Nessa barely heard the last phrase. Totally ridiculously, all she could seem to focus on were his beautiful hands. Big and masculine but graceful. Capable hands. Sexy hands. The quiver in her belly became something far more disturbing.
Silence lengthened between them again and suddenly Barbier issued a low, violent-sounding curse in French and picked up the laptop, moving towards the door. He was almost there before Nessa realised that involving the Irish Gardaí would be even more of a disaster. The fact that Barbier hadn’t called them yet left a sliver of hope that something of this situation could be salvaged.
‘Wait!’ Her voice sounded very high in the silence.
He stopped at the door, his back to her. It was almost as intimidating as his front. He slowly turned around. ‘What did you say?’
Nessa tried to calm her thundering heart. She was afraid to look up too much, using the lip of her cap to keep herself hidden as much as possible.
‘I said wait. Please.’ She winced. As if a nicety like please would go over well in this situation.
There was more silence and then an incredulous-sounding, ‘You’re a girl?’
That struck Nessa somewhere very vulnerable. She knew she was dressed head to toe in black and wore a hat, but was she really so androgynous? She was well aware of her lack of feminine wiles, having spent much of her life knee deep in muck and wellies. She hitched up her chin and glared at him now, too angry to remember to try and stay hidden. ‘I’m twenty-four, hardly a girl.’
He looked sceptical. ‘Crawling through undergrowth to trespass on private property is hardly the activity of a grown woman.’
The thought of the kind of women a man like this would know—a world away from Nessa—made her skin prickle with self-consciousness and her vulnerability turned into defensiveness. ‘You’re meant to be in France.’
Luc Barbier was shocked. And he was not a man who was easily shocked. But this slip of a girl—woman?—was talking back to him as if she hadn’t just flagrantly invaded his private property with clearly criminal intentions.
‘I was in France, and now I’m not.’
He allowed his gaze to inspect her more closely, and as he did he felt something infuse his blood...interest. Because he could see it now. Yes, she was a woman. Albeit slim and petite to the point of boyishness. But he could see her breasts, small and perfectly formed, pushing against the form-fitting fleece of her black top.
He could make out a jaw too delicate to be a man’s, and wondered how he hadn’t noticed it before. He also saw a very soft lower lip, which was currently caught between white teeth. He felt a very unwelcome stirring of desire and a need to see more.
‘Take off your cap,’ he heard himself demand before he’d even registered the impulse.
The small chin came up and that soft lip was freed from white teeth. He saw the tension in her. There was a taut moment when he wasn’t sure what she would do. Then, as if realising she had no choice, she raised a small hand and pulled the cap from her head.
For a moment Luc could only stare stupidly as a coil of long, dark red hair fell over her shoulder from where it had been stuffed under the cap.
And then he took in the rest of her face and felt even more foolish. He’d seen countless beautiful women, some of whom were considered to be the most beautiful in the world, but right now they were all an indistinct blur in his memory.
She was stunning. High cheekbones. Flawless creamy pale skin. A straight nose. Huge hazel eyes—flashing green and gold, with long dark lashes. And that mouth, lush and wide.
His body hardened, and the shock of such a reaction to this whippet of a girl made Luc reject the rogue reaction. He did not react to women unless it was on his terms. He was reacting because she was unexpected.
His voice was harsh. ‘Now, tell me who you are, or I call the police.’
Nessa burned inwardly from the thorough once-over Barbier had just given her. She felt very exposed without her cap. Exposed to the full impact of him up close. And she couldn’t look away. It was as if she were mesmerised by the sun. He was simply...beautiful, in a very raw, masculine way, all hard angles and sharp lines. But his mouth was provocatively sensual—the only softness in that face. It was distracting.
‘I’m waiting.’
Nessa flushed, caught out. She diverted her gaze, focusing on a picture of a famous racehorse on the wall behind him. She knew she really didn’t have a choice but to give him the information. The alternative was to give it to the Gardaí and, coming from such a small, close-knit community, she knew that word would go around within minutes as to what she had been doing. There was no such thing as privacy or anonymity here.
‘My name is Nessa...’ She hesitated and then said in a rush, ‘O’Sullivan.’ She snuck a glance back at Barbier and saw that he was frowning.
‘O’Sullivan? You’re related to Paddy?’
Nessa nodded miserably at what a disaster this evening’s escapade had become. ‘I’m his younger sister.’
Barbier took a moment to digest this and then he said, with a curl to his lip, ‘He’s sending his baby sister to do his dirty work?’
Nessa instantly rose to her brother’s defence. ‘Paddy is innocent!’
Luc Barbier looked unimpressed by her impassioned outburst. ‘He’s made a bad situation worse by disappearing, and the facts haven’t changed: he facilitated the purchase of a horse from Gio Corretti’s Sicilian stud. We received the horse a week ago and the one million euros duly left my account but never reached Corretti’s. It’s clear that your brother diverted the funds into his own pocket.’
Nessa blanched at the massive amount of money, but she forced herself to stay strong, for Paddy. ‘He didn’t divert funds. It wasn’t his fault. He was hacked—they somehow impersonated the stud manager in Sicily and Paddy sent the money through fully believing it was going to the right place.’
The lines in Barbier’s face were as hard as granite. ‘If that is the case then why isn’t he here to defend himself?’
Nessa refused to let herself crumble in the face of this man’s seriously intimidating stance. ‘You told him he would be prosecuted and liable for the full amount. He felt as if he had no choice.’
Paddy’s frantic voice came back into her head.
‘Ness, you don’t know what this guy is capable of. He fired one of the grooms on the spot the other day. There’s no such thing as innocent till proven guilty in Barbier’s world. He’ll chew me up and spit me out! I’ll never work in the industry again...’
Barbier’s mouth thinned. ‘The fact that he fled after that phone conversation only makes him look even guiltier.’
More words of defence sprang to Nessa’s lips but she swallowed them back. Trying to explain to this man that her brother had been entangled with the law when he’d gone through a rebellious teenage phase was hardly likely to make him sound less guilty. Paddy had worked long and hard to turn over a new leaf, but he’d been told that if he was ever caught breaking the law again he’d serve time and have a criminal record. That was why he’d panicked and run.
Luc Barbier regarded the woman in front of him. The fact that he was still indulging in any kind of dialogue with her was outrageous. And yet her vehemence and clear desire to protect her brother at all costs—even at her own expense—intrigued him. In his experience loyalty was a myth. Everyone was out for their own gain.
Something occurred to him then and he cursed himself for not suspecting it sooner. He’d been too distracted by a fall of thick red hair and a slender frame. It was galling.
‘Maybe