Rebel's Bargain Page 6

  Even she’d had doubts about the job. Not for professional reasons—it promised to be a huge success—but for purely personal ones. Ever since that night in London, Poppy hadn’t been able to work with Mischa. But she’d finally convinced herself it was time to let the past go. Besides, the income from this contract would give her the financial security that had been her goal for so long. She’d be a fool to pass up the opportunity.

  And, as she kept telling herself, the past was the past.

  ‘Poppy?’ Orsino’s voice dragged her into the present.

  ‘I’m glad you approve.’ She pushed open her door, not waiting for the chauffeur. The air was brisk and she shivered, telling herself the prickle up her back wasn’t a premonition of disaster.

  All too soon they and their luggage were inside, the driver gone.

  It was ridiculous to feel nervous, but Poppy was as edgy as a cat on hot sand.

  For the first time in five years she and Orsino were completely alone. At the hospital and on the plane there had always been the possibility of staff appearing. But here, in the luxuriously fitted tower, a completely separate building to the chateau and the other accommodation on the vast estate, there was just the two of them.

  A low whistle pierced the stillness. ‘This is really something.’

  Orsino moved to an open door leading to the beautiful sitting room that looked over the formal rose garden and the river. He leaned on his stick, staring first at the view then the priceless renaissance paintwork on the high ceiling beams and down to the dark honey parquetry floor with its intricate weave pattern.

  ‘If it wasn’t so crass I’d ask who you had to sleep with to get this place to yourself.’

  Instantly the chill at Poppy’s spine turned to a shaft of ice that twisted and pierced her chest. She swayed at the casual cruelty of the comment, but by the time he turned around she had herself in hand. She stood tall and proud, pretending that poisoned dart hadn’t hit its target. Yet she felt brittle, as if one touch would make her shatter.

  ‘No one, as it happens.’ Her voice was as crisp as the late-autumn chill. ‘It’s one of the perks of being the new face of Europe’s oldest and premier jewellery house.’ Poppy pinned on a smile even though it felt like her facial muscles cracked from the strain. ‘The House of Baudin takes care of its assets.’

  ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘Don’t!’ She stopped him with a single slashing gesture. To her surprise it worked and he stood silent.

  ‘Of course you meant it. You’ve got a cutting tongue, Orsino, and your readiness to think the worst is one of your more obvious and less endearing qualities.’

  She stopped and heaved in a breath as adrenaline surged, making her quiver with the effort of standing to face him. With that one remark he’d sliced right to the core of her pain, opening up the past like a cleaver cutting to bone.

  Her chest rose and fell and she worked to calm herself.

  ‘I did not sleep my way to the top of my profession. I got where I am through hard work and dedication. That’s all. And if you think to smear my reputation—’

  Orsino raised his hand. ‘I spoke without thinking.’

  As if she’d believe that.

  Why had she agreed to have him here? Already she’d had more than enough.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d be so sensitive. After all, it’s a common expression.’

  Sensitive! He had the nerve.

  ‘You think I’m such a tart I wouldn’t object to your assumption?’ Her hands found her hips as she stepped into his personal space.

  Instantly he paced forward to meet her, his jaw jutting. The air between them sizzled with tension. His heat and his masculine scent enveloped her. They were so close his sling grazed her jacket but she stood her ground.

  Something eddied in her belly. She told herself it was distaste.

  ‘You’re the one who slept around, Poppy. Not me.’ He bit the words out in sharp chunks and her head snapped back as if from a slap.

  The gloves were off.

  ‘Or are you going to try to convince me you went to bed with him and nothing happened? That you’re an innocent?’ Orsino’s voice vibrated with the force of his accusation.

  Familiar nausea swamped her. It was like reliving those nightmares that had haunted her since that night in London. In those, no matter what she said, no matter what she did, it all went wrong, over and over and over again. Just as it had gone wrong all those years before when Orsino had refused to hear her out.

  She remembered her pain and disbelief then, her anguish when Orsino hadn’t let her talk. Her unanswered phone calls and emails. The fruitless attempts to locate him in person. She’d tried and tried to get through to him, but he’d been intractable, uncaring of her fragile state. And through it all the press, intrusive and inquisitive, pestering her for more, snapping photos and revealing her pain to the world.

  Dragging herself through those black days of grief, despair and disbelief had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. For a while she’d thought herself fatally wounded. That she’d never recover.

  Her eyes narrowed on the dark glasses less than an arm’s length away. It wasn’t her fault he didn’t know the truth. He hadn’t wanted to know. And she didn’t care any more.

  Deliberately she tossed her head back. ‘Convince you I was innocent? I wouldn’t waste my breath.’

  Already she’d spent too long trying to do exactly that. Why bother now? What she’d thought they’d shared had been an illusion.

  Besides, there was no way she could convince him of the truth now. He’d judged her guilty then. His attitude now confirmed nothing had changed.

  Vertical lines furrowed his brow and Poppy felt a moment’s triumph that at least she hadn’t been as predictable as he expected. Had he wanted her to plead and grovel? Her days of doing that were over. Orsino didn’t want to know the truth. He’d made up his mind that night before he’d even confronted her.

  ‘Why should I? I have no interest in your forgiveness, Orsino, or in trying to pick up the pieces.’

  How could you reassemble something that hadn’t been broken but pulverised into dust? She tasted it now, like ashes on her tongue, and grimaced.

  ‘Think what you like, by all means. But keep your thoughts to yourself. If I hear you so much as breathe a comment about my love life you’re out of here, deal or no deal.’

  Orsino surveyed the disdainful woman who stared him down as if he wasn’t half a head taller than her. Even with his damaged vision she was remarkable.

  Her pale skin flushed, colour washing those slanted cheekbones, accentuating the elegance of her spare features. Her violet eyes blazed and her lips were lusciously dark where she’d bitten them in her fury.

  She was like a defiant queen at the head of an army. He’d never seen her so sexy.

  He felt the blood pound, his muscles tightening, testosterone surging. Despite his maimed state he knew the rapacious impulse of a marauding warrior. He wanted to reach out and take her, conquer that feminine hauteur and make her his.

  The need for her was a primitive pulse in his belly. His hand clenched on his cane as he forced himself to stand his ground.

  He inhaled through his nose, sucking in the rich, berry scent of her skin.

  Mad. He must be mad. She all but flaunted her infidelity in his face and he was turned on!

  Orsino had regretted his thoughtless words as soon as they were out. Reminding her of her faithlessness was no way to get into her bed. What about his plan to seduce her?

  Excitement throbbed through his body as he watched her struggle to hide the way she panted for breath.

  Maybe seduction wasn’t the way. Maybe he could infuriate her so much, rouse her animal instincts, that she’d take it out on him physically. He’d gladly weather her nails on his skin for the pleasure of sex with Poppy when she was like this. Urgent, angry, hate-you sex would be amazing with this woman.

  He shook his head.

  He couldn
’t believe what he was thinking.

  Orsino cleared his throat. ‘I apologise. I didn’t speak intentionally.’

  She shifted as if getting ready to defend herself.

  ‘And believe me, I have no intention of discussing your sex life with anyone.’ That was something he intended to be between the two of them. He watched her fury fade. ‘Now we’ve covered that—’ he used the firm tone that worked so well when chairing difficult meetings ‘—I suggest we move on.’

  Her eyes widened and her mouth sagged. For a perilous instant Orsino hovered on the brink of leaning across to taste her mouth again.

  He gestured to the foyer and the ancient stone staircase. ‘Perhaps you’d show me my room so I can settle in.’

  Poppy said nothing but after subjecting him to a long stare turned and scooped up one of the bags the chauffeur had delivered. She headed up the stairs without a backward glance.

  Orsino stood at the bottom, watching her pale trousers tighten over her buttocks with each step. Slim and toned, his wife was nevertheless rounded in the right places, not abundantly voluptuous but sexy and all woman.

  His wife.

  Did he really intend to go through with this? After all the lacerating pain she’d inflicted?

  Of course he did.

  Orsino lived for challenge, for the rush of the next dangerous adventure. How could he turn his back on the prospect of bedding and besting the one woman who’d ever managed to hurt him? He felt more alive when he was with her than scaling the most insurmountable peak.

  The realisation punched the air from his lungs.

  All these years of thrill seeking and none had surpassed the raw, vibrant adrenaline rush of sparring with Poppy.

  Orsino dragged in a rough breath, feeling his battered ribs protest. A shiver rippled through him as he digested the revelation. This game was more dangerous than he’d anticipated.

  But since when had he turned his back on danger?

  Deliberately he crossed the foyer and, grasping the curved handrail, began to climb the ancient stone steps. It was harder than he liked. His injured side pulsed with the effort.

  He gritted his teeth. The sooner he started using his body, the sooner it would mend.

  By the time he was halfway up he was sweating, his hand clammy on the railing.

  ‘Here, let me help.’

  It was Poppy, coming down to support him. Despite the tight set of her lips, was that concern wrinkling her brow?

  ‘Sure you wouldn’t rather push me down the stairs?’

  ‘Don’t give me ideas, Orsino. You don’t know how tempting that is.’ Her mouth twitched and he wondered if she was repressing a smile or the urge to lambast him. ‘You need to be in bed. What the hospital was doing releasing you in this state, I don’t know.’

  ‘I insisted,’ he managed between gritted teeth. He felt ridiculously done in by a simple flight of stairs. ‘Those four walls were driving me crazy.’

  ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ She had her arm around him, her breast soft against his side. Orsino dragged in a quick breath and tried to focus.

  Finally they reached the floor and she led him across the landing.

  They moved into a vast, almost circular room, dominated by a wide, velvet-covered bed and a series of windows showing different aspects of the formal gardens and river. Once inside Poppy stepped away.

  ‘I hope you’re not going to have a relapse. You’ll be alone here while I’m working.’

  ‘Not completely. I’ll have a health visitor later today.’

  ‘You will?’ Her eyebrows rose. ‘I didn’t think the hospital could organise that in another country.’

  Orsino shook his head and eased himself into a stately wing chair, his body sighing with relief. ‘Not the hospital but my secretary. The one you doubted actually existed. She’s also arranged for me to meet another eye specialist here in France. Very efficient, she is.’

  ‘Obviously.’ Poppy peeled back the quilt from the bed and picked up a folded sheet from a nearby chair, lifting it high and snapping it out over the bed. ‘I assume she was responsible for the new luggage waiting for you when we touched down.’

  ‘A man has his needs and she’s excellent at anticipating them.’ He thought of the laptop stacked with the rest of the luggage downstairs and told himself there’d be time for that later. His appalling weakness at merely climbing a staircase troubled him.

  ‘She sounds like a paragon. I take it she’s used to working miracles anywhere around the globe.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘She must be quite a woman.’ Poppy’s voice was clipped, almost disapproving. Did she think his secretary looked after his more personal needs? The idea intrigued.

  Orsino watched her swift, decisive movements, smoothing the sheet with a brisk arc of her hand. No doubt she wished she could wipe him out of her life as easily as she cleared the wrinkles in the cotton.

  ‘Oh, she is that. Quite amazing.’

  Poppy stiffened, shooting him a darting glance, and he suppressed a smile. No doubt about it, despite her anger, his wife was more than a little interested in his relationship with his secretary. He had no intention of letting on that Bettina was a sixty-year-old, wheelchair-bound grandmother. Let Poppy assume he had a sexpot catering to his every whim.

  Sitting back, he enjoyed the view as Poppy stretched and bent, making the bed. Supple as ever, her body was slender but strong. His body’s dull aches retreated as he let himself imagine her naked on those crisp sheets.

  ‘Is this your bed?’

  She stiffened then walked around to the other side, moving with a graceful economy of movement.

  ‘Hardly. I’m on the next floor.’

  That settled it. The sooner he conquered those stairs, the better. He needed to be fully mobile.

  ‘Did you say something?’ She regarded him suspiciously.

  He shook his head and favoured her with a smile. Instantly she froze.

  ‘Before you go, I’d appreciate some help with this shirt and jacket.’

  ‘You want to get changed?’ She tucked in the last corner and walked towards him.

  ‘I want to get naked.’

  Did the colour washing her cheeks darken?

  ‘You know that’s how I always sleep.’ He let his voice drop low, watching her reaction. ‘If you’ll just help me with the sling …’

  Poppy surveyed Orsino’s easy smile, suspicion rippling across her skin like a rising tide. What was he up to? His scathing comment downstairs had ripped open past wounds and now he played the charm card. Did he think she was some susceptible fool?

  But he needed help. That’s why she’d gone to him on the stairs. She couldn’t leave him swaying there in danger of falling.

  ‘What do you need?’

  ‘Just a hand with these clothes.’ He stood and suddenly she was conscious of how quiet it was here, the two of them alone in the luxurious tower bedroom.

  Jerkily she nodded. She didn’t want to touch Orsino but nor did she want him realising how uncomfortable she was. Ever since seeing him again her reactions had been intense and unpredictable.

  ‘Of course.’ She schooled her face into an expressionless mask. Years of work in front of a camera came to her aid.

  Scooping off his jacket, she laid it over the arm of the chair. He was already fumbling at his shirt button.

  ‘Here. I’ll do that.’ She’d be faster, which meant she’d be out of here sooner.

  His hand dropped and she reached out, cautious of his sling, and flicked open a button then another. She breathed in then wished she hadn’t as her nostrils filled with the cedar wood and spice scent that was uniquely Orsino. No other man had ever smelled as good as he.

  Poppy moved lower, trying to ignore his intense heat, once so familiar to her, and the hard-packed muscle just beneath the pristine shirt.

  He moved his damaged arm out to give her better access and she sidled around it so her arms were between the sling and his body.
Heat trickled between her breasts and they seemed to swell with her quickened breathing. Stupid to feel enclosed by Orsino. He stood passive.

  Poppy darted a look at his face but it was impossible to read his expression.

  ‘Do you need the glasses on inside?’

  ‘My eyes are sensitive to light.’

  Tentatively she pulled his shirt up and free of his trousers. She hated that her hands trembled. She blinked and shoved aside dim memories of hauling Orsino’s shirt free as they made frantic, passionate love.

  ‘There.’ She stepped back, surveying him. Then her heart sank as she realised she wasn’t done yet. He couldn’t get the shirt off without her.

  Touching Orsino shouldn’t be so difficult. She’d been in enough faux embraces with enough handsome male models to know that a touch between a man and a woman could be completely devoid of intimacy, no matter what the camera said. But there was no camera trained on them as she pushed Orsino’s collar back off his shoulder, feeling the hot silky smoothness of his skin on her fingertips.

  ‘You’ll need to undo the cuff,’ he murmured, almost in her ear, and she started, looking down at his wrist.

  ‘Of course.’ Poppy fumbled at his cuff and wrenched it undone. With anyone else she’d make a joke of being out of practice undressing men. Not with Orsino.

  Swiftly she stripped the shirt off his arm. All she had to do now was see how to get it off his other side. But as her gaze skidded towards his sling she finally took in what the shirt had concealed.

  Her throat closed over scratchy sandpaper as she saw the multicoloured bruising that covered every inch of visible skin above the strapping around his ribs. Yellow, green, blue and dull brown, his flesh was a sickening pattern of pain. Poppy blinked, aware of a squeezing in her chest and a dull sensation of nausea in her hollow stomach.

  ‘It looks worse than it is.’ Orsino flexed his bare shoulder as if to work out a kink and abruptly Poppy realised she was staring.

  ‘If you say so.’ Her voice was brisk as she made herself step around him to undo the knot at his neck that held up his sling.