He gave a laugh. ‘We’ll have something delivered,’ he told her. ‘What would you like?’
‘Pizza?’ she suggested.
He laughed again. ‘Oh, I think we can do better than that,’ he said.
And indeed they could.
On the Côte d’Azur, when money was no object, it seemed that gourmet meals could be conjured out of thin air.
As she took her place at the table on the terrace, in the warm evening air, it was to discover that a team of servers had arrived from a nearby Michelin-starred restaurant and were setting out their exquisite wares.
She and Bastiaan had already shared a glass of champagne before the meal arrived, and she felt its effervescence in her veins. Now, as the team from the restaurant departed, Bastiaan lifted a glass of rich, ruby Burgundy.
‘To our time together,’ he said. It was the same toast he’d given the night before, at Le Tombleur.
Sarah raised her own glass.
Our time together...these few precious days...
She felt emotion pluck at her.
From his seat, Bastiaan rested his eyes on her. She looked nothing like she had the night before when they had dined. And he was glad of it. She was wearing a pale blue kimono that he had found in a closet. In sheerest silk, it was knotted at the waist and had wide sleeves, a plunging neckline that gave the merest hint of the sweet swell of her breasts. Her glorious hair was loose, cascading down her back. She wore no make-up. Needed not a scrap of it.
How beautiful she is. How much I desire her!
He tried to remember why it was he had seduced her. Tried to remember his fears for Philip. Tried to remember how he had determined to foil her machinations. But his memory seemed dim. Flawed.
As he gazed on her they seemed unreal, those fears. Absurd...
Did I misjudge her?
That was the question that uncoiled itself in his mind. The question that pressed itself against his consciousness. The question which, with every passing moment he spent with her, seemed more and more...unnecessary.
Thoughts flitted through his mind. What evidence, after all, was there against her? Oh, Philip was lovestruck—that was undeniable. His every yearning gaze told Bastiaan that. But what of her? What of her behaviour towards Philip?
I thought her nothing more than a blatant gold-digger—trying to exploit Philip’s youth and vulnerability. But is she—was she?
I thought that she had blatantly switched her attentions to me—had manoeuvred me to get rid of Philip from the scene.
But why, then, had she been so reluctant to go with him when he’d sought her out on his return from Paris? And why had she fled from him in his apartment that first morning? If she’d been no better than he’d thought her, wanting him for his wealth, she should have clung to him like glue. Not wept by the quayside while he’d searched so urgently for her.
Was that the behaviour of the woman he’d thought her to be? It couldn’t be—it just couldn’t.
There is no evidence against her. From the very start she has confounded my suspicions of her—time after time. All I have to go on, other than my fears for Philip, is that payment that he made.
That was the truth of it. Had he been conjecturing everything else about her? Feeding his suspicions simply because he’d wanted to protect his young cousin? He took a breath, fixed his eyes on her as she lifted her wine glass to answer his toast, looked across at him and smiled—her eyes like incandescent jewels, rich and glowing.
Emotion leapt in him, and in his head he heard his own voice, searing across his thoughts.
There could be an explanation for why Philip paid out that money. All I have to do is ask him. There is no reason—none—to fear that it was to Sabine. She could be completely innocent of the suspicions I’ve had of her.
As innocent as he wanted her to be. Wanted so much for her to be...
‘To us,’ he said, and let his eyes mingle and meld with hers—the eyes of this woman who could be everything he wanted her to be. And nothing he did not.
From this moment on he would not let his fears, his suspicions, poison him. Would not let anything spoil his enjoyment of this moment, this time with her.
* * *