THE NEXT MORNING Hugo knocked on Louis’s door, rolled his shoulders back and waited.
He was sure she was in. The floorboards in the old building gave enough groans away to indicate that someone was home...and that was without him being extra sensitive to her presence following their impromptu encounter.
He eyed the flowers in one hand, her dry-cleaned jacket in his other. The former, an apology he’d had sourced from his favoured florist early that morning. The latter, hers to return.
He didn’t want to leave them on her doorstep like some coward. He didn’t want her to think him too embarrassed to say hello. Even if the smallest wriggle in his gut told him there might be some of that going on.
He’d never been so quick to escape Vincent’s presence as the night before. Though his concierge had handled his state of undress remarkably well, he wasn’t ready to be reminded of it just yet. And though he was sure his concierge hadn’t shared the news around his staff, Hugo hadn’t done his morning rounds as was his usual way upon his return. He’d simply requested that the bouquet be sent up and left it at that.
Besides, he had more pressing matters to attend to. Like a personal apology to deliver now that he was in full possession of his faculties and his clothing.
The elevator pinged and his cheeks heated as he relived Cassie’s arrival... Okay, so the embarrassment was still there. But, Dieu, it was hardly ideal meeting anyone for the first time in one’s birthday suit. Only your parents should get that privilege, and even then...
The elevator opened and the cleaning trolley emerged with two members of staff. One he recognised, one he didn’t. Must be new. He sent a polite smile in their general direction and went back to his business while they went about theirs. Clearing his throat, he knocked again.
This time he heard footsteps on the other side. Slow but coming closer. They paused and his senses came alive, awareness prickling as she eyed him through the peephole. An eternity seemed to pass. Was he going to have to explain his presence through a...closed door?
Click. The lock turned. The door eased open a crack and one eye peeked out. Vibrant and green. Sans makeup today too.
‘Mr Chevalier?’ She seemed to breathe his name, the delicate sound doing something weird to his chest and that ring of familiarity upped a notch. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Good morning.’ He tried for a smile, feeling oddly unnerved. Was it the familiarity or the fact that she wasn’t exactly welcoming?
Well, would you be after seeing you naked?
‘I come bearing a gift as an apology and one freshly laundered jacket.’
He lifted both items into view and a delightful flush filled her cheek. He caught the hint of a smile too.
‘You really didn’t need to do that.’
‘I must confess, I didn’t. I had my staff do it for me.’
‘But you would’ve missed housekeeping for this morning...’
‘There have to be some perks to owning a hotel.’
The door eased a little wider, as did her smile, and his shoulders eased from their surprising position around his ears.
‘That is most kind.’ She reached out for the jacket and her oversized cream sweater slid down her bare shoulder. She hurried to tug it back up, her blush deepening. ‘You really needn’t have troubled yourself further.’
She was looking at the flowers as she tucked the jacket to her chin. Eyeing him beneath her lashes as though she was shy. Was she shy? Hell, he’d been the naked one, but then maybe she was still seeing him naked. Mon Dieu.
Until he could bury that image, she would likely keep seeing him so.
‘Here, please.’ He offered the bouquet of classic cream buds, which she took, her green eyes lighting up as she brought them to her nose.
‘Hydrangeas?’
‘I put in a special request for a hypoallergenic variety.’ He gave her a lopsided grin and cocked his head towards the floral display that had been his protection a few hours ago. ‘And I’m now considering that for the health of all my guests, I should have these evil varieties replaced throughout.’
Her eyes danced. ‘Hydrangeas certainly would have hidden a lot more.’
She was warming up. And her teasing had him warming from the inside out too, which encouraged him enough to say, ‘Can I tempt you to a coffee? There’s a barista down the road that the tourists have yet to discover, and I’d love to...’
His invitation trailed off as the colour drained from her face. Had he dropped his pants unawares again, because now she was back to being aghast? Not quite the screaming, Hail Mary affair of the night before, but pale, nonetheless.
‘What’s wrong?’
And truth was he hadn’t meant to invite her for coffee. It hadn’t been his intention at all when he’d come here. But he didn’t feel in any hurry to leave her orbit. Not after the week he’d just endured with his parents in LA. His father had refused to stick to his retirement plan and keep his nose out of the global security business he’d set up forty years ago...a business that would take his dying breath if he let it.
Only, Hugo hadn’t thought of his father and his firm since Cassie had stunned him awake.
And today was Saturday, the weekend for most. Not that he had treated it as such in a long time. Especially since he’d rolled his father’s business into his ever-expanding list of responsibilities.
But now he was taking a moment to think about it, it was the perfect excuse for a leisurely coffee with a companion who certainly looked like she was enjoying her own chilled-out weekend. Her jumper having resumed its slouched position off one shoulder, her soft grey leggings and fluffy white socks designed for lounging, her hair hanging free and tousled to her waist...
He could feel another throat clearing coming on, and what was that about?
You really need to ask?
‘Nothing. I’m—’ She licked her lips. ‘I’m not dressed to go out.’
‘I’m talking coffee, not cocktails at the Ritz.’ He was hoping to reassure her, to tease a little too. Surely she had to know how good she looked? Sweet and cute, in a sexy girl-next-door kind of a way. But her smile remained weak.
‘I should get these in some water.’
‘Of course.’
She eased away from the door and a chill washed over his front. Disappointment wrapped up in that same sense of familiarity—ringing stronger, resonating deeper. But then, he’d walked many a hotel corridor, attended many a black tie affair, met many, many people over the years. Though it was more than how she looked. It was the way she was. The regal air. The shyness. The sweetness and light.
‘I’ll leave you to get on with your day.’
He turned on his heel and moved off, cursing the disappointed burr to his voice. It wasn’t in his nature to guilt trip people. Problem was, he was disappointed, and it had taken him by surprise.
‘Mr Chevalier...’
He paused, angled his head just enough to say, ‘Hugo, please.’
‘Would you like to come in for coffee?’
His brows drew together—was she just being kind, polite...?
‘I was about to have one myself,’ she added as though sensing his hesitation.
‘So long as I’m not keeping you from whatever you had planned for today?’
‘Not at all. To be honest, it would be nice to have some company.’
His frown lifted. ‘You’re sure?’
She stepped back to make room for him to enter. ‘Though I don’t know how well you know Louis or if you’ve been in here since he took ownership of the apartment, but...’
Her voice trailed away as she let the space speak for itself, which it did, a thousand times over as he crossed the threshold and chuckled. ‘I believe one’s home should always be a reflection of the occupant’s personality, and since this is Louis’s and Louis Cousteau is a flamboyant fashion designer, I think it is perfection.’
The twinkle in her eye was worth every eye-watering item adorning the large entrance hall. ‘That’s one word for it.’
He and Louis’s penthouse suites were of a similar size and layout, but there the similarity ended. Statement pieces, whether it be in colour or shape, personality or origin, filled every wall, every space. And if Hugo was honest, it gave him the twinge of a headache, but who was he to judge? He was a minimalist through and through. Everything in his life had been about pleasing others, or at the very least, avoiding offence.
The same could not be said for the great Louis Cousteau.
‘You do get used to it after a while.’
She was at the glitter-bedazzled sink, in the equally bedazzled kitchen, filling a vase with water.
‘I’m saying nothing.’
She smiled. ‘You didn’t need to.’ Sparkling green eyes went back to the vase as she arranged the flowers within it. ‘Louis was never one for toeing a line of any sort.’
‘A trait I can admire.’
And he did. That was no lie.
Hugo had grown up in a household at war...whenever his father was at home at any rate. He’d been trying to find the line to toe forever, and then beseeching everyone else to toe it too. He’d been the doting son, the people-pleaser, the peace facilitator in his parents’ marriage, where there had always been three according to his mother—her, his father, and the company.
Not any more, though... Retired, remember.
If only his father would get the message and leave well alone.
‘Is filter coffee, okay?’ The hesitation in her voice already had him giving a smile in reassurance—see, people-pleaser. Even though he’d long ago left that boy behind, some habits were harder to shift. ‘Or I can try and master the machine?’
He looked at the contraption against one wall, too shiny and new to have ever been used. ‘A filter is perfect.’
And if he was honest, he liked his coffee by the vat. He might be French—well, Polish if one wanted to go a generation back, but he’d take a giant mug over a measly espresso cup any day of the week.
He entered the living space, leaving her to get the coffee going. He got the impression she didn’t entertain often. Which again was strange, considering how she’d appeared the night before. How sophisticated, elegant, and dressed for entertaining.
Or was it that he’d been the complete opposite, so unprepared for company?
No. He didn’t think it was that. More that she was used to being waited on. And unaccustomed to entertaining anybody when dressed so casually. But if he was honest, he liked her like this.
Even if she did stand out against the backdrop, her hesitation and muted presence against the garish backdrop a bit like setting a skittish kitten down in a neon nightclub. Maybe he should have invited her round to his place...she’d have fit right in with all the monochrome and he could have taken care of the coffee. Though he’d need to put a few coffees between them and his nakedness before that could happen!
He followed the criss-crossed panels of sun coming through the many French windows and doors to the low-slung coffee table that was scattered with drawing paraphernalia. Pencils, pens, sketches of clothing and accessories...
‘Please excuse the mess.’
He turned to find her behind him.
‘Louis left it like this?’
The man didn’t strike him as the kind to leave stuff just lying around. Chaotic but not messy. Especially when such designs were obviously in their early stages and likely to be considered top secret. His cleaning staff could be trusted but...
She coloured, swept her hair behind her ear. ‘No, they’re mine.’
‘Yours? Wow, they’re really—’ He was about to say impressive, but she was already hurrying forward, gathering the sheets into a pile. Did she not want him to see? Was she self-conscious? Or was it as he thought...
‘Top secret?’
‘What?’ She straightened with a laugh, clutching the drawings to her chest. ‘Hardly. Not really. They’re—they’re just some designs I’ve been working on.’
‘Do you work with Louis? Is that how you two know each another?’
‘Not officially, no. We’ve known each other for a long time. We went to school together in London.’
She stacked the papers on a side table shaped like a palm tree and gestured for him to take a seat on the velvet sofa, the colour of which made him wince but the fabric was soft enough. He swung an arm across its back, was about to ask her which school when his gaze landed on the pile of magazines her cleared-away sketches had unveiled.
Or rather, landed on the cover model of the top magazine...
The cover model who then took a seat beside him in the flesh.
‘Yes,’ she said, and he started. ‘That’s me.’
No, he couldn’t have been so unaware, so sucker-punched by their first encounter that he’d missed...missed...
He blinked and turned to face her, eyes widening and seeing every detail anew. The green eyes. The dark hair. The petite frame. He thought of the recognition that had been nagging at him. The familiarity. The poised elegance with the touch of shyness—something thousands if not millions adored, and others questioned.
Cassie was Cassandra, Princess of Sérignone. Ex Princess.
English socialite. A woman of the people. A woman whose recent divorce was the talk of the world’s media, and there he’d been...naked...unawares...how stupid she must think him!
‘Mr Chevalier?’
Though he hadn’t been in his right mind. And it had been dark in the outer hall. And even this morning, he’d been too concerned with making right what he had made wrong. And then she’d been all shy and sweet and...
Princess Freaking Cassandra?
He dragged a hand down his face.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.’
He contemplated standing. Dieu, he contemplated bowing, but it all felt a little late for that.
She gave him a coy smile. That smile.
‘I know. And I wasn’t quite sure how to tell you.’
‘I would bow but...’
Her eyes danced, her thoughts travelling all the way to his naked backside and beyond, he was sure...
‘So, you’re the reason for the extra footfall outside when I arrived home yesterday? I’d assumed we were having an out-of-season flurry of tourists.’
She grimaced. ‘Mostly press I’m afraid. I’m sorry.’
‘Why are you sorry?’
‘For bringing the madness to your door, to your hotel.’
‘Considering I brought you my nakedness, I think we can call it even, don’t you?’
She gave him a full-on smile. The beam of which made him lose his breath. Breathtaking. It was a word he’d heard of, knew of, never once had he deemed it fit for another person. A hard run, a spell in the boxing ring, a blast round the Nürburgring. But never about a woman.
And that’s when it hit him. The nagging recognition, the stirring in his gut—it wasn’t because she was Cassandra, Princess of Sérignone. It was that she reminded him of another woman. Another dark-haired, shy yet teasing woman. She reminded him of Sara. Of his past and his one big mistake.
Ice rushed his veins, goose-bumps prickling against the sleeves of his shirt.
‘Your hotel security have been amazing, Mr Chevalier, but I am sorry for the extra work I’m putting them through.’
He swallowed the chilling boulder that had lodged itself in his chest. ‘We’re an exclusive hotel, we deal with clients that require extra security all the time. It’s their job to handle it.’
‘Still...’
She looked hesitant, and he knew his tension had seeped into his words. He cursed the memories for rearing their ugly head. It was ancient history. Over a decade old. He’d not thought of Sara in so long. She had cost him dearly in so many ways. She wasn’t just the woman he’d thought himself in love with, she was the woman who’d lost him his father’s respect, his first career, almost his life as well as hers...back when he’d been a rookie bodyguard.
A bodyguard who should have known better than to fall in love with his principal.
It’s why he kept a tight hold on his emotions now. Especially when it came to people. He didn’t depend on them to give him a rush of any kind.
Now he was thirty-six, a billionaire hotelier with a finger in the pie that was his father’s global security firm. The biggest lesson he’d learnt was that you couldn’t control what others thought or did or felt. They would go the way they wanted. And it was best to disassociate your own happiness, your own feelings, from those of others.
Which left him all the more disturbed now, because he cared about this woman. This woman who was no more than a stranger to him personally, but he’d seen enough in the press to know her life had to be some kind of living hell of late. Her divorce as loud and as messy as a catastrophic world event. He wasn’t one for reading the gossip columns, but she often featured in the mainstream headlines. People picking and probing into her personal life like they had every right.
‘I’m sorry you’re under such attack, but if my hotel and my staff are helping you to feel safe from their prying presence, then that’s as good as any five-star review for me.’
Her eyes warmed with his words. ‘Are you going to ask if any of it is true?’
‘If any of what is true?’
‘I don’t know—take your pick. People usually have their favourite headline...corrupting the son of my ex-husband’s driver seems to be the latest story.’
‘You’re confusing me with someone who cares, Cassie.’
To anyone else, his remark may have caused offence. Instead she positively bloomed and, in her warmth, the chill within him eased.
‘It really is none of my business, unless of course you would appreciate a friendly ear.’
Her lashes flickered, her green eyes signalling something that he couldn’t read but it had the unease returning—the familiarity, the need to protect, the urge to run and stay at the same time.
‘Anyway...’ He shifted back in his seat, creating an extra inch between them like it would somehow release the weird hold she had over him. ‘The extra income from the reporters staying and dining here will be good for business, but if one crosses the line, you only have to say the word and they’re out. Though to give them their due, they all seemed rather well-behaved upon my arrival.’
‘That’s because it was you in their orbit.’
And not her.
She didn’t need to say it for him to know that’s what she meant. And there was so much in that one statement. So much vehemence, so much power that she had bestowed on them—the press—and so much fear. Just like Sara.
He opened his mouth to reassure, to tell her she was safe in his building, to tell her he’d evict them all, if need be, when she stood. ‘I’ll get the coffee.’
He doubted the pot would be ready but he got the impression she wanted a breather more than the drink, and so he let her go. It could wait.
And if he was honest, he could do with a breather too.
It wasn’t so much that she was royalty—ex-royalty. He’d protected royalty. He’d housed royalty. Hell, he’d dated the equivalent of royalty. And there came Sara again.
‘You know what your problem is, son? You’ve got a thing for a damsel in distress, and until you can keep a lid on it, you’re no use to me...’
His father’s decade-old words were in his ear, his disappointed gaze in his head too...didn’t matter that it didn’t apply now. That his father’s grave dismissal had no place in the now.
His career was his own. His money was his own. His life was his own.
But the damsel in distress, was that what this was...? Sara. Cassie. Both damsels of a sort?
He shook off the thought, dismissed it even as it tried to come back at him...history on repeat just in another form.
But if it was a case of history repeating itself, didn’t that mean he had a chance to rewrite the ending and come out the hero this time? Could he help Cassie get through this turbulent time in her life and not play himself for a lovesick fool, because this time he wouldn’t be a lovesick fool.
Cassie brought the tray back into the lounge. She couldn’t tell if Hugo Chevalier had a sweet tooth. Her gut told her not. Or rather, his well-toned physique did, but she brought the brass pineapple sugar pot anyway. More because it made her smile.
He started to rise. ‘Let me help you with that.’
‘No need.’ She set the tray down, careful not to spill a drop from the two steaming mugs filled with coffee or the jug of milk. ‘Despite the rumours, a princess can manage to serve her own coffee...’
And brush her hair, cleanse her face, clothe herself...how novel!
He settled back into his seat. ‘Do you have to do that a lot? Justify what you can and can’t do, fend off the would-be waiting staff?’
She didn’t meet his eye. She already felt like he’d leapt inside her head, read her every thought as she’d had it. Not that there were any staff waiting in the wings here. Not any more.
It didn’t stop the learned response though—the slight tension in her spine, an attuned ear, and the tight lip, which she swiftly loosened into a smile for his benefit.
‘Once upon a time, in a castle far, far away...’ She handed him his mug and he thanked her, his gaze flitting to the exposed skin of her shoulder, and she fought the urge to cover it as her cheeks heated. She was dressed for comfort, not for company. A fact she’d tried to point out when he’d made the joke about the Ritz. But there was being dressed for the Ritz and being dressed like she was. Braless and in her comfiest clothes. Her go-to outfit after a morning’s workout, when all she’d planned to do was to block the noise of the world out and let her creative juices take over.
‘But not any more?’
‘No.’ She sank back into the sofa, curled her legs up under her. ‘Now I get to make my own coffee. When I want, how I want, and drink it with who I want.’
‘And this is a good thing, right? Because from where I’m sitting, there seems to be some unresolved tension about the whole situation.’
Her eyes shot to his. Had he really just gone there? Outed her and her ‘situation’ again without a moment’s hesitation? She gave a grimace. ‘Did it really come across like that?’
‘A little.’
‘Sorry. I’m not very good at this.’
‘Good at what exactly? The coffee. The talking. Or...’
‘The company.’
‘Am I that hard to be around?’ But his eyes danced with the question, the soft curve to his lips telling her he hadn’t taken offence, and he didn’t mean any.
She laughed, the tension between her shoulder blades easing with every ripple. What was it about this man that made her feel almost normal. ‘Not at all. Just...different.’
‘Different?’
‘To be honest, a coffee date of any kind is a new one on me. Even with Louis it’s usually a glitzy affair that revolves around fashion and dogs.’
He cocked a brow. ‘Dogs?’
‘Oh, yes, he loves dogs.’
‘I can try and talk fashion and dogs if that’ll make you feel more comfortable, but I can’t make any promises about how riveting it’ll be. Or accurate. I can do colour, size, maybe the odd name drop, but that’s my lot.’
‘I take it you have people who pick out your clothing then, because for one who claims to have little knowledge of fashion, you clearly have an eye for it?’
‘Is that a roundabout way of complimenting me on how I dress, Cassie?’
Her cheeks warmed and his eyes dipped, taking in the flush that must have risen up her chest, too. Oh, dear. She was so out of practice and very bad at this. ‘It was merely an observation, Mr Chevalier.’
‘Now that we’re enjoying coffee together, do you think you could drop the Mr? Especially since technically if anyone should be giving anyone a rank, it’s me to you.’
Her coffee threatened to escape her mug as she thrust her hand out. ‘Please don’t!’
He raised that same arrogant brow.
‘I’ve been called princess enough to last one lifetime, and I know that probably sounds ungrateful when it’s many a young girl’s dream but...’
She shuddered. She hadn’t meant to, but the chilling memories creeping along her spine were impossible to suppress.
‘Let me guess, the reality isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?’
‘No.’
He captured her gaze in his. The warmth, the understanding in his crystal-clear blue eyes choked up her chest and had the words spilling forth before she could stop them, ‘It’s more prisoner than princess.’
She bit her lip. Shocked at what she’d said. Because she knew full well how that line would be printed in the press. How it would look to the world when shown in black and white and worse still, it would be the truth. Because she had said it.
And she didn’t know Hugo from Adam. How could she trust him not to spill all when he left here? To sell her story like so many others had before. Her nearest and dearest, people she’d once thought of as friends. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’
She clamped her teeth down again so hard she thought she might draw blood, because the truth was, she wanted to talk to him. The urge like an ever-swelling tide within her. She couldn’t explain it. She’d had no one for so long. Not even Louis would sit quietly, calmly, and listen like this. Oh, he was a good friend, so long as it was surface level talk. The practical or financial. Designs and creative fun. But this...the deep, emotional, real.
There was just something about Hugo. Something that told her he understood. That he got it.
‘It’s okay, Cassie. You can trust me.’
He lowered his mug to the table, rested his elbows on his knees as he interlaced his fingers and gave her his full attention.
‘I don’t make a habit of gossiping, and I certainly don’t talk to reporters, and in all honesty, the idea that you could go outside and tell the world that you found me wandering one of my hotels in my birthday suit fills me with dread.’
A streak of pink marred his cheeks and she found it endearing. Both the blush and the honesty.
‘That aside, it would hardly look good for business if I were to go about selling stories on my guests. And in case you need it spelled out, I really don’t need the cash or the press attention.’
There was no arrogance, just fact.
‘So, if you keep my secrets, I’ll keep yours. How does that sound?’
‘Très bien, Hugo,’ she said, and with all her heart, she meant it too. ‘I agree.’