A Tycoon to Be Reckoned With (Harlequin Presents) Read online

  Sarah’s face tightened. ‘Yes, I am aware of that,’ she said coolly. Did he think she was inciting Philip to neglect his studies? Well, all the more reason to confront him this afternoon—warn him that he needed to remove Philip yet again.

  And I need Bastiaan gone too. I haven’t got time for distractions—least of all by a man like this.

  His gaze held hers, and for a moment, timeless and impossible, she felt as if her heart had stopped beating.

  What power does he have? The question coiled in her mind like smoke. And the answer twisted in the same sinuous shape... Too much.

  ‘Good,’ replied Bastiaan. Her eyes had darkened in colour again. He wondered at it. Then a more potent thought overrode that. Emeralds, he found himself thinking—that was the jewel for her. Emeralds with the slightest hint of aqua—at her throat, her ears...

  The vision of her draped in such jewels was instant, vivid. They would enhance her blonde beauty, catching the fire of her emerald eyes, displaying that beauty for him and him alone. He felt desire, raw and insistent, growl within him whenever he succumbed to the temptation of thinking about this beautiful, alluring woman—so unsuitable for his naive, infatuated cousin...

  But for me it would be different.

  Of course it would—to him she presented no danger. Sophisticated, worldly-wise, closer to his age than to Philip’s... Whatever his opinion of women who sought to part impressionable young men from their money, he was not susceptible to such wiles. He was not vulnerable to a woman like her.

  But she... Ah, she would be vulnerable to him. Vulnerable to the desire for him that he could read in her like a book—a desire he shared and made no attempt to conceal. Why should he? For him there was no risk in succumbing to the flame that ran between them.

  He took another fortifying mouthful of champagne, making his decision. Resolution streamed within him. Yes, he would do it!

  Long lashes dipped over his dark eyes. He reached forward across the table, moving a bowl of ripe, succulent peaches towards Sabine. ‘May I entice you?’ he asked. And in his eyes was an expression that in no way indicated that it was to the fruit he was referring...

  Her eyes flickered. He could see it. See the hint of green fire that signalled just as much as her dilating pupils that her sexual awareness of him was radiating out on all frequencies. He smiled, drawing an answering smile from her—an instinctive response. She took a peach and he was minutely aware of the delicate length of her fingers, the pale gloss of her nails.

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured, and dragged her gaze away from him, as though she found it difficult to do so.

  He saw the heightened colour on her cheeks as she placed the peach on her plate and started to slice it diligently, head bowed a little, as if she needed to focus on her task. Her chest was rising and falling a little faster than it had been before. Bastiaan sat back, lifting his champagne glass, satisfaction in his eyes.

  Philip was helping himself from the fruit bowl as well, but unlike Sarah he bit enthusiastically into the peach from his hand, spurting juice. ‘These are really good,’ he said enthusiastically.

  Sarah flicked her eyes to him. ‘Aren’t they?’ she agreed. ‘Just ripe and perfect.’

  She was glad to talk about the ripeness of the fruit. Glad to turn her head to Philip and talk about something else. Glad to do anything to drag her consciousness away from the man at the opposite end of the table. Glad, too, a few minutes later, when Paulette arrived with a tray of coffee.

  Sarah started to gather up the used plates, but the housekeeper snatched them from her, muttering darkly and casting meaningful glances between her and Philip.

  Surely she doesn’t think I’m encouraging Philip? Sarah thought.

  Another thought struck her, even more unwelcome. Did Bastiaan think that as well?

  No, he couldn’t. Of course not! She was doing her utmost to be nothing more than casually friendly—easy-going and relaxed, spending most of her time deflecting his compliments to her. A man as worldly-wise as Bastiaan Karavalas would surely be able to read her reaction to Philip’s youthful ardency as easily as if she had written it large.

  As easily as he must be able to read my reaction to him...

  She felt her stomach clench. The knowledge that Bastiaan Karavalas could see into her feelings towards him was both dismaying and arousing. Fiercely she tried to suppress the arousal, but even as she tried she felt her eyes going to him, almost meeting his as they did so, before she continued handing plates to the unappreciative Paulette. And she felt, in that fleeting mingling before she dipped her lashes to veil her eyes, the tremor of attraction flare and catch.

  He knows how he affects me—knows how he makes me feel. It’s impossible to hide it from him.

  A thought speared into her troubled consciousness. Coming without volition. What if Philip knew how attracted she was to his cousin? What if she responded openly to Bastiaan Karavalas’s desire for her—hers for him? Would that destroy Philip’s crush for her in an instant? Surely it would. It might be harsh, but it would be effective.

  And it would give me a reason to succumb to what is happening to me.

  As if standing on the edge of a precipice, she hauled herself back from the brink. Was she insane to think such a thing? She must be. Whether she was being Sabine or herself, whether Philip did or did not have a hopeless infatuation with her, Bastiaan Karavalas had no place in her life—none. Whatever the power of his sensual impact on her, she must ignore it. Suppress it. Walk away from it.

  Speak to Bastiaan this afternoon—explain how he should take Philip away—and then get back to what is important. The only thing that is important to you at this time.

  Making her final attempt to launch her professional career. Nothing else. No one else.

  ‘Sab, did you bring your swimming costume?’

  Philip’s question cut across her thoughts. She looked startled. ‘No—no, I didn’t.’

  His face fell, then brightened as Bastiaan spoke.

  ‘No problem. There’s a wide collection of assorted swimwear in the guest suites. I’m sure there’ll be something to fit you.’ Bastiaan’s eyes glanced over her, as if assessing her figure’s size, and her eyes automatically went to his as he spoke.

  ‘Great!’ exclaimed Philip. ‘When we’ve had coffee I’ll show you where to change.’

  She gave him a flickering uncertain smile. She ought to make her excuses and leave—try and have that word she needed with Bastiaan before she did so. But as she sat sipping her coffee, replete with lunch, champagne coursing gently in her veins, she had no energy to make such a move.

  Her gaze slipped out over the beautiful gardens beyond the terrace. Out of nowhere she felt a different mood take hold as she committed herself to staying longer. It really was so beautiful here, with the gardens and the dazzlingly blue sea beyond. All she ever saw of the Côte d’Azur was the walk back to her pension and the local shops around the harbour. By day she was focussed only on rehearsals, by night she posed as Sabine. A relentless schedule of work. Why not relax a little now?

  Why don’t I make the most of being here? Who could ask for anything more lovely and enjoyable? And surely the longer I spend in Bastiaan’s company the more used I’ll get to him—the more immune I’ll feel. The less I’ll react to him.

  Yes, that was the way to look at it. Extended exposure to him would surely help to dissipate this ridiculous flaring of her senses every time he glanced at her...

  It was a confidence that was comprehensively annihilated as she emerged from the villa in the swimsuit Philip had found for her. Even though it was a one-piece, and she had a matching turquoise sarong wrapped around her, she burned with self-consciousness as she felt Bastiaan’s eyes go straight to her from where he and Philip waited by the pool loungers.

  But it was not just her own body that she was so conscious of. Nor was it the sight of Philip, his slenderly youthful physique clad in colourful board shorts with a fashionable logo, sporting snazzy
wrap-around sunglasses that was causing her breath to catch. No, it was the way her eyes had gone immediately to the powerful torso of Bastiaan...to the sculpted pecs and abs, the strong biceps and wide shoulders. His hip-hugging dark blue trunks were sober compared with Philip’s. His eyes were not shaded by dark glasses, and she could feel the impact of his gaze full on, even through her own sunglasses.

  She made a play of making herself comfortable on a sun lounger, and then—again self-consciously—she unknotted the sarong and let it fall to either side of her, exposing her swimsuit-clad body and bare thighs.

  ‘The bikinis didn’t tempt you?’

  Bastiaan’s deep voice threw the question at her and Sarah gave an inner shudder at the thought of exposing even more flesh to Bastiaan Karavalas.

  ‘They’re hopeless for swimming in,’ she said lightly. She relaxed her shoulders into the cushioned lounger and lifted her face to the sun. ‘Oh, this is gorgeous,’ she said feelingly, as the heat of the sun started to penetrate her skin after the cool of the interior of the house.

  ‘Are you a sun-worshipper?’ Bastiaan asked, amusement in his voice.

  ‘When I can be,’ she answered, still lightly.

  ‘I’m surprised you’re not more tanned, given that you only work nights,’ he said.

  She glanced towards him uncertainly. The reason she was pale was because she’d spent the first part of the summer in the north of England, teaching, and her days here were spent in rehearsal. But all she could say—again in that same deliberately light voice—was, ‘I’m working on it!’ Then, in order to avoid any more awkward questions, she gave a little yawn. ‘Do you know, I really do think I might have a little siesta? Champagne at lunchtime has made me sleepy.’ She slid her dark glasses off her face—no point getting white circles around her eyes—and gave a swift smile to her hosts. ‘Wake me up if I start snoring,’ she warned them humorously.

  ‘You could never snore!’ Philip said immediately, clearly aghast at the idea of his goddess doing anything so un-goddess-like.

  His cousin gave a low laugh. He found that her throwaway comment, so insouciantly self-mocking, appealed to him. But then, of course, almost everything about Mademoiselle Sabine was appealing. Everything physical, at least.

  Bastiaan’s eyes clouded meditatively as he let his gaze rest on her slim, lissom body. Her eyes were closed, and that allowed him to study her face at leisure, while his cousin busied himself fiddling with his iPod’s playlist and fishing out earphones now that the object of his admiration was so annoyingly determined to doze off.

  She really is incredibly lovely to look at.

  That was the thought uppermost in Bastiaan’s consciousness. She had taken off her make-up, he realised, presumably to replace it with sun cream, but it had not dimmed her beauty in the least. He found himself studying her face as she lay there with her eyes studiedly closed. Curious thoughts flitted across his mind. Now she was neither film noir vamp nor sixties siren.

  So who is she?

  The question was in his mind...but he was finding no answer.

  He frowned. What did it matter what image Sabine Sablon chose to present to him? What did it matter that she appeared to have an engaging sense of humour about herself? What did it matter that as she lay there, her face bare of make-up, being blessed by the sun’s rays, all he could see in her was beauty...?

  All he could feel was desire...?

  He settled himself on his lounger and started to make his plans. The first step, he knew, must be to remove Philip from the vicinity—and for that he had an idea forming already.

  Then it would be time to turn his attentions to the woman—the beautiful, alluring woman who was lying so close to him—and bring her right up close and very, very personal...

  CHAPTER SIX

  SARAH SAT, MERMAID-LIKE, on the sun-warmed rock at the sea’s edge, watching Bastiaan approach her through the water with swift, powerful strokes. He and Philip were racing each other from the shore to the pontoon moored a little way off. Philip was on the pontoon now, timing Bastiaan.

  She watched Bastiaan getting closer to her and tensed. She really must grab this moment to try and speak to him. She’d been looking for an opportunity since she’d woken from her siesta and they’d all headed down to the sea. So far Philip had stuck to her like glue, delighted to introduce her to the delights of the villa’s private stretch of rocky shoreline and encouraging her to swim out with him to the pontoon.

  As Bastiaan’s long arm touched the rock and he twisted in the water, his muscles bunched to start on his return, she leant forward.

  ‘Bastiaan...?’

  It was the first time she’d addressed him by his name directly, and it sounded odd to her. Almost...intimate.

  Dark eyes lifted to her immediately, a question in them. ‘Yes?’ There was impatience in his voice, and more, too.

  ‘Can I... can I speak with you privately...before I go?’

  Dark brows tugged together, then relaxed. ‘Of course,’ Bastiaan said smoothly. ‘I am at your service, Sabine. But not right now.’

  Was he being sarcastic, ironic, or was he just in a hurry to complete his race? Maybe the latter, for he twisted his powerful torso and plunged back into his strokes, face-down in the water, threshing with fast, vigorous movement towards the pontoon.

  Sarah breathed out, feeling her tension ease a tad. Well, she’d done it, but she didn’t look forward to it—didn’t want any private conversation with Bastiaan Karavalas on any subject whatsoever.

  In her head, silent but piercing, came a single word. Liar.

  An hour or so later, after a refreshing dip in the villa’s pool, she announced that she needed to be going. She glanced at Bastiaan, hoping he would remember her request to speak to him.

  Smoothly, he took her cue. ‘Let me show you back to where you got changed,’ he said.

  He gestured with his arm towards the villa’s interior and Sarah walked ahead of him, glad that the sarong around her was veiling her somewhat.

  As they gained the marble-floored hall she heard him speak.

  ‘So, what is it you want to say to me?’

  His tone was neutral, yet Sarah felt that she could hear in its timbre a kind of subtext. She paused at the foot of the stairs and turned. Now that the moment had come she felt excruciatingly awkward. Should she really tell this forbidding man who had such dangerous power over her senses that his young cousin was hopelessly enamoured of her? Did he need telling in the first place? Wasn’t it obvious that Philip was smitten? Maybe she didn’t have to broach the subject at all—

  But her cowardly hopes were dashed by the pointedly enquiring look in his dark eyes and the mordant expression in them.

  She lifted her chin. ‘It’s about Philip—’ she blurted out.

  One eyebrow rose quizzically. She became crushingly conscious of his bared torso, tanned and muscular, and his still damp hip-hugging swim shorts. Of the way his wet hair was slicked back, accentuating the sculpted line of his cheekbones and jaw.

  ‘I... I think it might be a good idea if he went...went somewhere else to complete his essays.’ The words came out in a rush.

  Something changed in Bastiaan’s eyes. ‘Why?’ he asked bluntly.

  She felt colour run into her cheeks, which were already hot from exposure to the sun. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ she returned. Her voice was husky, her words reluctant to come, resonating with the awkwardness she felt.

  Long lashes dipped over deep-set eyes, and suddenly his expression was veiled.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ he said slowly. He inclined his head minutely towards her. ‘Well, I shall see what I can do to accomplish what I can in that respect.’ His eyes met hers. ‘It may take a day or two, but I think I can see a way.’

  His eyes were still holding hers, and his expression was still veiled. For a moment—just a fraction of a moment—she wondered whether she’d made her predicament plain to him.

  Then he was speaking again. His tone of voice had changed
. ‘The bedroom you changed in is the third along the landing,’ he informed her. ‘Please make use of the en suite bathroom to shower and wash your hair if you wish.’ Then he’d turned away and was heading back outside.

  Sarah mounted the staircase with a sense of relief. It was done—she’d given Bastiaan Karavalas the warning about Philip that she’d needed to, and now she could leave him to it. Whatever plan he came up with to remove Philip from his villa and her vicinity, he would, she was pretty sure, do it effectively. Everything about him told her that he was a man who achieved everything he set himself to do. Of that she had no doubt whatsoever.

  * * *

  Bastiaan stood in the night-dark garden of his villa, contemplating the dim vista of the sea beyond. It was way gone midnight, but he was not tired. After Philip had driven Sabine back to the ville, openly thrilled to be let loose with his cousin’s Ferrari again, even on the tame roads of the Cap, they’d both headed out to dine in Villefranche. It had been a relaxed meal, and their conversation mostly about cars, with Philip grilling him on competing makes and models and which was the absolute best amongst them all.

  Bastiaan had been glad to indulge him, even though he knew that his aunt lived in terror of her son’s eager enthusiasm for such powerful and potentially deadly machines—but anything that took Philip’s mind off the siren charms of Sabine Sablon was to be welcomed.

  Well, Philip would not be available for very much longer. Bastiaan was setting his plans in place.

  He was refining them now as he stood in the cool night, with stars pricking out in the heavens and catching the swell of the sea with their trickles of light. Across the bay he could hear faint music, coming from one of the restaurants along the harbour. On his island in the Ionian there was no sound from any source other than nature.

  A slight frown drew his brows together. Sabine had said how relaxing his remote island sounded—had she meant it? It was unlikely—nothing about Sabine Sablon indicated that her natural habitat was anything that resembled a small, unpopulated island where the nearest night-life was a fast speedboat away.