His gut tightened as dormant parts of his body stirred.
His gaze lingered on the elegant sweep of her throat and jaw. The lush mouth she’d bemoaned wasn’t wide enough and he’d always found perfect. The stunning eyes he’d lost himself in time and again when they’d climaxed together.
Something akin to shame flooded him that after all this time he still remembered.
‘I can see but not well,’ he finally admitted, turning his head away. How much did he see when he looked at Poppy and how much did memory superimpose? Looking towards the window he could make out dark and light, shapes and shadows, but there was none of the clarity with which he’d viewed her.
Damn! How long before he recovered?
‘What I see is distorted and I’m sensitive to light. So as I say, I won’t be driving for a while.’ Orsino shoved aside the fear that perhaps he’d never drive, or climb, or parachute again. He scrubbed his jaw
with his unbandaged hand. He’d even needed help shaving!
‘I’m sure I’ll be able to manage for myself while you’re working.’ He was careful not to let doubt enter his voice. He
would
manage, even if it killed him.
His mouth twisted in a mirthless smile. Not so long ago he’d faced the prospect of death head-on. Was that why every moment now was so vivid and emotion so close to the surface?
‘And the wheelchair? Will you need that to board the plane?’ Poppy’s clipped questions scraped away at his pride. He hated being unable to manage for himself.
If he’d expected concern he should have known better. She didn’t ask because she cared but so she could work out how little assistance to give.
Orsino told himself that didn’t hurt. Hadn’t he always managed alone? As kids he and Lucca had been all but abandoned by their parents, given everything money could buy but left to fend for themselves.
His mouth curved derisively. Just as well he’d never learned to expect sympathy. He had as much chance of genuine caring from his wife as a heatwave on Everest.
Had she
ever
cared for him? Or had it all been a clever con to win her money and fame? The question was like a canker inside, eating away at him.
If nothing else, he intended to discover the answer.
‘You were imagining the photos, were you? The brave wife wheeling her incapacitated hero?’
Poppy didn’t rise to the bait. Just stood silent and unmoving and suddenly the urge to bait her died. Exhaustion tugged at his body, making him slump in the chair.
He sighed. ‘I can walk, but given my vision—’ and the lacerations and bruising ‘—I’m not as mobile as I was. The wheelchair is at the insistence of the staff—’ who’d continued to badger him about staying. ‘I’ll use it as far as the entrance but after that I’ll walk.’ He just hoped he didn’t make a fool of himself by collapsing in a heap. Getting ready had sapped more strength than he’d anticipated.
Abruptly Orsino gestured to the wheelchair. He’d had enough of this conversation. ‘Given the sling it’s hard to push. Do you mind?’
‘Of course.’ She hurried behind him and he caught a faint scent of berries on the air. He ignored it.
They had to run the gamut of staff who’d assembled to see him off. At the entrance Orsino carefully stood, his body creaking like an old man’s.
‘Are you sure you’re fit to walk?’ It was Amindra, his favourite nurse. Her concern was at odds with her usual brisk kindness and he found himself groping for her hand. This round dumpling of a woman had given him more care and concern than he remembered from his own mother.
Had Poppy really been jealous of her?
‘Of course I am, Amindra. Thanks to your care. When I’m healed I’ll be back to thank you all properly.’
He thought he caught a glimpse of a smile before she curled his hands around the head of a walking stick.
‘Good. Then you can bring this back to me.’ She squeezed his hand then melted into the gloom that was his peripheral vision.
‘This way.’ It was Poppy, beside him again, her voice as colourless as a mountain brook. She swept one arm in a wide gesture and he located the door.
Slowly he paced beside her, his good hand clenched around the walking stick, his body tense with effort.
The big door swung open with a whoosh of crisp air. He hesitated then stepped out, relishing the cocktail of smells bombarding him: exhaust fumes and dust, smoke and spicy cooking. It was so different to the scoured smell of the hospital. He heard bustling life surround him. Relief battered like a wave, making him light-headed.
Not even to himself had he admitted to fear that he’d never leave the hospital. Yet he felt a weight slide off his shoulders.
‘Orsino! Orsino! Over here!’
He blinked, trying and failing to focus on the faces surrounding him. His heart drummed in his chest and a cold sweat broke out on his brow. Something suspiciously like panic twisted in his gut.
A hand closed around his sleeve.
Poppy. She was there beside him.
He breathed deep, hating the way tension eased because he wasn’t alone. Hating the fact that she felt the way his arm shook.
She
of all women.
It was one thing to imagine her pandering to his every whim while he regained his strength. It was another to have her guess how much this cost him. To know how much he needed her right now. His pride smarted.
Gritting his teeth, Orsino walked on, aware of the warmth of her hand through the sleeve of his jacket. Aware, too, of the curious leap of excitement he felt being close to her again.
As they walked slowly the voices grew strident and blurred faces crowded close.
‘Can you see, Orsino?’
‘How close did you come to death?’
‘Are you and Poppy reconciling? Are you in love after all this time? How about a kiss for the camera?’
Poppy spoke. ‘The car is straight ahead.’ There was nothing in her tone, neither stress nor sympathy. She might have been talking to a stranger.
He hadn’t expected her to feel anything. He’d had her measure since the night five years ago when he’d discovered what she really was.
Why did it matter that he’d been mistaken in the hospital, imagining he’d got under her skin? Why did it matter that he meant nothing to her?
Yet it did.
Because almost dying out there on the mountain, he’d faced the terrible truth that some part of him was still connected to her.
The realisation was like salt poured on an open wound. A wound he’d believed healed. His gut churned with the force of his reaction as years of resentment came flooding free.
Someone jostled them and his stick clattered to the ground. He reached out and found himself grasping soft cashmere and even softer hair. His fingers tightened.
‘That’s it, Orsino. Just one kiss!’ Around them the paparazzi pressed closer.
‘Can you stand while I reach for your stick?’ Poppy’s words were innocent enough but her ice-cool tone struck him again. To her he was an encumbrance till the divorce, a necessary responsibility. No more.
Five years ago she’d made a fool of him. Even now, when he’d blackmailed her into dancing to his tune, he hadn’t dented her self-assurance, much less her emotions.
Impotent fury spiked.
He
would
get a reaction from her.
Planting his feet more solidly, he released his hold and heard her breath sigh out. But before she could draw away he lifted his hand to the back of her head, to the silk tresses that moved as she jerked beneath his hold.
Her tangy, sweet scent filled his nostrils.
‘Orsino?’ Her voice wobbled.
Now
that
was a reaction.
He looked down into wide eyes. The fiery burn in his belly flared and spread as he held her tight and slanted his mouth over hers.
P
OPPY COULD HAVE
broken away from him. She
should.
He held her with one arm only, the plaster on his other arm pressing against her middle.
His splayed hand held her firmly but not unbreakably.
So why did she hesitate as his mouth captured hers?
Maybe it was the surprising restraint in the touch of his cool lips against hers. It reminded her of the first time they’d kissed. Then he’d scooped her close, his shoulders blocking out the world, leaving her cocooned in the passion that swirled like a maelstrom between them. Yet he’d taken her mouth with a gentleness that had been more devastating than any urgent caress. He’d undone her with one simple kiss, because she’d felt not only desired but cherished.
His mouth moved now against hers, pressing gently. Poppy felt the years peel back, as if awakening to a man for the first time.
A shudder ran the length of her body as nerve endings sprang to life.
His tongue swept the seam of her lips, coaxing a response that rippled through her, from her mouth down to her tingling nipples and her toes curling in her boots.
Orsino’s hand moved in her hair, long fingers strong and hard and ridiculously erotic given all he did was hold her.
Her heart hammered into her breastbone and her eyes fluttered shut as her lips moved tentatively against his.
Sensation flooded her, the sound of blood pulsing in her ears, the tensile strength of him against her, the dark chocolate and spice deliciousness that was the shockingly familiar taste of Orsino on her tongue.
He pressed closer and reason finally surfaced from the inchoate thoughts tumbling through her mind.
She pulled back, eyes wide at her body’s betrayal.
Impenetrable dark glasses stared back at her. Her eyes dropped to the thin, mobile mouth that had so easily worked magic on hers. She caught a gleam of dampness on his bottom lip, the sheen where her mouth had met his.
Wrenching free of his hold, Poppy staggered back, heart pounding, her breath sawing from her lips.
Still he stood unmoving while all around them
cameras clicked and whirred and reporters climbed over one another for a better view.
She felt like she’d had an out of body experience. It sure wasn’t her body that had responded to Orsino so eagerly. It couldn’t be. She’d eradicated him from her system.
Pity your body doesn’t know it.
The snide little voice came from inside her head.
Imagine what would have happened if he’d had two hands to work with.
Poppy wanted to clap her palms over her ears but there was no escaping the truth.
Not even the paparazzi cameras had saved her from herself. The truth punched hard into her empty stomach.
Orsino had laid his mouth on hers and she’d not only let him, but kissed him back. As if she were ripe for the plucking, just waiting for him to offer her a taste of the physical pleasure that had always been his specialty.
As if what he’d done meant nothing.
As if she were just another woman eager to be noticed by the sexy, charismatic Orsino Chatsfield.
Hadn’t she learned
anything
?
Even if her body responded to some echo of past attraction, surely she had more sense than to follow in her mother’s footsteps, unable to break away from a man who was no good for her.
The thought brought a ball of searing bile to her throat. She gagged and swallowed, ashamed of herself.
Swiftly she scooped up Orsino’s walking stick, ignoring the jostling reporters and their raucous questions. Despite their noise it felt as if she and Orsino were closed off from them, caught in a fragile bubble. She couldn’t read his features. Was he as impassive as he looked? What about the convulsive way his hand had clamped her skull?
‘Here.’ She thrust the stick into his grip then shoved her hands into her pockets. He could manage without her.
Poppy pushed aside the memory of his tension as he’d walked beside her. He’d been shaking, muscles bunched and rigid. She’d been foolish enough to feel sorry for him, reading the stress in his tight jaw and pale face.
No more!
She wasn’t her mother to be swayed so easily by sympathy for a man who despised her.
She wasn’t that self-destructive.
‘The car is just a couple of metres away.’ She turned and pushed her way through the throng.
They were silent on the way to the airport. Twice Poppy opened her mouth to give Orsino an indignant blast and twice she caught the driver sneaking a peek at them in the rear-view mirror and looked away.
That kiss would be all over the press. The last thing she needed was an eyewitness account of her and Orsino arguing.
Restlessly she pulled the tie from her hair, scooped back the stray curls that had escaped and twisted the mass high on her head, tugging so tight she winced.
Good. A bit of pain might knock some sense into her. What had she been thinking, letting Orsino kiss her?
There was a jittery, excited feeling in her stomach. Horror, she assured herself, not excitement.
She shifted in her seat, unable to repress the shivers tightening her skin.
Finally they arrived at the airport, but instead of drawing up at the terminal, the car went to a private entrance. They passed security staff and drove onto the tarmac where a sleek jet stood, its door open and staff waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
‘A private jet? That’s how you travel now?’
‘Not usually. But it seemed most convenient in the circumstances.’ A quick gesture encompassed his glasses and plastered arm. He sounded perfectly composed. No roiling stomach for Orsino after that scene in front of the paparazzi. No regrets or concerns.
Poppy’s fingers curled till the nails bit her palms. She wished she could be so blasé.
‘The hotel business must be booming.’ She shoved open her door and swung her legs out.
‘I’m not in the hotel business.’
Something in his voice made her turn in time to see him flatten his lips as if in distaste.
Poppy tilted her head, watching his long fingers
flex then clench into a fist. She frowned. Orsino was so good at guarding his thoughts. Did he realise the tension he was signalling?
‘I know you don’t have to work for a crust, Orsino.’ Carefully she kept her voice neutral. His attitude to her career had never been supportive, as if he couldn’t understand her need to pay her own way. ‘But your family fortune comes from hotels. It’s the same thing.’
He opened his mouth as if to say something then paused. ‘The jet belongs to a friend,’ he said at last.
Poppy hesitated, about to call him on his blatant change of subject then shrugged. She wasn’t interested in what made Orsino tick. He’d cured her of caring.
Twenty minutes later they were finally alone, seated on opposite sides of the cabin. The plane had lifted off and the steward had retired to the galley after serving drinks.
‘What the hell did you think you were doing back there, Orsino?’ Her outrage hadn’t abated. Her fingers were white-knuckled around her glass.
‘Where?’ He turned his head towards her but his expression was unreadable behind those glasses.
‘Oh, don’t be so coy.’ She all but grated her teeth together. ‘Outside the hospital.’
‘What? The kiss?’
‘Of course, the kiss.’ Heat saturated her skin at the nerve of the man pretending not to understand. ‘What did you think gave you the right to do that?’
Above the dark glasses one black eyebrow arched. ‘A husband’s right?’ he purred in a whisky-deep voice.
‘A husband’s—!’ Her words were cut off as she surged upwards, only to find herself restrained by the seatbelt. With a fumbled click she freed herself and shot to her feet, stalking across the luxurious lounge to stand before him. She shook with the force of her indignation.
‘How many times do we have to go through this, Orsino? You’re no longer my husband.’
Slowly, oh so slowly, he lifted his head towards her voice. Her skin prickled as his gaze trawled her body, from her hips, past her waist to her breasts and then finally to her face. Heat surged in her cheeks.
Could he see her or was he just pretending, yanking her chain? Either way, his leisurely survey set her teeth on edge, like fingernails scraping down a chalkboard.
Poppy wrapped her arms around herself rather than reach out to wrap her hands around his throat. She’d never in her life been violent but Orsino brought out a response more potent than any she’d known.
Except the depth of misery and hurt he’d left in his wake. The memory of that helped get her anger under control.
‘You didn’t like kissing me?’ He tilted his head as if puzzled. But the shadow of a smile lurking
at the corner of his mouth told its own story. ‘You could have fooled me.’
Poppy swung away, pacing the deep, plush carpet. ‘Then obviously I succeeded. Being kissed by you isn’t an experience I want to repeat. Ever. I prefer to save my kisses for someone I care about.’
Silence.
‘And does this man have a name? Or can I guess?’ Orsino’s voice held a dangerous edge, like honed steel sheathed in velvet. It abraded her senses, making her shiver.
‘That falls in the category of none of your business.’ He had a hide, prying into her private life after all this time.
Orsino’s lips twisted up in a smile she could only describe as feral. ‘If you try to flaunt him under my nose while we’re together you’ll find it’s very much my business.’
Poppy spun around to stare at him. Reflective glasses met her gaze, giving nothing away.
‘Now hold on right there. We’re not
together.
I’m letting you stay for a few weeks. What I do and who I see is nothing to do with you, Orsino.’
‘Perhaps not.’ He lifted his glass and took a slow sip. ‘But I think you’ll discover, dear Poppy, that the press will make it their business to ferret out the juicy details of this man you care for so much. Imagine the fallout when news breaks of your affair even as you’re nursing your poor, wounded husband.’
‘You … You …!’
‘I’m just telling it like it is. You know what the paparazzi are like.’ He paused. ‘Will I meet him? Is he at this shoot you’re taking me to?’
Poppy darted a disbelieving glance at Orsino, casually sipping his drink. Did he think he could just ask and she’d open up?
She shook her head. The man was amazing.
‘You seem inordinately interested in my love life.’
He said nothing but his lips tightened. Poppy frowned. Why would he take an interest? He hadn’t for five long years.
The memory of her unanswered calls and emails stiffened her spine. She didn’t trust his sudden fascination with her personal life.
‘What are you up to, Orsino? Are you trying to make it look like we’re reconciling? Is that why you kissed me?’ Though what he had to gain she had no idea.
‘You put too much weight on an innocent kiss.’
It was on the tip of Poppy’s tongue to say that for all his restraint there’d been nothing innocent about that kiss. It had been pure temptation, designed to make a woman melt.
She rubbed her hands up her arms, dispelling the goosebumps that rose when she thought about it.
‘You haven’t answered my question. What were you hoping to achieve?’ She crossed the space to stand before him. Light from the window shafted
across his face, throwing the grooves around his mouth into shadow. They gave his face a sardonic cast.
‘Who says I have an agenda?’ He tilted his head and she was sure his eyes met hers from behind those black glasses. She felt the sizzle of his regard right to her toes. ‘It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. An impulse.’
Her eyebrows rose in disbelief.
‘An impulse? With the press on hand? You’re kidding.’
He waved his glass expansively. ‘I fail to see the problem. It was just a friendly kiss. No harm done. Besides, you thrive on press attention. That should keep the pundits busy for a couple of days.’ His lips curled in a smile she didn’t trust. ‘Consider it a gift from me. Some free publicity.’
‘Free publicity! As if I need that.’ She drew herself up and glared at him.
She’d learned how intrusive the press could be. The year after their separation had been sheer torment as the press hounded her for a reaction, any reaction, to their split, to Orsino’s latest daredevil stunt and to his string of voluptuously glamorous girlfriends. They’d stalked her, harassed her friends and even gone through her rubbish for stories to print. When they found nothing they just made it up.
‘But it’s so good for your career, Poppy.’ Orsino adopted an unmistakeable accent, a cruel but accurate mimicry she had no trouble recognising.
Her fingers bit into her arms as she hugged herself tight. Her jaw ached from the control she exerted.
Thank heaven Mischa wasn’t staying at the chateau. She didn’t like to think what would happen if the pair crossed paths again. Her stomach churned and nausea rose.
How had she agreed to this absurd idea? What was she trying to prove to herself?
That you’re free of him, remember? That there’s no tiny part of you still hankering for what might have been.
‘It may have escaped your notice, but I’m a highly sought-after model. One of the best. I don’t need to court public attention. I succeed on my own merits.’
Orsino remained silent as he swirled the liquid in his glass, the ice tinkling softly in the silence. It was a silence that said more than she needed to know about his views on her success.
She’d worked incredibly hard to get where she was. She deserved a little respect. But Orsino had never respected her career, had he? It was one of the many things that had come between them.
Poppy strode across the cabin and braced her hands either side of a window. Below them a mass of white cloud obscured the land. They were stuck together, alone. Claustrophobia grabbed her by the throat. She felt trapped, exposed and there was no way out.
‘Don’t tell me you had no idea of the furore you’ve stirred up. It’s bad enough they saw us leaving together but this …’ She shook her head. Now it would start all over again.
She swung around to see him leaning towards her, his half-full glass on the table.