The realisation punched the air from his lungs.
All these years of thrill seeking and none had surpassed the raw, vibrant adrenaline rush of sparring with Poppy.
Orsino dragged in a rough breath, feeling his battered ribs protest. A shiver rippled through him as he digested the revelation. This game was more dangerous than he’d anticipated.
But since when had he turned his back on danger?
Deliberately he crossed the foyer and, grasping the curved handrail, began to climb the ancient stone steps. It was harder than he liked. His injured side pulsed with the effort.
He gritted his teeth. The sooner he started using his body, the sooner it would mend.
By the time he was halfway up he was sweating, his hand clammy on the railing.
‘Here, let me help.’
It was Poppy, coming down to support him. Despite
the tight set of her lips, was that concern wrinkling her brow?
‘Sure you wouldn’t rather push me down the stairs?’
‘Don’t give me ideas, Orsino. You don’t know how tempting that is.’ Her mouth twitched and he wondered if she was repressing a smile or the urge to lambast him. ‘You need to be in bed. What the hospital was doing releasing you in this state, I don’t know.’
‘I insisted,’ he managed between gritted teeth. He felt ridiculously done in by a simple flight of stairs. ‘Those four walls were driving me crazy.’
‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ She had her arm around him, her breast soft against his side. Orsino dragged in a quick breath and tried to focus.
Finally they reached the floor and she led him across the landing.
They moved into a vast, almost circular room, dominated by a wide, velvet-covered bed and a series of windows showing different aspects of the formal gardens and river. Once inside Poppy stepped away.
‘I hope you’re not going to have a relapse. You’ll be alone here while I’m working.’
‘Not completely. I’ll have a health visitor later today.’
‘You will?’ Her eyebrows rose. ‘I didn’t think the hospital could organise that in another country.’
Orsino shook his head and eased himself into
a stately wing chair, his body sighing with relief. ‘Not the hospital but my secretary. The one you doubted actually existed. She’s also arranged for me to meet another eye specialist here in France. Very efficient, she is.’
‘Obviously.’ Poppy peeled back the quilt from the bed and picked up a folded sheet from a nearby chair, lifting it high and snapping it out over the bed. ‘I assume she was responsible for the new luggage waiting for you when we touched down.’
‘A man has his needs and she’s excellent at anticipating them.’ He thought of the laptop stacked with the rest of the luggage downstairs and told himself there’d be time for that later. His appalling weakness at merely climbing a staircase troubled him.
‘She sounds like a paragon. I take it she’s used to working miracles anywhere around the globe.’
‘Naturally.’
‘She must be quite a woman.’ Poppy’s voice was clipped, almost disapproving. Did she think his secretary looked after his more
personal
needs? The idea intrigued.
Orsino watched her swift, decisive movements, smoothing the sheet with a brisk arc of her hand. No doubt she wished she could wipe him out of her life as easily as she cleared the wrinkles in the cotton.
‘Oh, she is that. Quite amazing.’
Poppy stiffened, shooting him a darting glance, and he suppressed a smile. No doubt about it, despite
her anger, his wife was more than a little interested in his relationship with his secretary. He had no intention of letting on that Bettina was a sixty-year-old, wheelchair-bound grandmother. Let Poppy assume he had a sexpot catering to his every whim.
Sitting back, he enjoyed the view as Poppy stretched and bent, making the bed. Supple as ever, her body was slender but strong. His body’s dull aches retreated as he let himself imagine her naked on those crisp sheets.
‘Is this your bed?’
She stiffened then walked around to the other side, moving with a graceful economy of movement.
‘Hardly. I’m on the next floor.’
That settled it. The sooner he conquered those stairs, the better. He needed to be fully mobile.
‘Did you say something?’ She regarded him suspiciously.
He shook his head and favoured her with a smile. Instantly she froze.
‘Before you go, I’d appreciate some help with this shirt and jacket.’
‘You want to get changed?’ She tucked in the last corner and walked towards him.
‘I want to get naked.’
Did the colour washing her cheeks darken?
‘You know that’s how I always sleep.’ He let his
voice drop low, watching her reaction. ‘If you’ll just help me with the sling …’
Poppy surveyed Orsino’s easy smile, suspicion rippling across her skin like a rising tide. What was he up to? His scathing comment downstairs had ripped open past wounds and now he played the charm card. Did he think she was some susceptible fool?
But he needed help. That’s why she’d gone to him on the stairs. She couldn’t leave him swaying there in danger of falling.
‘What do you need?’
‘Just a hand with these clothes.’ He stood and suddenly she was conscious of how quiet it was here, the two of them alone in the luxurious tower bedroom.
Jerkily she nodded. She didn’t want to touch Orsino but nor did she want him realising how uncomfortable she was. Ever since seeing him again her reactions had been intense and unpredictable.
‘Of course.’ She schooled her face into an expressionless mask. Years of work in front of a camera came to her aid.
Scooping off his jacket, she laid it over the arm of the chair. He was already fumbling at his shirt button.
‘Here. I’ll do that.’ She’d be faster, which meant she’d be out of here sooner.
His hand dropped and she reached out, cautious of his sling, and flicked open a button then another.
She breathed in then wished she hadn’t as her nostrils filled with the cedar wood and spice scent that was uniquely Orsino. No other man had ever smelled as good as he.
Poppy moved lower, trying to ignore his intense heat, once so familiar to her, and the hard-packed muscle just beneath the pristine shirt.
He moved his damaged arm out to give her better access and she sidled around it so her arms were between the sling and his body. Heat trickled between her breasts and they seemed to swell with her quickened breathing. Stupid to feel enclosed by Orsino. He stood passive.
Poppy darted a look at his face but it was impossible to read his expression.
‘Do you need the glasses on inside?’
‘My eyes are sensitive to light.’
Tentatively she pulled his shirt up and free of his trousers. She hated that her hands trembled. She blinked and shoved aside dim memories of hauling Orsino’s shirt free as they made frantic, passionate love.
‘There.’ She stepped back, surveying him. Then her heart sank as she realised she wasn’t done yet. He couldn’t get the shirt off without her.
Touching Orsino shouldn’t be so difficult. She’d been in enough faux embraces with enough handsome male models to know that a touch between a man and a woman could be completely devoid of intimacy, no matter what the camera said. But
there was no camera trained on them as she pushed Orsino’s collar back off his shoulder, feeling the hot silky smoothness of his skin on her fingertips.
‘You’ll need to undo the cuff,’ he murmured, almost in her ear, and she started, looking down at his wrist.
‘Of course.’ Poppy fumbled at his cuff and wrenched it undone. With anyone else she’d make a joke of being out of practice undressing men. Not with Orsino.
Swiftly she stripped the shirt off his arm. All she had to do now was see how to get it off his other side. But as her gaze skidded towards his sling she finally took in what the shirt had concealed.
Her throat closed over scratchy sandpaper as she saw the multicoloured bruising that covered every inch of visible skin above the strapping around his ribs. Yellow, green, blue and dull brown, his flesh was a sickening pattern of pain. Poppy blinked, aware of a squeezing in her chest and a dull sensation of nausea in her hollow stomach.
‘It looks worse than it is.’ Orsino flexed his bare shoulder as if to work out a kink and abruptly Poppy realised she was staring.
‘If you say so.’ Her voice was brisk as she made herself step around him to undo the knot at his neck that held up his sling.
Inside she felt like crying. Why? She’d seen him in hospital. She knew he was injured. But that wasn’t the same as seeing his body so battered.
Her gaze dropped to the wide sweep of his shoulders and back, her belly clenching anew.
Poppy told herself she’d feel the same sympathy for anyone who’d been injured. But this was more profound than sympathy. She tried to reason it wasn’t possible, but the truth was too blatant to be ignored. She felt shivery with shock and horror, because it was
Orsino
who was injured.
Despite that snide crack about her sleeping around, despite her pain and anger, when it came to Orsino she still couldn’t find a way not to
feel.
Unbidden the memory of her mother surfaced. She’d tied herself to a man who didn’t care about her, and worse, was set on destroying her. She hadn’t had the strength to walk away no matter how bad the abuse.
Old creeping fears stirred, whispering a familiar warning that love made you weak.
Poppy shuddered. She was
not
like her mother. She refused to be weak like her, clinging to the wrong man.
Swallowing a knot of emotion, she made her voice cool and businesslike. ‘Since they’ve cut your sleeve away I’ll just take the sling off then slide the shirt over your bad arm. Can you hold it still until I tie it up again?’
‘Of course.’
Poppy’s hands were steady and her movements swift as she stripped the shirt and retied the sling. She showed Orsino the en suite bathroom, put a
glass of water on the bedside table and made sure he had everything he needed. She didn’t offer to help him out of his trousers.
As she left she congratulated herself. Her moment of weakness had been just that, momentary, no doubt due to shock at being confronted with those bruises.
She could do this: deal with Orsino and put the past behind her. She wasn’t susceptible to him. Not any longer.
Poppy squashed the tiny voice that told her life wasn’t that simple.
She’d make it simple. It was past time she did.
O
RSINO LET HIMSELF
out the tower’s big wooden entrance door and stepped into a morning chill with the promise of winter. He drew his coat close.
He’d had enough of being cooped up in luxurious isolation.
His plan had backfired. Instead of having Poppy on tap he was alone most of the day. She left before dawn and returned late.
She couldn’t be working all that time. She was avoiding him.
To his chagrin he’d been unable to follow her. He hadn’t been nearly as fit as he’d hoped.
Surprisingly, she’d not abandoned him entirely. There’d been short phone calls each day to check he hadn’t fallen down the stairs or otherwise damaged himself, and she’d arranged for the catering staff to bring his meals.
All very efficient. Very civilised. Very annoying.
It wasn’t some wide-eyed cook he wanted lingering in his presence, or even the curvaceous, sloe-eyed nurse who’d recently removed the sling,
leaving the cast on his forearm and fresh bandages on his hand.
He wanted Poppy.
Orsino grimaced. With his strength returning his body made it embarrassingly clear how much he wanted her. With no extreme sport to indulge in, without his usual outlets for rising frustration, Orsino had spent the week in a state of semi-arousal.
Listening to her moving about in the bedroom overhead, smelling her scent on the stairs, hearing the rush of water when she showered and imagining her naked, glistening and beautiful … It was enough to drive a man to drink.
Orsino had no intention of resorting to a bottle to cure what ailed him.
Not when there was another, more pleasing solution.
He peered ahead and noticed activity at the end of the formal rose garden.
Gripping his despised walking stick, he took his time. He could walk without it but he’d learned to his cost that his faulty vision meant he didn’t always see obstacles. The last thing he needed was to fall flat on his face in front of Poppy.
It had been a mistake, asking her to help him undress that first day.
What had he thought? That the sight of him half naked would have her desperate for his body?
He grunted and turned onto the riverside path.
Serve him right for his inflated ego. She’d taken one look and gone green around the gills. His bruises had repulsed her.
But he had enough experience of women, of Poppy, to know she wasn’t impervious. Even after all this time. After how many lovers?
His gut clenched and he faltered midstep. How long had she stayed with Mischa? How many had there been since?
Orsino gritted his teeth. He didn’t care. Not any longer. Fortunately his interest now was purely skin-deep.
He slowed, approaching a cluster of people and equipment. Everyone seemed busy, bustling about their various jobs, so he stood unobserved.
At the river’s edge a rowboat was pulled up and two people got in. One was a fair-haired man in evening clothes. The other was Poppy. Even from here he recognised her engulfed in that enormous neck-to-ankle coat. Her hair was up but he saw its dark red gleam. Something flashed as she moved in front of a light and he realised she wore a glittering circlet in her hair.
There was a murmur of voices then Poppy shrugged the coat off and Orsino caught his breath.
Her whole dress, what there was of it, danced and sparkled. Knee length, with a deep V neckline at front and back, it caught the light in spangles of silver and blue-green. When she stepped into the
boat he saw the skirt was a series of strands that shimmied provocatively around her thighs. Colour glinted at her wrists and throat and high on one arm sat a wide, bright band that looked like a slave bracelet.
She looked coolly elegant, yet gut-wrenchingly sexy, like an untouchable goddess.
But Orsino knew the hot woman who lurked beneath the sophistication. Heat stretched tight bands across his groin and belly.
Over the next hour he watched from a bench seat as the team shot a scene of the pair on the boat, again and again. He couldn’t make out the conversation on board, but he heard Poppy’s laugh and the murmur of voices—hers and the male model’s. He saw the man open a bottle of champagne, heard the crack of the cork, loud as a gunshot, and saw the pair lean close, sipping wine.
And each time a loud voice would interrupt and they’d have to do it all again.
‘Look at all that bubbly they’re wasting,’ groaned a voice nearby.
Orsino turned to see two men, like him, watching the scene on the river.
‘It’s got to be perfect—you know what the director’s like. And they’d better hurry. He wanted the early-morning light.’
‘That’s no reason to waste good wine.’
‘Stop whinging and be thankful you’re not stuck
in costume for hours, freezing. Look at Poppy Graham out there wearing next to nothing. How many times has she given him his cue and how often has he botched it?’
‘Don’t waste your sympathy on her, mate. The virgin queen is too uptight to feel the cold.’
‘Virgin queen?’ Orsino stepped forward and the men turned. The older one stilled, obviously recognising Orsino.
The younger, who’d made the comment, merely nodded and grinned. He was handsome in a plastic sort of way. Orsino wondered if he was a model.
‘The unsullied Ms Graham. Colder than an arctic snowstorm she is. God forbid she should let any guy close enough to thaw her.’
‘Ah.’ Orsino understood now. ‘She rebuffed you.’
The other shrugged, ignoring his companion’s gesture to be quiet. ‘Not just me. She’s legendary for it, to the point of being a challenge. I haven’t heard of anyone who’s struck it lucky with her. There must be ice in her veins, so don’t waste your time trying.’
Orsino smiled and wasn’t surprised when the man stepped back a pace. He felt like breaking something. Preferably the guy’s nose. No doubt it showed.
That brought him up short. Since when did he care what people said of his soon-to-be ex? But the primitive urge to mark his property won out.
‘Oh, I won’t be wasting my time.’ He paused. ‘I’m her husband.’
He barely heard the guy’s stammered apology as he scurried off. Orsino was too busy trying to work out why fury throbbed through him at the knowledge men wanted to hit on Poppy.
And why she had a reputation for chastity.
Surely after betraying her husband it got easier with each new lover? Unless she was a one-man woman, and she’d found her man in Mischa.
His hands tightened into fists as potent, dark thoughts filled him.
‘Ignore him, Mr Chatsfield. He’s an idiot. He’d give his eyeteeth to be out there with your wife, taking the lead in this little extravaganza.’
‘I thought it was just a photo shoot.’ Orsino forced his mind back from the urge for blood. ‘I hadn’t realised there was filming, too.’
The other man’s eyebrows rose but he was too circumspect to blurt surprise that Poppy hadn’t explained.
‘There are a series of still shots being taken, but we’re making a long ad that will run in cinemas and elsewhere. Baudin has made jewellery for over three hundred years so it’s a love story through the centuries. The same couple in different periods. Today it’s the roaring twenties.’
Orsino had guessed that much. He nodded to another boat a little downstream.
‘It’s good to see they take safety so seriously.’
The boat contained an oarsman and a diver already kitted out in a wetsuit.
His companion cleared his throat. ‘Actually, he’s not there to rescue anyone. He’s there to retrieve the jewellery if it goes overboard. That armband alone contains several hundred carats in diamonds. It’s all vintage Baudin straight from the vault.’
‘So the stones are worth more than the models.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far but—’
‘But business is business.’ Orsino was glad his business was about people rather than profit.
By the time Poppy came ashore her feet had frozen to blocks of ice in her jewelled shoes. She pressed her lips together so they wouldn’t chatter and concentrated on the hot bath she’d promised herself.
The sun was up above the trees now but did little to combat the chill from sitting in silk, beads and little else in the middle of the river. Her hip and thigh ached from lounging artfully on weathered wood and her face was stiff from smiling instead of grimacing with pain. Finally the boat bumped the shore and hands reached for her, holding her steady as she lurched onto dry land.
Soft warmth enveloped her as someone draped a huge coat around her shoulders.
‘Thank you.’
Her words were drowned by a burst of laughter. She looked up the slope of the riverbank and blinked. Some of the other models were sprawled
on a couple of rugs having what looked like an impromptu breakfast. In the thick of them, like a sultan relaxing with his harem, lounged Orsino, sexier than any male model on set.
He said something and the laughter redoubled. One of the girls rapped him playfully on the shoulder, but Poppy saw her hand linger, stroking. He didn’t shift away. Instead his smile widened, that charming smile that could seduce any female. The woman looked dazzled and the rest leaned closer.
Pain jabbed Poppy’s ribs, twisting as it went.
She told herself the sight of Orsino charming the pants off her colleagues didn’t affect her.
Poppy blinked.
Had
he charmed the pants off one of them? Heat scudded through her at the idea of Orsino with Gretel, or Sasha, or Amy, or … anyone.
Was that why he’d been so undemanding? She’d expected him to make her life hell while he was here. Instead he’d been almost too quiet. She’d assumed his injuries held him back. But maybe his interest was engaged elsewhere. Her breath hissed sharply.
‘Poppy?’ It was one of the crew. ‘Are you okay? You must be half frozen.’
‘No, I’m fine. I’ve warmed up, thanks.’ She’d more than warmed. Heat unfurled in her like a great wave, crashing down on her.
Finally she put a name to the emotion that rasped through her like a rusty saw, tearing up her insides, and she despised herself for feeling it. How could
she care if Orsino hooked up with another woman under her nose?
As if sensing her regard, Orsino looked up, his smile disappearing. The impact of that look vibrated through her like a plucked string.
Deliberately she turned away.
‘Here, take this.’ Orsino saw Poppy stiffen at the sound of his voice but she didn’t turn.
He didn’t enjoy that faint feeling of guilt eddying in his gut. He’d known she was there and had deliberately played up the cosy scene with the models. So why had that one look made him regret his actions? It wasn’t that he’d been able to read her expression from that distance. Or that she of all people had any right to judge him.
And yet …
Lips thinning, he walked around to stand before her. ‘It’s coffee laced with cognac. It will warm you.’
Eyes the colour of dark, crushed violets met his. Makeup accentuated her eyes and turned her lips to a glossy Cupid’s bow. She was pure sultry siren yet her expression was blank.
‘No drinks till I’m out of this.’ She waved a hand down the front of her dress, visible between the folds of her coat. ‘Do you have any idea what it’s worth?’
As she spoke the woman beside her, retrieving pins from Poppy’s hair, removed the glittering
headband. Sapphires and diamonds, he guessed. Hair the colour of rich claret cascaded past Poppy’s shoulders in a curling tumble.
Something clutched at Orsino’s chest. He’d never seen her with her long hair loose. She looked like a medieval princess with attitude.
Then someone nudged him aside to remove her gem-studded bracelets, earrings and matching necklace. Through it all she stood passive, watching him with eyes devoid of interest, as if he just happened to stand where she was looking.
Orsino clenched his teeth, heat stirring in his belly. He abhorred the fact she’d switched off completely, impervious to him while he still … needed her.
That need was a raw, throbbing ache.
He lifted the coffee to his lips, taking a swig and letting the lacing of alcohol burn its way to his belly.
Before the day was out he’d wipe that condescending blankness from Poppy’s face if it was the last thing he did.
Poppy pushed open the door to the tower with a sigh of relief. No work for the rest of the afternoon. Today had been one of the hardest she remembered. So much for throwing herself into her work to avoid Orsino and the way he undermined her certainties.
‘Home at last.’
She slammed to a stop. Why wasn’t he lolling
with his fan club of attentive women? She straightened her shoulders and stepped inside, trying to quell the jittering in her stomach.
Orsino came down the stone staircase, stopping at the bottom.
‘You look done in.’
In other words she looked a wreck, as exhausted as she felt. Unlike the other models who’d been preening themselves, vying for his attention. Piercing heat twisted again through her middle.
‘Thanks, Orsino,’ she snapped. ‘Just what I needed to hear.’ She shut the door and strode across the foyer.
‘What, you’d prefer compliments?’ From behind those impenetrable glasses his eyebrows shot up.
‘Life’s too short to wait for the impossible.’
His mouth cocked up at the corner. ‘You know, I could almost come to miss your sassy comebacks.’
Poppy refused to respond to his smile. Work had become a nightmare test of nerves once she became aware of his presence. She carried tension like a weight between her shoulderblades.
‘Is there anything in particular you want, Orsino?’
He stood, blocking her way.
‘Now there’s a question.’ His smile grew rakish and the charged air between them sizzled, reigniting the slow burn of resentment she’d felt by the river. To experience that zing of attraction after he’d spent the morning ogling every other woman on-site was the final straw.
‘Leave it, Orsino. I’m not in the mood.’
He nodded. ‘You’ve had a difficult day.’
Poppy’s eyes rounded. Was he having a dig? It couldn’t be genuine sympathy.
‘Right. So if you’ll excuse me.’ She made to go up the stairs but he stood solidly in front of them. A tantalising hint of cedar wood and warm male tickled her nostrils and she quivered, despising herself for the response she couldn’t prevent.