Rebel's Bargain

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 primitive 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.