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

Then he turned to her and smiled again. ‘Thank you for that, Rachel. The more ideas I provide for the third resort, the better chance I have of acquiring the land. Laws for building resorts can be rather stringent here.’

‘You’re welcome,’ was all she said, but the look of shy delight on her face both moved and puzzled him. This level of insecurity surely went deeper than his suspicions. How could a woman so famous for giving good advice not be jaded by people’s thanks?

You’re getting in too deep here. She isn’t Maman. You can’t balance your debt to Maman and the girls by helping this woman.

He knew nothing of her outside the tabloids, such as why she had the name ‘Rhonda Braithwaite’ on her suitcases and ‘Rachel Chase’ on the passport she’d given at the reception desk. He didn’t know if she was a good person or …

Yes, he did know that, by the way she’d shouldered the blame instead of letting a single member of his staff be reprimanded. He knew it by the horror on her face when he had told her this was his cabin. He knew it by the way she hadn’t tried to bargain with him over his deal, though she had to know who was getting the better end of it.

And, damn it, he knew how good it felt to hold her in his arms—and he knew she’d felt it too, even if she didn’t want to be there.

Whether he wanted to get involved or not, he was already in way over his head here.

‘You never answered me yesterday, when I asked how long you thought you’d need my help here.’ He kept the question gentle, masking the intense need to show the turbulence inside. His anger wasn’t aimed at her, but at the men of the world who felt it was their right to abuse a woman or a child. Anger, because it seemed impossible to change one man’s way of thinking and behaviour, let alone the world’s. It will never happen again, they always said, until they lost their temper again.

‘Is time an issue for you? If so, I can go any time, really.’

Armand heard the undoubted tone of fear beneath the projected calm in her voice. She was using every trick in her psychologist’s book, not to charm him or pry into his life, but to hide her deepest emotions from him.

‘Well, it could be an issue if you were planning on staying here for the next five years,’ he said, angling for a laugh, or at least to make her relax a bit. ‘I do have three resorts to manage—at least once this next one’s built.’

‘And you ought to be there to oversee the project.’ The words were sympathetic now the psychologist’s persona she slipped into without a problem. He thought it was because then she could hide her real self—the woman she was ashamed of being. ‘As I said, there’s really no issue if you have to go at any time. If you don’t mind me staying, I’ll be fine here alone.’

Yet it was a problem for her. He knew that, but he had no right to ask. Even being her temporary protector didn’t cancel out the fact that he’d known her less than twenty-four hours. He couldn’t butt in on her private world.

So he tried the one way that seemed to work for her. ‘And still she doesn’t tell me her time frame. Rachel Chase, international woman of mystery … You didn’t tell me you worked for MI6. Or the CIA, since you’re American. Or are you?’ he riposted with a grin.

Her face relaxed. She bit her lip, but laughed anyway. She laughed like a child every time, laughed as though she meant it. It lit up the room. It lit up his safe, predictable world, and filled it with warmth, colour and enchantment.

‘Is two weeks okay with you, maybe three?’

The words broke into uncomfortable conclusions, giving the rainbow light and myriad warmth a time-limit. He was relieved; of course he was. It was best this way, short and sweet. He’d had small infatuations before with unattainable women and he’d recovered. Yes, he liked Rachel—found her adorable, damn it—and he definitely liked the way she felt in his arms. But it wouldn’t be a tragedy if she left tomorrow or the next day. Or in two weeks or three. He was stronger than that, had survived a lot worse disasters than a woman leaving his life after a few weeks. Facile venir, facile aller —easy come, easy go—that was his motto.

‘Good,’ he replied at last, with a cheerfulness that seemed overdone, even to his paranoid ears. ‘Two weeks is definitely doable—or even three or four.’

‘Really? I can stay? It’s not an issue for you?’ she asked, her eyes wide and her smile bouncing off those unseen prisms in the room. Rainbow reflections were everywhere …

He felt his eyes blink in astonishment at having made an offer she hadn’t asked for. What was wrong with him lately? ‘Yes, of course,’ he said smoothly. ‘You are a paying guest, after all.’

Something came and went in her face, a frisson of apprehension. Her smile faded to something weak and half-hearted. ‘Well, then, we both know where we are. The day I run out of funds, I’ll be out of your hair for good, Herr Bollinger.’

Brave words, but her fingers trembled. And he could have kicked himself. No doubt Dr Pete had frozen the accounts, hoping that sooner or later his newly renamed wife would be forced to come into the open and use electronic funds to survive. Then he could find her, and bring her to heel. She might already have run out of money.

It was only when she’d left the room, still clutching at her pyjamas—cute pink things with little cats on the telephone—that he realised she hadn’t called him Armand since he’d brought up the subject of her stay. She knew he was trying to manipulate her, however subtle he’d been in his effort. He’d tried to dig into her life, and again she’d given nothing away.

Two, maybe three weeks was all he had to get her out of danger—that was, if she didn’t run out of funds first. And, given his complete failure in getting a single personal concession from her, three weeks wouldn’t be nearly enough.

Without needing to think it through, he emailed Max again.

Nobody is to mention funds to Ms Chase. She is our honoured guest, for as long as she needs to be here.

He said nothing else, but he knew Max wouldn’t ask. It was Armand’s practise to allow respected clients some space and time to pay their bills. He’d always judged this by instinct alone and he’d never been wrong. They always came through sooner or later, and they’d all become numbered among his most loyal returning guests or even investors.

Now all he needed was to think of a reasonable excuse that would allow her to stay and still satisfy her pride. He just knew that, if he couldn’t come up with something really good, she’d leave with her head high, refusing his charity. He couldn’t let her vanish without trace, not when he was sure that sooner or later, she’d run into more trouble than she could handle alone.

That afternoon

‘It’s a simple contract, Rachel. You stay here until I’ve secured the new resort and I have the architect’s plans. Then I’ll take you there, and you can endorse at least two of my resorts with honesty.’

Rachel frowned at Armand, sensing something deeper than he was showing with this perfect courtesy. ‘Why do you need me to sign a contract? I’ve said I’ll do it.’

His eyes darkened to stormy grey, the hidden lightning beneath the handsome diplomat’s face. He only looked like that when he was hiding something. ‘Because then, if you change your mind and sign on for that show, or pursue other avenues with your career, you’re legally bound to this venture first.’

‘I’ve never broken a contract in my life,’ she replied, aiming for calm, but knowing her voice shook a little. ‘Whatever you’ve heard about me …’