Rebel's Bargain

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 cabin. She reached for a glossy magazine and opened it. ‘That’s the last kiss, proper or not, you’ll ever get from me.’