustion she’d blanked out was seeping through her again.

Her parents had gone, yawning, back to their hotel in the nearby spa town. Philip was getting stuck into the champagne with the chorus, with a lot of laughter and bonhomie.

Helping herself to a large glass of water, Sarah found her feet going towards the French windows. Cool fresh air beckoned her, and she stepped out onto a paved area. There was an ornate stone-rimmed pond at the end of a pathway leading across the lawn, with soft underwater lights and a little fountain playing. She felt herself wandering towards it.

Her elation had gone. Subsumed not just by exhaustion but by another mood. Seeing Philip had not helped her. Nor had what Max had disclosed to her. Both had been painful reminders of the man she wanted now only to forget.

But could not.

She reached the pond, trailed her fingers in the cool water, her gaze inward. Back into memory.

Sun sparkling off the swimming pool as Bastiaan dived into it, his torso glistening with diamond drops of water. His arm tight around her as he steered the motorboat towards the gold of the setting sun. His eyes burning down at her with passion and desire. His mouth, lowering to hers...

She gave a little cry of pain. It had meant nothing—nothing to him at all. False—all false!

Bitter irony twisted inside her.

I thought he wanted me to be Sabine—a woman of the world, alluring and sensual, willing and eager for an instant romance. But all along Sabine was the woman he wanted to destroy.

And destroy her he had.

Too late she had discovered, after a few brief, fleeting days of passion and desire, how much more she wanted. Wanted as Sarah—not Sabine.

Pain shot through her again. And too late she had discovered what she was to Bastiaan...what she had been all along, through every kiss, every caress, every moment she’d spent with him.

Discovered that she had lost what she had never had at all.

The choke rose in her throat again, but she forced it back. She would not weep, would not shed tears. She snatched her hand from the water, twisted around, away from the stone pond.

And looked straight at Bastiaan.

* * *

He walked towards her. There was a numbness in him, but he kept on walking. She stood poised, motionless, looking so achingly beautiful, with her gold hair coiled at her nape, her slender body wreathed in an evening gown of pale green chiffon.

As he drew closer, memory flashed. The two of them sitting behind the wheel of his boat, moving gently on the low swell of the sea, her leaning into him, his arm around her waist, as he turned its nose into the path of the setting sun, whose golden rays had burnished them as if in blessing.

Another memory, like a strobe light, of them lying together, all passion spent, during the hours of the night, her slender body cradled in his. Another flash, and a memory of the fragrance of fresh coffee, warm croissants, the morning sun reaching its fingers into the vine-shaded terrace as they took their breakfast.

Each memory became more precious with every passing hour.

Each one was lost because of him. Because of what he’d done to her.