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‘I’ve never seen Ezio jealous before. It must be love... That is, of course it’s love...’ he tacked on hastily. ‘I meant it about the portraits, though,’ he added. ‘I’ll give you a call.’
Embarrassed by his misinterpretation of Ezio’s impatience, Tilda gave a weak smile, even though she had zero intention of taking him up on his offer, which she still struggled to take seriously.
As she watched Ezio stride across to where she had previously been left standing alone, she debated mentioning to him that some of his behaviour could be misinterpreted. Before she realised that that had probably been his intention—the burning looks, the little touches and the flashes of possessive annoyance were all part of the act.
Relieved she hadn’t made a total fool of herself, she responded to his concern that she was cold with a carefully managed, one-size-fits-all, meaningless smile.
‘I’m totally fine. It’s so pretty here. You could almost forget that in an hour it will be choked with car fumes.’ At the moment there was only the distant buzz of traffic as a constant reminder that they were standing in central London.
‘You’re going to ruin those shoes.’ He was looking down at the pale suede sling-backs, the heels of which were firmly embedded in the damp ground. ‘Typical Jake, he’d do anything for a good shot—have you hanging off a cliff if it was a good angle.’ Ezio’s dark gaze flickers up to meet hers.
Tilda tried to say something but her lips wouldn’t respond to instruction. Her eyes were glued to Ezio’s and her heart was pounding, the air between them seeming to throb with a sexual pulse that nailed her feet to the floor.
‘Right, then,’ said the photographer. ‘How about you just relax... Great, that’s lovely, carry on withthatlook, guys...’
With a tiny gasp, she tore her eyes free and fixed them on the floor, the effort making her chest rise and fall dramatically under the silk.
‘I’m up here,’ Ezio said, his voice pitched in a sexy, uneven tone deeper than normal. ‘But, yes, my shoes are new. Put a bit of effort into it, will you? Pretend I’m someone else and look happy.’
Her head came up with an angry jerk at the soft mockery in his voice, registering as she did the strain in the lines around his mouth that suggested he maybe wasn’t quite as relaxed as she had imagined. ‘I hate having my photo taken and Ican’tpose... And I’m not that good an actress,’ she slung up at him, wishing that she was, that she could pretend he was someone else, someone who didn’t make herache.
‘Relax!’ encouraged the photographer, with no discernible irony that she could detect as he began circling them, snapping away.
If her jaw had been clenched less hard, she might have laughed at the impossible advice.
‘You heard what the man said.’
‘What? That I have got great bones?’ she shot back, self-mockery flavouring her delivery. She was already sick of this. She had not signed anything that said she had to pose and look stupid, and when she could get her breathing sorted she was going to tell Ezio that.
‘Right, I think...yes... Now move a little closer... That look of love, guys...’
Something flashed in Ezio’s smoky eyes that made her breath catch. Did she stumble or did her knees just give? Thinking about the moment later, she was never sure, but one second she was on her own feet and the next she was plastered up against the warm hardness of a male chest, supported by a band of steel arm that was looped around her waist.
‘You all right?’
‘Thanks, fine...’ Only she wasn’t. His free hand had curved around her face, drawing it up to his as he stared at her like a starving man, making her melt from the inside out.
‘Youdohave great bones,’ he said, feeling ridiculous, because it was something that had taken him four years to realise and Jake, damn him, had recognised it within thirty seconds.
He also recognised that hewantedher. But he didn’t need her; it seemed important to him to make this distinction.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, will you turn it off?’ The heat was everywhere as she fought the urge to melt into him.
‘What off?’
She compressed her lips and breathed out heavily through her nostrils. As if he didn’t knowexactlywhat this was doing to her. The warmth of his breath on her nerve endings caused the air to leave her lungs in one long, sibilant hiss as he cupped her chin.
Tilda had speculated but she’d had no idea whatin lovefelt like. But, if it felt anything like this, she doubted it would be so popular, she decided as she fought for breath, horribly more conscious of his sheer male physicality in that moment than she had ever been before.
But then, other than the odd brushed elbow, she had always kept a physical distance from him. It was only now that she realised that that hadn’t been accidental, that at some level in her subconscious she had always known that it exposed her to the fact she was a million miles from immune to the raw sensuality of the man who broke hearts for a hobby.
‘How many photos does he need?’ She gritted her teeth, determined not to lose her grip....
What are you holding on to, Tilda?
Whatever it was, she was about to lose it.
‘How long is this going to take? My face is aching from smiling. It’s not my fault I can’t fake it.’ Struggling to bury the sensations bombarding her, she took refuge in anger. ‘I told you, I’m not photogenic,’ she said, the effort of not trembling making her voice almost inaudible.
