by Annie West
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.
CHAPTER SIX
ORSINO 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 primi
tive 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 wo
man 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.
‘You seem out of sorts.’
Poppy breathed out slowly, trying to banish the scent of him. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You don’t sound it.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking as if he had all the time in the world to stand there, annoying her.
She sighed, feeling her control bleeding away. The tension spread from her shoulders now, up the back of her neck. ‘I don’t know what you want, Orsino, but this isn’t the time. Please let me pass.’
‘I’m only offering a little sympathy.’
‘Sympathy? About my work?’ She shook her head. ‘That’s rich. You always resented it.’
‘Perhaps because you used it as an excuse to exclude me.’ His voice was silky smooth and all the more irritating for being totally controlled.
‘Exclude you?’ She gaped. ‘You were the one who didn’t want to share, going off on your precious expeditions. My work is my career, my livelihood. But you never understood how important that is.’ Poppy heaved a choking breath and tried to slow her racing pulse.
How dare he stand there looking smug and superior? He was as much to blame for the disaster their marriage had turned into as she.
‘Oh, I understood. Eventually.’ He rocked back on his heels. ‘When I realised you’d married me for what I could give you: money, position, celebrity. A shortcut on your way to the top.’
Poppy’s hands jammed on her hips at the sheer unfairness of that. Fury coiled like a living thing within, writhing to break free. She wouldn’t give in to it. Instead she stalked closer, halting when he didn’t budge. Without his walking stick or his sling he looked fit as ever. Intimidatingly large and masculine. Undeniably handsome despite the scar from his hairline to his dark glasses. Poppy shivered.
