by Annie West
‘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.
‘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 cabi
n. 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?
CHAPTER FIVE
IT 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 twel
ve 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.
