‘What did you hope to gain, Orsino? Or were you just stirring the pot?’
‘Maybe I was simply curious.’ His deep voice swirled softly around her. ‘It’s been a long time.’
Shock held her motionless while she took in his predatory stillness. The air thickening to a sultry heat.
Then he reached up and removed his glasses. Dark eyes held hers, the intensity of his stare like the touch of a hand on her face.
Poppy tried to tell herself it was the look of a man straining to bring her into focus through damaged eyes. But her heart thumped as their gazes locked. Heat shimmied through her insides. It must be shock at the sight of the angry scar running from beneath the remaining bandage and down so close to his eye.
‘Well, now that you’ve satisfied your curiosity, you can keep your hands to yourself.’
Slowly his mouth turned up into a smile. This time it was genuine. She saw it in his eyes.
Poppy sucked in a startled breath. Even with the bandage and the scar, it transformed him into the man she’d once fallen in love with.
Her pulse gave a tremulous flutter then took off at a gallop.
‘There’s only one complication.’ He paused as if to let his words sink in. ‘That wasn’t a kiss, not a proper one. It was more like a taste.’ He shook his head, his eyes brimful of devilry. ‘It would take a
proper
kiss to satisfy my curiosity.’
‘How very inconvenient for you.’ Poppy forced herself to stroll past him, the picture of nonchalance, and subside onto a leather armchair on the other side of the cabin. She reached for a glossy magazine and opened it. ‘That’s the last kiss, proper or not, you’ll ever get from me.’
Orsino stretched stiff legs. He should rest on the king-size bed in the plane’s suite. He ached all over and his head throbbed with a gentle pulse of pain. If Amindra were here she’d fuss over him with that motherly brusqueness he’d found so unaccountably appealing.
He rubbed his jaw, feeling the scratch on his palm.
He’d overestimated his strength in leaving the hospital. His mouth turned down. His pride had almost resulted in a fall when he’d lost the walking stick. Luckily Poppy had been there to save him.
Poppy. He turned to where she slumped in the massive armchair, the magazine she’d been reading on the floor at her feet as she slept. A skein of
wavy dark hair trailed tantalisingly down over her shoulder.
That’s the last kiss, proper or not, you’ll ever get from me.
She hadn’t even looked at him when she said it, as if his presence didn’t disturb her in the least.
That was bad enough. Even worse was the fact all he could think of was stealing a kiss from her that was improper in every way. A kiss that would lead to hot, hungry, raunchy sex. Sex with a kick to it.
Hell!
He scraped his hand over his face.
A week ago he’d thought himself dying. A couple of days ago he’d felt exposed, exhausted,
mortal
in a way he never had before. It wasn’t till you faced death head-on that you valued life as you should.
Now he was weary, bleary-eyed, fighting to keep control of a body that wanted to hibernate till the pain passed, yet his libido had roared into full-blooded life.
One taste of Poppy did that.
Orsino shut his eyes, cursing under his breath.
How could he be so needy?
How could he want her again, knowing what she was?
Talk about being hoist with his own petard! He’d brought this on himself.
He’d planned to exact a little revenge and in the process assure himself she was out of his system
for good. Instead he discovered he craved her as strongly as he had when their marriage meant something.
Then he’d never been able to get enough of her.
Orsino tried to tell himself this was the predictable result of sexual abstinence but it didn’t work. He’d merely touched Poppy’s lips, clamped his hand in her hair and she’d undone him.
What would it be like to kiss her properly? To lose himself in the hot warmth of her mouth, let his hands loose on that svelte body he knew was strong and supple and indescribably sexy. A body that came alive like kindling to flame at his touch.
Would it still?
His breath hitched as he imagined Poppy aroused and needy, begging him for release. Her hands boldly stroking, her mouth poutingly soft and inviting.
He rubbed a hand around the back of his neck, as if he could rub away the prickle of heat building there. Self-disgust filled him. He should be able to turn his back on her as easily as if she didn’t exist.
Except turning his back on Poppy had never been easy, even when it had been a matter of survival.
Orsino grimaced. His body was telling him something so obvious he couldn’t avoid it any longer.
How long since he’d been aroused by the mere
touch of a woman? How long since he’d wanted one like this?
For too long he’d sublimated desire because it reminded him of his weakness for Poppy Graham. Because inevitably they were her dark violet eyes that swam in his brain when arousal stirred, her throaty mews of pleasure he heard when he woke from an erotic dream.
He’d told himself he’d left her behind the night he walked out of their London apartment, but he’d been mistaken. Buried in ice and rock, facing his own extinction, he’d realised there was still something between them. And now he knew what it was.
Sex. Animal attraction. Desire.
Orsino wanted her as he hadn’t wanted in so long it didn’t bear thinking about.
His good hand gripped the leather chair, fingers digging in as if to anchor himself.
Logic said it was an illusion. The reality of being intimate with the woman who’d smashed his life asunder couldn’t be anything like his imaginings. It wasn’t as if he cared for her any more. She’d made sure of that.
But there was no denying she heated his blood. Just parading in front of him with her hip-swaying stroll had brought him out in a sweat.
What to do about it?
He wanted to obliterate her from his life and kill that niggling sense of unfinished business between them.
He also wanted her with an urgency that shouldn’t be possible in a body so battered.
Orsino smiled. He’d always been tough. ‘Indestructible,’ the press had dubbed him.
The smile faded as he surveyed his companion. There was one obvious option. Sleep with Poppy and let disappointing reality destroy the fantasy of her he still harboured. He knew she was poison. But the part of him that knew good sex had him hankering after a woman he shouldn’t want to touch with a barge pole.
Sleep with her and destroy that last subliminal craving. His smile returned. It had the advantage of being exactly what he wanted to do.
A few weeks holed up at this chateau where she was working. Plenty of time to seduce her and free himself before he walked away for good.
How could he resist?
I
T WAS CRISP
early morning as the limousine slowed to enter the quaint French town. Beside her, Orsino stirred at last, stretching his long legs.
He looked fresher than she felt. Clearly he’d slept on the flight far better than she with her restless dreams. He’d emerged from the plane’s bedroom freshly shaven and in a crisp new shirt, thanks to the steward.
Orsino looked casually sexy but with that dangerous edge advertisers the world over paid a fortune for. He would have made a brilliant model with his handsome features and raw masculinity. Only the tight grooves beside his mouth hinted at discomfort.
It wasn’t fair. Even bandaged he looked terrific while she felt rumpled and untidy.
Poppy straightened, pinning back the strands of hair that always managed to escape.
‘Who organised all this?’ Her gesture took in the car and driver. ‘I’d planned to hire a car from the airport.’ She thought guiltily of her relief when
she’d discovered the car waiting for them. At the time she’d accepted it with weary relief, but on the drive she’d had time to ponder. She couldn’t imagine Orsino making the necessary calls from his hospital bed.
‘My secretary.’
‘You have a secretary?’ She didn’t hide her surprise. ‘You used to manage your social calendar without help. Surely it’s not that demanding.’
He turned to survey her and Poppy wished he’d ditch the glasses. Shocking as it had been to meet the blaze of his knowing eyes, it had been better than wondering what was hidden behind the dark shades.
‘She does more than organise my social calendar.’ His tone was smooth and almost expressionless. Almost.
‘Oh, yes? What else?’
He’d jealously guarded his expeditions, even the planning of them, from her. She’d felt excluded—more evidence that whatever his reasons for marrying her, it wasn’t to share his life.
Could it be he’d finally let someone into that part of his world? The notion jabbed pain between her ribs and she stiffened.
Poppy blinked and tore her gaze away. She couldn’t be
jealous
of his secretary! Yet she couldn’t suppress her curiosity. What did this secretary look like?
‘I suppose those expeditions of yours take some
organising now.’ They’d grown more dangerous and more public, but she didn’t mention that. She didn’t want him to think she’d been following him in the media. ‘Does she work part-time?’
‘Full-time, though she tells me she’s long overdue for a vacation.’
‘Really?’ Poppy frowned. Surely even setting up arrangements for Orsino’s high-profile expeditions wasn’t a full-time job twelve months a year. She turned back to him, the set of his mouth hinting there was something else he hadn’t said. ‘But surely—’
‘I take it this is our destination?’ Orsino nodded towards the window and Poppy recognised the tall gates barring the chateau from the public.
A guard stepped forward and she wound down her window to greet him. Instantly he grinned, welcoming her effusively. Moments later the gates slid silently open.
‘Another of your many admirers?’ Orsino’s dark voice held a steely edge.
Poppy gritted her teeth and reminded herself there was no point rising to the bait.
‘I have to work today.’ She’d already checked her messages and knew she had a full schedule. ‘But I’ll get you settled first.’
‘Sounds good. I’m looking forward to having you put me to bed and tuck me in.’
She turned from the avenue of arching plane trees to stare at Orsino. His tone implied something
far too intimate. The way he sprawled in his corner of the seat, a complacent smile hovering at the corner of his mouth, made her stiffen. She opened her mouth then snapped it shut.
Deliberately she looked away.
The car crunched up the long driveway, out into the open between lawns, passing the converted stables and farm buildings on the right, heading straight for the chateau. It rose out of the river mist like something from a fairytale. Pale stone, round towers and surprisingly large windows. More palace than fortress.
It stood framed by the deep russet of the late-autumn forest on the far bank, like a pearl against crimson velvet. From here you couldn’t see the length of the building, stretching back over the river on a series of arched supports.
Poppy couldn’t prevent a smile. She loved this place, its romance, the delicacy and beauty of it. Its tranquillity was a balm after her hectic schedule.
The car pulled up beside the round, free-standing tower a couple of hundred metres before the chateau. With its conical roof it looked like a setting for Rapunzel.
‘I’ll say this. Whoever chose the setting for your commercial knew what they were doing.’
Poppy’s smile disappeared, her heart dipping. Orsino’s reaction would be completely different if he knew who’d organised this series of commercials.
Even she’d had doubts about the job. Not for professional
reasons—it promised to be a huge success—but for purely personal ones. Ever since that night in London, Poppy hadn’t been able to work with Mischa. But she’d finally convinced herself it was time to let the past go. Besides, the income from this contract would give her the financial security that had been her goal for so long. She’d be a fool to pass up the opportunity.
And, as she kept telling herself, the past was the past.
‘Poppy?’ Orsino’s voice dragged her into the present.
‘I’m glad you approve.’ She pushed open her door, not waiting for the chauffeur. The air was brisk and she shivered, telling herself the prickle up her back wasn’t a premonition of disaster.
All too soon they and their luggage were inside, the driver gone.
It was ridiculous to feel nervous, but Poppy was as edgy as a cat on hot sand.
For the first time in five years she and Orsino were completely alone. At the hospital and on the plane there had always been the possibility of staff appearing. But here, in the luxuriously fitted tower, a completely separate building to the chateau and the other accommodation on the vast estate, there was just the two of them.
A low whistle pierced the stillness. ‘This is really something.’
Orsino moved to an open door leading to the
beautiful sitting room that looked over the formal rose garden and the river. He leaned on his stick, staring first at the view then the priceless renaissance paintwork on the high ceiling beams and down to the dark honey parquetry floor with its intricate weave pattern.
‘If it wasn’t so crass I’d ask who you had to sleep with to get this place to yourself.’
Instantly the chill at Poppy’s spine turned to a shaft of ice that twisted and pierced her chest. She swayed at the casual cruelty of the comment, but by the time he turned around she had herself in hand. She stood tall and proud, pretending that poisoned dart hadn’t hit its target. Yet she felt brittle, as if one touch would make her shatter.
‘No one, as it happens.’ Her voice was as crisp as the late-autumn chill. ‘It’s one of the perks of being the new face of Europe’s oldest and premier jewellery house.’ Poppy pinned on a smile even though it felt like her facial muscles cracked from the strain. ‘The House of Baudin takes care of its assets.’
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘Don’t!’ She stopped him with a single slashing gesture. To her surprise it worked and he stood silent.
‘Of course you meant it. You’ve got a cutting tongue, Orsino, and your readiness to think the worst is one of your more obvious and less endearing qualities.’
She stopped and heaved in a breath as adrenaline
surged, making her quiver with the effort of standing to face him. With that one remark he’d sliced right to the core of her pain, opening up the past like a cleaver cutting to bone.
Her chest rose and fell and she worked to calm herself.
‘I did
not
sleep my way to the top of my profession. I got where I am through hard work and dedication. That’s
all.
And if you think to smear my reputation—’
Orsino raised his hand. ‘I spoke without thinking.’
As if she’d believe that.
Why had she agreed to have him here? Already she’d had more than enough.
‘I didn’t think you’d be so sensitive. After all, it’s a common expression.’
Sensitive! He had the nerve.
‘You think I’m such a tart I wouldn’t object to your assumption?’ Her hands found her hips as she stepped into his personal space.
Instantly he paced forward to meet her, his jaw jutting. The air between them sizzled with tension. His heat and his masculine scent enveloped her. They were so close his sling grazed her jacket but she stood her ground.
Something eddied in her belly. She told herself it was distaste.
‘You’re the one who slept around, Poppy. Not
me.’ He bit the words out in sharp chunks and her head snapped back as if from a slap.
The gloves were off.
‘Or are you going to try to convince me you went to bed with him and nothing happened? That you’re an innocent?’ Orsino’s voice vibrated with the force of his accusation.
Familiar nausea swamped her. It was like reliving those nightmares that had haunted her since that night in London. In those, no matter what she said, no matter what she did, it all went wrong, over and over and over again. Just as it had gone wrong all those years before when Orsino had refused to hear her out.
She remembered her pain and disbelief then, her anguish when Orsino hadn’t let her talk. Her unanswered phone calls and emails. The fruitless attempts to locate him in person. She’d tried and tried to get through to him, but he’d been intractable, uncaring of her fragile state. And through it all the press, intrusive and inquisitive, pestering her for more, snapping photos and revealing her pain to the world.
Dragging herself through those black days of grief, despair and disbelief had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. For a while she’d thought herself fatally wounded. That she’d never recover.
Her eyes narrowed on the dark glasses less than an arm’s length away. It wasn’t her fault he didn’t
know the truth. He hadn’t
wanted
to know. And she didn’t care any more.
Deliberately she tossed her head back. ‘Convince you I was innocent? I wouldn’t waste my breath.’
Already she’d spent too long trying to do exactly that. Why bother now? What she’d thought they’d shared had been an illusion.
Besides, there was no way she could convince him of the truth now. He’d judged her guilty then. His attitude now confirmed nothing had changed.
Vertical lines furrowed his brow and Poppy felt a moment’s triumph that at least she hadn’t been as predictable as he expected. Had he wanted her to plead and grovel? Her days of doing that were over. Orsino didn’t want to know the truth. He’d made up his mind that night before he’d even confronted her.
‘Why should I? I have no interest in your forgiveness, Orsino, or in trying to pick up the pieces.’
How could you reassemble something that hadn’t been broken but pulverised into dust? She tasted it now, like ashes on her tongue, and grimaced.
‘Think what you like, by all means. But keep your thoughts to yourself. If I hear you so much as breathe a comment about my love life you’re out of here, deal or no deal.’
Orsino surveyed the disdainful woman who stared him down as if he wasn’t half a head taller than her. Even with his damaged vision she was remarkable.
Her pale skin flushed, colour washing those slanted cheekbones, accentuating the elegance of her spare features. Her violet eyes blazed and her lips were lusciously dark where she’d bitten them in her fury.
She was like a defiant queen at the head of an army. He’d never seen her so sexy.
He felt the blood pound, his muscles tightening, testosterone surging. Despite his maimed state he knew the rapacious impulse of a marauding warrior. He wanted to reach out and take her, conquer that feminine hauteur and make her his.
The need for her was a primitive pulse in his belly. His hand clenched on his cane as he forced himself to stand his ground.
He inhaled through his nose, sucking in the rich, berry scent of her skin.
Mad. He must be mad. She all but flaunted her infidelity in his face and he was turned on!
Orsino had regretted his thoughtless words as soon as they were out. Reminding her of her faithlessness was no way to get into her bed. What about his plan to seduce her?
Excitement throbbed through his body as he watched her struggle to hide the way she panted for breath.
Maybe seduction wasn’t the way. Maybe he could infuriate her so much, rouse her animal instincts, that she’d take it out on him physically. He’d gladly weather her nails on his skin for the pleasure of sex
with Poppy when she was like this. Urgent, angry, hate-you sex would be amazing with this woman.
He shook his head.
He couldn’t believe what he was thinking.
Orsino cleared his throat. ‘I apologise. I didn’t speak intentionally.’
She shifted as if getting ready to defend herself.
‘And believe me, I have no intention of discussing your sex life with anyone.’ That was something he intended to be between the two of them. He watched her fury fade. ‘Now we’ve covered that—’ he used the firm tone that worked so well when chairing difficult meetings ‘—I suggest we move on.’
Her eyes widened and her mouth sagged. For a perilous instant Orsino hovered on the brink of leaning across to taste her mouth again.
He gestured to the foyer and the ancient stone staircase. ‘Perhaps you’d show me my room so I can settle in.’
Poppy said nothing but after subjecting him to a long stare turned and scooped up one of the bags the chauffeur had delivered. She headed up the stairs without a backward glance.
Orsino stood at the bottom, watching her pale trousers tighten over her buttocks with each step. Slim and toned, his wife was nevertheless rounded in the right places, not abundantly voluptuous but sexy and all woman.
His wife.
Did he really intend to go through with this? After all the lacerating pain she’d inflicted?
Of course he did.
Orsino lived for challenge, for the rush of the next dangerous adventure. How could he turn his back on the prospect of bedding and besting the one woman who’d ever managed to hurt him? He felt more alive when he was with her than scaling the most insurmountable peak.