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.