A Tycoon To Be Reckoned With

Philip spoke again. ‘You’ve just missed Sabine’s first set,’ he told Bastiaan.

His glance went to her, as if for reassurance—or perhaps, thought Bastiaan, it was simply because the boy couldn’t take his eyes from the woman.

And nor can I—

‘But you’ll catch her second set!’ Philip exclaimed enthusiastically.

‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ he said dryly. Again, his gaze slid to the chanteuse.

A new reaction was visible, and it caught his attention. Was he mistaken, or was there, somewhere beneath the make-up, colour suffusing her cheekbones?

Had she taken what he’d said as sarcasm?

If she had, she repaid him in the same coin.

‘You are too kind, m’sieu,’ she said.

And Bastiaan could see, even in the dim light, how her deep-set eyes, so ludicrously enhanced by false eyelashes and heavy kohled lids, flashed fleetingly to green.

A little jolt of sexual electricity fired in him. He wanted to see more of that green flash...

It would come if I kissed her—

‘Sa...Sabine’s voice is wonderful.’

Philip cut across his heated thoughts. Absently, Bastiaan found himself wondering why his cousin seemed to stammer over the singer’s name.

‘Even when she’s only singing chan—’

Sarah’s voice cut across Philip’s. ‘So, M’sieu Karavalas, you have come to visit Philip? I believe the villa is yours, is it not?’

She couldn’t care less what he was doing here, or whether he owned a villa on Cap Pierre or anywhere else. She’d only spoken to stop Philip saying something she could see he was dying to say, despite her earlier plea to him—

Even when she’s only singing chansons in a place like this.

I don’t want him to mention anything about what I really sing—that I’m not really Sabine!

Urgency filled her. And now it had nothing to do with not wanting Bastiaan Karavalas to know that Sarah Fareham moonlighted as Sabine Sablon. No, it was for a quite different reason—one that right now seemed far more crucial.

I can’t handle him as Sarah. I need to be Sabine. Sabine can cope with this—Sabine can cope with a man like him. Sabine is the kind of sophisticated, worldly-wise female who can deal with such a man.

With the kind of man who coolly hit on a woman who’d taken his eye and aroused his sexual interest, arrogantly assuming she would comply without demur. The kind of man who rested assessing, heavy-lidded eyes on her, drawing no veil over what he saw in her, knowing exactly what impact his assessment of her was having.

That kind of man...

Philip’s enthusiastic voice was a relief to her.

‘You ought to spend some time at the villa, Bast! It really is a beautiful place. Paulette says you’re hardly ever there.’

Bastiaan flicked his eyes to his cousin. ‘Well, maybe I should move across from Monaco and stay awhile with you. Keep you on the straight and narrow.’

He smiled at Philip, and as he did so Sarah suddenly saw a revelation. Utterly unexpected. Gone—totally vanished—was the Bastiaan Karavalas she’d been exposed to, with his coolly assessing regard and his blatant appraisal, and the sense of leashed power that emanated from him. Now, as he looked across at Philip, his smile carved deep lines around his mouth and lightened his expression, made him suddenly seem... different.

She felt something change inside her—uncoil as if a knot had been loosened...

If he ever smiled at me like that I would be putty in his hands.

But she sheered her mind away. Bastiaan Karavalas was unsettling enough, without throwing such a smile her way.

‘Make me write all my wretched essays, you mean—don’t you, Bast?’ Philip answered, making a face.

But Sarah could see the communication running between them, the easy affection. It seemed to make Bastiaan far less formidable. But that, she knew with a clenching of her muscles, had a power of its own. A power she must not acknowledge. Not even as Sabine.

‘It’s what you came here for,’ Bastiaan reminded him. ‘And to escape, of course.’

His dark eyes flickered back to Sarah and the warmth she’d seen so fleetingly as he’d smiled at his young cousin drained out of them. It was replaced by something new. Something that made her eyes narrow minutely as she tried to work out what it was.

‘I offered the villa to Philip as a refuge,’ he informed Sarah in a casual voice. ‘He was being plagued by a particularly persistent female. She made a real nuisance of herself, didn’t she?’ His glance went back to his cousin.

Philip made another face. ‘Elena Constantis was a pain,’ he said feelingly. ‘Honestly, she’s got boys buzzing all over her, but she still wanted to add me to her stupid collection. She’s so immature,’ he finished loftily.

A tiny smile hovered at Sarah’s lips, dispelling her momentary unease. Immaturity was a relative term, after all. For a second—the briefest second—she caught a similar smile just tugging at Bastiaan Karavalas’s well-shaped mouth, lifting it the way his smile at Philip had done a moment ago.

Almost, almost she felt herself starting to meet his eyes, ready to exchange glances with him—two people so much more mature than sweet, young Philip...

Then the intention was wiped from her consciousness. Its tempting potency gone. Philip’s gaze had gone to her. ‘She couldn’t be more different from you,’ he said. The warmth in his voice could have lit a fire.

Sarah’s long, fake eyelashes dipped again. Bastiaan Karavalas’s dark gaze had switched to her, and she was conscious of it—burningly conscious of it. Conscious, too, of what must have accounted for the studiedly casual remark he’d made that had got them on to this subject.

Surely he can’t think I don’t realise that Philip is smitten with me?

Bastiaan was speaking again. ‘Sabine is certainly much older,’ he observed.

The dark eyes had flicked back to her face—watching, she could tell, for her reaction to his blunt remark. Had he intended to warn her? To show her how real his cousin’s infatuation with her was?

How best to respond...? ‘Oh, I’m ancient, indeed!’ she riposted lightly. ‘Positively creaking.’

‘You’re not old!’ Philip objected immediately, aghast at the very idea. Adoration shone in his eyes. Then his gaze shifted to the dance floor in front of the stage, where couples had started to congregate. His face lit. ‘Oh! Sabine—will you dance with me? Please say yes!’

Indecision filled her. She never danced with Philip or did anything to encourage him. But right now it would get her away from the disturbing, overpowering impact of Bastiaan Karavalas.

‘If you like,’ she replied, and got to her feet as he leapt eagerly to his and walked her happily out on to the dance floor.

Thankfully, the music was neither very fast—fast dancing would have been impossible in her tight gown—nor so slow that it would require any kind of smoochy embrace. But since most of the couples were in a traditional ballroom-style hold with each other, that was the hold she glided into.

Philip, bless him, clearly wasn’t too au fait with so formal a dancing style, but he manfully did his best. ‘I’ve got two left feet!’ he exclaimed ruefully.

‘You’re doing fine,’ she answered encouragingly, making sure she was holding him literally at arm’s length.