Susan Stephens Selection. Susan Stephens

estates he would make a success of it…of his life…of everything. She pulled her gaze away when she saw that the corners of his mouth were slipping down in a rueful smile.

      ‘I’m sorry you feel like that, Kate,’ he said evenly. ‘I know money isn’t everything. But would you rather the estate went bankrupt…that families who have lived in the village for generations were scattered to the four winds? Because that’s where harsh reality was leading. I haven’t enjoyed every part of this revival, despite what you think. Yes, sacrifices have had to be made. But something had to give and I was determined it wouldn’t be those people who depend on me for their livelihoods.’ And, when she didn’t reply and only hugged herself closer in the full knowledge that what he was saying made sense, he added softly, ‘Think what you will of me, Kate. But the fact remains that times have changed and so have I. And so must you—’

      ‘No!’ she flared passionately, suddenly overcome with a great dread of leaving France—of abandoning her hopes, her dreams. The very idea was insupportable. ‘Take your wretched ground rent! Ten years in advance if you must! I own the lease on the cottage now and I have no intention of selling it back to you. You’ll just have to conduct your business around me.’

      ‘That can be arranged,’ he agreed thoughtfully.

      Too thoughtfully, Kate realised, even through the red haze of anger that was threatening to engulf her. He seized every barb she flung his way and sent back a rainbow. In that sense if no other nothing had changed between them. She was still the wilful tomboy in thrall to Guy de Villeneuve’s mastery. But she was a successful woman now, with her own business empire to run, she reminded herself furiously. And this obduracy on his part was infuriating and unfair. He clearly wasn’t going to take her seriously, unless—

      ‘So, you’ll conduct your business around me while I carry out my business from the cottage?’ she demanded as the need to provoke a reaction overtook her caution. She watched as one of his upswept ebony brows quirked in mild surprise and waited for what she confidently expected would be a huge explosion.

      ‘Your business?’ he enquired softly.

      ‘That’s what I said.’

      But what do you intend to—?’

      ‘Oh, more of the same,’ Kate confessed vaguely, flipping her wrist as if what it was need not concern him.

      ‘The same as what, Kate?’ he pressed, an ominous note sounding now in his mellow tone. ‘Having established that you are in fact the principal shareholder of Freedom Holidays,’ he continued, as if reasoning everything through out loud, ‘I can hardly imagine that you intend to set up one of your vast Internet travel shops in the heart of the French countryside. Where will you get your customers from? Not to mention your staff—’

      ‘For what I have in mind,’ Kate revealed, feeling her confidence growing by the second, ‘I am the only member of staff necessary.’ She knew she had struck a goal at last and had the satisfaction of seeing his handsome brow pleat in puzzlement.

      ‘But all your other sites are on the high street—’

      ‘No. You’re missing the point,’ she said, feeling the same rush of excitement she felt each time she contemplated this new turn in her career.

      ‘Vraiment, I am?’ he said, bringing his brows together to view her through narrowed silver-slit eyes.

      ‘This isn’t going to be like my other sites,’ she said, struggling to rein back her enthusiasm in case she gave too much away too soon.

      ‘A new venture?’

      ‘You could say that,’ she admitted, forced to look away from his sharp stare.

      ‘So, explain what you mean,’ he insisted in a tone that was gentle in the same way that he might be gentle with a fishing line before giving it that final tug.

      Or gentle like an extremely persuasive and ultimately demanding caress, Kate thought, momentarily losing her train of thought. Changing tack, she went back on the attack.

      ‘That’s more than enough information for now,’ she said, relishing the unaccustomed sense of having outmanoeuvred him for once. ‘I shall expect your people to come tomorrow and pull down all the boards covering my windows, tidy the garden, reconnect the mains services—’

      ‘Seigneur! Is that all?’

      And now she gave him the full benefit of her confident emerald stare. ‘I’m not joking, Guy’ she warned. ‘I’ve paid good money for the upkeep of La Petite Maison and now I want to see some results. The whole place is in a chaotic state…and I thought I was paying for—’

      ‘What, Kate?’ His eyes were like flint.

      Sensation ripped through her—awareness, longing and then finally, after a huge internal battle, resolve. ‘You’ll see to it?’

      ‘There’s hardly any point—’

      ‘No point?’

      ‘I thought I had made myself clear, Kate. There are to be no more holiday homes on the Villeneuve estate—’

      ‘And I thought I made myself equally clear,’ Kate returned tensely. ‘La Petite Maison is not going to be a holiday home. And, what’s more, it’s not for sale—to you, or to anyone else.’

      ‘You may come to regret that decision—’

      ‘Are you threatening me, Guy?’

      Rather than checking him, this challenge only served to unleash something primal in his gaze, so that what had once been so direct, so uncompromising, grew dangerously hot. Throwing his head back, he loosed a short and very masculine laugh. ‘Still so fiery, Kate,’ he growled approvingly. ‘Still my little spitfire, aren’t you, Katie Foster?’

      The possessive note in his voice…domination almost, released a tidal wave of longing inside Kate’s chest—a tidal wave that swept quickly to inhabit each one of her erotic zones. And not singly, allowing her time to adjust and conceal, but all at once so that she gasped and reddened as instinctively she swayed towards him.

      ‘A spitfire on heat, Katie?’ he suggested sardonically as he moved away.

      Reduced to shaking her head in violent denial, Kate managed to gasp out a correction on her childhood name at least. But even as she uttered the reprimand she knew by his face that it fell on deaf ears.

      ‘So,’ he said, clearly relishing the moment, ‘it’s good to see that nothing’s changed since we last met.’

      His arrogance was astounding, but at least it served as a wake-up call.

      ‘You might find that quite a lot has changed in ten years,’ Kate said tensely. ‘Not least of which is my capacity for standing up for myself.’

      ‘Excellent,’ he drawled mildly in French. ‘I love a good fight.’

      His bold stare sent ribbons of fire curling down her spine. She watched transfixed as he reached up to loosen his silk tie with one strong tanned hand and then went on to free a couple of buttons at the neck of his crisp white shirt.

      ‘Maybe some things have changed,’ he agreed as he viewed her through storm-grey eyes. ‘But, as far as I can see, only for the better.’

      Kate tried to look away as he lazily fingered the blue-black stubble shading his jaw but found she couldn’t.

      ‘Stop it!’ she warned as he prowled a step closer. ‘You were wrong about me ten years ago. And you’re just as wrong about me now.’ She saw his eyes gleam at the recollection.

      ‘Ten years ago there was some excuse for your behaviour,’ he said sternly, his mouth curving with pleasure when he saw how easily the authority in his voice melted her. ‘You were only sixteen,’ he continued relentlessly. ‘And, if I remember the occasion correctly, it was you who made a mistake, not me.’

      As he exhaled