‘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.