T-shirts were pulled off, Poppy had one leg in her jeans, the other free, Caius’s jeans were pulled down around his ankles and when he joined their bodies, Poppy bit into his shoulder to stop herself from crying out even though they were surrounded by nothing but snow-capped mountains and the lake and grazing horses.
It was fast and messy and sweaty and glorious, under the shade of the trees. Afterwards, as their skin cooled and heartbeats returned to normal, Poppy was tempted to tell Caius he couldn’t distract and deflect for ever, but she realised that that was exactly what he’d just done to her.
Two weeks later, Manhattan
It felt jarring to be back in a big city after the last few weeks in Valdere, in the clear, high mountain air, with the big endless sky. Now it was hard to even see much sky with all the soaring skyscrapers.
Or maybe, it was that Poppy felt exposed. Vulnerable. And it wasn’t pregnancy hormones. It was Caius.
They were here because Caius had meetings and Poppy had agreed to come. She was on the board of several charitable organisations so there was always something to do if she was in New York, and, as Caius had pointed out, it would be good to appear in public, solidifying the illusion of their marriage.
The only problem with that was the fact that it didn’t feel like so much of an illusion to Poppy. It felt far more disturbingly ambiguous and hard to define.
The last two weeks had passed as if in a kind of dream, a dream she’d never dared hope might exist, because she’d certainly never seen it between her father and any of his wives, including her mother. She and Caius had settled into a rhythm. They would spend the nights together in his room or hers. They had separate rooms but adjoining suites, much like the chateau on the island.
Mornings were spent working in their respective offices and then they’d go horse riding in the afternoons. Caius looked ten years younger on the back of a horse, his face relaxed, body at ease, moving as one with the horse. They’d explored a lot of trails and Poppy had taken him to some of her favourite private spots, revealing that she’d escape there to avoid her father’s ever-present disappointment or the inevitable arguments between him and his latest wife when no children materialised.
One day she’d asked, ‘You’re really not missing the social whirl?’ She’d hated herself for asking, fearing it exposed her insecurity.
He’d glanced at her, mouth tipping up slightly. ‘Remember what I said about twenty per cent?’
Poppy had pointed out, ‘Twenty per cent ofyoursocial activity was still probably more than most see in a lifetime.’
He’d laughed and it had made Poppy feel as if she’d won something, because it was a genuine laugh.
He’d said after a while, ‘I’d started to pull back in preparation for becoming king. I was making sure my business was set up under new management while I would be in Sadat more often. Not that the media would have you believe it. They just rehashed old photos and video footage and made it look like I was out every night.’
Poppy had teased, ‘So you weren’t really there that night in Paris? It was a mirage?’
He’d looked at her and then down at her bump and back up to catch her face flaming. ‘No, that was very real. The most real thing that had happened to me in a long time.’
They’d been riding and the trail had narrowed so Caius had gone ahead—since that first day he’d been mindful of the horses getting spooked—and Poppy had looked at his broad back and tried to figure out exactly what he’d meant by that statement. Had he meant it negatively? Or positively? It had been impossible to know from his tone of voice.
But, of course, within minutes he’d been employing one of his expert methods of distraction. They didn’t even have to be expert—all he had to do was look at her in a certain way and she forgot her name.
The SUV was pulling to a stop outside a tall, elegant apartment building on the edge of Central Park. She’d been here before, the day she’d come to tell Caius about the pregnancy and he’d brought her here from his office.
He got out of the car and came around to her side and opened the door, holding out his hand. Poppy took it, and a little electric current ran up her arm, making her fingers tighten reflexively on Caius’s. They shared a look for a moment and Poppy could swear she saw something almost like bewilderment in Caius’s eyes. As if to say,How can I still want her?
But then he was leading her into the building and up the elevator to the penthouse apartment. It was as impressive as she remembered, huge picture windows looking over the park and doors opening out onto a generous terrace that was on different levels.
‘I didn’t show you around the last time,’ Caius mentioned dryly.
‘Um, no,’ Poppy said. No, the last time had been fraught to say the least.
‘Let me remedy that now.’ Caius still had Poppy’s hand in his and she dropped her bag as he led her from the impressive reception area with its elegant couches, coffee tables and chairs to the sleek kitchen with its own little eating area. Beside that was a formal dining room that could seat a football team.
There was a media room with a home cinema, a gym with a lap pool and a spacious home office. Caius gestured. ‘Feel free to use this as your office too.’
Then upstairs there were numerous bedrooms and en suites. The master suite took up an entire corner with windows taking in an almost three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of Manhattan.
Poppy shook her head. ‘This is stunning, Caius.’ Even for someone like her, who had grown up around a certain level of wealth and luxury.
‘It’s the first property I bought with my own money.’
She looked at him and sensed his pride and assessed, ‘It’s important to you, isn’t it? To have done this on your own?’
He nodded a little. ‘Maybe because I always sensed that I was a cuckoo in the nest, I had an instinctive need to prove myself.’
