Daring to Date the Boss / The Tycoon Who Healed Her Heart: Daring to Date the Boss / The Tycoon Who Healed Her Heart

She felt her cheeks heat. ‘No, I’m sorry I thought that you could … I realise I’m not …’ Once more she broke off. The turbulent confusion inside her had grown to mammoth proportions in the space of seconds. ‘Forget I said it,’ she muttered, and closed her mouth.

‘The word proposition is a double entendre in itself,’ he said, and ended on that odd note. It felt to her as if he wanted to say more, but thought better of it.

The silences were becoming awkward, but she’d only make a mess of it if she spoke.

A knock sounded, and they both jumped to their feet. ‘It’s all right, I’m closer.’ She ran for the door before he could.

His voice came from behind her as she opened the door. ‘There are two trays.’ He took the heavier one from one of the two staff members at the door, neither of whom were her usual friends. Rachel took the other tray, and with a brief thanks closed the door. Much as she wanted to have a buffer, she was not asking any of his staff to come in. She’d put them all in enough trouble as it was. Disturbed by something, but not sure by what, she returned to the dining room.

‘I ordered a white wine. Will you take some?’ he asked in a European way as he poured a glass. Looking up with a smile, he held it out to her.

As she took the glass—she loved a good Chardonnay—it occurred to her what she’d seen behind the waiter holding her tray. ‘There were people watching us from the restaurant terrace.’

Herr Bollinger nodded as he sat again. ‘Naturally, Ms Chase. My regular visitors have worked out that some VIP must have taken over my cabin in my absence—but I saw no one with a telephoto lens, so I doubt they saw you clearly. The cabin’s over three-hundred metres from the main resort.’ He began eating, seeming unperturbed. ‘And that leads me to my original subject. We have a mutual problem, and we need to work out a solution that works for both of us.’

Rachel tilted her head. ‘Why is my presence such a problem for you?’

He looked up. ‘I don’t bring lovers to my home, Ms Chase,’ he said, cool as the snow outside. He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The lone wolf didn’t want to deal with the complications that arose from this: the expectations from the women he dated. ‘I expect it will be worse for you, with your husband publicly claiming your reconciliation. The pictures showing you together are obviously a mock-up, since he’s in LA and you’re here.’

If there was a question in his words, she wasn’t answering. She picked up her fork and began spearing lettuce and tuna.

‘Rebuke accepted, Ms Chase,’ he said dryly, ‘But you can’t just hide from the issue this time. We share this problem. I can’t sort it out without some sort of communication.’

‘Mutual confidences, you mean?’ she retorted. ‘No thanks. You decide what you want to do. You own the place.’ She popped the food in her mouth before she said too much.

After a little silence, he asked quietly, ‘Are you always so impetuous? You don’t know me. My solution might not suit you at all.’

‘You have almost as much to lose as I do,’ she said when she’d swallowed her food. She took a gulp of wine—a crime, really, given that it was true Burgundian Chardonnay. ‘We both need this resolved with discretion. It’s not as if you’re going to ask me to be your mistress.’

‘Is that so impossible?’ he asked with an elliptical smile that set her nerves on edge.

‘Given your anger over keeping this as your private hideaway without your future lovers invading? Yes, of course it is.’ She shoved a forkful in her mouth, letting him deal with her insights. She was curious to know if he’d be as sarcastic as Pete when she’d out-talked him.

At least I know he won’t hit me. I’m a paying guest, and he wants discretion as much as I do. He can’t afford to antagonise me.

And the truth of it gave her the courage to speak her mind. She need not fear this man, and that was so liberating, she wanted to laugh with the joy of it. She barely remembered the last time she hadn’t been afraid of someone’s disapproval.

‘I don’t know whether to say touché or en garde,’ he murmured, his voice rich with enjoyment. Was he enjoying this crazy seesaw of a conversation?

It was almost a revelation to her—or a revolution; she wasn’t sure. Because she discovered, on thinking about it, that she was enjoying it too.

‘Feel free to use either,’ she said, waving a hand around, mock sword-fighting. She smiled at him.

It felt like a sock in the stomach, seeing that mega-watt, big-as-her-heart smile tossed his way. Armand stopped in his tracks, abruptly lost in it. She wasn’t flirting or trying to make a connection. There was no agenda, no personal gain; she was smiling just because she wanted to. And it was like seeing a blazing blue sky after a long, dull winter. The absolute lift of his spirits started low down and finished with a light, silvery feeling in his head, as if he could fly.

Why her effect on him amazed him so much, he wasn’t sure, when he’d met a thousand beautiful women—but he definitely didn’t want to explore the issue. ‘Can we work out stratagems before we duel?’ he asked with deliberate lightness. Any kind of probing sent her into tight-lipped silence. He could think of far better uses for that gorgeously smiling mouth the colour of a pink rose.

‘Where’s the fun in that?’ she mock-complained, her eyes shining like sunlight in dark wine.

Damn it, he had to watch his thoughts or he’d be in trouble. The last thing he’d ever do was start up a flirtation with a guest. It led to a hundred different routes, all marked ‘danger’.

‘You prefer to wing it?’ he asked, a deliberate probe. If nothing else, it would cut her friendliness, make her keep her distance again.

And it did. One shoulder lifted in a careless shrug. ‘Too many plans ruin the fun. Believe me, I know.’ Her voice was wry, and her smile slipped a little.

Armand didn’t bother asking the next question he was sure she wouldn’t answer. Besides, something about this woman lit places inside him that had been dark for too long. Though it scared the living daylights out of him, he had to know if it would work more than once. ‘Can we at least finish lunch before we begin our riposte?’

She blinked and chuckled. And that damned smile sent warmth and light into him so bright it hurt, little rainbow prism-shots. ‘I’m always braver after a glass.’ She lifted the wine glass but drank before he could raise his, make a toast or say anything remotely personal.

Why did so much about this woman seem to catch him out? Right now he only knew one thing: he barely knew her. So if he showed any sign of what she was capable of doing to him with a simple smile she’d bolt on the first train. Damn it, she wasn’t his type, so why was his body reacting so strongly?

‘This wine is heavenly. May I have more?’

Recalled by her abrupt words, Armand realised she’d caught him staring at her; she was blushing, biting her lip. Had his face shown what he’d been thinking? He poured the wine, drank his off and then refilled. ‘The vineyard is eight-hundred years old,’ he said to fill the silence. ‘The grapevines are almost as old.’

‘Amazing … Where I come from, anything a hundred years old is historic.’ She gulped the entire glass of wine down so fast Armand doubted it touched the edges before she looked at him with hard-earned resolve. ‘Look, can you please say what you came to say? The suspense is putting me off my lunch.’

How did she manage it, putting him in his place and making him want to smile at once, so dramatic over a salad? Not to mention the other parts of him that were breaking into an unwanted ‘hallelujah’ chorus whenever she looked at him or smiled.

Somehow he couldn’t dismiss it as a normal male reaction. Probably because this strange connection felt too intimate for just an hour’s acquaintance. With her stubborn courage and her willingness to shoulder her own burdens, Rachel Chase touched him somewhere he hadn’t felt before. It wasn’t normal for him. Usually when he felt something like this it was simple attraction. He’d ask them to dinner, enjoy hearing about the woman’s life, take it further at his leisure if she was willing, become bored in weeks and then give the nice kiss-off.

Rachel wasn’t anything like the usual women he was attracted to. Yet he was hurting, remembering, thinking—and, yes, he was enjoying himself, merely sitting here talking to her. Within half an hour she’d made him feel more than he had since he’d been twelve.

It only added piquant spice, knowing Rachel didn’t seem aware. No feminine antennae were on at all, looking for a man to fill the blank time in her life. She didn’t want him at all, barely thought of him as a man.

Then there was the flash he’d seen in her eyes, unmistakable, almost horrifying. For a single moment she’d been afraid of him; she’d been willing to run rather than be near him.

He had to tread lightly here. Just by crossing his own threshold he’d been dragged into undercurrents he wasn’t prepared to swim.

‘As I said, I know you’re Mrs Pete,’ he said. ‘Given what the media’s printed about your personal life, your need for privacy at this time is perfectly understandable.’

One by one, Rachel’s vertebrae relaxed. It seemed she wouldn’t have to find a new place to go—at least, not yet. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

‘But I need to make some amendments to the current arrangements.’ His voice was smooth and even but she almost heard his heartbeat picking up, felt that unknown but strong emotion vibrating through him. ‘I have assigned Monika to make up your room and bring your meals while you stay with us.’

Rachel felt the blush stain her cheeks. ‘Have there been many complaints against the staff spending time with me?’

Armand Bollinger nodded curtly, and she knew they’d reached the heart of his problem. From what she’d read of him on the plane coming over to Europe, he had rebuilt this place from the ground up after a fire had destroyed almost everything about eighteen years ago—the same fire that had taken the life of his father. The enormous amount of high-flying Guillaume Bollinger’s debt only became clear after his death, and speculation was rife on whether his death had been deliberate. Armand Bollinger had just turned seventeen at the time, but he’d taken control of his family finances. With years of hard work and dedication, he’d paid his father’s debts before he recreated this five-star resort. He obviously didn’t take his success for granted.

Thanks to her, his professional prestige had taken a hit. She knew too well how that felt.

‘This situation is my fault.’ She gazed at him in determined apology, trying to ignore that odd thrill racing through her body, just by looking into those dark-lashed, storm-grey eyes. An article from about a decade ago floated into her memory: the hypnotic eyes of the Wolf … ‘Please don’t fire anyone, Herr Bollinger. It wasn’t their fault. It was mine.’

‘I have no need or desire to fire anyone, Ms Chase. All my staff have given me complete satisfaction until now. I believe everyone deserves a second chance.’

‘Oh, yes,’ she agreed fervently, though he’d spoken in a voice almost as cold as the snow outside. ‘They do. And it really was my fault.’

‘So you’ve now said three times.’ As slow as the nod he’d given her moments before, a smile was born. Not the perfunctory stretching of lips she’d seen on rare pictures of him during the past decade, but a real, warm smile. The silly little thrill became outright shivers racing through her as fast as a Daytona driver. She’d seen loads of pretty boys in LA: models, actors and the rest. But she’d never seen such true, strong masculine beauty close up before. When he smiled, Armand Bollinger was devastating.