Now he covered the space between them, his long, powerful legs eating up the distance. His face told her nothing and the hairs on her nape prickled. He must have seen her with Mischa.
Poppy braced for a sarcastic remark. Or even for him to stalk past and punch the other man’s lights out.
Instead he stopped before her—big, bold and potently handsome. Dimly she was aware of heads turning. His nostrils flared as if dragging in air, his gaze pinioned her so that moving away was beyond her.
Then slowly he reached for her, took her cold hand in his warm one, closing long fingers over it. Her heart crashed against her breastbone as he lifted her hand to his lips, slowly savouring the taste of her.
Poppy’s nipples budded and the steel bands of tension around her ribs shattered and fell.
She sighed and swayed closer, unable to resist.
Orsino wrapped his arm around her waist and hauled her to him. His other hand went to her hair, inexorably pulling her head back. His mouth descended on hers in a flagrant display of alpha male power and sexual potency Poppy hadn’t a hope of resisting.
A voice inside whispered he was putting on the macho display for Mischa’s benefit.
Then his mouth moved on hers and there was no more thinking. Poppy’s mind shut down as she sank into him. All thought, all doubts, were eclipsed as she finally gave up fighting her feelings. She stopped pretending.
Here in Orsino’s arms was the one place in the world she wanted to be.
Nothing else mattered, not even pride.
It was an evening of elegance and glamour. The beautiful old chateau came to life under the light of massed candles, roaring fires and camera flashes. A buffet banquet fit for royalty was served and there was dancing in the ballroom where they’d filmed in period costume. Lights swayed on the dark river and flambeaux lit the exquisite gardens.
Through it all Poppy only had eyes for Orsino, basking in the warmth of him at her side, his smile, the touch of his arm at her back.
It was as if the intervening years hadn’t happened.
No, more than that.
Poppy felt closer to him, more attuned than she’d been in their short-lived marriage. That had been tempestuous, passionate and exciting. What she felt now was no less passionate, but more mature. They were the feelings of a woman for her mate, her love, rather than those of an immature girl, swept up in the throes of her first love affair.
She’d tried so long to deny her feelings for Orsino.
Instead she’d fallen for him all over again. Not just for the dashing, charismatic darling of the jet set, but for the thoughtful, caring man who worked behind the scenes to make life better for people he didn’t know. For the man who’d taken on an aggressive, chauvinist bully without a thought for his own disabled state. For the man who’d shown her tenderness and caring instead of cynicism and hatred.
Was that forgiveness?
Finally Orsino had let her see beyond his facade of casual indifference and privilege, revealing the intensely private man she’d never really understood. Now she guessed a little of how he’d been shaped by his lonely childhood, devoid of parental love.
Her betrayal must have devastated a man who’d never been able to rely on love.
A heated coil of guilt twisted within.
Had he thought she’d lied about her love for him?
Of course he had.
Now she even had some idea of how much his trips into the wild meant. Maybe he hadn’t been rejecting her after all. She realised now they were an essential part of Orsino. Despite his easy charm, the glamorous social scene wasn’t his natural milieu. If she wasn’t mistaken, he was a man who drew strength from solitude and physical challenge. Despite his large family he’d been essentially alone most of his life.
Poppy breathed deep, trying to harness the raw emotions filling her. Fear. Excitement. A bud of hope.
These weeks had revealed how very much Orsino meant to her.
She couldn’t put off the inevitable. The shoot was over. Tonight was the final celebration and media launch. Tomorrow everyone went their separate ways. Yet she hadn’t discussed the future with Orsino. She’d been too scared he planned simply to leave.
How could she have been such a coward?
She’d pushed him away once when she’d needed him, when her mother died. Hadn’t she learned from that?
They’d both made mistakes. Neither, she guessed, had been ready for marriage. Now she was tired of running, tired of pretending.
Poppy’s heart drummed loud in her ears as she looked up at his proud profile, the curl of ink-dark hair on his brow, the strong nose and solid jaw.
Would he listen this time?
Had anything changed for him?
Her heart dived as trepidation filled her. She had to find out. She’d been a coward years ago, hurting them both in the process. It was time to be brave.