The Ruthless Billionaire’s Redemption. Sandra Marton
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arrival. ‘It’s a working day. But you won’t mind, will you?’
Danielle had said she wouldn’t. But the truth was that there was something awfully lonely about stepping off a plane in a strange country with no one to greet you…
Unless he was waiting, unless he was, even now, watching eagerly for her, scanning each face with those dark blue eyes.
Quickly, Danielle rose and picked up her carry-on and shoulder bag. Alice had been right, she thought as she pushed into the aisle, there was really no sense in sitting here. She might as well get going.
The Nice-Côte d’Azur terminal was disappointing. It was foolish, she knew, but she’d expected something more exotic than this crowded, noisy place that reminded her of airport terminals everywhere. People were jabbering at each other as they lined up around the baggage carousel, but the jabbering was all in English. Well, this was the height of the tourist season, that was what it said in her Frommer—the little she’d managed to read of it, anyway. And the Côte d’Azur was Mecca to both the British and the Americans.
There was a long, slow-moving queue at Customs. Danielle gave the inspector a hesitant smile, but he barely glanced up. He seemed bored, even disinterested, as he held out his hand for her papers.
‘How long will you be in France?’ he asked. ‘Are you here on business or pleasure?’
His English was heavily accented. Without thinking, Danielle responded in French, and suddenly his face was wreathed in smiles.
‘Ah, mademoiselle,’ he said, and he burst into the swift, musical language she had studied and loved for so many years.
French, she thought, he’s speaking real French, and suddenly her heart raced with excitement. She was really here! She was in Europe and the summer lay ahead, the long weeks beckoning like unwrapped gifts lying beneath a Christmas tree.
Danielle dragged her suitcase to the car-rental counter. Her breath hissed from her lungs as she eased it down and flexed her hand wearily. She would be in Ste Agathe soon, with Val. What she’d told Ginny was true—she didn’t believe in miracles and she didn’t expect one—but it was going to be nice to see Val again.
There was so much to catch up on—Val probably had dozens of fantastic stories to tell. While Danielle had been drumming French into unwilling adolescent heads, her glamorous cousin had been burning a swath through New York and Hollywood. She’d been everywhere and done everything—she’d even broken two engagements and who knew how many hearts. Danielle smiled to herself. Listening to Val would be like reading a glossy magazine.
As for the things she’d tell Val, well, there wasn’t all that much to talk about. Danielle liked teaching, but Val would probably think it dull. Her smile dimmed a little. She could tell her about Eddie, of course, how kind he had been, how good.
Eddie. It was the first time she’d thought of him in hours. But that was understandable. Today had been such a rush. First Ginny’s old car had had to be coaxed into starting. She’d had to race to make the plane at St Louis. And then there’d been all that foolishness at the Air France lounge.
But that was all behind her now. Besides, just because she hadn’t thought about Eddie, it didn’t mean she’d forgotten him.
She never would, she thought as she moved slowly forward in the queue. Eddie had been the gentlest man she’d ever known. And he’d loved her very much. She’d loved him too, although not quite the way he’d wanted. But he’d made her feel needed, and perhaps knowing someone needed you was enough. Heaven knew she’d tried to feel what he felt, but it just hadn’t happened. Not even his kisses had made her heart race the way it had when she’d seen the stranger searching for her at the boarding gate.
God! What was she thinking? She couldn’t compare her feelings for Eddie to anything else. She’d loved Eddie, she’d—
‘Mademoiselle?’ Danielle looked up. The clerk at the car-rental counter gave her a polite smile. ‘How may I help you?’
Danielle fumbled in her shoulder bag for her rental agreement. ‘You have a car reserved for me,’ she said. ‘A compact. My name is Danielle Nichols, and I made arrangements in—’
She broke off and stared at the clerk, who was looking down at the rental contract and shaking her head.
‘Alors, I am afraid I have not.’
‘Have not what?’ Danielle asked slowly, her eyes locked on the woman’s face.
‘A car, mademoiselle.’ The clerk looked up and smiled sadly. ‘We have none for you.’
‘But—but of course you have.’ Danielle tapped her finger against the rental agreement. ‘Don’t you see what this says? I have a car reserved for this day. Here’s my name and flight number, the time of my arrival…’
‘Oui. That is exactly so. And you have arrived more than one and one half hours late.’ The woman smiled. ‘You had a car at a discounted price until twenty minutes ago.’
‘You mean I’m too late?’ Danielle sighed. ‘Well, then, I’ll pay the regular price. Not that I think that’s right, you understand. But—’
‘There are no cars, Mademoiselle Nichols. Not at any price.’
Danielle shook her head. ‘That can’t be. I must have a car. I have to drive to Ste Agathe. I don’t know any other way to reach it.’
‘I am terribly sorry, mademoiselle. Perhaps you can take a taxi. There is a stand, just outside. And then, tomorrow…’
A long argument later, Danielle snatched up her suitcase and marched towards the exit doors. Tomorrow, she thought furiously. What good was that? She had to reach Ste Agathe today. Well, she’d just have to take a taxi, although who knew what it would cost? Val had sent her a cramped, hand-drawn map and, for all she knew, Ste Agathe was miles from here. The trip would probably cost a fortune.
Her footsteps slowed, then stopped. She should have asked the clerk what the fare would be. How many francs were there to a dollar, anyway? Five? Six? For that matter, how many francs did she have in her wallet? Not a lot; the guidebook had said it was better to change your money at a bank at your destination.
‘For God’s sake, are you just going to stand there?’
The man’s voice was deep, a little husky, and touched with impatience. Danielle’s mouth went dry as his hand closed around her arm. No, she thought, no, it couldn’t be.
But she knew it was he even before she turned towards him. It was the man she’d run from on another continent. ‘What are you doing here?’ she said.
It was a stupid thing to say. But she couldn’t think of anything else. Besides, what was he doing here? He should have left the terminal a long time ago.
He laughed. ‘Saving your tail,’ he said, ‘that’s what I’m doing here. It’s getting to be a habit.’
His eyes met hers, but there was no electric charge in them this time. There was, instead, a look of faint amusement, and she realised suddenly that that was what she’d heard in his voice, too.
He wasn’t impatient with her, he was laughing at her, and not for the first time. The realisation was infuriating.
‘What a gracious way to put it,’ she said coldly. ‘But I’m happy to say I don’t need your help.’
‘Really? And just how in hell are you going to get to Ste Agathe?’
Danielle twisted free of his grasp. ‘I’ll manage,’ she said, and then she frowned. ‘How did you know—?’
‘I overheard your conversation at the car-rental counter.’
Her chin lifted. ‘Are you in the habit of spying on women?’
He laughed softly. ‘Such ego, Miss Nichols. Have you