Black Ice Read Online Free PDF Page B

she was attractive enough, beautiful was a bit too generous, even with the benefit of Sylvia’s wardrobe. But arguing with him would seem coy, and besides, she didn’t want to spend any unnecessary time in the cavernous, shadowy hall with him.
    He was leaning against the window opposite her doorway, and the formal gardens stretched out beyond, surprisingly well lit for that hour of the night. He’d been smoking a cigarette, waiting for her, but he pushed away from the window and came toward her.
    She thought she’d gotten used to how graceful some French men could be. For a moment she was distracted by his body, then mentally slapped herself. “Were you waiting for me?” she said brightly, closing the door behind her when she actually wanted nothing more than to dive back into her room and lock it.
    “Of course. I’m just down the hall from you, on the left. We’re the only ones in this wing of the house, and I know how turned around one can get. I wanted to make sure you didn’t stumble into any place you shouldn’t be.”
    Again, that faint hint of something wrong. Maybe she was the one who was paranoid, not Hakim’s guests.“I have a fairly good sense of direction.” A flat-out lie—even with a detailed map she inevitably took wrong turns, but he wouldn’t know that.
    “You’ve lived in France long enough to know that French men like to think of themselves as charming and gallant. It’s hardwired into me—you’ll find me shadowing you when you least expect it, offering to bring you coffee or a cigarette.”
    “I don’t smoke.” The conversation was making her more and more uneasy. Complicated by the fact that looking at him, the dark, opaque eyes, the lean, graceful body, was leaving her far from unmoved. Why did she have to be attracted to someone so…wrong? “And how do you know I’ve lived in France a long time?”
    “Your accent. No one speaks that well if they haven’t lived here for at least a year.”
    “Two, actually.”
    It was just the faintest of smiles. “You see? I have an instinct for such things.”
    “I don’t need anyone to be charming and gallant,” she said, still uneasy. Not only did he look good, but the damned man smelled good, too. Something subtle, luscious, beneath the lingering scent of tobacco. “I’m here to do a job.”
    “So you are,” he murmured. “That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yourself while you do it.”
    He was making her very nervous. By now they were walking down the hallway, in and out of the shadows.She was used to the continental art of flirtation which was usually nothing more than an extravagant show. And she knew this man to be a womanizer—he’d said so himself in a language she wasn’t supposed to understand. It was expected that he behave just this way.
    Unfortunately she didn’t want to play the game, not with him. He wasn’t someone to flirt with and then dance away, despite the practiced charm. She couldn’t rid herself of the notion that he was something else entirely.
    “Monsieur Toussaint…”
    “Bastien,” he said. “And I will call you Chloe. I’ve never known a woman named Chloe before. I find it quite charming.” His voice slid over her like a silken caress.
    “Bastien,” she capitulated. “I really don’t think this is a good idea.”
    “You are already involved with someone? That doesn’t need to make any difference. What happens here stays here, and there’s no reason why we can’t enjoy ourselves,” he said smoothly.
    She wasn’t sure how she’d react if he were someone else. She knew how to extricate herself from unwanted situations, though they didn’t crop up as much as she might have hoped. The unfortunate fact was, she was both attracted and afraid of him. He was lying to her, and she had no idea why.
    She halted. They had managed to reach the morepopulated part of the renovated château, and she could hear the voices, an amalgam of French and English, from beyond the double doors. She