Yes, relief was a much better emotion to hang on to.
She entered the office, where Tatiana sat behind an exquisite antique desk. Calling on her much-practised poise, Ana approached.
‘I don’t think we were introduced properly. I’m Ana Duval.’
‘Tatiana—Bastien’s slave,’ the other woman joked. She indicated another set of doors. ‘There’s a sitting room through there. I’ll bring coffee in a moment. But perhaps you’d prefer to use the facilities to...to freshen up a little?’
Ana followed Tatiana’s gaze. Her coat had come undone, along with several buttons of her top, and she could feel her carefully pinned-up hair sliding loosely against her nape.
With as much dignity as she could muster she smiled. ‘Thank you.’
In the privacy of the bathroom she let out a shaky breath and gazed with horror at her dishevelled state. The cream silk top she’d tucked into her skirt had come untucked, its material crumpled where Bastien’s body had crushed hers. Luckily her suit had sustained less damage. Fingers trembling, Ana tried to repair her attire as best she could.
Renewed shame seared her. Her lips were red and swollen, her lip-gloss long gone. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes reflected an untamed look that made her gaze slither away in disgust.
Once again she’d let herself down. And this time she couldn’t pretend that she hadn’t wanted it to happen. Her fingers tingled from where she’d willingly grasped Bastien’s nape and invited a deeper kiss.
It could never happen again.
She splashed cold water over her hands. She’d survived childhood with a mother who’d been bent on cruelty and humiliation at every stage. She’d grown up without the fundamental learning tools every child was entitled to and had still made a success of her life.
Surely she could overcome the raw temptation that was Bastien Heidecker?
It would never happen again.
Satisfied with that affirmation, she tugged her jacket back into place and returned to the sitting room with her head held high.
* * *
Bastien answered another inconsequential question, his frustration mounting as the subject of the DBH campaign was once again avoided by his chairman, Claude Delon. He curbed his need to glance to the left side of the room, where Ana had taken a seat five minutes ago. His fellow board members weren’t as circumspect in hiding their interest.
He couldn’t blame Delon for his volcanic mood. No, it was what had happened
in the lift that roiled in his blood. His jaw tightened. He’d lost control. Again. He’d allowed her to goad him until the only sensible response had been to shut her up in the most ruthless way possible.
But even as the glaring error of that course of action taunted him he admitted how good shutting her up had felt. Her lips, soft but firm, had fought against his attempts to dominate, her tongue duelling with his in a curious mixture of defiance and innocence before yielding, kissing him back in a most pleasurable way.
How her soft moans had echoed like thunder through his veins... And the supple imprint of her body, the bones of her hips cradling his pelvis as if made to fit...
He slammed his open palm on the table, cheap satisfaction coursing through him when seven pairs of eyes jerked from Ana to him.
‘We voted on the acquisition of the copper mine two days ago, so why are we discussing it again? In fact everything on the agenda has been covered except one item. Some of you might have nothing better than a round of golf planned after this meeting, but I have work to do.’
‘You sound a little...stressed, Bastien. Perhaps the events of the last few days have taken their toll?’ Delon suggested.
‘The state of my health isn’t up for discussion. Are you ready to vote?’
The older man spread his hands wide. ‘We discussed this while we were waiting for you to arrive. After reading this morning’s papers, we don’t see the need to discuss this any further.’
He sensed Ana tense but refused to look her way. Since she’d walked in, chin high, her stride confident and sexy, she’d commanded too much attention. Witnessing the keen interest in more than one board member’s expression, he’d felt something dark, dangerous and agonisingly twisted course through his veins.
Her clothes, although respectable—demure, even, compared to her previous attire—didn’t mask Ana’s raw sexuality.
Bastien’s fist clenched against the throbbing in his groin and he curbed the impulse to snarl at the wily old chairman. One error of judgement was enough for one day.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means that ultimately the story and the photo, while we wouldn’t normally like to draw that sort of attention to the company, was a stroke of genius. I assume that you’ve seen the surge in share price this morning?’