Louise Fuller - The Virgin's Debt To Pay - The Virgin's Debt to Pay / Surrender to the Ruthless Billionaire

She’d never be able to say his name out loud; it felt far too intimate.

And not that she’d even see him, she assured herself. Not that she wanted to see him! She’d probably be confined to cleaning bathrooms and vacuuming hallways. Nessa left his office with as much dignity as she could muster.

En route back to her own quarters, she diverted and went to the paddocks where the stallions idly grazed the lush grass.

One of the huge beasts came over and whinnied, pushing his face into Nessa’s shoulder. She dutifully pulled out the ubiquitous carrot she always carried and fed it to him, stroking his soft nose and feeling ridiculously at sea.

Being sequestered indoors and kept away from the bucolic expanse and the animals was more of a punishment than mucking out stableyards and stables ever could be. But Nessa couldn’t convince herself that Barbier was doing it out of spite. He really didn’t seem that petty.

Instead, she couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d taken her hand in his and looked at her rough skin so fiercely the other day. She’d felt self-conscious ever since then. She curled her hands inwards now and shoved them back into her pockets, backing away from the horse.

As she walked back to the main buildings she told herself it was ridiculous to imagine for a second that Barbier had moved her away from the stables for any other reason than just because she was bound to serve out her time here however he willed it.

The man couldn’t care less about her labour-worn hands, and, anyway, hot soapy water and housework were hardly going to be any less taxing or more gentle! She just had to get on with it and make the best of this situation until they could prove Paddy’s innocence.

* * *

It took a long time for the heat in Luc’s body to die down after Nessa had left his office. He’d had to battle the urge to push his desk aside and take that stubborn chin in his thumb and forefinger, tipping it up so that she presented her lush mouth to his. Silencing her in a way that would be unbelievably satisfying.

It was confounding. And irritating as hell. Especially as she was wearing nothing more provocative than a worn T-shirt, jeans and boots, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and no make-up. Yet there was something very earthy and sensual about her that made her all woman.

That, and the defiant tilt of her jaw and the look in her eyes, effortlessly enflamed him. He had the same impulse when he was around her that he had with an unbroken horse. A desire to tame it, and make it bend to his will.

He’d never before become so interested in one woman. Women had never enthralled Luc beyond the initial attraction, and it usually waned quickly. He’d be the first to admit his experience of women hadn’t been the most rounded. His mother had shown only the briefest moments of motherly love, before her addictions had swallowed her whole.

The girls in his milieu had been as gritty and tough as him, broken by their surroundings and circumstances. And if they weren’t broken then they got out and went far away, exactly as he had done.

Sometimes, the women who frequented the social sphere he now inhabited reminded him of the girls and women of his youth. They were hard and gritty too, but hid it under a shiny, expensive sheen.

But Nessa was none of those things, which intrigued him in spite of his best instincts. And she was out of bounds, for many reasons, not least of which was her suspected collusion with her brother.

He knew without arrogance that she was attracted to him. He saw it in her over-bright eyes and pink cheeks, her taut body that quivered slightly in his presence. He felt fairly sure she must know that he was attracted to her—in spite of his words that first night. I can’t say that you’d be my type. Apparently she was.

Yet she wasn’t testing him by using their chemistry to try and leverage any advantage. He didn’t think a woman existed who wouldn’t. Unless she was playing some game. That was far more probable.

He stood at his window now, the view encompassing the gallops in the distance where his thoroughbreds were being exercised, and the stud farm just out of sight on the other side.

He had both sides of the industry here—racing and breeding. It gave him immense satisfaction to see it all laid out before him, except today, for the first time, there was a slight dilution of that satisfaction. As if something had taken the sheen off it. As if something was reminding him that he hadn’t made it yet. Not really.

Luc scowled. He knew he hadn’t made it yet, not completely. No matter how many winners he had or sired with his stallions.

He wouldn’t have made it until he was respected by his peers, and not looked at with varying degrees of suspicion.

It was the only fulfilment he wanted. He had no desire for the things most normal people wanted—family, security, love. What was love anyway? It was a foreign concept to Luc that came far too close to believing in trust, and such notions as fate and chance.

He couldn’t understand Nessa’s blind defence of her brother—unless she was getting something out of it too. It was inconceivable she was doing it out of pure affection or loyalty.

All that existed for him were the solid successes he’d manifested out of sweat and dogged ambition. The legacy he would leave behind would tell a different story from the one he’d been handed at birth. His name would endure as a gold standard in racing.

And yet now, for the first time, he had the disquieting suspicion that even if every one of his peers were to look him in the eye with the utmost respect, he’d still feel less than them.

A movement to the far right in the stud stableyard area caught Luc’s eye and he welcomed the distraction. He turned his head just in time to catch a flash of dark red hair coiling down a slim back before Nessa disappeared around a corner. His reaction was instant and intense, making him scowl even harder at his body’s lack of control.

His body pulsed with need. He should be pushing this woman further away, leaving it to his staff to keep her in check. But instead he was bringing her closer.

He was experiencing a kind of hunger he’d only felt once before, when he’d had his first taste of the wider world outside the gloomy Parisian suburbs and had made the vow to never end up back there again. He’d taken that hunger, and used it.

This hunger, however, would be crushed. Because it could do nothing to enhance his success, or his life. Resisting her would be a test of his will to not demean himself.

* * *

‘Here—last job of the day, love, go up and do the boss’s private suite. He’s due back from Paris later this evening and I never had a chance to get around to it, what with the preparations for the party this weekend.’

Nessa took the basket containing cleaning products from Mrs Owens and hated that her skin got hot just at the mention of the boss and that he was returning soon. He’d been at his Paris stables for the past three days, which hadn’t felt as much of a respite as Nessa had thought it would.

Angry with herself for still being so aware of him when he wasn’t even here, she focused on feeling relieved that the day was nearly over. There was something particularly soul-sucking about doing housework all day, every day, and as Nessa had polished the silver earlier she’d revised her opinion that Luc Barbier wasn’t petty.

They’d also been busy preparing for a huge party that was being thrown at the house that weekend, to launch the most prestigious racing event in the Irish season.

Just as the homely housekeeper was turning away she stopped and said, ‘I’ve left fresh bedlinen in his room, so just strip the bed and remake it. Once you’re done with that you’re off for the evening.’