Lexie wasn’t ready for this onslaught of physical sensations and feelings. Barely able to get her head around articulating much, she asked, a little redundantly, ‘What was that in aid of?’
‘Proving that it will be no hardship to act out being lovers. In fact it’s almost inevitable that we will become lovers.’
Lexie rebelled at that arrogant tone even as her body betrayed her spectacularly. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Mr Da Silva.’
He smiled. ‘It’s Cesar, please.’
Lexie felt dizzy at how quickly this man was dismantling the bricks and mortar that had protected her for years. She couldn’t analyse it now, but she knew that he must have connected with her on some very deep level for her to have allowed him to kiss her—not once, but twice. Without even putting up a fight.
Panic galvanised her and she reached down and picked up her bag, slung it over her shoulder. She forced herself to look at Cesar but it was hard. The air between them was saturated with electricity and tension and something else far more disturbing and new to Lexie: Desire.
She hated to admit that she was also stung to think that he believed she was the kind of person who would just widen her eyes and say yes to such an autocratic announcement.
She bit out, ‘I am not an easy lay, Cesar. Evidently you believe what you read in the papers, but I can assure you that I am perfectly capable of controlling myself. I am interested in putting forward a united front in order to get the press off our backs...that is all.’
Cesar stared at her for a long moment and then shrugged. He folded his arms across that wide chest, making the muscles of his arms bunch against the silk of his shirt.
‘We’ll see,’ he said carelessly. As if he truly didn’t care if she tumbled into his bed one way or the other. As if he knew that she would be helpless to resist him when the time came.
Curbing the urge to take her bag and swing it at his head, Lexie backed away to the door, her blood boiling—and not just from his words and that arrogance. She turned around and was reaching for the doorknob, relishing the prospect of removing herself from his orbit, when he called her name softly.
With the utmost reluctance Lexie gritted her jaw and turned around, keeping her hand on the door. He was still sitting there, eyes hooded, watching her.
‘Don’t forget...next weekend...Salamanca. That’s if you still want us to proceed with your suggestion.’
For a second Lexie contemplated the alternative and saw herself pacing up and down the dark castillo corridors or in the grounds. Trapped. With the press digging her life up again. Speculating. She went cold at that prospect. There was no choice.
She managed to say icily, ‘I won’t forget.’ And then she pulled the door open and left, with her dignity feeling badly battered.
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN LEXIE GOT to her room she paced. Full of pent-up energy. Hot and then cold at the same time when she reconsidered the equally disturbing prospects of appearing in public with Cesar and not. And the ramifications of the press’s interest in her if that was the case.
There was no doubt about it: appearing with Cesar would be the bet
ter scenario. It was only in the last few weeks that the tabloids’ interest in ‘Luscious Lexie the homewrecker’ had let up. If she was going to become press fodder again so soon, then she would not be the victim.
Cesar was unmarried. A bachelor. An affair with him would be old news very fast. And, she realised with some cynicism, it couldn’t hurt the film to be linked to this kind of publicity.
What she hadn’t counted on was the attraction she felt for Cesar. She’d just kissed him back again, as passionately as she had earlier, with no qualms. No hesitation! It was as if as soon as he touched her some ever-vigilant switch in her brain turned to off and she became mute. Acquiescent.
She held out her hands and noted that even now they were trembling slightly. Disgusted, she shoved them under her arms and then spied her electronic tablet. She marched over and opened it up.
She hated herself for it, but she found herself searching for Cesar Da Silva Girlfriend. Predictably not much came up except a few photos of him at events with beautiful women. They were all tall, brunette. Sleek. Classy. One was a UN diplomat. The next an attaché to a world leader. Another was a human rights lawyer.
There were also pictures of Cesar with world leaders at economic summits.
Lexie put a hand to her mouth to stem a slight surge of hysteria. She was seriously out of her depth with this man, and she didn’t like her feeling of insecurity when she was faced with the evidence of his previous lovers’ undoubted intellectual accomplishments. The plan for them to appear as lovers mocked her now. Who would ever believe he’d choose her?
Feeling like a stalker, she looked up his background. To her surprise, a new news article popped up. And a picture of him from earlier that very day, taken at a wedding in Paris. Lexie frowned for a second, wondering how he could have come from Paris back to the castillo in such a short space of time—and then she recalled hearing a helicopter earlier. Of course—to a man like Cesar Da Silva travel between European bases was far removed from most people’s more tedious, lengthy experiences.
She focused on the short piece again. It had been the wedding of Alexio Christakos and his very pretty bride—someone called Sidonie. The article seemed to be implying that a familial relationship existed between Alexio Christakos and Cesar Da Silva. And also another man: Rafaele Falcone.
Lexie frowned. She knew Christakos and Falcone were half-brothers. They’d been notoriously eligible bachelors before settling down. So...what? Cesar was related to these men? Lexie kept searching and found a very brief reference to his father. Joaquin Da Silva had been famously disinherited from his family after leaving to train as a bullfighter. He’d achieved some fame early on, before dying tragically in a goring by a bull.
There wasn’t much else apart from Cesar’s current accomplishments, of which there seemed to be many. He was listed as one of the world’s leading philanthropists.
The picture of Cesar at the wedding caught her eye again. She looked more closely. There was a definite resemblance between the two men. And Rafaele Falcone. She couldn’t be sure, but it looked as if they all shared varying shades of green eyes. Unusual. Too unusual.