Pride After Her Fall (11 page)

Unable to credit how good he felt, Nash increased speed and they shot down the beach road, heading up and over a rise. He heard Lorelei catch her breath as they plunged into tropical rainforest.

‘Oh, this is beautiful,’ she gasped, and as if to verify her words a brightly plumed bird swooped through the canopy of tree branches above them.

His bungalow was down on the shore—one of several private homes along this exclusive stretch of east coast beachfront. He had designed it himself with a local architect, the focus being on bringing the tropical forest right up to the doorstep and the ocean into the west-facing rooms.

Lorelei was quiet as she looked around, before turning to him and saying, ‘This is most lovely, Nash. You’re very lucky to have something so fine.’

‘Not too modern for you, Lorelei?’

‘Let me tell you I would kill to live in something so cutting-edge.’

‘Then why the Spanish villa?’

Some of the animation slid away from her face. ‘My
grandmaman
wanted me to have it.’

‘You could always sell it.’

Lorelei turned away. He followed her through the dining area and out to the rear of the house, where windows gave way to the ocean, telling himself he didn’t want to look any closer, dig any deeper.

He closed a hand around her lithe waist and she started, as if she’d already become unused to his touch. It made him more possessive. He found himself surrounding her, wanting to put himself front and centre in her life. He put it down to never accepting second place.

She removed his hands, walked away.

‘Why don’t you sell it?’ he asked abruptly.

Lorelei shrugged her delicate shoulders.

Frustration rippled through him.

He thought about the fact that in a couple of hours he’d be sitting down to dinner with the Eagle reps, who also happened to be long-time mates.

His rather brutal earlier thoughts on the subject had been that she could entertain herself, and he’d get away as soon as he could.

But the guys would be bringing their wives. Her remark—
I’m not a toy for you to play with
—nudged him.

The problem was if he took Lorelei she’d be privy to his story before it broke in the press. He tried to picture her as a media leak but all he could see were her sleepy, sexy eyes when she’d climbed on top of him in the early hours of this morning and taken him almost shyly into her slippery hot body. Those little cries of completion as she’d reached her peak had made him feel like a god, and how sweetly she’d curled in his arms afterwards and fallen asleep, still holding on to him.

He groaned in frustration and ran a hand through his thick hair.

‘We’re meeting some friends of mine for dinner at eight,’ he said gruffly. ‘I had some clothes sent up for you. I guess you’ll find them in the wardrobe.’

She turned and smiled at him. ‘
Merci beaucoup,
that’s very good of you.’

He almost laughed.
This
she didn’t fight him on.

Except she’d been fighting him ever since she’d climbed out of his bed.

He didn’t understand her.

He didn’t understand himself when he was around her. When he’d put her in Blue 16 on the track he’d only been thinking about a night, but this morning all he’d been thinking about was how soon they could be together again. He came up behind her at the glass doors leading onto the deck.

Today had been a long one for her. Even now he could see the faint mauve shadows under her eyes, a certainty fragility hovering over her. It was possibly the wisest course to leave her here. To go to dinner with the Eagle reps and give Lorelei some space. But it wasn’t just about giving her space, he acknowledged. He cared about her feelings.

Frankly, he didn’t want to make things any harder for her.

‘Nash, the ocean is right on the doorstep!’

‘It’s a matter of perspective. There’s a good twenty feet between the foundations and the surf, and this stretch of water is effectively a lagoon. It won’t rise.’

‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, looking up at him with an open face, and he smiled a little because she clearly cared nothing for the logistics and everything for the magic.

And wasn’t that how she seemed to live her life?

He couldn’t resist stroking her silken hair. Everything about her was touchable and soft and...yeah, he wanted to know her better.

But she wasn’t an ingénue, and he wasn’t a man looking for dependants. This was about her being a reward before he hit lockdown for training and him being her man of the moment. If he kept it that way this should work out for both of them.

If there was something beguiling about Lorelei’s smile as she looked up at him it was to do with the tropical light and the promise of the night ahead. So he decided to follow her lead for once and just accept the magic.

‘Yeah, it is beautiful,’ he responded a little huskily, and framed her face with one hand. At last she opened up enough to let him kiss her. ‘Second only to you.’

He tasted her—the softness of her lips, the sweetness of her breath—and the magic happened all over again. He knew he’d be taking her to dinner.

* * *

‘So I’m to be your sex doll?’

Nash schooled his expression into something neutral as Lorelei emerged from the master bedroom, a tiny scrap of lace nothing dangling from her little finger.

He’d rung his housekeeper here at the bungalow and told her to organise some clothes through several boutiques at the resort, giving a vague approximation of size and stressing
sexy.
The helpful women at the boutiques had clearly interpreted this as less being more. He wasn’t complaining.

Lorelei stood in the doorway looking unimpressed, although he did detect a tiny quiver about her mouth that told him she was trying not to laugh.

She looked sensational in an ankle-length orange pleated silk chiffon dress, embroidered with tiny crystals at its plunging neckline. It was the neckline that had his attention. His mouth was suddenly dry.

Belatedly he noticed she had swept her hair up into one of those sophisticated knots that took lesser women hours, and wore delicate crystal earrings. The juxtaposition between the ice goddess standing before him, her short sharp nose in the air and the little bit of erotica hooked over her finger finally dragged his eyes away from her braless breasts.

‘You can be whatever you want to be,’ he corrected, coming towards her. ‘You could try being yourself.’

Lorelei’s lips parted slightly.

‘I am being myself.’

He plucked the bit of lace from her hand. ‘Then there’s no problem. I’ve seen your lingerie, Lorelei. You wear a great deal less than this.’

‘Currently I’m not wearing any, but I would have preferred the choice.’

Nash’s mind went blank.

‘You look very smart,’ she said with an arch lift of her brows.

Endeavouring to get himself under control, he rasped, ‘It’s the tailoring.’

A little smile sat at the corner of her mouth, as if she was very well aware of something else. ‘Shall we go?’

* * *

The restaurant was open-air, on the beach, and the rhythm of local Sega music thrummed as a backdrop. Lorelei sipped her iced water, too nervous to risk a glass of champagne.

On the charity circuit she was always working to get people to like her, to respond to her, to open their chequebooks. Tonight she wasn’t sure of the rules.

The large table was peopled with several couples: various identities from the motor-racing world, and one retired driver, Marco Delarosa, so famous even Lorelei recognised his face instantly.

This was Nash’s world, both corporate and competitive, with the glamorous edge provided by sport. She wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but amidst the thumping testosterone-fuelled talk about commercial deals and television rights she became conscious that Nash was talking about racing again.

This was confirmed when Nicolette Delarosa leaned over and murmured, girl to girl, ‘We need to form our own team—at least then we might be a viable part of this conversation.’

A team.

One by one the pieces fell into place.

He was staging a comeback.

With Eagle.

This was why he was so media-shy. This was why he’d cancelled their date. Yet here she was, at this table, privy to the big secret.

She couldn’t understand why, but Lorelei felt a frisson of unease.

Seeking reassurance, she flashed her gaze up to Nash beside her. His body language was relaxed—shoulders loose, open. He was fully himself because he was among friends. This was nothing like what she had built up in her mind. He wasn’t treating her like a rich man’s arm candy, as she had feared, those were her own insecurities.

It was clear in this company that when Nash was private it was because he needed to be—monosyllabic, as Simone called it, because everything he said publicly was weighed and measured. With his friends he was this relaxed and good-humoured man.

His thick black lashes were screening the full impact of his eyes, but although he was listening to Delarosa she knew his attention was on her. Had been on her all evening.

As if sensing the shift in her thoughts he lifted his lashes and there were his intense blue eyes. Lorelei found her pulse was fluttering wildly out of control. He was looking at her as if she was naked under him in bed.

Mon Dieu,
other people would see...they would know...

The hum of conversation died away and there was only an incredible stillness. It seemed to happen between them again and again—his eyes and her heartbeat and that elemental force that shook her when she was in his arms. Only his arms.
Only him.

What was going on? She couldn’t fall so far and so fast for this man.

Almost to rip herself free from the spell he’d cast, she reminded herself that Nash was a public figure because of his sport, and he was about to enter that arena again. Did she really want to be the woman on his arm? To face that sort of intrusion into her personal life?

‘Lorelei St James,’ said one of the women, her voice a little too loud. ‘I
knew
that name was familiar.’

All of a sudden her musings ground to a halt. In that instant she felt Nash’s hand close over hers under the table.

‘Pardon?’

‘It has to be over a decade ago now, but I remember seeing you at the World Equestrian Games.’

Lorelei released a hurried breath. ‘
Ah, oui
—many years ago.’

‘I jump myself. My family breed Arabians.’

She felt Nash’s hand turning hers over, his fingers finding those calluses on her palm. All of a sudden she felt horribly exposed, and she didn’t quite know why, but to pull her hand away would be the first step to getting up and walking out, and she was done with that sort of reactive behaviour. It didn’t serve her. So she mastered her nerves and continued to smile at the woman. To answer questions. To discuss the relative merits of each breed.

Couples were dancing to an old Cole Porter tune outside, and Nash suddenly pushed back his chair, interrupting the woman’s flow. He got up, offered Lorelei his hand.

‘What a brilliant idea,’ said another of the women.

Lorelei followed him out, and the moment she was in his arms he caught one of her hands and turned it palm-side up. She didn’t want to struggle to free herself so she let him.

He rubbed his thumb over the calluses.

‘Why didn’t you tell me about these?’

He didn’t sound accusing, just genuinely surprised.

‘You never asked.’

‘You’re right. I haven’t asked. But I’m asking now.’

She tugged her hand away. He let her.

‘They bother you? The calluses?’

‘They’re not very feminine,’ she said tightly.

‘I disagree.’ He put his hands around her waist, drew her close. ‘You’ve got capable hands.’

Lorelei leaned in against him. ‘They used to be my gift,’ she said unthinkingly, seduced by the sudden proximity of his size and strength.

‘Your gift?’ he prompted

‘I evented. Rode horses in dressage and show trials. I was quite good.’

‘How good?’

‘Good enough.’ She felt slightly awkward. ‘International standard.’

Nash stopped swaying her in his arms. He was looking down at her as if she’d said she once had two heads.

‘I’ve surprised you,’ she said, a little more crisply.

‘You’ve impressed me,’ he said slowly. ‘But you said you rode, in the past tense. Why did you give it up?’

‘I had an accident. It’s made any sustained time in the saddle difficult.’ She hated this part. It was the reason she never talked about it. People either felt sorry for her or dismissed it as a minor disappointment. Both rankled. Almost in sympathy she felt the echo of phantom pains in her hip flexors.

‘How did it happen?’

His voice was low, and it was easy to forget they were on a dance floor. It was as if they were in their own private little world.

‘I was twenty-two. I came down over a jump, and so did the horse. He landed on me.’

Nash stilled.

‘I survived—obviously. It took several surgeries and a lot of physio, but I’m able to ride recreationally again.’

‘How long were you in recovery?’

‘Two years.’

She saw him absorb that information.

‘Those marks on your hips?’ he said a little roughly.

Her eyes darted to his. He’d noticed. They were so faint. Did he find them unattractive?

‘We all have scars, don’t we?’ she said slowly. ‘It’s a part of life.’

Nash surprised her by sliding his hands subtly onto her hips. ‘You hide yours very well,’ he said.

‘What about you?’ she challenged. ‘Where are your scars?’

He looked her in the eye. ‘I wear them for the world to see,’ he answered. ‘Every time I race.’

Race,
present tense.

She wanted to ask him about it but Nash bent down and said in her ear, ‘And your old man? Is he really a gigolo?’

Lorelei pulled her arms free and went to walk away, but Nash had her tightly around the waist.

‘Touchy, aren’t we?’

She flashed active dislike at him and said tightly, ‘He’s the best on the Riviera.’