Lessons in Rule-Breaking

by Christy McKellen

  He didn’t seem at all fazed by her snippy tone. ‘I can see it in your body language. You don’t believe in yourself.’ He leant in closer. ‘You know, you shouldn’t worry so much about what everyone else thinks; just believe in how amazing you are.’

  ‘That would be a lot easier if I was amazing.’ She flipped him a grin, but he frowned, clearly unimpressed with her response.

  ‘How can you not know how gorgeous you are?’ he murmured.

  The penetrating look he gave her made something awaken low in her pelvis.

  Oooh.

  ‘You need to let out the joy.’ He didn’t shift his gaze from her face, keeping her attention locked to him.

  She laughed in lust-addled bewilderment. ‘The joy?’

  ‘You know. The place where a genuine smile comes from.’

  She looked at him blankly. ‘How do I find such a place?’

  ‘Okay, think about the last time you felt happy and follow the feeling.’

  She gave him a sceptical look.

  ‘Humour me,’ he said.

  Sighing, she wiped her sweaty palms on the sides of her jeans. She didn’t want him to see how nervous she was about being the centre of attention like this. Her pulse ticked loudly in her ears.

  Sensing she was likely to lose this particular battle, and interested to see if the experiment worked, she sighed and shut her eyes, doing as he said, trying to capture the feeling of delight she’d experienced when Pamela had offered her the job on the magazine. She tried to pinpoint where the feeling emanated from, locating it somewhere deep in her chest where it pulsed low and hot.

  ‘Okay,’ Xander said. ‘Now look right at me and let your eyes tell me how you’re feeling.’

  She took a second to centre herself, then did as he said, staring into his striking green-blue eyes and trying to communicate how she felt through the power of her expression.

  ‘Not bad, but you need to stop worrying about what I’m thinking of you and let me see you.’

  Heat crept up her neck. ‘I have no idea how to do that.’

  He was looking at her so intently she thought she might pass out. Getting up from his chair, he knelt in front of her. ‘What are you hiding from?’ he murmured, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, leaving her skin supersensitised and tingling where he’d touched her.

  She finally plucked up the courage to look at him and their gazes locked.

  Heart pummelling her chest, Jess willed herself not to look away this time. He was close to her, so close she could smell the fresh, citrusy smell of him, mingling with the heat of his body.

  He was looking at her differently, she was sure of it. Not that she could put her finger on exactly what made her think that. It was a feeling. An unsettling, exciting, monstrous feeling she was afraid to acknowledge.

  The feeling seemed to peak, swiftly followed by an overwhelming tiredness and she tried to—unsuccessfully—stifle a yawn.

  Xander laughed quietly. ‘Okay, I can see you’re exhausted so I’m going to release you from the torture.’ He sat back on his haunches.

  Jess let out a loud sigh of relief. ‘Thank God for that,’ she murmured.

  He frowned at her. ‘You really don’t enjoy being sketched, do you?’

  She looked back at him, battling with the mixture of shame and defiance that coursed through her. ‘I hate it.’

  ‘Why?’

  Sighing, she looked off towards the vast sparkling expanse of the lake, giving herself a moment to gather her wits. She wanted to tell him, so he’d know she wasn’t just being freaky. ‘My mum was a model in the seventies and she had this crazy idea that I would be one, too. Unfortunately, she ended up with a chubby, odd-looking child who hated being thrust into the limelight.’ She laughed, hoping to sound flippant and unaffected, but instead managing to sound false and strained.

  ‘It didn’t stop her from dressing me up like a doll from the age of four and making me parade around in those awful beauty pageants you see on shockumentaries sometimes, though,’ she ploughed on, unwilling to let Xander see how shaky she was about telling him this. ‘I absolutely hated them, but she made me do it until I was old enough to categorically refuse. I always came last in those things and the constant look of disappointment on her face would make me physically ill.’ She snorted, but still couldn’t bring herself to look at Xander. ‘Ever since then I’ve hated being looked at and judged. I prefer to blend into the background.’ She shrugged, hoping she hadn’t completely blown things with him. After his kindness that morning she felt as if she owed him an explanation about her reticence to be drawn. She didn’t want him to think she was just being a prima donna about it.

  When she finally plucked up the courage to meet his gaze her insides swooped at the expression of compassion on his face.

  ‘So why did you agree to come here and go through with this if it meant putting yourself through so much torment?’ he asked gently.

  * * *

  Xander held his breath, waiting to hear what would spill from those luscious lips of hers.

  Say it’s because you like me and want to spend more time getting to know me. The intensity of the need to hear those words shocked him.

  Where had that thought come from?

  She paused, staring back at him, a whole gamut of expressions running over her face.

  ‘Because I need this interview with you so I can impress my editor.’ She looked as though she was going to say more, but then clamped her mouth shut.

  He snorted in frustration, the tension of the moment broken by her utter refusal to tell him what he wanted to hear.

  His determination to win her over tripled.

  Getting up, he braced himself against the arms of her chair, gathering his strength to leave without pulling her towards him and planting a reassuring kiss on those soft-looking lips first.

  She was a total contradiction. On the one hand self-assured and feisty, but on the flip side withdrawn and uncertain.

  ‘I’m going to go and work in the studio for a while and you should try and catch up on your sleep, but we should go out for dinner tonight. There’s a great restaurant in Salò I want to try.’ His rebellious gaze dropped back to her full, inviting mouth and he had to force himself to look away before he lost his cool and succumbed to the urge to drop his mouth onto hers, just to see how she’d react.

  She gazed back at him, her eyes wide and utterly mesmerising.

  ‘Okay, I’d like that.’

  He tipped her a nod. ‘Great. Let’s go about eight o’clock.’

  ‘Eight’s great,’ she said, nodding once.

  ‘See you later.’ He pushed himself up straight and strode away from her, forcing himself to keep his eyes front and centre and his unsettling hunger well and truly in check.

  For now.

  He could tell he was going to have to play the long game to get in with Jess, but the thought of it buoyed him.

  He enjoyed a challenge.

  * * *

  After taking a long reviving nap, Jess spent the remainder of the day taking photos of the amazing villa and jotting down ideas for her article on Xander.

  The reprieve he’d given her earlier had been a welcome relief, but she knew if she was going to get him to open up she was going to have to give more of herself than she’d originally anticipated. He’d responded really kindly to her confession about her hatred of being the centre of attention and she’d felt as if laying herself bare like that had actually endeared her to him.

  She guessed that as an artist he needed to be able to see more than surface level, too.

  But it was a dangerous game she was playing. She couldn’t allow herself to get swept up in feeling as if there were more of a connection between them than there was. He was famous for his short, sharp affairs with his mu
ses and she couldn’t allow herself to get carried away and imagine there was any kind of romance to the situation.

  Xander was a fantastic flirt but surely he didn’t mean anything by it? He was just trying to get her to relax so she’d give him what he wanted.

  He was clearly a very smart guy who played to his strengths.

  After staring at her meagre collection of clothes for a few minutes, she shunned the grey linen suit—too formal—and her jeans—too informal—for the only other semisuitable thing for dinner out that she’d brought with her: a long, light wool jumper and black cotton trousers. It was a totally over-the-top outfit for a summer’s evening but she hadn’t anticipated needing anything for dining out. Her wardrobe at home didn’t contain any decent ‘going out’ clothes any more anyway. Not since she’d moved to London and didn’t have the money or energy to go out in the evenings.

  Whatever. It would have to do. This wasn’t a date, it was her job, so it shouldn’t matter what she looked like.

  Eight o’clock came and went and she found herself pacing the hall, her senses on high alert for any sign of Xander as she waited.

  Finally, he appeared, his hair gleaming and pushed back away from his face as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. The casual, off-duty appearance did something funny to her insides. It made him more human somehow, more touchable.

  As he got closer she noticed he smelt as if he’d just stepped out of the shower, too, all clean and fresh with a dark, musky undertone from some body product or other.

  Even if he was the most delicious thing she’d ever encountered, she shouldn’t lose sight of the fact he’d left her hanging around in the hall like a sad Muppet when he was the one who’d set the time to meet for dinner, then turned up late. She pursed her lips as he stopped in front of her, determined not to let his charisma beat her into submission. ‘I was expecting you fifteen minutes ago.’

  He grinned, knocking the ferocity right out of her. ‘You look just like the headmistress of the school I was expelled from when you do that. Although that expression looks a lot sexier on you.’

  Despite the smile tugging at her mouth, she somehow managed to raise a judicious eyebrow. ‘I consider lateness to be rude, but then what else should I expect from such a bad boy?’

  His mouth twitched at the corner but he held up both hands and dipped his head in acquiescence. ‘It’s a fair cop. You’re right; it was rude of me to be late.’

  She gave him a nod, trying to appear as if she were used to handling men like him every day.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said, opening the front door and gesturing for her to exit first.

  They walked over to his car, which was parked under a small wooden awning covered in fragrant-smelling honeysuckle.

  Jess was surprised and a little taken aback when Xander opened the passenger door for her and waited until she’d got in before closing it behind her. Was he on his best behaviour now she’d pointed out his rudeness? Could she really be having that much of an impact on him?

  ‘What a gentleman,’ she said after he’d walked round to the other side and slid into the driving seat.

  ‘You don’t mind that, then?’ he asked. ‘Some women hate having doors opened for them.’

  ‘I don’t mind at all. I consider it good manners. I’d do the same for you, though, if I got to the car first.’

  He smiled and gave her a courteous tip of the head before slipping the car into gear and setting off.

  ‘Did you book a table?’ she asked.

  He flipped her a grin. ‘No, but they’ll fit us in, don’t worry about that.’

  * * *

  There was a queue five couples deep when they pulled up outside the vine-covered trattoria in Salò.

  ‘Ah, bother it,’ Jess said, her heart sinking. She really didn’t fancy spending the next hour in such close proximity to Xander, driving round looking for somewhere else that could fit them in. Why hadn’t he just booked a table?

  Xander seemed blithely unconcerned as he parked the car in the trattoria’s car park and opened his door to get out.

  Jess followed him out into the warm evening air. When he turned to look at her, she opened her mouth to ask him what they were going to do, but before she could utter a word he held up a hand to silence her.

  ‘Give me a second to speak to the maître d’,’ he said, backing away from her towards the open door to the trattoria.

  Striding confidently past the queue of future diners, he disappeared into the restaurant, leaving Jess gaping after him.

  Everyone in the queue turned to look at her and she had to pull her phone out of her bag and pretend to be checking for messages so they wouldn’t see how embarrassed she was.

  Xander returned a minute later and beckoned her to follow him.

  She hurried after him as he walked past the queue of people again, giving them all a friendly smile.

  Every one of them smiled back at him. He was clearly allowed to push in front of them without causing any complaints.

  Oh, to be that casually confident about things.

  The maître d’ met them at the door and ushered them inside to a small table at the back.

  The trattoria was hot with the collected warmth of bodies and heat from the wood-fired stone pizza oven in the corner, and Jess’s stomach rumbled as the amazing aromas of Italian food hit her nostrils.

  ‘So they just happened to have this table free?’ she asked after they’d seated themselves in heavy, highly decorated wrought-iron chairs and been handed menus by their waiter.

  ‘No, but they made room for us.’

  ‘I don’t even know what that means,’ Jess said, holding up her hands.

  Xander grinned. ‘Sometimes fame has its perks.’

  Jess chose what she was going to eat quickly—a delicious-sounding chicken salad—and looked up to watch Xander as he studied the menu.

  She had one of those disquieting moments where she seriously wondered whether she was dreaming this all up. If anyone had told her this time last week that she’d be in Italy, dining opposite Xander Heaton, she’d have told them to get their head checked. Even more baffling than the arbitrariness of her situation was the fact she felt as if she belonged here with him—that their camaraderie earlier had somehow taken their relationship up a level.

  He glanced up and caught her staring at him.

  ‘Everything okay, Jess?’

  She flushed in embarrassment at being caught out. ‘I’m fine. Just thinking how strange it is to be sitting here with you.’

  ‘Strange?’ He looked puzzled at her choice of word.

  ‘Good strange. Not the sort of thing that ever happens to me. I live a pretty uneventful life usually.’

  He leant back in his chair and considered her for a moment. ‘Believe it or not, my life can be pretty dull, too. Especially when I spend a lot of time holed up on my own working on my paintings. That’s why I like working with models. Having you around is a welcome relief from the usual boredom, to be honest.’

  She raised her eyebrows and sat up, crossing her arms in front of her. She’d never considered his life could be like that, not when, according to the papers, he seemed to live such a hedonistic existence. ‘That doesn’t sound like a fun way to live.’

  ‘It’s not.’

  ‘So why do you do it?’

  * * *

  Jess’s question made Xander pause. It had been a long time since anyone had got close enough to ask him a question like that. He usually held journalists at arm’s length when they were after personal details and none of the women he’d dated recently seemed interested in the why, only in what he could offer them in the now. But he found he wanted to talk to her about this side of him. Perhaps to prove to her he wasn’t the cold-hearted playboy she clearly had him pegged as.

&
nbsp; ‘It’s my calling. What I feel I’m meant to be doing with my life. It makes life worth living. I think I’d wither and die if I had to go and work in an office every day.’

  She smoothed a hand over her perfectly straight hair, which distracted him for a second as he wondered what it would feel like to run his own hands through it. It would be soft and silky as it slid through his fingers; he was sure of it.

  ‘Are you worried about how your next exhibition’s going to be received?’ she asked, pulling him rudely out of his hair-fondling fantasy.

  Get it together, Xander, for goodness’ sake.

  He shifted in his chair, going for relaxed nonchalance while he considered her question carefully, giving himself a few moments to formulate an evasive, but meaty answer. Apparently she was going to keep hammering at this line of interrogation and he was going to have to watch what he said in front of her.

  ‘I’m walking on a knife-edge the whole time. There are hundreds of new faces appearing each year, desperate to step into the limelight. I have to produce something pretty damn special every time or I’ll sink. That’s a lot of pressure right there.’

  ‘What do your parents think about your success?’ she asked, looking down as she realigned the position of her cutlery on the table in front of her.

  Clearing his throat, he put on the indifferent smile he’d perfected over the years. ‘They’re both dead.’

  She looked up sharply. ‘Oh, Xander, I’m so sorry. So you’re on your own?’

  ‘Yup. It’s just me and my massive ego now.’

  Her cheeks flushed an adorable shade of pink. ‘Look, sorry about that. In my defence, I called it as I saw it at the time.’

  He smiled. ‘You called it right. I was being a tool.’

  She pushed her knife too far back on the table and it fell onto the floor. After reaching down to rescue it, she swiped her hair away from her flushed face before giving him an embarrassed grimace and shuffling her chair closer to the table.

  Their food arrived and they both tucked in, neither of them saying a word for a couple of minutes. His lasagne was delicious and it didn’t take him long to make inroads into it.