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‘Are you cold?’
She jerked her head around and glanced up at Rollo. She had almost forgotten he was there—which seemed incredible, given that she was sitting next to him in his limousine. But it was always the same before any performance: she had to lose herself in the fear, let the panic swamp her, before she faced her audience.
She shook her head. ‘No. It’s just nerves. I always get them—’ Suddenly aware that Rollo was unlikely to be interested in her stage fright, she broke off.
But instead of turning away, he stared at her levelly. ‘You’re scared?’
‘Yes.’ She sighed. ‘But I need to be.’ Seeing his gaze sharpen, she felt colour suffuse her cheeks. ‘I know it sounds crazy.’
‘It’s not crazy. It’s biology.’ Reaching out, he laid his hand over hers. ‘Fear is important. It warns us of danger.’
Her heart squeezed. If that was the case, then why wasn’t she pushing his hand away? Or climbing into the boot? Or anywhere Rollo wasn’t?
Glancing over, she felt her breath dissolve in her throat. Up close in the limo, his beauty was almost intimidating. He was so perfect, so glamorous, with that fringe of eyelashes grazing the curve of his cheekbones. His dark suit accentuated his broad shoulders and lean torso, and above a pale yellow shirt his eyes were as green and intoxicating as absinthe.
Smiling perfunctorily, she turned to the window—away from the dazzling symmetry of his face.
It was so confusing. He was the bad guy—the villain. She wasn’t supposed to like him. And it had been easy not to like him when he’d been brutal and ruthless. But it was harder when he held her hand so gently. Hard too, to pretend that she wasn’t enjoying being half of a beautiful couple.
She breathed out. Everything was so much simpler when they fought. At least then her feelings were straightforward. Now, though, she felt increasingly unsure of herself—particularly when she was sitting so close to him.
His fingers slipped around her wrist. ‘Your pulse is racing,’ he said softly.
‘It’s because I’m not breathing properly,’ she said quickly. ‘I need more oxygen.’
His eyes gleamed. ‘A science lesson on the way to an art gallery? What’s next? Spelling? Long division?’
She had to stop her mouth from cu
rving up at the corners. ‘It’s just biology. And I’m sure you don’t need me to teach you anything about that.’
His eyes locked on to hers. ‘I bet you say that to all the men.’
‘Actually, no,’ she said crisply. ‘Only you.’
After she’d come so close to losing control at the spa, she was trying to keep her distance. But it was difficult with the hard length of his thigh pressing against hers.
He smiled. ‘So you’re nervous. What can I do to help?’
She gazed at him in exasperation. ‘You? What could you do? You’re the reason I’m nervous.’
His fingers stilled against her skin and there was a thick beat of silence. Staring past him, Daisy swallowed. Her cheeks felt hot. She was tingling all over.
‘I make you nervous?’
‘Not you,’ she managed finally. ‘This. Us.’ Even to her ears her denial sounded unconvincing, and she felt her face grow hotter. ‘I mean, us being out together in public. It makes me nervous. You, I can handle.’
Her heart was pounding. Who was she trying to kid? She might just as well say she could handle an escaped lion.
She met his gaze defiantly and instantly wished she hadn’t, for he was watching her lazily, a hint of a smile tugging at the curve of his mouth.
‘Is that right?’
Colour spread like spilt wine over her throat and collarbone, but thankfully there was no time to come up with a sensible answer because the car was pulling up outside a pale grey building. Suddenly there was a jostle of photographers, and flashbulbs exploded against the windows of the limo.
Inside the gallery everything was cool and quiet. A pianist was playing some familiar jazz tunes, and immaculately groomed men and women were drifting around in pairs and groups, stopping to sip champagne and gaze at the paintings.
Or rather they had been looking at the paintings.
