by Annie West
Orsino laughed, the sound far too appealing, and the mood lightened.
Thierry poured mugs of rich hot chocolate from a large thermos and passed them around. Poppy wrapped gloved hands around hers and inhaled the fragrant steam.
She looked from one man to the other, reading the camaraderie and genuine respect behind their banter as they relived past trips with anecdotes that grew more and more outrageous. ‘You two shared a balloon for weeks?’
‘It was for charity, you understand, and Orsino brought the media attention.’ Thierry winked. ‘I suppose he was useful in his own way, but if I do something like that again, perhaps you’d consider coming with me instead, Mademoiselle Graham.’
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Orsino drawled. ‘Try your fabled charm elsewhere, Thierry. She’s taken.’
Poppy’s eyes bulged. Taken? Did Orsino realise that implied longevity in a relationship that was due to end soon? Or was it part of his joking rivalry with his friend?
The roar of the burners stopped further conversation and Poppy turned to lean against the basket and gaze at the view.
She was glad she’d agreed to come with Orsino today on her day off.
Maybe it was the thrill of being up here, or perhaps because they’d reached some sort of understanding, but she knew what he meant about a sense of peace. She felt like she’d left her troubles down on the ground.
Ever since agreeing to Orsino’s demand that he stay with her, doubts had racked her about the wisdom of getting too close. About getting hurt again.
But here she felt exhilaration and pleasure. She understood why he loved this. Man against the elements. Adventure and, yes, peace.
She sipped her hot chocolate, feeling its warmth trace down her insides.
As it did an outrageous thought struck her. She almost choked on her drink.
Orsino wasn’t just taking her on a pleasant outing. He was sharing his private world. The world he’d barred her from all those years ago.
She swung round to find him braced against the other side of the basket, his gaze fixed on her. A frisson of excitement tiptoed over her nape and down her backbone.
Ballooning was part of his world of challenge and outdoor adventure. Yet here he was, not only sharing the experience but introducing her to one of his friends.
What had changed?
Poppy read the tension in his straight shoulders and wondered with a crazy skip of her pulse why he chose to share now. And why it mattered so much that he did.
An hour later, after smiling farewells to Thierry, the driver Orsino had organised delivered them to a small manoir, nestled in private parkland. It was the property of absent friends, Orsino explained.
Now he and Poppy enjoyed a champagne brunch in a sun-drenched conservatory. The friendly housekeeper who’d served had left them to their privacy.
Poppy found herself chuckling over another of Orsino’s unlikely stories, this one about Thierry, a disabled hot air balloon and an enormous python somewhere over the Amazon. Wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, she realised she hadn’t enjoyed herself so much in weeks.
No, she realised abruptly. Months.
Her smile faded. It couldn’t be years, could it?
That was impossible. She’d been happy pursuing her career goals. Hard work brought its rewards, like financial security—so important to her after her father’s profligacy had turned him sour and destroyed their family. Work gave her independence. Success meant she’d never have to rely on anyone, especially a man, the way her mother had.
But looking back on those years since Orsino, Poppy realised she’d been so busy building her career she’d done precious little else. At the back of her mind was always the fear that if she failed she’d lose that precious control over her life. She’d taken on job after demanding job, forever focused on the next career goal.
When was the last time she’d taken time out to laugh with a friend?
And since when did Orsino qualify as a friend?
She raised her crystal flute and swallowed vintage champagne, letting it trickle down her throat. It was a decadent delight in her life of perpetual diet consciousness.
‘Poppy? What is it?’
She looked up through veiling lashes, shocked at how the hint of concern in Orsino’s voice evoked feelings she should have buried ages ago. Tiny furrows pleated his tanned forehead. The scar above his eye was paler now, less confronting.
‘Nothing at all.’ She pinned a smile on her features.
Since that night when Orsino had put himself between her and danger, she’d been puzzling over the sense that he cared.
It would drive her mad trying to fathom what was going on between them.
Their short-term, no-holds-barred sexual relationship with no future had veered into something fragile and new. She refused to analyse it.
All she knew was that with Orsino she felt more alive, more authentically herself, than she had in ages.
And now, having him share these glimpses of his life with her …
‘You asked about my childhood before,’ she said impulsively. ‘How about you? What was your favourite thing as a child?’
‘Sports days,’ he said promptly. ‘I liked winning.’
Poppy grinned. Why didn’t that surprise her? The combination of athleticism and challenge would have suited Orsino to a T.
‘What about earlier? What do you remember when you were little?’ She couldn’t resist the opportunity to probe. Orsino was rarely so talkative.
He shrugged. ‘Hot drinks and adventure stories in bed. At boarding school they gave us younger ones cocoa before lights out.’
‘You must have been young.’ It didn’t sound like her school.
‘Lucca and I boarded from the age of seven.’
So young! Poppy had been a teenager when she’d boarded.
‘Don’t look so horrified.’ Orsino swallowed the last of his wine and put his glass down. ‘Boarding school was everything I needed back then.’
‘Everything?’
He snagged the wine bottle and leaned across, topping up her glass before she thought to protest. Then he refilled his own before turning back to her.
‘You think I missed home?’ His mouth twisted bitterly and sadness snaked through her. Poppy couldn’t remember caring for her father, but she’d loved her mother and missed her warm cuddles when she went away to school. Hadn’t Orsino felt the same?
‘My father sent us away the week after my mother abandoned us.’ Orsino reached out and twisted the stem of his wineglass on the white linen cloth. ‘We were too much of a handful to stay home.’
‘What, all of you?’ She knew he had older siblings.
‘Maybe he blamed us twins.’ Orsino shrugged heavily as if shedding a burden. ‘Our mother was apparently a vivacious, gracious woman, full of joy and life. But after delivering Lucca and me she slumped into severe postnatal depression. She withdrew from everyone and never recovered. In the circumstances you’d think it foolhardy of our parents to have another child after us, but eventually they did.’
He lifted his glass and took a long swallow. ‘When Cara was born our mother’s depression got worse. She just left one day and we’ve never heard from her since.’
Poppy gaped. She’d heard that Orsino’s mother wasn’t around but she’d never imagined this. ‘But didn’t she—?’
‘There was no more contact.’ His mouth was grim. ‘Clearly she didn’t want to be found. I tried myself some time ago, but the trail had gone cold years before. Wherever she is, alive or dead, we’ll never know.’
Poppy leaned forward and covered his hand with hers, her heart contracting at his bitterness and the pain she sensed behind that stern expression. ‘I’m so sorry, Orsino.’
What had it been like, believing your father blamed you for the loss of your mother? That’s what Orsino implied and the notion horrified her. They’d been tiny, innocent children!
‘Your father must have been distraught.’
<
br /> ‘Must he?’ Orsino’s hand clenched on the table beneath hers. She felt the vibrating tension in each sinew. ‘I suspect he was busy with other … diversions. Whatever the case, he wasn’t interested in us. He wasn’t the sort of father to fly kites or kick a football with his sons.’
Orsino’s hand turned, his long fingers threading between hers. ‘Our mother rejected us from the day we were born. She rarely spent time with us so I have few memories of her. At least she had a reason, given her depression. But our father? He left it to staff and our older siblings to bring us up. Antonio and Lucilla tried their best but they were only teenagers themselves. As soon as our mother walked he packed us off.’
‘I’m sorry.’ The words were inadequate but they were all she could manage.
How could she not have known this? What did it say about their brief marriage that this was new to her? The thought of those two little boys, alone and unloved, scraped at something raw and painful inside.
‘Don’t be sorry.’ Orsino drew her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her fingers. He turned her hand over and laved the sensitive skin of her wrist till she shivered and delicious excitement rippled through her.
‘School was a relief. It had rules and structure and routine that we’d never had before. And no matter how fierce some of the teachers were, I always knew they’d notice if I disappeared.’
Poppy blinked at that devastating assessment.
Orsino believed his father hadn’t noticed his absence? What sort of man was Gene Chatsfield? She’d give a lot to tell him just what she thought of a man who abandoned his children.
‘Are you and your father closer now?’ He hadn’t been at their wedding, but as they’d eloped with no family or fanfare, that meant nothing.
Orsino’s laugh was harsh. ‘You’re kidding. He’s too busy with his precious new woman and his all-important business to bother with anything so mundane. Though I did hear from him last month. Not him personally, of course, but via his new CEO. He wants me to be the face of Chatsfield Enterprises. Something about my philanthropic work being good PR for the company.’
Poppy reached out her free hand and palmed his cheek, wishing she could smooth away the hurt Orsino still carried deep inside. That scar on his forehead would heal and silver. What about the scars he carried internally?
‘We’re neither of us lucky with our fathers, are we?’ His smile was lopsided.
‘But what doesn’t destroy us makes us stronger,’ she reminded him.
Orsino reached up and removed his sun glasses. His heavy-lidded eyes scrutinised her with an intensity that should have scared her. Instead she met his stare, marvelling at the man she’d uncovered. The man who’d overcome neglect and rejection to grow strong and decent, a champion for others, a man who, despite his surface bravado, cared deeply.
Orsino Chatsfield, her husband, was a far more complex man than she’d ever imagined.
It terrified her how much she cared.
‘You’re absolutely right.’ He lifted her hand to his mouth again and kissed her with a lingering eroticism that made her stomach shimmy and her lips part greedily. If they weren’t in someone else’s house, in a room that was three sides glass …
He pressed her palm to his rock-hard thigh and Poppy knew she wasn’t the only one feeling desire.
Orsino smiled slowly. He reached for her glass, tilting it to her lips. She opened for him, letting the crisp, perfect wine tingle like a promise down her throat.
Orsino watched her swallow and heat flooded her at the gravity, the exquisite focus, of his gaze, as if he didn’t miss anything, from the tiny freckle beside her mouth to the way her nipples budded and swelled. Or the fact it was him she wanted to taste, not mere wine.
‘Soon, Poppy. I promise.’ His smile was only half tamed. He sighed. ‘But first we should try to do justice to Heloise’s efforts. I know she spent hours preparing this.’ He gestured to the barely touched delicacies before them.
Fire scorched Poppy’s cheeks as she realised the hunger consuming her had nothing to do with food. Confusion battered her. How could that be? Wasn’t her need for him supposed to reduce, not increase, after their time together?
Orsino’s hand was gentle as it grazed her cheek.
Then, finally, she registered the glaze of heat in Orsino’s eyes. It warred with the slashing grim lines around his mouth that spoke of fierce control.
Their eyes locked and something passed between them.
Poppy sagged back in her seat. Maybe after all, he understood her confusion and fear.
Poppy lay naked against him, her hair lush waves across his chest, her warm breath hazing his chest.
That they’d ended up naked was a miracle. It was a wonder they’d even made it to bed, so frantic had they been for each other. There were clothes strewn from the tower’s front door all the way up here to the bedroom.
And still he wanted her.
More. Ever more.
Bad enough that he craved her luscious body as much now as on the first night he’d met her. Even more frightening was the way he craved her smiles, her approval, even, God help him, her sympathy.
When he’d told her about his childhood she’d looked as if she wanted to go after his father with a shotgun. And instead of being furious with himself for spilling secrets he’d never shared, he’d felt ridiculous pleasure at her reaction.
He didn’t want her to feel sorry for him, but the way she’d understood had healed a little of the ancient pain he’d carried so long.
How was that even possible?
What doesn’t destroy us makes us stronger.
Poppy had said it, but it had been Orsino’s lifelong motto. How had she known?
Because, he suddenly realised with excruciating clarity, that’s what she’d done, too. Push the hurt aside, throw yourself into the next challenge. Ignore the pain and get on with life. They both operated the same way.
Another thing they had in common.
Orsino scrubbed a hand across his jaw, horrified at the direction of his thoughts.
He’d been duped once into thinking he and Poppy shared something stronger than sex. He’d opened himself up to her and she’d carved out his heart and left a jagged hole where it had been.
He needed to remember that, not let himself be seduced by the need to connect to her again.
That’s what he’d been doing, wasn’t it? Today he’d taken her away from her world of airbrushed perfection and image and glamour and let her into his. He’d shared his past, introduced her to one of his best friends.
Why? Did he really think she cared about anything but her own priorities?
The trouble was he did. He’d begun to suspect Poppy was more than the cold-hearted bitch of his memory.
Orsino shut his eyes, his breath juddering through his lungs as he realised how far he’d strayed from his plan of pleasure and retribution into the quicksands of emotional entanglement.
‘Orsino? What is it?’ Her voice was soft and delicious with that hint of concern. Chagrin slammed into him as he realised how much he wanted to hear that in her voice—hear that she cared.
Scalding anger bubbled.
It was time to rip away the rose-tinted glasses and face what really lay between them. What he’d been too proud and too cowardly to face. He’d avoided it too long.
‘So tell me about Mischa. You didn’t mention he’s involved in this project.’ Orsino paused, feeling the tension ripple through her. ‘Does he know we’re sharing a bed again or doesn’t he have exclusive rights?’
Poppy felt as if Orsino had plunged a knife into her stomach then twisted it hard for good measure.
She reared back, needing distance, needing to see his face, but arms of steel clamped her to him. Her heart pounded as bile rose in her throat.
How could he ask that? Especially after this morning—after they’d shared so much?
She couldn’t ever remember feeling as attuned to Orsino as she had today, laughing at his stor
ies, feeling his pain as he’d talked of his past.
Had it been an illusion? Some complicated trickery on his part to make her even more vulnerable to him?
Desperately she struggled for release. Orsino’s hot, slick skin slid against hers as she writhed and a flicker of sensual awareness flared into life, making her still instantly.
Gulping, she dragged in a sobbing breath of frustration and despair, inhaling as she did the earthy smell of male heat and sex.
Poppy shuddered. She’d never felt so trapped. Not just by Orsino’s uncompromising strength, but by her body and mind.
‘I have no idea what Mischa knows.’ Even to her own ears she sounded defeated.
‘I find that very hard to believe.’ Orsino’s voice rumbled up from deep in his chest. She felt the words as he locked her to him.
‘Frankly, Orsino, I don’t care what you believe.’
It was a lie. She cared too much. This interlude at the chateau had reawakened all those feelings for him she’d thought she’d banished. And more.
How could she feel more? She blinked and bit her lip so hard she tasted the salt tang of blood.
‘You didn’t tell me he was involved in this project. That he’d organised it.’
‘How was that relevant? I don’t remember you asking for details when you had me summoned to your hospital bed. Or when you blackmailed me into bringing you here.’ She breathed deep and tried to settle her ragged pulse. ‘I don’t remember you being so choosy then.’
‘So you’re saying he doesn’t mind sharing you with another man?’
Poppy told herself it wasn’t hurt she heard in Orsino’s voice. ‘I’m saying Mischa has no right to care who I sleep with.’
‘So you and he aren’t together any more? You got this job without his influence?’
Poppy hiccupped on rising hysteria. If only Orsino knew. But of course he’d never believe the truth.
She and Mischa had never been together in the sense Orsino meant. Though familiar, coruscating guilt sideswiped her as she thought of how perilously close they’d come to it. How close she’d let Mischa.
She remembered his hands on her breasts, his mouth on hers and that sudden jerk of sanity in a mind clouded by grief and alcohol. The instant certainty that it wasn’t Mischa she needed but her husband, Orsino, who’d left hours before on one of his precious climbing trips.
