Rebel's Bargain

He raked his hand across his chin, feeling the growth he hadn’t bothered to shave. He wasn’t in the mood for business, but Bettina had been insistent, if cagey, saying this was an opportunity not to be missed.

He should have been heading to the Cuillins this morning. What better way to test his recuperation than by tackling some of Scotland’s most challenging climbs? He twitched his bad hand, wondering if he was kidding himself even attempting to climb again.

If he wasn’t up to it physically then he’d have to find some other distraction. Something to dull the memory of Poppy saying goodbye. So far nothing had worked.

His stride faltered as pain swamped him.

Would he ever see her again except on billboards?

He didn’t know which would be worse—seeing her and not being with her, or never laying eyes on her again.

The sooner he was away to Skye, the better. At least there he could be alone with his misery.

Orsino scowled. This Ms Beaufort had better have a worthwhile proposal or he’d be out of here like a shot.

He reached the door, knocked peremptorily and swung into the conference room, only to pull up short as the ground fell away beneath his feet.

A tall woman rose from one of the swivel chairs at the table. With her back to the window the stream of daylight detailed her slim-fitting dark suit with its cinched-in waist. She had hair the colour of passion, pulled back high from her face.

‘Poppy?’ he croaked. He swiped his hand over bleary eyes. Was he seeing things?

She stepped around the table and he saw flawless legs and shapely feet in glossy black shoes so high she looked like some erotic fantasy come to life. Pearls circled her pale throat, drawing attention to the deep plunge of her charcoal suit, and the fact she wasn’t wearing a shirt beneath it.

It was her.

Instinctively he inhaled as she approached, letting the delicate, fresh scent of her invade his senses.

His eyes dropped to glossy lips the colour of raspberries and he bit back a groan of longing.

‘What are you …?’ His words died as she stepped past him and snicked the door locked.

‘Just making sure we’re not disturbed,’ she murmured as she walked back to the polished conference table.

‘Poppy? What is this?’ His head spun. It was all he could do not to grab her, bury his head in her neck and haul her up against him. ‘Where’s Ms Beaufort?’

Her hand strayed to her throat, as if she were nervous. Then she lifted her chin.

‘You’re looking at her.’

‘I don’t understand.’ He’d had so little sleep lately. Could he be dreaming?

‘I took a leaf out of your book and used my mother’s maiden name.’

‘Because?’

She folded her arms, bending one knee and jutting her hip out in a stance that was pure challenge. ‘Because you made it painfully obvious last time that you were so racked with guilt you couldn’t face being with me. Subterfuge seemed my only option.’

Poppy’s heart dipped and she clenched her fingers into the sleeves of her jacket, pulling her folded arms in close.

Orsino’s liquid dark eyes flared and his gaze dropped to the deep V of her cleavage as her breasts plumped higher. The heat in his eyes belied his stern expression and taut features.

A spark of hope flared. She wasn’t too proud to use her natural assets to get what she wanted. The stakes were too high to chance failure. She leaned forward.

‘I’ve got a business proposition for your charity work.’ She swiped her tongue along her bottom lip, more nervous than she’d been on her first photo shoot, and was rewarded when Orsino’s eyes flickered.

‘You want to talk about philanthropy?’ His head swung from side to side like a boxer who’d taken one too many hits and couldn’t focus.

‘Why not? You’re not the only one with an interest.’ She leaned back against the conference table, trying to project confidence.

Orsino’s eyes narrowed. She’d known that sharp brain of his would click into gear quickly. She hurried on. ‘My proposal will benefit your fundraising.’

‘Really?’

‘Absolutely.’ She nodded to a nearby chair. ‘Why don’t you take a seat?’

‘I’m fine standing.’ He crossed his arms, reinforcing the lean strength of his broad chest beneath the jacket and plain shirt.

‘You won’t mind if I get comfortable.’ She shimmied onto the table behind her, aware of Orsino’s gaze zeroing like a laser onto her legs as her skirt rode up from just above the knee to reveal several inches of thigh.

Poppy took her time crossing her legs, hyper-aware of the slide of silk stockings against her thighs. She suppressed a smile at the convulsive movement of Orsino’s throat.