Pride After Her Fall (5 page)

Lorelei was across the Place du Casino and about to cross the road when a heavy hand curled possessively over her shoulder. She swung around, hitting out reflexively with her handbag, eyes wild with anxiety.

‘Let me go. I’ve got to get to my car.’

Nash steadied her with both hands. ‘I want you to wait here. Are you listening, Lorelei? Let me handle it.’

Responding to the authority in his voice, she blinked up at him. He was going to help? There was a scraping of metal on asphalt and, confused, she whirled around to see what was happening across the road. She saw the tow truck backing up in front of her car and automatically stepped out onto the road.

Nash swore and reached to grab her.

Of all the suicidal...

She took off across two lanes of traffic.

He wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it, yet somehow she made it across unharmed.

His heartbeat slowly resumed normal strength.

Amidst the blare of car horns her high-decibel wishes were being made very clear in vitriolic French.

‘Get away from my car!’ she shrieked. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

Nash was not often left speechless, but at that moment he might still have been in the courtyard at the old villa this morning. The sophisticated, sexy woman he had pushed back a busy afternoon’s schedule for was gone. In her place was a reckless wild woman who was clearly out of control.

Adrenalin levels surging, he crossed the street more circumspectly, all the while watching as Lorelei stormed up to the guy supervising the removal of her car. She was waving her hands about as she remonstrated with him in typical Gallic fashion, but the guy was pretty much ignoring her.

Hell, for all he knew they were on a first-name basis and that car of hers was towed every day of the week...

Lorelei had her hands on her hips and was gathering quite a crowd. Ice-queen blondes losing their cool on a lazy afternoon in Monte Carlo had pulling power, and now Lorelei was... Was she taking off her shoes? She was taking off her goddamned shoes! What in the hell?

She slung first one and then the other stiletto heel at the guy. The first one missed but the second one caught him in the groin.

The bloke said something crude and headed for her, and Nash dropped amusement and swapped it for street-level aggression. He made a direct line for the problem, collared the ape so fast the guy didn’t see it coming and shoved him hard up against the side of the truck.

‘You want someone to lay into, mate,’ he said, low and with deadly menace, ‘try me.’

The man’s face fell, then turned an apoplectic red. Nash realised he had him in a chokehold. He eased off. But Lorelei was suddenly right up beside him, stabbing her slender index finger within inches of the guy’s face.

‘You listen to him and you listen to me. I want my car back.
Pronto!
’

Nash growled. ‘Hand in my back pocket.’

‘Quoi?’

‘Keys,’ he snarled.

Fumbling, Lorelei retrieved them.

‘Get in my car.’

‘But—’

‘Do it. Now.’

She backed up, limped a little to the roadside, spotted the red Veyron across the street. She could only see one of her shoes. The other one seemed to have rolled under the truck. The red haze had shifted and she was beginning to think clearly again. What on earth had she done?

People were standing on the pavement, watching.

Let them watch, she thought miserably, casting a longing look back at her car...and then at Nash, who had let the guy go and was using his phone.

Possibly to call in the men with the straightjacket for her before he made excuses to reverse right out of her life. She’d pretty much made a fool of herself, and from experience she knew that whilst men enjoyed the effort she put into her pretty packaging they didn’t have much patience for her more high-octane behaviour. Not that she made a practice of causing scenes in public streets—no, that was a little more to do with the stress she was under at the moment. But Nash wasn’t going to buy that. All he’d seen was crazy.

Serves you right, Lorelei St James,
she thought as she picked her way across the road in bare feet.

She let herself into the car and forced herself to sit up dead straight, not slide down the seat and hide. She’d been doing enough hiding of late. It was an uncomfortable thought she quickly shoved out of her mind. But this was pretty bad. She’d behaved like a lunatic...

But, oh, her car.

Nobody would understand, but it was all she had left in her own name. It was the one thing she hadn’t sold off to pay all the creditors. It was ridiculous, running a gas-guzzling monster like that, but when she drove it she felt like a queen in her castle—important, invincible...

All the things she had discovered recently she wasn’t.

She watched Nash coming across the road. He looked so calm and in control. More things she wasn’t.

He slid in alongside her, slamming the door, belting up, checking the lights as he fired up the quiet engine.

Lorelei fumbled for her cell.

‘You don’t need to make a call.’

She forced herself to look at him. Stupidly, her eyes went to his mouth and she relived the moment she had impulsively kissed him. ‘
Au contraire.
I need to track my car. They’ll impound it, and last time it took over a week to get it back.’

‘Last time?’ His eyes flicked over her.

Lorelei assumed a facsimile of a haughty expression but her heart just wasn’t in it.

‘I admit it has happened before,’ she said wearily.

He didn’t respond.

‘It’s such a large car,’ she found herself explaining. ‘I find it difficult to park.’

‘You parked in a loading zone,’ he inserted dryly.

Lorelei worked some invisible creases out of her silken lap. ‘Yes, perhaps. I’m a little short-sighted when it comes to parking. It does happen.’

‘Yeah, to you I’m guessing a lot.’

Lorelei didn’t answer. What could she say?
Oui,
I’m a mess on heels.
Oh, her Louboutins. Could she ask him to...?

She glanced sidewards.
Non...

‘Nash,’ she said slowly, ‘could you be a darling and fetch my shoes...?’

He shifted around in the seat, his expression not encouraging.

‘They’re very expensive,’ she murmured with a hopeful upwards look. Would it help if she fluttered her eyelashes? Showed him the receipt from the shop in Paris?

Without a word he swung the sports car out into the traffic and Lorelei shrieked as he did an abrupt U-turn. She grabbed her seat, holding on for dear life.

He braked with a screech.

‘Don’t move,’ he uttered, punching open the door.

No, she wouldn’t be doing that. Although she might just have lost a couple of years off her life...

He returned with both shoes, dropping them into her lap. He didn’t even look at her, just pulled the Veyron into the light traffic and drove away from the scene of her crime. Lorelei craned her neck to try and work out what was going on with her car.

‘You’ll have it back in the morning,’ he informed her abruptly.

She stared at him stupidly.

‘It’s not being impounded. A mechanic is going to have a look at that stop-start engine of yours. They’ll run it up to you tomorrow.’

Lorelei plucked at her shoes, too stunned even to check for damage.

‘Merci,’
she said inadequately, wondering how she was going to begin to apologise and thank him. It had been so long since someone had done something just for her.

But what did it mean? This went beyond some silly flirtatious nonsense about a race and a trophy and him being out to win. He’d just done something very nice for her, and she couldn’t enjoy it because she knew she had probably put the kybosh on this going any further.

As if sensing her disquiet, he turned those stunning eyes momentarily in her direction.

‘I’ll run you home,’ was all he said.

She forced herself to shrug.

‘Comme vous le souhaitez.’
As you wish.

CHAPTER SIX

C
OULD
he be a darling and fetch her shoes...?

As the traffic eased to a halt at a pedestrian crossing Nash snapped and did the only thing a man in his circumstances could be expected to do, given the series of events, the surging adrenaline and hot blood being pushed through his body, and the proximity of this unpredictable wild creature he had somehow become involved with.

He leaned across, slid a hand around the back of Lorelei’s head, meshing his fingers slightly in the silky weight of her hair and releasing more of the fragrance of honey and flowers he could fast become addicted to, angled her astonished face and took her tender mouth with his.

The faint hint of champagne still clung to her lips. The warm sweetness of her breath as she gasped and sighed and made a little moaning noise before kissing him back made him want more. The feel of her, the rise of her response beneath him, suddenly stirred a much more primal urge to take what belonged to him, what was his. To mark her. He’d only known her a handful of hours and yet he felt as if he’d been waiting much longer to kiss her.

He deepened the kiss, invaded her mouth, tasting her, driving into her. He told himself it was sexual chemistry; it would burn itself out fast enough. But right now...he wanted her. He couldn’t get enough of her. Yeah, he’d fetched her shoes for her...she could wear them while he—

The blare of a car horn and Lorelei jerking in response had Nash releasing her. For a second he was caught in the headlights of her eyes, and the analogy of having something not quite tame within his grasp was suddenly very real.

Who was this woman?

‘This isn’t a good idea,’ he imparted roughly.

‘Non?’

Her rather unhappy interrogative took him by surprise and he almost smiled.

He couldn’t believe what he was thinking. He needed to take her where she wanted to go and then forget the whole thing. He was damn lucky someone hadn’t been filming the entire incident in the street—although that was a possibility, given the crowd she’d drawn.

She was running her fingers through her hair, rubbing the spot where he’d had his hand...

He was under time constraints. In a couple of weeks he’d be going into lockdown.

He had to be out of his mind...

But he could see her home.

She seemed to realise what she was doing and pulled her hands back into her lap. The gesture made him smile. Yeah, he could see her home.

* * *

For a breathless moment all Lorelei had been able to do was hold still, drowning under the skilled pressure of his lips, but she’d never been a passive woman and with a little moan she had kissed him back.

Apparently women who caused scenes in the street didn’t scare all guys away. Well, not this guy, at least, whose mouth needed a contract for insurance purposes. Lorelei guessed not much would scare him. Confidence and certainty didn’t seem to be a problem for Nash.

He hadn’t even asked. He just took.

Lorelei was quite certain his not asking was adding to the outrageously good feelings still slip-sliding through her body.
Mon Dieu,
the man knew what to do with his mouth—and those fingers, lightly, firmly palpating the sensitive tendons and hollows at the top of her neck, tugging so pleasurably on her hair, were equally skilled. What could they do elsewhere on her body?

When his mouth had released hers she’d been panting slightly, and she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him as his gaze had drifted over her face, down across her bare shoulders.

‘This isn’t a good idea,’ he’d said, in a flatteringly roughened voice.

A cold drop of uncertainty had hit the top of Lorelei’s spine.
‘Non?’

He had smiled then, the charisma of it almost shocking. His blue eyes had filled her line of vision but the light honk of a horn had had her shaking off the spell and indicating vaguely at the windscreen.

‘I think we can go.’

Nash moved lazily back to his side of the car, as if he had all the time in the world, and they shifted forwards, his hands on the gears as assured as they had been when splaying long, strong fingers through her hair. He hadn’t pulled, like a less skilled man might. He’d tugged. And the little answering darts of response had shot like arrows from a quiver through her body.

She threaded her own fingers through her hair and then realised she was trying to recreate the feelings he’d evoked in her. She snatched her hand back, pressing it in her lap.

Feeling as if she might be slumping unattractively, Lorelei tried to sit up a little straighter, assume a more ladylike posture—only to find she was actually still upright. There had been no slippage...only a complete and utter inner landslide...

It was all about how she felt inside, she realized. All loose and relaxed and devil-may-care. The stake of anxiety she’d been tied to all day had gone.
Mon Dieu—
she ran an unsteady hand through her curls—the man was a miracle-worker. What on earth would it be like if...?

Nash gave her a slashing smile as if he understood exactly how it would be.

* * *

The courtyard was in full afternoon sun when the Veyron idled to a stop.

Nash killed the engine and without a word to her—not that they had exchanged many words driving up, at least not any important ones, as to what they were doing, if he’d be staying, where this was going—he was out of the car and coming around, lifting her door.

Lorelei tried to think fast. She was more than a little worried about inviting him inside. Most of the rooms in the villa were emptied of furniture, and the general air of neglect that hung over the place was worse on the inside. She hadn’t minded having people in last night, with all the lights and champagne flowing and the rooms thick with people, but in the harsh light of day she knew how bad it looked. And after this morning’s series of disasters she suddenly wanted Nash to think well of her.

But Nash wasn’t paying any attention to the house.

He was looking down at her.

She hadn’t quite appreciated just how big he was until this moment. She’d had a taste of it this morning, but in her heels some of the height discrepancy had been dealt with. Right now, Louboutins dangling from one hand, handbag from the other, she was only too aware of his powerful shoulders, the strength of his arms and how easily he could overpower her.

It was a jolting thought. Not that he had given her any reason to think he was a threat to her safety—on the contrary. But she was a woman who lived alone and he was...

A famous man who was hardly going to turn into Jack the Ripper.

He shut the car door behind her. ‘Shall we go inside?’

‘
Ah, oui.
Of course.’ She picked her way across the gravel, thinking there was no
of course
about it.

At the front door he held out his hand.

‘Key?’

‘It’s open,’ she said, struck by his old-fashioned attitude, and pushed open the heavy front door.

Nash shoved his hand against the panelling, holding it wide for her.

‘Anyone else home?’

‘
Non.
I live alone.’

His eyes found hers. They were so close she could see the unusual darker rim around the blue iris. Suddenly she knew why those eyes gave the impression of such an intense blue.

‘You shouldn’t live alone,’ was all he said.

Her gaze dropped helplessly to the firm line of his mouth.

‘That’s why I throw a lot of parties.’

He didn’t smile as she wanted him to. Nor did he kiss her. But she’d already worked out that Nash wasn’t going to do much of what she wanted him to. He was his own man in ways she hadn’t quite encountered before and it was in equal measures confusing and unbearably exciting.

His heavy tread rang out on the stone floor and the cool emptiness of the house closed in around them. Lorelei shivered slightly as her mood did its usual dip. Almost as if he was reading her, Nash stepped up behind her and she had an odd sensation of his strength and solidity. She rather liked it.

She liked it a lot. And all of a sudden she realised this man didn’t feel like a threat to her. He was making her feel safe. And safety had been the most elusive of conditions in her life.

Her father had taught her to live with risk; her
grandmaman
had constantly moved the goalposts to keep her forever striving to do her best. Past boyfriends had relied on her to keep the wolf from the door with her inheritance, her network of social contacts.

None of them had ever made her feel safe.

It was probably illusory. He was a big, take-charge guy and he’d been sweet to her all along the line. No wonder she was having rescue fantasies.

She took him through to the kitchen. It was one of the few rooms still fully furnished, for which Lorelei was silently grateful. But unfortunately, like her bedroom, it was a shambles. The caterers had taken away most of their debris, but there were still empty bottles and plates and overturned furniture.

‘I had a party last night,’ she felt obliged to explain. She didn’t want him to think she lived in squalor.

‘I’m guessing that’s pretty standard for you.’

It was. It was standard for her role with The Aviary. ‘Not at all,’ she replied smoothly. ‘I’m quite the homebody.’

He gave her a sceptical look. ‘Yeah, the party comes to you.’

Lorelei didn’t know why but there was an edge to what Nash was saying that had her cooling.
He
should try entertaining eighty people on the budget The Aviary Foundation gave her.

Nash was surveying the room. He wandered over to the counter. Lorelei followed his long muscled back with her eyes.

‘Coffee pot?’

‘My, my—you are domestic.’

Nash shrugged. He had a housekeeping service at all his homes, which made it unnecessary for him to ever approach a kitchen, but he’d grown up regular. As regular as a kid with a drunk for a father and only an older brother to care for him. He’d learned young how to wash his own dishes and scrub a floor and unplug a drainpipe.

Not to mention how to get himself off to school.

‘Yeah, I’m a regular boy scout.’

He looked around. Lorelei had a kitchen and a half. Although he doubted she ever spent any quality time with a dishmop.

Not a domestic bone in that lithe, lovely body, he thought with satisfaction.

Lorelei began opening cupboards, retrieving ground coffee beans, switching on the kettle, pulling out the coffee maker.

‘Cups?’ he asked.

Lorelei indicated one of the cupboards.

‘You’re very practised at this,’ she said.

He appraised her. ‘I know how to make a cup of coffee.’

‘Your
maman
brought you up right.’

‘Mum walked out when I was nine.’

Nash caught himself.
Where in the hell had that come from?

Lorelei’s gaze moved to his. ‘Parents,’ she said carefully. ‘They do muck us up.’

‘Yeah.’

Lorelei noticed he spoke matter-of-factly, but there were hard emotions playing over his face and she kept her attention on the job at hand.

Unavoidably, she began thinking about her own
maman—
Britt, who had flickered in and out of her life. The mother she’d only known fractionally as a child, on those rare visits to New York and her apartment high above Central Park. A glorious blonde Valkyrie who sang to her Swedish folk songs and let her play dress-up in the
ateliers
of the best couturiers in Paris and Rome; a mother of sorts, who’d stalked the catwalks with Lorelei sitting front and centre at the shows, dressed up like a little doll to be cooed over by her glamorous, sweet-smelling friends. A mother who had been no mother at all, and was now a sort of friend she spoke to irregularly.

‘I gather someone in your family owns a bank, given the real estate you’re sitting on.’ Nash was leaning back against the counter, muscular arms folded across his chest, displaying the tail of the dragon tattoo down his left arm.

‘Not a bank.’ Lorelei repressed a wry smile.
If only.
‘This house belonged to my
grandpère.
He had a successful import business. When he died it passed to my
grandmaman,
Antoinette St James, and I inherited it on her death.’

‘I gather you were close? She left you her house.’

Lorelei wanted to say,
It’s complicated.
‘She looked after me. Taught me right from wrong. Gave me standards.’

‘And a house?’

‘Oui.’
She sighed. A white elephant.

‘I imagine it’s a burden, given its size?’

He understood. It didn’t surprise her as much as it ought. He gave the impression of being quietly observant. What had Simone said? Monosyllabic? She imagined this was as chatty as Nash got, and it was quite a compliment to her.

She gestured at the ceiling. ‘You don’t need to be kind. It’s clearly falling down around my ears.’

She waited for him to ask her why she didn’t sell it. It was the obvious question.

‘Did you grow up here?’

‘In part. I spent my breaks between school terms with Grandy.’

He nodded. He was examining her as if she were something he was thinking of buying. Lorelei took the burbling coffee jug over to the counter.

‘I take it your parents are gone, given you got this house?’

‘
Non,
both living. My
grandmaman
didn’t quite approve of my mother.’

‘But she approved of you?’

‘
Ah, oui,
in her way. Cream? Sugar?’

‘Black.’

‘Raymond, my father, did not meet with her approval, either.’

‘You call your dad by his given name?’

Lorelei gave a little Gallic shrug. ‘He’s that sort of father. What do you call your
papa?
’

‘Not much. He’s dead.’

‘I’m sorry.’

He watched her pour. ‘Don’t be.’

‘Do you have siblings?’

‘An older brother.’

‘That must be nice. I’m an only child. Are you close?’

He looked down at her. ‘Want to trade family horror stories, Lorelei?’