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And he almost did. She felt it in him, that inexorable craving, and knew he was about to cover his mouth with her own. She was already dizzily imagining it, longing for it—and then he stepped away.
His breath came in a ragged rush and Natalia slumped against the wall, her legs as weak and wobbly as a newborn colt’s. ‘They’ve gone now,’ he said flatly. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
Silently Natalia followed him out of the dark alley, her body trembling with aftershocks of emotion, her lips stinging as if he’d actually kissed her.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘THE Truth Behind Jackson Sports Camps,’ Ben read aloud. His staff shifted uneasily in front of him, their eyes downcast. ‘Princess Natalia’s New Toy Boy,’ he continued, his voice gaining a definite edge. He threw the newspaper down on his desk, the movement one of disgust if not dismissal. He was furious with the press, with Natalia, and most of all with himself for allowing this to happen. His charitable enterprise was being dragged through the mud before the first day of camp. Exactly the kind of thing he avoided at all costs. The kind of tawdry publicity he despised.
Why on earth had he gone out for a drink with Natalia Santina? He’d surely known what the risks were, and yet he’d gone and done it anyway. Recklessly. Stupidly. And he knew why, even if he didn’t like the reason.
Because he wanted her.
He wanted her physically, had been so close to kissing her last night he’d almost tasted the sweetness of her lips, better than any champagne they could have drunk. His hands had ached to slide along the lush curves encased in that tight little skirt, slip beneath the snug T-shirt and touch the warm golden skin underneath.
He’d never wanted a woman so much, felt desire so painfully, and yet that wasn’t what infuriated him. It was the other, more dangerous wanting. He wanted to believe there was more to her than the shallow, party-going princess. Wanted to trust those glimpses of raw vulnerability and courage. Wanted more.
And there was more to her, he thought grimly. She was a vindictive, selfish bitch as well. He’d asked her out for a simple drink, and she’d used the opportunity—and him—shamelessly. He glanced up at his three employees. ‘If the press rings, tell them we have no comment and the camp will go ahead as planned. And,’ he finished, his voice sharpening, ‘when Natalia arrives, tell her to see me immediately.’ They nodded, and with a jerk of his head he dismissed them.
Alone in his office Ben took the newspaper and scanned the front page article once more. It was just as infuriating upon the second reading. The Santina family exploits, he saw, took up most of the tabloid’s pages. Alessandro and Allegra’s engagement took second place to other, more salacious events. Princess Sophia, apparently, had eloped to India with a
maharajah. Carlotta, the disgraced single mum, was now in the company of some jilted prince. And Natalia had had the gall to accuse his family of bad behaviour!
He glanced at the photo of him and Natalia in front of the wine bar. It looked all too much like some kind of lovers’ embrace. His arm was snugged around her waist, her head upon his shoulder. And the other photo…a carefully angled picture of them standing close together at the restaurant, with the accompanying caption: Charity Work a Cover for Natalia’s Next Conquest?
Disgust and anger roiled in his stomach and he threw the newspaper down again. She’d planned it all perfectly, and played him for a complete fool.
A light knock sounded on the door, and then Natalia poked her head in, a small smile playing around her mouth, her eyebrows arched. Was she actually smirking? Ben rose from his desk.
‘Come in,’ he said coldly. ‘And shut the door behind you.’
‘Ooh, somebody didn’t sleep well,’ Natalia remarked as she closed the door and came to stand in front of his desk.
‘You aren’t wearing your T-shirt,’ Ben said, knowing it was probably the most inane thing he could have said but unable to keep from noticing. She wore a slim black pencil skirt and crisp white blouse, standard office wear, and yet somehow on her it looked as sexy and inappropriate as a black lace negligee. He could not keep his gaze from roving down those endless legs encased in sheer black tights, ending in high black stiletto heels. The skirt emphasised the perfect curve of her hip and thigh, and she’d left the white blouse unbuttoned at the throat, a silver pendant nestling in the shadowy, golden V between her breasts.
