Melissa James - Daring to Date the Boss / The Tycoon Who Healed Her Heart - Daring to Date the Boss / The Tycoon Who Healed Her Heart

What just happened in there?

Armand leaned against the sink for a moment, just breathing. He tossed the raclette trays in the sink and ran warm, soapy water over them. Even as he cleaned out the hard cheese and washed them he was conscious of the crazy feeling that had sent him running in here. It hadn’t lessened, despite the space between them.

So stupid, to lose his temper over something as simple as burning cheese! He supposed he’d had to do something—and it was either take out his sudden anger on the raclette grill and Frau Heffernan, a rich widow without a life of her own, or give in to the consuming need to touch Rachel again.

How idiotic was it to touch a woman in his own home? And yet it felt so right.

He’d never brought a woman here, apart from Maman, Johanna and Carla. It was their home as much as his, since Papa had left it to them all equally. It had been almost all he’d had left to give after the fire destroyed the first resort, and he’d gambled away everything else. To Armand, this cabin was his home, a sacred place of refuge. He’d never brought a woman here until now.

At first, he’d thought it was simple pity. She was alone in a world turned against her, and her jerk of a husband had betrayed her publicly.

Then he’d seen the way she rubbed at her left wrist almost absently, as if in reminder. Maman had done the same thing, long after the breaks had healed from his father’s repeated beatings. When Rachel had caught him looking, she’d tried to hide it far too quickly, just as Maman had.

Armand seethed and burned still, just thinking about the shame and embarrassment on Rachel’s face. If that damned ‘doc with empathy’ had been here right now …

It came down to this: Rachel Chase needed protection from Rinaldi, and he could give it.

And you have to do it, because you didn’t protect your own mother.

There was the crux of it. More than twenty years ago, Armand had woken one night to see the truth he’d probably always known—his father had beaten Maman two shades too hard to hide the bruises; he’d broken her arm.

Armand couldn’t change the damage done to his family, but he’d stop Rinaldi from damaging Rachel any further. If Rinaldi showed up, he’d be here waiting.

Despite her spunk and her volatile changes, her inner strength and perception, Rachel was no she-bear. She couldn’t protect herself physically against the likes of Dr Pete, let alone stand against the media onslaught. Armand had the skills, the wealth and the place to protect her—and the reputation didn’t hurt. If Rinaldi showed his face here, he’d meet with the Wolf, all right—a wolf in protective mode. He didn’t care what it took right now, he’d keep Rachel safe.

But he could not and would not hold her again. It was too dangerous to the calm demeanour she needed from him. She needed to heal, not have her protector fantasising about making her his lover. And to make sure she was safe, he had to be in control of his emotions.

Damn it, when has touching a woman ever been this emotional for me?

‘So stop looking at her. Stop thinking about it,’ he growled to himself.

Stop remembering how it felt to hold her.

He had to remember instead that she’d called him Herr Bollinger, putting space between them the moment he’d shown her that his male imagination was running riot. She’s been through enough. She doesn’t want you for anything but protection. She needs a friend.

So a friend he’d be. Nothing had happened, really—just a new kind of male reaction to a sweet, curvy bundle of woman in his arms. End of story.

But every single one of the cheese trays had grooves in them from the steel wool he’d gouged into them with his cleaning efforts when he carried them back into the dining table.

When he glanced at her, she was sitting in her place with seeming calm, but her fingers were laced so tightly together they had white patches. Looking up, he saw the apprehension in those shimmering, far-too-expressive eyes, and the paleness of her cheeks.

Had he frightened her with his emotions? He smiled in rueful apology, but it felt as if he’d gouged his smile in place too. Reassure her; be gentle. A friend, only a friend.

This was going to be a very long few weeks.

IT was almost nine the next morning when Armand—who’d risen at six, had showered, enjoyed breakfast and was currently working from the cabin office—heard the door of the other bedroom squeak slightly as if being opened. ‘Good morning, Rachel,’ he called.

He received only a grunt in reply. From the open door, he saw a pyjama-clad form holding a bundle of clothes dash past him to the bathroom. The door slammed behind her.

With raised brows, he kept working. Somebody, it seemed, was not a morning person—or, like most women he’d met, Rachel didn’t like appearing before others while she was looking her worst.

Not that she did. The brief flash past him had been candy-pink, all tousled hair, rumpled clothes, curvaceousness and, altogether, rather delicious.

Stop it. With a determined growl, he pushed the vision of her from his thoughts and kept working on the latest round of paperwork from the local officials for the new land.

Somebody obviously also liked long showers. It was almost half an hour later when she finally emerged. Her curvy shape was encased in similar jeans to last night, and a long-sleeved T-shirt with ‘sometimes your knight in shining armour is just a jerk in tin foil’ emblazoned on it. Clear-painted toes peeped from the open-ended hotel slippers. Her hair was shining, cheeks flushed and her skin glowed with health. Again, her face was free of make-up, but she still managed to look radiant. It was her eyes, her smile. With those weapons at her disposal, she’d never need the rest.

‘Now I’m human enough to say hi,’ she announced gaily as she shuffled towards him, the slippers making a soft swish-swish on the wooden floors. ‘Good morning, Armand. Did you sleep well?’

About to ask the same thing, he nodded, surprised anew that ‘Mrs Pete’ would be the one to ask first. ‘Thank you. And you?’

She nodded in return. ‘The beds here are very comfortable.’

‘You’ve been here a few weeks now, I believe. Do you have any thoughts on ways to improve the standard of the resort?’

Her smile slipped a touch. A wary kind of nervousness entered her eyes. He didn’t know what was going on. Such an innocuous question shouldn’t send her running for cover. ‘I only asked because I wish to attract all kinds of international guests.’ he said gently. ‘I’ve catered in the European style. You’re American—your honest opinion is the kind of feedback I need.’

‘Oh.’ She relaxed so visibly he could almost see her muscles uncoiling. ‘Well, while the rooms are wonderful, for people that want real privacy, or for family vacations or reunions, cabins like this would be in demand, I think.’

He frowned. ‘The suites aren’t enough?’

‘Oh, they’re wonderful,’ she rushed to say. ‘I—I was just thinking—you know, forget it. What do I know? I never stayed at a place like this until I was an adult. Your guests probably don’t want kids and noisy families here. It was a stupid thought.’

‘Rachel.’ With a hand on hers, he stopped the babbling. ‘I did cater this first resort for adults, and the second in Chamonix, but I want to extend for the third, make it more family-friendly. I loved it when we stayed here when I was a boy. Providing cabins helps the resort to compete with the sport hotels and bed and breakfasts.’ He typed the information quickly into the email he was composing to his architect and sent it. ‘Done.’