Rebel's Bargain

She pulled back, eyes wide at her body’s betrayal.

Impenetrable dark glasses stared back at her. Her eyes dropped to the thin, mobile mouth that had so easily worked magic on hers. She caught a gleam of dampness on his bottom lip, the sheen where her mouth had met his.

Wrenching free of his hold, Poppy staggered back, heart pounding, her breath sawing from her lips.

Still he stood unmoving while all around them cameras clicked and whirred and reporters climbed over one another for a better view.

She felt like she’d had an out of body experience. It sure wasn’t her body that had responded to Orsino so eagerly. It couldn’t be. She’d eradicated him from her system.

Pity your body doesn’t know it.

The snide little voice came from inside her head.

Imagine what would have happened if he’d had two hands to work with.

Poppy wanted to clap her palms over her ears but there was no escaping the truth.

Not even the paparazzi cameras had saved her from herself. The truth punched hard into her empty stomach.

Orsino had laid his mouth on hers and she’d not only let him, but kissed him back. As if she were ripe for the plucking, just waiting for him to offer her a taste of the physical pleasure that had always been his specialty.

As if what he’d done meant nothing.

As if she were just another woman eager to be noticed by the sexy, charismatic Orsino Chatsfield.

Hadn’t she learned anything?

Even if her body responded to some echo of past attraction, surely she had more sense than to follow in her mother’s footsteps, unable to break away from a man who was no good for her.

The thought brought a ball of searing bile to her throat. She gagged and swallowed, ashamed of herself.

Swiftly she scooped up Orsino’s walking stick, ignoring the jostling reporters and their raucous questions. Despite their noise it felt as if she and Orsino were closed off from them, caught in a fragile bubble. She couldn’t read his features. Was he as impassive as he looked? What about the convulsive way his hand had clamped her skull?

‘Here.’ She thrust the stick into his grip then shoved her hands into her pockets. He could manage without her.

Poppy pushed aside the memory of his tension as he’d walked beside her. He’d been shaking, muscles bunched and rigid. She’d been foolish enough to feel sorry for him, reading the stress in his tight jaw and pale face.

No more!

She wasn’t her mother to be swayed so easily by sympathy for a man who despised her.

She wasn’t that self-destructive.

‘The car is just a couple of metres away.’ She turned and pushed her way through the throng.

They were silent on the way to the airport. Twice Poppy opened her mouth to give Orsino an indignant blast and twice she caught the driver sneaking a peek at them in the rear-view mirror and looked away.

That kiss would be all over the press. The last thing she needed was an eyewitness account of her and Orsino arguing.

Restlessly she pulled the tie from her hair, scooped back the stray curls that had escaped and twisted the mass high on her head, tugging so tight she winced.

Good. A bit of pain might knock some sense into her. What had she been thinking, letting Orsino kiss her?

There was a jittery, excited feeling in her stomach. Horror, she assured herself, not excitement.

She shifted in her seat, unable to repress the shivers tightening her skin.

Finally they arrived at the airport, but instead of drawing up at the terminal, the car went to a private entrance. They passed security staff and drove onto the tarmac where a sleek jet stood, its door open and staff waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

‘A private jet? That’s how you travel now?’

‘Not usually. But it seemed most convenient in the circumstances.’ A quick gesture encompassed his glasses and plastered arm. He sounded perfectly composed. No roiling stomach for Orsino after that scene in front of the paparazzi. No regrets or concerns.

Poppy’s fingers curled till the nails bit her palms. She wished she could be so blasé.

‘The hotel business must be booming.’ She shoved open her door and swung her legs out.

‘I’m not in the hotel business.’

Something in his voice made her turn in time to see him flatten his lips as if in distaste.

Poppy tilted her head, watching his long fingers flex then clench into a fist. She frowned. Orsino was so good at guarding his thoughts. Did he realise the tension he was signalling?

‘I know you don’t have to work for a crust, Orsino.’ Carefully she kept her voice neutral. His attitude to her career had never been supportive, as if he couldn’t understand her need to pay her own way. ‘But your family fortune comes from hotels. It’s the same thing.’