A Tycoon to Be Reckoned With

He could not take his eyes from her. Within him emotion swelled, wanting to overtake him, to impel him to do what he longed to do—sweep her into his arms. He could not—dared not. Everything rested on this moment—he had one chance...one only.

A chance he must take. Must not run from as he had thought to do, unable to confront her in the throng inside, at the moment of her triumph in her art. But now as she stood there, alone, he must brave the moment. Reclaim what he had thrown from him—what he had not known he had possessed.

But I did know. I knew it with every kiss, e

very embrace, every smile. I knew it in my blood, my body—my heart.

As he came up to her, her chin lifted. Her face was a mask. ‘What are you doing here? Philip said you weren’t here. Why did you come?’

Her words were staccato. Cold. Her eyes hard in the dim light.

‘You must know why I am here,’ he said. His voice was low. Intense.

‘No. I don’t.’ Still staccato, still that mask on her face. ‘Is it to see if I’m impressed by what you’ve done for Max? All that lavish sponsorship! Is it by way of apology for your foul accusations at me?’

He gave a brief, negating shake of his head and would have spoken, but she forged on, not letting him speak.

‘Good. Because if you want to sponsor him—well, you’ve got enough money and to spare, haven’t you? I want none of it—just like I never wanted Philip’s.’ She took a heaving breath, ‘And just like I want nothing more to do with you either.’

He shut his eyes, receiving her words like a blow. Then his eyes flared open again. ‘I ask only five minutes of your time, Sab—Sarah.’

He cursed himself. He had so nearly called her by the name she did not bear. Memory stabbed at him—how he had wondered why Philip stammered over her name.

If I had known then the truth about her—if I had known it was not she who had taken money from Philip...

But he hadn’t known.

He dragged his focus back. What use were regrets about the past? None. Only the future counted now—the future he was staking this moment on.

She wasn’t moving—not a muscle—and he must take that for consent.

‘Please...please understand the reasons for my behaviour.’

He took a ragged breath, as if to get his thoughts in order. It was vital, crucial that he get this right. He had one chance...one chance only...

‘When Philip’s father died I promised his mother I would always look out for him. I knew only too well that he could be taken advantage of. How much he would become a target for unscrupulous people.’

He saw her face tighten, knew she was thinking of what Max had done, however noble a cause he’d considered it.

He ploughed on. ‘Especially,’ he said, looking at her without flinching, ‘women.’

‘Gold-diggers,’ she said. There was no expression in her voice.

‘Yes. A cliché, but true all the same.’

A frown creased between Bastiaan’s eyes. He had to make her understand what the danger had been—how real it could have been.

If she had truly been the woman I feared she was.

‘I know,’ he said, and his mouth gave a caustic curl of self-derision, ‘because when I was little older than Philip, and like him had no father to teach me better, a woman took me to the cleaners and made a complete fool of me.’

Did he see something change in her eyes? He didn’t know—could only keep going.

‘So when I saw that twenty thousand euros had gone from Philip’s account to an unknown account in Nice...when I heard from Paulette that Philip had taken to hanging around a nightclub endlessly and was clearly besotted with someone, alarm bells rang. I knew the danger to him.’

‘And so you did what you did. I know—I was on the receiving end.’

There was bitterness in her voice, and accusation. She’d had enough of this—enough. What was the point of him going on at her like this? There wasn’t one. And it was hell—just hell on earth—to stand here with him so close, so incredibly close.