Pride After Her Fall

Her eyes darted to his. He’d noticed. They were so faint. Did he find them unattractive?

‘We all have scars, don’t we?’ she said slowly. ‘It’s a part of life.’

Nash surprised her by sliding his hands subtly onto her hips. ‘You hide yours very well,’ he said.

‘What about you?’ she challenged. ‘Where are your scars?’

He looked her in the eye. ‘I wear them for the world to see,’ he answered. ‘Every time I race.’

Race, present tense.

She wanted to ask him about it but Nash bent down and said in her ear, ‘And your old man? Is he really a gigolo?’

Lorelei pulled her arms free and went to walk away, but Nash had her tightly around the waist.

‘Touchy, aren’t we?’

She flashed active dislike at him and said tightly, ‘He’s the best on the Riviera.’

‘There you go,’ he said lightly. ‘Not so hard talking about it, was it?’

‘Have you finished?’

‘I’m just wondering,’ he said, continuing to sway her lightly, ‘how many other secrets you’re hiding.’

Lorelei looked away. ‘Nothing that could possibly interest you.’

‘On the contrary, Lorelei, I have a feeling it’s all going to interest me. Come on—we’ll get your wrap.’

‘I don’t understand. Where are we going?’

‘Where do you think?’

CHAPTER TWELVE

FROGMARCHING her across the sand in heels only got him so far. Lorelei ground to a halt and swiped off her shoes, then threw them at him. He’d seen her aim before. He had the sense to sidestep and duck.

‘You worked the crowd well tonight,’ he called after her.

‘I wasn’t working,’ she responded. ‘I was just being myself—not that you would know anything about that.’

Nash caught up with her.

‘Hard work, is it? Prising open those wallets?’

She stopped dead. ‘Why are you making it sound underhand, as if I have other motives?’

‘I’m sure when you were on Andrei Yurovsky’s yacht last summer you had the best interests of the charity at heart,’ he responded. ‘And when you were in New York with Damiano Massena earlier this year it was purely a charitable impulse.’

Lorelei blinked rapidly. ‘You’re jealous,’ she said as if this were a wonder.

‘No, sweetheart, not jealous. Territorial. There’s a difference.’

‘I’m not a country, Nash,’ she said coolly, but he could tell he’d rattled her. ‘You can’t invade me and stick up your flag.’

‘I can do whatever I damn well please.’

He had hold of her wrist. He wasn’t sure how that had happened. He just wanted answers. Despite everything he’d convinced himself about not wanting to dig any deeper, all of those possessive feelings had roared into life as she’d so casually admitted to a professional equestrian career.

She hid everything—and he’d thought he was the expert at keeping his private feelings under wraps. Lorelei could give him lessons.

‘You’re implying I sleep with men for money,’ she said icily. ‘I really don’t think we’ll be going any further, do you? Now, take your hands off me. I’m going home to bed.’

Nash shook his head.

‘Are you going to release me?’

Her voice was very calm but he could see the betraying uncertainty in her expression. He was taken back to the first time he had seen her eyes—a little mountain deer quivering at his approach.

‘Explain to me that party you had the other night.’

Lorelei frowned, shaking her head. ‘Why do you care? What do you want from me, Nash? What is this about?’

‘I want to understand you.’ The words were almost prised from him. He couldn’t understand where this seething frustration had come from but he needed answers.

The urge to rip her dress off her and have this out skin to skin in the sand, coupled with the need to protect her from herself, had him in a vortex of desire and self-loathing.

‘Work!’ she almost shouted at him. ‘Just like you. Work!’

Her shoulders rose and fell.

‘The CEO of the charity often asks me to host things,’ she said jerkily. ‘His wife finds it too oppressive. I was brought up to do these things.’ She added the last almost wearily, ‘By my grandmaman.’