Rebel's Bargain

Mischa took his time replying. ‘Why ask me? The answer’s obvious. You already know what happened that night.’

He spun round and strode across the room, closing the doors behind him, leaving Orsino alone in the darkness.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

AFTER SCANNING THE hotel lobby, Poppy settled in her seat, flipping open a magazine. Her gaze met familiar violet eyes and she tilted her head, critically examining the photo of herself, half reclining on a rich brocade coverlet, her hair rippling around her. They’d been right to choose the ruby red for that dress. It complemented her pale skin and the fortune in gems she wore.

Poppy remembered the day mere weeks ago when that shot had been taken. No wonder her eyes held that slumberous come-hither look. Her mouth looked fuller, too. An hour before she’d been in Orsino’s bed. She could still recall the taste of his demanding mouth on hers, the hot frenzy of need as he tormented her almost to breaking point before rewarding her ardour with a shuddering, soul-searing climax.

She’d felt well-loved. Physically, and she would have sworn, emotionally.

Poppy’s mouth flattened.

That was before. She couldn’t fool herself any longer that he cared.

Had it been worth it? Giving herself to him again?

Ecstasy while it lasted and pure hell now. Sometimes only the pain seemed real.

At least she understood why she hadn’t been able to make a complete break before, why she’d gone running to Orsino the moment he crooked his finger.

Because she still loved him.

Maybe realising it was the first step in killing her feelings for him. Only a masochist would love a man who refused so blatantly to believe.

Poppy scrabbled at the glossy page, almost tearing it in her eagerness to turn it to something other than her own face, revealing how Orsino had made her feel.

Not any more. The utter bleakness of her life was a grey wall locking her in, even as she forced herself to go through the motions of living. Like now, waiting for her blind date.

If she could have avoided this she would, but auctioning off lunch with Poppy Graham at a swanky hotel had been a major fundraiser for the women’s shelter. She couldn’t back out now, especially since Mr Rossi had paid such a huge sum for the privilege.

A shiver rippled down her spine. So long as he realised it was just lunch he was getting for his money.

Across the foyer firm footsteps sounded and for a moment Poppy thought she recognised that decisive tread. The hairs rose on her arms and nape, but she kept her head down, gazing unseeing at the page before her.

Where was Orsino now? Visiting one of his charities in some far-flung corner of the globe? On a new trek?

‘Poppy.’

Her head jerked up as if pulled by a string. Sweet piercing pain shot through her chest as she met familiar dark eyes. Every muscle and sinew in her body froze.

He looked different, she realised with shock. Orsino’s proud, decisive features appeared gaunt, hollows grooved deep in his cheeks, his eyes sunken.

Yet he looked wonderful. Her stupid heart battered her ribs as if trying to escape so it could flop like a landed fish at his feet.

‘Orsino!’ It was a hiss of dismay. Of all the hotels in London why did he have to choose this one? What a cruel irony of fate. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Looking for you.’

For her? She shook her head, unable to believe her ears.

‘I’m meeting someone.’ The words blurted out, a rebuff. She cast an anxious gaze towards the grand entry. Where was the man? She’d rather face a hundred blind dates than sit here trading chitchat with her husband.

‘Yes, me.’ Orsino’s voice hadn’t changed. It was as full of self-assurance as ever.

‘No. I’m meeting a Mr—’

‘Rossi.’ He nodded. ‘I know.’

Poppy’s stomach sank and her flesh grew tight. ‘How do you know?’

An expression flitted across Orsino’s dark features, too fast to be read. Yet she sensed a change in him. No longer proud and authoritative but … could it be … hesitant?

She looked at his wide-legged stance, his fists anchored deep in his trouser pockets, and felt an unfamiliar vibe emanate from him. Slowly she closed the magazine and stood. In her heels she was just half a head shorter than him.

‘Rossi was my mother’s maiden name.’

Poppy blinked as his meaning sank slowly into her numbed brain. Horror stirred in her belly. He couldn’t mean—

‘You bid on me at the charity auction?’

He shrugged. Never had the casual Mediterranean gesture looked so stiff and cramped.

‘I thought you wouldn’t meet me if I rang.’

‘You got that right.’ What did he think he was doing, meeting her under false pretences?