Free Rebel's Bargain by Annie West Page B

garden.
    Gripping his despised walking stick, he took his time. He could walk without it but he’d learned to his cost that his faulty vision meant he didn’t always see obstacles. The last thing he needed was to fall flat on his face in front of Poppy.
    It had been a mistake, asking her to help him undress that first day.
    What had he thought? That the sight of him half naked would have her desperate for his body?
    He grunted and turned onto the riverside path.Serve him right for his inflated ego. She’d taken one look and gone green around the gills. His bruises had repulsed her.
    But he had enough experience of women, of Poppy, to know she wasn’t impervious. Even after all this time. After how many lovers?
    His gut clenched and he faltered midstep. How long had she stayed with Mischa? How many had there been since?
    Orsino gritted his teeth. He didn’t care. Not any longer. Fortunately his interest now was purely skin-deep.
    He slowed, approaching a cluster of people and equipment. Everyone seemed busy, bustling about their various jobs, so he stood unobserved.
    At the river’s edge a rowboat was pulled up and two people got in. One was a fair-haired man in evening clothes. The other was Poppy. Even from here he recognised her engulfed in that enormous neck-to-ankle coat. Her hair was up but he saw its dark red gleam. Something flashed as she moved in front of a light and he realised she wore a glittering circlet in her hair.
    There was a murmur of voices then Poppy shrugged the coat off and Orsino caught his breath.
    Her whole dress, what there was of it, danced and sparkled. Knee length, with a deep V neckline at front and back, it caught the light in spangles of silver and blue-green. When she stepped into theboat he saw the skirt was a series of strands that shimmied provocatively around her thighs. Colour glinted at her wrists and throat and high on one arm sat a wide, bright band that looked like a slave bracelet.
    She looked coolly elegant, yet gut-wrenchingly sexy, like an untouchable goddess.
    But Orsino knew the hot woman who lurked beneath the sophistication. Heat stretched tight bands across his groin and belly.
    Over the next hour he watched from a bench seat as the team shot a scene of the pair on the boat, again and again. He couldn’t make out the conversation on board, but he heard Poppy’s laugh and the murmur of voices—hers and the male model’s. He saw the man open a bottle of champagne, heard the crack of the cork, loud as a gunshot, and saw the pair lean close, sipping wine.
    And each time a loud voice would interrupt and they’d have to do it all again.
    ‘Look at all that bubbly they’re wasting,’ groaned a voice nearby.
    Orsino turned to see two men, like him, watching the scene on the river.
    ‘It’s got to be perfect—you know what the director’s like. And they’d better hurry. He wanted the early-morning light.’
    ‘That’s no reason to waste good wine.’
    ‘Stop whinging and be thankful you’re not stuckin costume for hours, freezing. Look at Poppy Graham out there wearing next to nothing. How many times has she given him his cue and how often has he botched it?’
    ‘Don’t waste your sympathy on her, mate. The virgin queen is too uptight to feel the cold.’
    ‘Virgin queen?’ Orsino stepped forward and the men turned. The older one stilled, obviously recognising Orsino.
    The younger, who’d made the comment, merely nodded and grinned. He was handsome in a plastic sort of way. Orsino wondered if he was a model.
    ‘The unsullied Ms Graham. Colder than an arctic snowstorm she is. God forbid she should let any guy close enough to thaw her.’
    ‘Ah.’ Orsino understood now. ‘She rebuffed you.’
    The other shrugged, ignoring his companion’s gesture to be quiet. ‘Not just me. She’s legendary for it, to the point of being a challenge. I haven’t heard of anyone who’s struck it lucky with her. There must be ice in her veins, so don’t waste your time