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

‘I wasn’t thinking of having my resort endorsed by a has-been, despite being one of the ilk myself,’ he said curtly.

‘I doubt anyone would call you a has-been . From what I hear, you chose to walk away from acting at the peak of your career—and this resort is truly beautiful without being overly opulent or flashy.’

He said, touched by the genuine praise, ‘Thank you, Rachel.’

She made a thoughtful face. ‘You know, when you think about it, loads of products get excellent endorsement returns from the average has-been.’ When he least expected it, she grinned. ‘I guess the regular Joe on the street will be able to identify with someone like me. My work has always been among the normal people. You’re quite perceptive, Herr Bollinger. It may turn out to be a sound business plan, if only your average schmuck could afford to stay here.’

She’d given away more than she knew. ‘So Dr Pete lied about the reconciliation and leaving you for the other woman in the first place? You’re not taking the job, either?’

Her cheerful demeanour vanished in an instant. ‘No comment.’

He squared his shoulders and sat back, only then realising he’d leaned forward, his hand almost touching hers across the table. What the hell had he been thinking to ask? He’d always prided himself on his discretion. So why had he asked?

Because, until now, women have told me their life story without my needing to make an effort. Rachel is my first failure since I was a teenager.

In an attempt to lighten the suddenly charged atmosphere, he said, ‘By the way, this is not the place to say “schmuck” to mean a person. People won’t understand. The original word means jewellery, mostly used, but it’s a general term.’

Her brows lifted, her darkness vanished in an instant. ‘My, how words change meaning in other languages!’ And she laughed, a rippling sound, loud and free. When she laughed, Rachel Chase laughed from the heart, and it made him want to laugh with her.

She was a constant surprise to him. Learning the little he knew about her had felt like he’d been pulling teeth, yet it left him feeling oddly fascinated, with a desire to know more.

Rachel was far from his usual type of woman. There was a sense that she’d left the most delicious parts of her conversation unspoken. Perhaps that was the source of his interest? ‘Maybe the meaning is not so different,’ he suggested, to discover what she’d say. Learning a single fact about this woman took more digging than he’d ever needed before. ‘It’s still something used, something tossed aside because someone no longer wanted it.’

She pulled a thoughtful face, looking like a pensive pixie. ‘That makes sense. We Americans merely made the leap from thing to person. Poor schmuck,’ she said again, and laughed. As if the sun had come out from behind clouds, the room seemed to light up with her face.

Armand had to drag his gaze away and get back to the business at hand. ‘So are you agreeable to my idea? If so, I’ll bring my suitcase in. Which bedroom are you using?’

She pointed to a door.

‘Ah, my mother’s old room.’ Before she could do more than briefly look horrified, he put up a hand. ‘Maman lives in her own house a few hours’ flight from here. She visits a few times a year. She’s not coming until summer now. She would be the first to say you’re welcome, Rachel.’ The name kept slipping so naturally from his lips, he barely noticed. ‘I’ll keep my room. The third is now a study, if you’ve noticed, with wireless Internet and computer. I can work in the hotel for a few hours a day, and if you need to work—’ he saw her stiffen again and added ‘—or need to keep up your communications, feel free.’

‘Thank you.’ Her voice was subdued, but she neither confirmed nor denied the subtle probe. It seemed he’d finally met the woman who didn’t want or need to defend herself against the accusations her ex had levelled at her. Whatever the truth was inside the story of Dr and Mrs Pete’s break-up, Rachel Chase obviously did not want or need to unburden herself to a stranger about her life, no matter how much he was helping her.

He didn’t care if she wanted to keep to herself—actually, it was quite refreshing. So from now on she would have what she wanted from him: peace and quiet.

‘I need to work for a couple of hours. I’ll be back before dinner.’ He gathered the lunch plates and coffee paraphernalia on one tray and stacked the other beneath. ‘There’s no point in hiding that I have a guest stying with me when people saw you take the tray. Do you mind if I order dinner for us? Is there anything you don’t like? What do you like to drink—wine, water, soft drinks?’

‘I don’t eat really spicy food, it burns my stomach,’ she confessed with a fledgling smile.

Strange, the way her smile hit him every time. Every time she did it, something or someone new seemed to peep out from behind the confident, caring persona of the woman he’d seen on TV—neither the frightened kitten nor the cool, defensive rebel he’d dealt with today. ‘And what is your drink of choice?’

‘I tend to stick to water at night, though I love the hot chocolate they make here.’

‘Consider it done; I’ll order both.’ He picked up the tray. ‘I’ll see you later.’

‘Um, Herr Bollinger?’

He turned at the door, looking over his shoulder. ‘My name is Armand.’

‘Armand …’ The name rolled off her tongue with that gorgeous southern accent of hers. It sent the oddest feeling through him, a sense of waiting fulfilled. ‘Thank you. I’ll try not to be too much trouble.’

He almost said a paying guest is never trouble , but he held it in. Seeing the smothered anxiety beneath her calm façade, he wondered what had happened to make her feel unworthy of even the most basic help—but he was afraid he already knew.

‘I am doing very little,’ he said coolly. ‘A few weeks sharing my cabin, and I get an endorsement of my resort in return.’

When he saw her shoulders finally relax, he felt the tension disappear from his body, but when he left the cabin his mind was racing. If a woman as loved by her fans as Rachel Rinaldi could feel that she was a bother just by sharing his cabin, there had to be a damned good reason.

There must also be a reason why she wasn’t giving her side of the story to the world. Surely she must know that, given her intense popularity, she’d be believed?

There were definite, unexpected depths to this woman, layers she didn’t want him to see, things he didn’t want to know.

He’d failed Maman —he’d left her to the abuse he couldn’t stop until his father’s death. He didn’t know what the hell he could do to help Rachel. Anything he tried would probably make things worse. But he was committed to spending the next few weeks with her.

So what could he do to ensure it wasn’t a disaster that would send her running from here before he got his endorsement?

‘WHAT is this?’

Rachel looked at the electrical apparatus sitting in the centre of the table with vague suspicion. It looked like some sort of grill, with small-handled pots beneath the heating bars. A wonderful smell permeated the air: cheesy, but like no cheese she’d ever eaten. Bowls of food sat around the grill and a range of foods was sizzling on the rectangular grill-plate above.

‘You haven’t had this before?’ Armand asked, looking surprised. ‘You’ve been in Switzerland for weeks. Surely Max recommended it at least once?’

When she shook her head, he smiled with what looked like genuine pleasure. ‘Then I shall be the first to share this experience with you. This is raclette , a traditional Swiss food for winter—but usually it’s only served with potatoes and pickles. I like to switch it up a bit, add more to the menu.’