Rebel's Bargain

Poppy’s grief had been beyond his understanding, though he’d tried. How he’d tried.

Now, discovering this bond between mother and daughter made her anguish more understandable. He wished he’d tried even harder.

If she’d set her heart on helping her mother how difficult it must have been to face her sudden death—all those dreams destroyed.

He smoothed Poppy’s back in long strokes with a hand that trembled. If he’d been able to comfort her better when she lost her mother would she have shunned him as she had?

Would she have sought solace in the arms of another man? A pain that had no physical explanation punctured his chest.

Had his own inadequacy pushed her away?

It went against everything Orsino believed about himself even to consider it. Yet he couldn’t dislodge the kernel of disturbing thought from his brain.

Orsino was used to thinking himself invincible. But those hours facing death in the ice had torn away that comfortable lie. He was as human as the next man.

Was he also fatally flawed?

From the age of seven Orsino had hidden what passed for his feelings behind a facade of charm and smiles. No, it had been earlier than that. Had he ever felt secure enough, loved enough, to be honest about emotions?

His features screwed up in a grimace.

What was the point of revisiting the past? It was done and dusted, the damage too late to fix.

Yet he had to know more.

‘You never told me. We were married but you never said a word.’ Another case of her shutting him out?

‘We were married for just four months! Besides, we didn’t talk about our families. I never met most of yours. Just Lucca.’

‘We’re not a close family.’ Now there was an understatement.

‘Anyway, my father was dead. There didn’t seem any point talking about it.’

Her words didn’t ring true. Once Orsino might have been convinced, but he’d spent the past five years learning to work with people, often people under incredible stress. He’d learned a little about reading emotion.

‘No point telling your husband how badly you were hurting?’ He’d bet everything he had she only shared now because the shock of tonight’s attack had thrown her off balance.

Poppy stiffened under his slow caress. He felt her blink against his skin.

‘There never seemed to be a right moment to dredge up the past. And what good would it have done?’

Orsino thought about that, remembering their volatile courtship. Neither had been hanging out for a life partner. But they’d been swept off their feet in a rush of passion that had them alternately insatiable in each other’s arms and backing off, wary of the intensity of what they felt.

At least in his case it had been like that. Till he’d realised he wanted Poppy not just in his bed but in his life and went after her, determined not to let her slip through his fingers.

A quick marriage had been his way of ensuring she was his. He’d needed her so badly even his cynicism about marriage and families had crumbled when it meant having Poppy.

Fat lot of good that had done him when she decided to betray him with Mischa.

Mischa. Orsino gritted his teeth.

No. Not now. Mischa’s involvement in this advertising project was for later.

Orsino’s ‘simple’ arrangement with Poppy—sex with no ties and no regrets—was becoming far more complex than he’d thought possible.

Mischa and the outside world could wait.

‘Or maybe you had no intention of ever letting me into that part of your life.’ He’d be damned if he shouldered all the guilt for what had gone wrong.

He’d tried to be there for her when her mother died but Poppy had turned her back in spectacular fashion. Who could blame him for leaving on his climbing trip when she’d virtually shoved him out the door?

Poppy made to roll away but his grip tightened.

‘Why, Poppy? Didn’t I deserve your trust?’ Orsino’s voice grated against something raw inside. Something he now realised had never healed, not since the day he’d come home to find she’d been with another man.

Part of him, the macho take-it-on-the-chin-and-hide-your-feelings part, writhed and screamed that he should even ask. The other part, too long silent, had to know, even if it gutted him.

Poppy’s hand splayed wide on his chest and Orsino closed his eyes, revelling in the magic of her touch even now, when he felt half dead.

‘Would you have wanted to know?’ she asked finally.

‘Of course!’ How could she even ask?

‘There’s no of course about it. You never talked about feelings, Orsino. You said you needed me. That you wanted me. That life would be so good together. But I was never sure …’

‘What?’ He moved, trying to see her face in the gloom, but she tilted her head away.