the confines of corporate life, to make a difference by being an integral part of one of the most important days in any person’s life.
She was here to support Lara. To celebrate with her and François. Laurent Bonneval was just a minor aggravation in what should be a gloriously happy weekend.
Now was the time to enact the calm professionalism she’d sworn she would adopt for the weekend. Unfortunately her trembling hands and somersaulting stomach didn’t appear to have received that particular memo.
She buzzed down her window a fraction more. Nodded in the direction of the beast. ‘I’d appreciate it if you’d lock him away.’
* * *
Something unyielding kicked in Laurent’s chest at the coolness of Hannah’s tone and stony expression. He pointed in the direction of the stables; at his command Bleu ambled away to where he slept alongside the horses.
Hannah’s gaze followed Bleu’s every step and even when he disappeared from view, her gaze remained fixed in that direction. ‘Will he come back?’
He edged closer to her door, crouched over to speak to her in the small gap of the window. ‘I heard him barking—I’m sorry if he scared you.’
She shook her head as though to deny any suggestion she’d been scared. ‘Is he yours?’
‘Yes.’
She grimaced at that. He knew that she was scared of dogs. He cursed himself for not having locked Bleu away. Lara had told him Hannah was due to arrive around this time but Bleu had looked so despondent when he’d led him to his kennel earlier, Laurent had relented and allowed him to accompany him as usual on his evening run. ‘Despite appearances, he’s as soft as a marshmallow. He just wanted to say hello to you.’
Hannah shook her head, clearly not believing him. ‘He’s terrifying—I’ve never seen anything like him.’
‘He’s a Grand Bleu de Gascogne. He has a very affectionate temperament.’ Moving to the car door, he opened it. Hannah’s gaze shot back to the corner of the château where Bleu had disappeared and then back to him. He gave her a smile of encouragement. ‘He won’t come back, I promise. You can trust me on that.’
Her forehead bunched and her mouth dropped into an even deeper scowl.
For long seconds she stared at him unhappily, heat appearing on her high cheekbones, but then with a toss of her head she yanked her handbag off the passenger seat and stepped out of the car.
In the silence that followed he cursed François. When François had told him that Hannah was to be their wedding celebrant he’d been incredulous. François knew of their history, how uncomfortable it would be for them both, but François, usually so sanguine, had refused to change his mind in the face of Laurent’s demand that someone else take on the role. His only compromise was his pledge that he and Lara would be present in the château at all times over the weekend to smooth any awkwardness between him and Hannah.
‘Your journey—was it okay?’
Hannah shrugged at his question and moved to the boot of her car. ‘I’d like to go inside and see Lara.’
By her tone, he knew she was as keen as he was for the others to be present in the château. But once again, his father had decided to make life difficult for everyone around him. He followed her to the boot of the car and lifted out her suitcase. ‘François and Lara called me earlier—there’s been a change of plans. They’re now staying in the family apartment in Bordeaux overnight. Lara tried calling you but she couldn’t get through.’
Her expression appalled, Hannah pulled her phone from her handbag, ‘I’m having problems connecting to the French network.’ Then with an exasperated breath she asked, ‘Why are they staying in Bordeaux?’
‘Apparently my father had already made a restaurant booking for them and refuses to cancel. He wants to show Lara and her parents some of the city’s nightlife.’
Her head turning in the direction of the château, she asked uneasily, ‘So who’s staying here tonight?’
‘Just you and me.’
Her eyes widened with horror.
Irritation flared inside him. He’d known she wouldn’t be keen for his company, but did she have to make it so obvious?
But then his indignation sank into guilt. He and he alone was the cause of all this tension. The least he could do was try to make this weekend somewhat tolerable for them both.
Leading her in the direction of the main entrance, he said, ‘Let me show you to your room. All of the château staff have this evening off as they will be working long hours in the coming days with the wedding.’ Inside the coolness of the double-height hallway of the château, his desperation to take a shower and have something cool to drink abated a fraction. The heatwave hitting most of south-west France for the past week was becoming unbearable. He kicked the front door shut with his heel, knowing he was only trying to kid himself—the weather had little to do with how he was overheating.
This always happened when Hannah was nearby.
Pale pink sleeveless blouse tucked into mid-thigh-length lemon shorts, plain white plimsolls on her feet, thick and glossy brown hair tied back into a high ponytail, she was all delicious curves and sweetness.
He uttered a low curse to himself. He knew he’d hurt her. She deserved better than him remembering how incredible it was to hold her, to feel her soft curves. But in truth, their relationship had been built on a bed of intoxicating mutual attraction.
He’d seen it flare in her eyes in the moments after they had first met, their handshake lasting a few seconds longer than necessary, neither trying to pull away.
That first day, as they’d sailed on his yacht, Sirocco, which had then been moored out of Port Solent but was now moored out of Royan, Hannah had been friendly but he could tell that she was avoiding being alone with him. He’d wanted to shrug off her indifference but in truth her reticence had intrigued him and the intelligence in her eyes and her close friendship with Lara had had him wanting to know her better.
She had turned down his invitation to meet for a drink later in the week.
So he’d orchestrated it for her to attend a dinner party he’d thrown in his Kensington town house. He’d hoped to impress her with his cooking but she’d left early, saying she had an early flight to Paris in the morning. As he’d walked her out to her awaiting taxi, for the first time ever, he’d felt tongue-tied. All night he’d been unable to stop staring across the table at her, her natural warmth that was evident behind her initially reserved nature, her genuineness, her authenticity lighting something inside him. On the few occasions she had looked in his direction, he’d seen that spark of attraction again, but she’d always snatched her gaze away. That night of the dinner party, he’d let her go, without pressing his lips to her cheek as he’d ached to, something deep inside him telling him he had to wait until she was ready to accept the spark between them.
Their paths had crossed several times in the months that had followed. He’d used to playfully remind her that his offer of meeting for a drink was still on the table but she would smile and turn away.
And then, one day, when they had all gone swimming in the Solent after another day sailing on his yacht, Sirocco, she’d watched him dive from the rail. When he’d emerged from the water deliberately close to her, her initial frown that had spoken of some deep internal turmoil had transformed into a gentle smile and she’d softly said, ‘I think I’m ready for that drink.’
He’d trod the cold English Channel water, grinning widely, not caring that everyone else in the party could see his delight. He’d wanted to stay there for ever, staring into Hannah’s soulful brown eyes, his heart beating wildly in delight and anticipation that had been more than about the desire to tug her gorgeous bikini-clad body towards him.
Now he led her up the main marble staircase of the château to the