Rebel's Bargain

by Annie West

  Poppy gagged, nausea rising in an unstoppable wave. She shoved at Orsino’s ribs and miraculously he let her go.

  In a flurry of movement she was off the bed and into the bathroom. Hands braced on either side of the basin, she hung her head. Her body shook, her legs barely able to support her as she fought the need to lose her brunch.

  With a few cruelly aimed words Orsino had made her feel like a cheap tart. He’d undercut everything good they’d shared these past weeks—the understanding, the empathy and what she’d thought was budding respect.

  Great racking sobs rose in her chest and she forced them down, the pain exquisite as she fought for breath.

  Large hands drew the hair back from her face then a strong arm wrapped around her middle, drawing her back against Orsino’s heat, holding her steady when her legs would have given way.

  Stunned, Poppy stared into the mirror. Orsino looked as bad as she felt. His face was drawn, strain etching lines around his eyes. His mouth was a tight line of pain, as if he hurt as much as she did.

  ‘Why?’ Her voice cracked. ‘Why did you have to—?’

  ‘Because I can’t let it go. I can’t forget.’

  Sweet pain pierced her at his words. She should want him to forget their past so they could both move on. But she could no more let go than he could.

  ‘Mischa and I never—’

  ‘You’re not going to try rewriting history, are you?’ Poppy felt Orsino tense behind her, his hold biting into her, his bitter tone harsh in her ears.

  The truth died in her throat. The man who’d just accused her of juggling two lovers wasn’t ready to hear it, even if the pain in his face gave her hope that at some level he cared.

  Despair and regret welled. There was no way out.

  ‘Mischa and I haven’t worked together since that night in London. There is no relationship.’ Poppy almost choked on the words, remembering how sick with guilt and regret she’d felt that night. Sick enough to turn her back on her friend and mentor, the man who’d stood by her through the early years of her career. The man who’d been there for her when Orsino hadn’t. But working with him again had been beyond her. Orsino’s pain and her wrecked marriage lay between them. And her guilt.

  ‘And now?’ Orsino’s hands slid to her waist. In the mirror his hold looked possessive.

  Poppy blinked and told herself she imagined it.

  ‘This work for Baudin was too good an opportunity to refuse. When the contract’s up I’ll be financially secure for life.’ It was what she’d worked for since she was fifteen. ‘Besides, Mischa’s not hands-on with this.’ She didn’t add that it had taken her a year to agree.

  She tilted her chin up and caught a flash of something in Orsino’s eyes that made her tremble.

  ‘Good.’ He tilted his head forward till his lips grazed her ear. ‘Because if I ever catch him hands-on with you again I’ll rip his head off.’

  Orsino’s barely repressed violence stunned her almost as much as his jealousy.

  But at some blood-deep level, his primal possessiveness appealed in a way she’d never thought possible. She was no man’s possession. It went against everything she believed and wanted. It was what had made women like her mother weak.

  Yet Orsino’s words, his proprietorial hold and the fierce glint in his eyes were shockingly exciting.

  If only he’d cared so much five years ago.

  ‘This isn’t over between us, Poppy.’ One callused hand cupped her breast. She watched, mesmerised, as tanned flesh closed over pale and her body jangled into sensual overload. ‘Until it is—’ he plucked at her nipple and desire shuddered through her ‘—I refuse to share.’

  His other hand slid down, arrowing between her thighs and a jolt of pleasure stiffened her whole body.

  His fingers moved and she was melting, eager for more. She’d never needed him so wantonly, so desperately.

  Orsino’s other hand left her breast. He tipped her chin till their eyes locked in the mirror. ‘I’m going to make love to you,’ he growled in a voice that thrummed across her quivering flesh. ‘And you’re going to watch.’

  He pushed her quivering legs apart and bent his knees till the blunt head of his erection probed her. Then, eyes locked with hers, he surged high and hard with such sure force it felt like he touched her heart.

  Her fingers clawed the vanity unit as the world began to dissolve.

  ‘I want you to remember with every … single … thrust,’ he panted, ‘that it’s me making love to you. Understand?’

  Pleasure spiralled and something more, something so profound she had no name for it.

  Seconds later, as his pounding thrusts took them both to impossibly perfect climax, it was to the hoarse sound of his name on her lips, and the sight of his dark gaze melded with hers.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ‘ORSINO!’ A GOVERNMENT MINISTER with whom he’d once shared a podium spoke. ‘You’re looking much better than I expected. I read terrible things in the newspapers about your accident.’

  ‘As you can see, the reports were exaggerated.’ He looked around his acquaintances, Parisian A-listers who’d arrived at the floodlit chateau for the lavish party to launch Baudin’s latest designs.

  ‘But your eye!’ One of the women leaned forward, arm outstretched as if to touch the scar that jagged down his forehead. Her opulent damask rose scent drenched him, making him realise how much he preferred the fresh tang of wild berries.

  Instead of shifting away he drew on a smile. She was one of the most recent benefactors to a program that combined saving endangered wildlife with providing jobs and education for villagers in Borneo.

  ‘What? You don’t like the scar? There I was hoping it gave me an attractively intriguing air.’

  One of the men snorted, drawing his wife close. ‘As if you need that.’

  Orsino shrugged, cataloguing the avid female interest from the circle around him.

  He wished he felt a spark of attraction for one of these women. They were beautiful, some talented and successful, all poised and charming. Yet not one stirred a ripple in his soul.

  Because they’re not Poppy.

  His smile became fixed as his jaw locked.

  What he felt for Poppy, the fact that he felt anything other than animal lust for the woman who’d betrayed him, was driving him quietly insane.

  He felt mired deep, the link that bound him to her no longer a thread of connection but a web that trapped him however he tried to break away. Even now he missed her and she’d only gone on ahead to dress with the other models for the preparty photos.

  ‘So tell us.’ One of the men spoke. ‘What’s the next big expedition?’

  Orsino parried their questions with half a mind, not committing himself.

  His bruises and damaged ribs had healed and his fractured arm was on the mend. He’d ditched the walking stick and with luck and care his eyes would heal. Already his vision was clearer. But one hand still closed up in the cold—a legacy of frostbite.

  Whether he could climb again had yet to be tested.

  He waited for frustration to consume him, fear that his greatest joy could be denied him.

  Instead the thought filling his head was that with the shoot ending he had no reason to stay with Poppy.

  If he couldn’t climb he’d find some other challenge. But deep in his soul lurked the disturbing thought that there was no challenge in the world to match the thrill of being with Poppy, watching her delight in new experiences like sailing above the workaday world in a hot air balloon.

  Or watching her brow knit as she deciphered his scrawl and entered notations on a spreadsheet, all the while peppering him with questions about why and how a particular enterprise was run.

  Or seeing her come apart in his arms, the sound of his name on her lips.

  How could he feel so much for a woman he couldn’t trust?

  ‘Orsino?’ A hand touched his arm and he looked down, disappointment flaring as he recognised a beautiful
brunette he’d spoken to earlier. ‘It’s time to go in.’

  He nodded and joined the crowd heading to the red carpet that led across the arched bridge to the chateau. Floodlit against the inky night it was a fantasy of pure white stone and romantic towers. Flambeaux set along either side of the bridge recalled an earlier age, but the women posing for press photographs on the red carpet were absolutely contemporary.

  One, with blond hair and a dress of ice green, he recognised as the model whose drunken boyfriend had caused such a scene. The other …

  Orsino’s feet welded to the cobblestones as she turned, her rich dark red hair cascading around a face as pale and luminous as moonlight.

  Something clawed at his throat as Poppy smiled for the media. The sight of her undid something in his chest, like a long spool unwinding.

  Her dress was the colour of wild violets, the purple so dark it looked black till she moved and the light caught. It clung lovingly to each superb inch. Full-length with long, fitted sleeves, it had a deep V neckline at the back and at the front, where it plunged low between her breasts.

  His breath stalled and he waited for the fabric to slide aside, revealing one perfect, rose-tipped breast. But by some designer magic he didn’t understand, the dress stayed in place, barely.

  Around her throat wound a choker of amethysts and pink diamonds. A single, gem-studded strand fell down between her breasts, drawing the eye to all that creamy skin. More stones glittered at her wrists and ears.

  She laughed and something dived inside him, arrowing to the very centre of his being.

  How was he going to walk away tomorrow, now the shoot, and their deal, was over?

  The first time he’d left her had nearly killed him. How could he do it a second time?

  Behind the cameras light glinted on pale blond hair. The man wore a dinner suit like the rest of the guests but walked with a lanky stride that unlocked bitter memory. He made a beeline for Poppy.

  Mischa.

  Orsino felt rage roar to life as Poppy’s old friend descended on the models, arms wide, kissing their cheeks.

  His hands clenched as Mischa touched Poppy’s shoulder, leaning close. Poppy smiled back, angling her head for the cameras and a cold, hard weight dropped like a stone in Orsino’s gut.

  He strode forward then slammed to a halt, eyes narrowing as he saw Poppy urge the other woman closer to Mischa, turning to call the rest of the models. Moments later the cameras were snapping group shots of a dozen dazzling models with Mischa at their centre and Poppy far away on the edge of the group.

  From deep inside Orsino’s churning gut a tiny sliver of warmth rose and spread.

  His mouth tipped in a sharp smile of satisfaction as Mischa turned his head to the red-headed siren at the end of the group but failed to catch her eye.

  A ripple of relief and pleasure filled Orsino as the group broke up and Poppy turned away so swiftly her long skirt flared behind her.

  She looked up. Her eyes caught his and Orsino’s heart thudded at what he thought he read there.

  Orsino strode towards her like a man on a mission and Poppy’s heart leapt. The strain of keeping a smile on her face this past hour through the preparty photos had been almost too much to bear.

  Seeing Mischa had brought it all home again. That dreadful night when, distraught and alone, she’d turned to him because Orsino hadn’t been there.

  The things Mischa had whispered in her ear, about always desiring her, wanting a future with her, about how her husband had never been right for her.

  The awful shame she felt when she’d emerged later from the shower after trying to scrub Mischa’s touch from her skin, to find the man she loved staring at her as if she’d crawled out from under a rock.

  Worst of all, the way Orsino had turned on his heel when she’d started to explain. He’d left her bereft and ashamed.

  Now he covered the space between them, his long, powerful legs eating up the distance. His face told her nothing and the hairs on her nape prickled. He must have seen her with Mischa.

  Poppy braced for a sarcastic remark. Or even for him to stalk past and punch the other man’s lights out.

  Instead he stopped before her—big, bold and potently handsome. Dimly she was aware of heads turning. His nostrils flared as if dragging in air, his gaze pinioned her so that moving away was beyond her.

  Then slowly he reached for her, took her cold hand in his warm one, closing long fingers over it. Her heart crashed against her breastbone as he lifted her hand to his lips, slowly savouring the taste of her.

  Poppy’s nipples budded and the steel bands of tension around her ribs shattered and fell.

  She sighed and swayed closer, unable to resist.

  Orsino wrapped his arm around her waist and hauled her to him. His other hand went to her hair, inexorably pulling her head back. His mouth descended on hers in a flagrant display of alpha male power and sexual potency Poppy hadn’t a hope of resisting.

  A voice inside whispered he was putting on the macho display for Mischa’s benefit.

  Then his mouth moved on hers and there was no more thinking. Poppy’s mind shut down as she sank into him. All thought, all doubts, were eclipsed as she finally gave up fighting her feelings. She stopped pretending.

  Here in Orsino’s arms was the one place in the world she wanted to be.

  Nothing else mattered, not even pride.

  It was an evening of elegance and glamour. The beautiful old chateau came to life under the light of massed candles, roaring fires and camera flashes. A buffet banquet fit for royalty was served and there was dancing in the ballroom where they’d filmed in period costume. Lights swayed on the dark river and flambeaux lit the exquisite gardens.

  Through it all Poppy only had eyes for Orsino, basking in the warmth of him at her side, his smile, the touch of his arm at her back.

  It was as if the intervening years hadn’t happened.

  No, more than that.

  Poppy felt closer to him, more attuned than she’d been in their short-lived marriage. That had been tempestuous, passionate and exciting. What she felt now was no less passionate, but more mature. They were the feelings of a woman for her mate, her love, rather than those of an immature girl, swept up in the throes of her first love affair.

  She’d tried so long to deny her feelings for Orsino.

  Instead she’d fallen for him all over again. Not just for the dashing, charismatic darling of the jet set, but for the thoughtful, caring man who worked behind the scenes to make life better for people he didn’t know. For the man who’d taken on an aggressive, chauvinist bully without a thought for his own disabled state. For the man who’d shown her tenderness and caring instead of cynicism and hatred.

  Was that forgiveness?

  Finally Orsino had let her see beyond his facade of casual indifference and privilege, revealing the intensely private man she’d never really understood. Now she guessed a little of how he’d been shaped by his lonely childhood, devoid of parental love.

  Her betrayal must have devastated a man who’d never been able to rely on love.

  A heated coil of guilt twisted within.

  Had he thought she’d lied about her love for him?

  Of course he had.

  Now she even had some idea of how much his trips into the wild meant. Maybe he hadn’t been rejecting her after all. She realised now they were an essential part of Orsino. Despite his easy charm, the glamorous social scene wasn’t his natural milieu. If she wasn’t mistaken, he was a man who drew strength from solitude and physical challenge. Despite his large family he’d been essentially alone most of his life.

  Poppy breathed deep, trying to harness the raw emotions filling her. Fear. Excitement. A bud of hope.

  These weeks had revealed how very much Orsino meant to her.

  She couldn’t put off the inevitable. The shoot was over. Tonight was the final celebration and media launch. Tomorrow everyone went their separate ways. Yet she hadn’t discussed the fu
ture with Orsino. She’d been too scared he planned simply to leave.

  How could she have been such a coward?

  She’d pushed him away once when she’d needed him, when her mother died. Hadn’t she learned from that?

  They’d both made mistakes. Neither, she guessed, had been ready for marriage. Now she was tired of running, tired of pretending.

  Poppy’s heart drummed loud in her ears as she looked up at his proud profile, the curl of ink-dark hair on his brow, the strong nose and solid jaw.

  Would he listen this time?

  Had anything changed for him?

  Her heart dived as trepidation filled her. She had to find out. She’d been a coward years ago, hurting them both in the process. It was time to be brave.

  ‘If you’ll excuse us?’ Poppy linked her arm through Orsino’s and drew him away from a cluster of Baudin executives. ‘We just need to …’ Poppy used her trademark smile as she gestured to the far side of the room, as if she’d noticed someone they needed to see.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Orsino’s deep voice skimmed her flesh, making her shiver.

  ‘Somewhere private.’ Poppy sensed his gaze sharpen.

  Thankfully he didn’t question, just let her lead him past knots of models and executives, socialites and minor royals, till at last the noise receded.

  They stopped in a secluded hexagonal room jutting out over the river. It held a writing desk and chair and a wide window seat that ran beneath the angled walls.

  There were no lights bar the flood of moonlight and the torches outside. This would be easier in the dark. Poppy closed the door behind her with a quiet snick.

  Immediately Orsino reached for her, his hand covering her breast, the other wrapping round her waist as his head dipped.

  ‘I do like a woman who shows initiative,’ he purred in a bass rumble against her throat as he gathered her to him. Instantly her body melted, lax in his hold, liquid heat firing at her core. Her breathing was choppy, needy, like the way she clung to him.

  One touch was all it took.