‘Look after me for a couple of weeks and I’ll set you free.’

‘What do you mean, set me free?’ Poppy asked.

Orsino’s mouth curled up at one side. ‘That should be obvious. I’ll give you a divorce.’

Poppy stared. Was he offering an easy divorce because that was what he wanted or because he thought she did? Had he found someone else to fill the rarefied position of his wife? For years she’d resolutely turned her thoughts away from Orsino with anyone else. Even though he wore gorgeous women like fashion accessories every time he appeared in public.

A hollow ache started up beneath her ribs. She told herself it was stress from the long journey and from facing Orsino again.

‘Why should I go to such bother, when I could just visit a lawyer and file for divorce?’

He didn’t like that. She saw his mouth tighten.

‘Because I have it in my power to make divorce easy.’ He paused. ‘Or hard. You get to choose whether it’s smooth and painless or drawn out and very, very public.’

No mistaking the threat in the rough velvet timbre of his voice. Silence throbbed between them, fraught with a challenge she didn’t dare refuse.

‘You’ve got yourself a deal, Orsino. I’ll give you a couple of weeks for old times’ sake and then I never want to see you again.’

Step into the opulent glory of the world’s most elite hotel, where clients are the impossibly rich and exceptionally famous.

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Synonymous with style, sensation … and scandal!

For years, the children of Gene Chatsfield—global hotel entrepreneur—have shocked the world’s media with their exploits. But no longer! When Gene appoints a new CEO, Christos Giatrakos, to bring his children into line, little did he know what he was starting.

Christos’ first command scatters the Chatsfields to the furthest reaches of their international holdings—from Las Vegas to Monte Carlo, Sydney to San Francisco … but will they rise to the challenge set by a man who hides dark secrets in his past?

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Your room has been reserved, so check in to enjoy all the passion and scandal we have to offer.

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www.thechatsfield.com

ANNIE WEST spent her childhood with her nose between the covers of a book—a habit she retains. After years spent preparing government reports and official correspondence, she decided to write something she really enjoys. And there’s nothing she loves more than a great romance. Despite her office-bound past she has managed a few interesting moments—including a marriage offer with the promise of a herd of camels to sweeten the contract. She is happily married to her ever-patient husband (who has never owned a dromedary). They live with their two children amongst the tall eucalypts at beautiful Lake Macquarie, on Australia’s east coast. You can contact Annie through her website, www.annie-west.com, or write to her at PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.

Rebel’s Bargain

Annie West

www.thechatsfield.com

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Family Tree

To all the other ‘Chatsfield Girls’ with thanks for the laughter and support. It’s been fantastic working with you all.

Table of Contents

Cover

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Family Tree

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Readers’ Extras

Discover The Chatsfield

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘I’LL BE THERE as soon as I can organise flights.’

Orsino heard an unfamiliar grim note in his brother’s voice. News your twin had almost died would sober anyone. He grimaced.

After years of risk-taking his luck had run out. Being faced with his own mortality and possible permanent incapacity was forcing him to reassess his life.

‘There’s no need to race here, Lucca.’ He shifted the phone and winced as he knocked the bandages on his head. ‘There’s nothing you can do. Besides—’ he forced a smile into his voice ‘—you’d spend your time flirting with the nurses and ignoring me.’

‘How can you say that?’ No mistaking Lucca’s relief at Orsino’s joke. ‘I’m a changed man. There’s only one woman for me and she’s a real princess.’

Orsino groaned at his brother’s awful pun. Lucca’s romance with a royal hadn’t improved his sense of humour.

‘Besides, the nurses probably have their hands full with you,’ Lucca continued. ‘Have you got a date with the prettiest one yet?’

Orsino swallowed the retort that he had no idea what the staff looked like. That was a detail not even Lucca needed to know. Unless it became absolutely necessary.

‘You’re the lady-killer, Lucca, remember?’

‘This is me you’re talking to, Orsino. I’ve seen how women react to you. Not that I could work out why, when I’m the handsome twin. You’re seriously saying you’re not fending women off?’

‘Not right at the moment.’

Orsino gritted his teeth against swamping self-pity and anger. Not anger at Lucca, but at the disaster his world had become. The staff fussed over him only because it had been touch and go at first whether he’d survive.

‘Of course.’ Lucca sounded serious again. ‘That’s why one of us should be there. You need family.’

‘Family!’ Orsino didn’t hide his bitterness.

The closest family had come recently was when his father’s CEO, Christos Giatrakos, had made contact, wanting to cash in on Orsino’s reputation, requesting—no, demanding—that he be the ‘face’ of the company. Orsino and his father had never been close but at least the old man could have rung himself.

‘Yeah, well, I know I’ve been busy but—’

‘I didn’t mean you, Lucca.’ Orsino palmed his bristled jaw with his unbandaged hand, feeling like an ungrateful heel. ‘Sorry. I’m in a foul mood, not used to being stuck in a hospital bed. I shouldn’t take it out on you.’ He drew a slow breath, knowing his injuries were only part of the problem. ‘I appreciate the offer but there’s nothing you can do here.’

‘Maybe not now, but when you’re released from hospital you’ll need someone.’

‘You’re offering to play nurse?’ Orsino smiled. ‘It might be worth agreeing just to see it.’

His twin’s chuckle was the best thing he’d heard in days, warming him in ways thermal blankets hadn’t. Orsino hadn’t realised till this week what was important in his life. Now he knew, and he’d make it his business to catch up with his twin more regularly. But only after he’d recovered enough not to be a figure of sympathy.

‘Why do you always underestimate me, Orsino? Just because you’re a couple of minutes older?’

‘I’m picturing you in a starched cap and apron, Lucca. The idea has a certain appalling fascination.’ Orsino spoke again over his brother’s laugh. ‘Don’t worry about the nursemaid gig. I’ve lined up someone.’

‘Lucilla?’

‘No, though she called. Our big sister still worries about us after all these years, and despite the fact Giatrakos clearly runs her ragged.’

‘You need someone experienced, someone you can trust.’

Orsino bit back a bark of laughter. Trust?

No, trust didn’t describe his feelings for Poppy. Once he’d vowed never to see her again. But days stuck on a mountain expecting to die gave him a new perspective.

He’d never trust her again. But there was a freedom, and power, in knowing that.

Poppy and he had unfinished business. That’s why she still haunted his thoughts. For five years he’d told himself he was done with the past, but in the burst of clarity that had come to him on the mountainside, he knew it would never be over till he’d faced her one more time.

Something lingered there. Something he had to face before he walked away for ever.

She’d hate being with him again. After what she’d done that would be tough, even for a woman so brazen. As for being at his beck and call while he recovered …

Orsino’s lips curved in a tight smile. He looked forward to making her squirm. It was small enough revenge for what she’d done.

‘Don’t fret, Lucca. The woman I have in mind is just what the doctor ordered.’

Poppy drew a jagged breath as the taxi wove through traffic.

Fear had crowded close from the moment news broke of the avalanche and the two injured climbers. Even strangers felt fear for Orsino and awe for what he’d done. She’d overheard them discussing it at the airport: Orsino Chatsfield’s heroism, or his foolhardiness, depending on your view.

She looked at her ringless hands twisting in her lap. It wasn’t fear she felt but terror. It grated through her empty stomach.

She hadn’t seen Orsino in five years but she couldn’t imagine a world without him in it. His vitality, his passion, oh, Lord, his passion!

Her hands clenched as memories rushed to the surface, heating her skin.

His arrogance. His demands. The way he was so ready to judge but so unready to face his own faults.

Despite all the negatives, a hard, heavy lump pressed down on her chest as if she’d swallowed an anvil.

The message from the hospital—so uninformative, yet so peremptory—had congealed the dread in her veins. It had sent her racing from France to the base of the Himalayas. She hadn’t caught her breath the whole way. Even now her heart pumped too fast.

The taxi stopped and Poppy looked out at the ugly hospital, her heart in her mouth.

She didn’t even blink when a cluster of press surged, bombarding her with questions. She barely heard them. All she could think of was what awaited her inside.

* * *

Poppy’s footsteps echoed in the silent corridor. With each step her nerves screwed tighter.

Please, please. Let him survive. Let him live.

She’d told herself she felt nothing for Orsino Chatsfield. The burn of negative feelings had died long ago, buried under the overload of sheer hard work that had taken her to the top of her profession. No time to feel hurt, regret or guilt when every waking hour was occupied. That’s what she’d told herself for five years. What she’d believed. Till yesterday.

The fact he’d almost died on one of the world’s most inhospitable mountains, might even now be dying, made her swallow convulsively, her throat clogging.

He couldn’t die.

Poppy stumbled. She who never faltered, not even in six-inch stilettos, navigating a catwalk artistically obscured by dry-ice vapour.

Finally she reached the last room. Taking a shaky breath she stepped in, only to halt as she spied the figure unmoving in the hospital bed.

He was so still that for a horrible few seconds she wondered if he breathed.

Poppy pressed her hand to her chest. Her heart battered her ribs so hard it felt like it might jump free.

Her gaze riveted on the bed. She couldn’t remember Orsino being still. He was always on the move, as if his life force was greater than everyone else’s. The only time she’d seen him unmoving was when she’d woken before him. She remembered drinking in the sight of him, heart-stoppingly gorgeous, so precious as he sprawled beside her. The desperate intensity of her feelings had terrified her.

With good reason.

She should have trusted her instincts and run for her life.

Except she’d been hooked from the first look.

Orsino lay swathed in bandages—glaring white against his tan. One arm was in a sling, covered from fingers to elbow. The other, bare on the cotton blanket, bore livid bruises. His head was bandaged, as well. Not just his scalp but his eyes, too.

Poppy’s heart plunged to the toes of her soft kid boots.

Only the darkened jawline and column of bronzed throat were familiar. They were strong, beautifully formed and powerful. And his mouth—she surveyed those thin lips that could quirk in a smile guaranteed to make a woman’s heart soar.

She blinked, trying not to remember the words that had shot from those sculpted lips five years ago. But time hadn’t diminished her memory. They slashed her anew, reviving guilt, indignation and tearing pain.

Poppy swallowed convulsively. How bad was he? The news reports had been sensational but unreliable. Those head wounds—

‘Amindra? Is that you?’

Everything in her froze at the low words, gravelly as if he wasn’t used to speaking. She remembered that early-morning voice, how it had woken her so often, murmuring outrageous suggestions as his marauding hands played her body like a maestro tuning an instrument.

Relief flooded her that he was well enough to speak, and horror, too, at her tumbling rush of emotions.

Poppy bit her cheek, summoning strength. She felt wobbly but after more than a decade modelling she was an expert at hiding behind an impassive mask.

Her gaze went to his bandaged eyes and she shivered. Fear iced her spine.

‘Nurse?’ His voice was sharper. ‘Is that you?’

‘Hello, Orsino.’ Her voice was like smooth, golden honey, as rich and seductive as in his dreams.

He stiffened, fingers stilling as they groped for the call button. He registered the familiar disinfectant hospital scent and realised this was no dream.

Something whacked him hard in the chest, a jolt of pain as his bruised ribs expanded then eased when he remembered to breathe again.

She’d come.

Even trussed up like a turkey dinner and blind to boot, he knew her voice. He’d know it anywhere. He’d even thought he’d heard it beneath half a tonne of snow. It had bullied and cajoled him into not giving up. How was that for ironic? He must have been out of his mind.

‘Who is it?’

Orsino heard her soft gasp. Obviously she expected him to recognise her voice but he’d be damned if he’d give her that satisfaction.

She’d come too soon! They’d promised to take the bandages off his eyes today. He hadn’t wanted her seeing him like this—helpless and light-headed from medication that kept pain to a dull throb.

How had she got here so fast when he wasn’t expecting her for another couple of days?

‘It’s Poppy.’ She was at the end of the bed.

‘Poppy?’ His voice thickened unexpectedly on the second syllable, turning it into a question. Orsino flinched, detesting the emotion he heard in that single word. Where had that come from?

Heat flared under his skin and he knew in his gut it wasn’t just hurt pride because she saw him like this—so much less than the man he’d been. It was something blood-deep and disturbing. Something he no longer wanted to feel.

He’d finally acknowledged they had loose ends to tie up but nothing had prepared him for the explosion of unwanted emotion her presence ignited.

Had he made a mistake, getting her here?

It wouldn’t be his first where she was concerned.

‘Yes, it’s me.’ Her voice came from right beside him. ‘How are you?’

Orsino groped for the bed controls. He hated being flat on his back while she hovered over him. Bad enough with the nurses …

‘Let me. What did you want?’ Soft fingers brushed his and he jerked away. He told himself it was because he didn’t like the pity in her voice. The tingling in his fingers was a legacy of frostbite, no more.

‘Orsino?’

His lips compressed as his body responded to her husky whisper. It reminded him of the last time they’d been together. The memory caught him up short, smashing his composure.

Damn! This wasn’t supposed to happen.

‘I can do it myself.’ This time when he reached for the controls her hand was gone. Seconds later he was sitting up, the bed supporting him.

He shifted his weight, trying to get comfortable.

‘Here, I can help.’ No huskiness this time. Just cool efficiency. Orsino told himself he welcomed it.

Then the scent of raspberries reached him—tangy and sweet—and she tugged the pillows behind him so he sat more comfortably. Something soft brushed his jaw and he reached up, catching it.

It was a lock of hair. Soft and springy, tickling his palm, twisting around his finger. He tugged lightly and felt warmth surround him, as if she’d leaned close. The light raspberry-and-woman scent deepened in his nostrils and he swallowed hard as the past rose in a consuming wave.

He told himself to release his grip but his hold tightened on the silk skein of her hair. He tried to imagine it cascading in dark red waves around her pale shoulders and was disturbed to find he pictured it too clearly.

‘You’ve grown your hair.’ The whole time he’d known her it had been gamine short. Poppy’s air of youthful fragility, reinforced by her stunning eyes in that sculpted face, had caught the public’s imagination. She’d been the fresh, innocently sexy face of fashion.

Innocent!

His mouth twisted as tension knotted his chest and belly.

‘I wanted a new look.’ Her words sounded offhand.

Orsino released her. He refused to ask if her new look dated from their separation. For five years he’d avoided society pages and magazines that might feature her. Now wasn’t the time for curiosity to reawaken.

Nor his libido.

But it had. Even battered and bruised, his body responded to her feminine scent and the sound of her voice. Too eagerly. Sex hadn’t been part of his plan. It infuriated him that she could still do this to him.

He leaned back against the pillows, increasing the distance between them. Yet the perfume of her skin lingered.

When he’d imagined them meeting he’d envisaged himself almost healed, enough to see at least.

His jaw tightened. It had been a mistake mentioning her name so soon to the officious hospital staff. He should have waited. He hated not being in control.

‘How do you feel, Orsino?’

A laugh grated in his throat. ‘What? You were worried about me?’

She didn’t answer but he felt new tension in the air. Something that made him sit straighter. He sensed her turmoil and his predatory senses twitched. How he wished he could see her!

‘The whole world is wondering how you are. You’re an international hero for saving your climbing partner and yourself.’

‘Ah, that’s why you came running so quickly. To bask in the reflected media glow.’ Everywhere they’d gone, whenever he’d wanted privacy, there’d been someone with a camera wanting pictures of them, dubbed by some trashy magazine the year’s hottest couple. He’d been slow to realise it was attention Poppy, with her need for constant media coverage, wanted.

‘I see you haven’t changed, Orsino.’ Her voice came from farther away and held a razor-sharp edge. ‘Still the charmer. And still so quick to judge us lesser mortals.’

He ignored that. What was there to say? He’d been in the right. She’d been in the wrong, so far in the wrong he’d known a moment of red-hot fury when violence would have been a welcome outlet. Lucky for Poppy Graham he was a civilised man. Some men wouldn’t have walked away as he had. Some would have taken revenge for what she’d done.

Having her at his beck and call for a couple of weeks while he recuperated hardly counted.

‘Have you changed, Poppy?’ This time when he spoke her name the word emerged crisp and clear, yet he tasted the echo of it on his tongue, sweet as wild raspberries but with a tang of disappointment.

How was it that after all this time she had the power to make him feel?

It must be some residual weakness after his ordeal in the wilderness.

‘Of course I’ve changed.’ He heard her long stride across the floor as she paced. ‘I’m not twenty-three any more. I’m my own woman, self-reliant, secure and capable.’

‘You were always self-reliant,’ he murmured. ‘You never needed anyone, did you, Poppy? Except on your own terms.’ He heard her hiss of breath. ‘You used people for what you could get. Is that still your style?’

‘You’re a fine one to talk! When did you ever give or share?’ Orsino heard her jagged breath and knew intense satisfaction that he wasn’t the only one feeling.

‘I remember giving all the time.’ He breathed deep. ‘Money, the prestige and connections you were so hungry for …’

Silence met his accusation. He waited, but she didn’t break it.

So, in one thing at least she’d changed. Once she’d been ruled by passion, as impetuous in her defence as in everything else. Now she knew when to give up. What was the point arguing the unwinnable?

Orsino frowned, fighting a disappointment he couldn’t explain.

‘Obviously you don’t want me here.’ Her voice sounded guarded and, if he hadn’t known it impossible, defeated. ‘The hospital made a mistake contacting me.’

He shook his head, wishing yet again that he could see her face. The strength of his need to see her stunned him.

‘No mistake. But they were a little too prompt. You’re not needed quite yet.’

‘Needed? You don’t need me.’

Orsino heard the shock in her voice and didn’t bother hiding his smile. Maybe it was shallow of him but after all this time, after what she’d done, it felt good to have her exactly where he wanted her.

‘But when I leave hospital I will. Who else should look after me as I recuperate but my wife?’

CHAPTER TWO

‘WIFE?’ POPPY’S VOICE ROSE. ‘You’re kidding!’

But looking at his satisfied smile she had a dreadful feeling Orsino wasn’t joking. There were new lines around his mouth, grim lines that hadn’t been there when she’d known him. They spoke of rock-hard determination. And pain.

She blinked as her heart squeezed. How bad were his injuries? He still hadn’t told her. Those bandaged eyes …

Poppy pulled herself up. Did she seriously think she could read Orsino when so much of his face was swathed in bandages?

He was a stranger now. He’d severed any connection.

‘Why should I kid?’

It was there in his voice now, that smugness. As if he enjoyed her reaction, knowing her discomfort. The realisation made her shiver.

Orsino had been hard, unreasonable and unforgiving. But spinning out a painful situation hadn’t been his style. He’d preferred to walk away, leaving her bereft.

Had he changed?

‘Because I’m not your wife. You can’t want me nursing you.’

‘It won’t be full-time nursing. I expect to manage once the bandages come off.’ Was that a hint of doubt in his voice? But he was talking again, distracting her from the fleeting impression. ‘I’ll only need someone on hand to be sure. That’s where you come in.’

‘As I said, Orsino, I’m not your wife. It won’t be me caring for you. Ask someone else.’

Then a horrible thought struck. Had his head injury affected his memory? Didn’t he recall what had happened between them? Poppy swayed. The possibility of brain damage was too much on top of exhaustion.

‘Of course you’re my wife. You never filed for divorce.’ He paused. ‘Why is that, Poppy? Because there was still publicity to be milked from my name?’

His icy tone grazed her skin, making her shudder.

Relief battered her, and anger. No memory loss after all. Orsino recalled everything. And still blamed her.

Poppy stiffened her backbone, setting her jaw and telling herself she’d been a fool to think he’d ever be glad to see her.

She didn’t want this man in her life. She was glad to be rid of him.

Yet his question rang in her ears. Why hadn’t she divorced him?

‘You didn’t file for divorce, either.’ Poppy stopped, hating how scratchy and thin her voice sounded, revealing her turmoil. She breathed deep, clasping her hands before her. They trembled.

Orsino had always made her feel too deeply.

Time hadn’t cauterised the wounds at all. She’d just pretended it had. That knowledge scared her as nothing had in years.

‘Our marriage ended when you walked out.’ Though it had taken her far longer to realise it. The memory of her desperate hopes and frantic phone calls, all unanswered, made her itch with embarrassment.

‘When I walked out? Talk about selective memory!’ Orsino shook his head. ‘There’s no mistake. I gave the hospital your name.’

Poppy blinked owlishly at the man before her. He’d orchestrated this?

She darted a glance towards the door. Why stay and let him manipulate her?

Yet something welded her to the spot. Pity for his injuries? Better that than the alternative, that somewhere, deep down, she still cared. That she didn’t want to leave till she found out how badly he was hurt and whether he’d see again.

‘You had no business giving them my name.’

He shrugged and Poppy hated herself for noticing the way his broad shoulders moved against the white bed linen, as if she were some love-struck teenager, transfixed by his athletic physique.

Been there, got the T-shirt, over it now.

If only she believed it. The thread of unexpected heat twisting deep inside belied her certainty.

‘The hospital needed my next of kin. That’s you, Poppy. It has been ever since we left that registry office together.’

She shook her head. ‘What about Lucca? What about Lucilla? You’ve got all those brothers and sisters. Plus your father. Any one of them—’

‘They’re all tied up at the moment. Besides, by law you’re my next of kin.’

‘And you thought I wouldn’t be busy?’ Her hands slipped to her hips as anger hiked. ‘Unlike you, I have to work for my living. I’m in the middle of a photo shoot. I can’t simply drop everything to nurse you.’

‘But you just did, didn’t you?’ His words punctured her fury, pulling her up short. Poppy bit her lip, the salt tang of blood filling her mouth.

He was right. She’d thrown over everything in the rush to get to him.

Would she have a job to return to? There’d been talk of working around her absence, shooting without her for a few days, but she’d barely taken it in.

Poppy chewed her lip. Of course she’d have a job. Hers was the new face of Baudin.

But she’d left them in the lurch. Never had she behaved so. Poppy Graham was always a consummate professional, punctual and reliable. Until now. She spun on her heel and marched to the window, pushing her hair back over a shoulder that slumped with weariness.

Looking up she saw the dark bulk of the Himalayas, enormous as a crouching giant. Her heart plunged at the thought of what might have happened.

‘What were you doing up there?’ She shivered and wrapped her arms around her middle, wishing she could warm the part of her that was still frozen from lingering fear. ‘You must have known it was ridiculously dangerous, especially at this time of year!’

‘Why, Poppy, if I didn’t know better I’d almost believe you were worried about me.’

She swung around, fingers biting into her arms through her cashmere sweater. ‘Spare me the act, Orsino. I’m not in the mood.’ She breathed deep. ‘Much as I … dislike you, I never wished you dead.’

His tight smile disappeared. The lines bracketing his mouth scored deeper than she remembered. What was the rest of his face like beneath those bandages? Grim like his mouth?

‘Really? But you’d look superb in widow’s weeds.’ His voice grated on stretched nerves. ‘You’d do stoic vulnerability with such panache. Think of all the lovely media sympathy to boost your profile.’

She strode to his bed, slamming to a stop beside him. ‘That’s a vile thing to say! I never …’ She swallowed hard, choking on a fiery ball of tangled emotion. ‘You can be an absolute bastard, did you know that?’

His mouth thinned. ‘So I’ve been told.’

No doubt by some woman. Poppy swung away but stopped as long fingers closed unerringly around her wrist.

How had he known so precisely where she was when he couldn’t see her?

The warm abrasiveness of his callused fingers held her in a familiar grasp. She told herself she felt only fury at his accusations.

Yet it wasn’t true. She repressed a shudder as her nerve cells leapt in recognition of his touch. Memory bombarded her. Orsino’s hand linking with hers as the marriage celebrant pronounced them husband and wife. His hand splayed at the back of her head as he tilted his face to hers the first time they kissed. His hand trawling in slow seduction over her naked body.

Even through the pervasive smell of hospital cleansers she caught the scent of his skin. She drew it in hungrily. She’d missed it, she realised, that subtle tang of cedar wood spiced with something that was wholly, uniquely Orsino.

His thumb swiped the inside of her wrist, over the spot where her pulse raced. It felt like a caress.

She tugged her hand but his fingers closed tight. Despite his injuries he was physically stronger.

Once, she’d revelled in his strength that made her feel fragile and feminine despite her almost six feet in height. Orsino had made her feel delicate instead of gangly. His embrace had awakened Cinderella fantasies she’d harboured as a child, before the harsh realities of life cured her of believing in happy-ever-afters. In his arms she’d actually believed that they might come true after all.

‘Let me go, Orsino.’ Miraculously her voice was composed.

For a second longer he held her, almost as if he didn’t want to release her.

Then she was free. She took a step back, her other hand circling her wrist, covering the place where his heat lingered.

‘What were you doing up on the mountain, Orsino? Everyone said it was a dangerous climb.’

‘Danger is part of the appeal.’

‘That’s no answer.’ She’d never understood his need to fling himself into one perilous venture after another. ‘Even by your standards this was foolhardy.’

‘Not foolhardy. A calculated risk. Ice climbing always is.’

‘Then you didn’t calculate very well, did you?’ Why she harped on like this Poppy didn’t know. But she couldn’t leave it alone.

Even after all that had passed between them, she hated him risking his neck.

‘No one could have predicted that avalanche. I’m not omniscient, you know, Poppy.’

She watched his mouth form her name and a deep tingling throb began inside. Maybe it was the way he said it, in that dark-as-night voice, but something long forgotten stirred.

Poppy took another step back from the bed.

‘No one has ever done that climb, because it’s so dangerous. The experts say it’s impossible.’

‘Only until someone does it. Besides, if we’d succeeded the money we raised would have funded a new eye clinic and helped scores of local families.’

‘You risked your life for an eye clinic?’ Poppy knew he raised money for charity with his more daring adventures, but this—

‘Why not? Better this than as some commercial stunt for a luxury company.’ His voice held an unfamiliar note and Poppy watched his hand clench on the coverlet.

‘Orsino? What do you mean?’

He waved his hand dismissively. ‘Nothing. What I do with my time is my business. Mine alone.’

Wasn’t that the truth?

When she’d needed him, when she’d been desperate for his strong arms holding her, he’d headed off on one of his adventures. He hadn’t cared enough to support her, too busy taking on the next challenge.

‘It’s not just your business when it endangers others. What about your climbing partner and the men who rescued you? You were selfish to put them in danger.’

‘Michael is recovering nicely down the hall. He knew the risks.’ But the rough edge to Orsino’s tone made her wonder if, after all, he felt guilty.

Orsino raised his hand as if to rake his fingers through his hair in a gesture of frustration she recalled too clearly. When his hand touched bandage it dropped to the bed.

‘As for the rescue party—’ His mouth pursed. ‘We’d left instructions that no rescue was to be attempted if anything went wrong. We know how many local guides are killed and injured supporting foreign climbers.’

‘It’s a good thing for you they ignored your wishes.’ Poppy wrapped her arms across her chest, chilled anew at the thought of Orsino on the unforgiving mountain, buried in snow. How long did it take to die from exposure?

Suddenly he grinned. With his dark stubble surrounding that slash of white teeth he looked like a pirate.

Poppy stared, telling herself it was not a zing of attraction she felt. That was no longer possible.

‘I’m not complaining.’ His smile faded. ‘We knew them all from previous years here, that’s why they ignored our wishes. Bloody fools. If something had happened to one of them …’

He really was the most complex, unreasonable, infuriating man.

She wanted to despise him for his life of idle luxury but he risked his life raising money for others. She wanted to berate him for taking stupid risks but he’d cold-bloodedly taken on this challenge knowing he could die and demanding no one risk their life to save him.

Poppy sank into a visitor’s chair. No wonder she felt confused. Orsino Chatsfield was the sort of man to tie anyone in knots. But just because he had a social conscience didn’t mean he was good husband material.

Good husband! If the idea didn’t hurt so much it might have been funny.

She hadn’t thought of him as her husband in ages.

Yet there was still something about this man that burrowed deep beneath logic and reason. Something that had squeezed her heart till she couldn’t breathe when she thought he was going to die. Something that hurt like the devil when he accused her of wanting him dead.

He had the power to anger her and hurt her as no one else could.

Why hadn’t that died when he killed her love?

Poppy watched her hands twist in her lap and knew real fear. Fear that, despite everything, it wasn’t over between them. At least not for her.

She shook her head. It couldn’t be. She was stronger than that. Five years ago she’d grovelled, leaving pleading messages for Orsino to contact her. None had been answered.

That was how little she’d meant to him.

Since then she’d dragged herself back from the brink, facing the glare of the press, the curiosity of millions, slavering for details on their breakup, probing her feelings and watching her every move.

Unlike Orsino, Poppy didn’t have the buffer of extreme wealth to protect her. She’d had to get back to work, acting as if her heart hadn’t been ripped into bleeding shreds.

It had taken everything she had to rebuild herself, to be more resilient and focused than before.

She lifted her head and scrutinised Orsino. He pretended he still had some say in her life, but he’d forfeited that right long ago.

He had no hold over her.

All she had to do was remember that and ignore her body’s traitorous awareness of him. That must be some legacy of the past, a sense memory that would soon fade.

‘Are you still there?’ His deep voice broke her reverie. Was that a hint of vulnerability she heard? It would be natural given those injuries. But the set of Orsino’s firm jaw spoke of strength, not fear. Why would he be concerned if she’d left? He who’d deliberately faced death on that treacherous climb?

‘Why did you tell the hospital to contact me? And don’t give me that line about being your next of kin.’

‘I told you. I need someone to be with while I recuperate.’

Need not want.

Was that why his jaw set so tight? Because he didn’t want her but needed her help? Yet this was Orsino Chatsfield. He didn’t do anything unless it suited him.

‘Why, Orsino?’

‘Why not?’ he shot back at her. ‘Surely you owe me?’

‘Owe you?’ Indignation warred with guilt, just as it had all those years ago.

Her cheeks flamed at the memory of what she’d done to deserve his disgust. But at the same time anger surged. He’d never admitted his role in what had happened, never once tried to understand. If it hadn’t been for his arrogance and selfish pride—

‘I don’t owe you a thing, Orsino.’

‘So you say, but would those millions of fans agree if they knew the details of why we split?’

Poppy felt her eyes bulge.

‘You’re trying to blackmail me?’ She groped for words, her brain spinning. ‘Why now? Why after all this time?’ It didn’t make sense.

‘Blackmail? To expect a wife to take care of her husband when he needs her?’

His arch tone set her teeth on edge.

‘I haven’t the time or inclination to continue this discussion.’ She rose and picked up her bag. ‘Spread what stories you like, Orsino. It makes no difference to me.’

It was a lie. Damaging rumours would make her life hell again. With photos of Orsino as a wounded hero she’d be cast as a villainess, her reputation in tatters as well as her peace. It was bound to impact on her career.

But she couldn’t let it matter. Losing her self-respect was too high a price.

‘Wait!’

His peremptory tone stopped her as she turned away.

‘I have a proposition.’

Reluctantly she turned. What she could see of his face looked paler than before. His mouth was set in a thin line of pain. She eyed his tense jaw and wondered if she could call the nurse.

How could she feel concern for a blackmailer? It didn’t make sense. But then nothing about her reactions to this man was logical.

‘Poppy?’

‘I’m listening.’

‘I refuse to stay in a convalescent home. I want privacy while I recuperate.’

‘So?’ She refrained from pointing out that with his money he could buy the best medical care in his own home. ‘Why not ask one of your women to look after you?’

Orsino was regularly seen with a gorgeous woman at his side, a different one every week.

‘Why not this Amindra you were expecting? I’m sure she’d jump at the chance to be alone with you.’

His chuckle rippled, warm and rich, across her skin and Poppy was appalled to feel herself melt a little at the knees. Till he spoke again and her hackles rose. ‘Ah, that explains your bad mood. Are you jealous?’

She stood straighter, a shaft of fury stiffening her backbone. ‘Absolutely not. Now, I have a return flight to organise.’

She’d taken just one step when he spoke again. ‘Amindra is a nurse. I’m sure she’d jump at the chance for extra money but not if it means leaving her children and grandchildren behind for several weeks.’

‘She’s a nurse?’

‘Who else would I meet in this condition?’ For the first time Orsino’s voice betrayed bitterness as he waved his hand in a slashing gesture across his bandaged torso. It spoke of barely leashed frustration and all at once it hit her how difficult an active man like Orsino must find his forced confinement. She’d been so caught up in relief at seeing him alive, then irritation at his high-handed attitude, that hadn’t sunk in.

Even badly wounded Orsino had more presence than most men she knew. If only he didn’t get under her skin so!

‘Look after me for a couple of weeks and I’ll set you free.’

Poppy stared intently but couldn’t make out his expression. Those bandages hid so much. Was he blind behind them? She wanted to ask but knew he wouldn’t answer.

‘What do you mean, set me free?’

His mouth curled up at one side. ‘That should be obvious. I’ll give you a divorce.’

Poppy’s fingers tightened on the strap of her bag.

‘Why now? After all this time?’

He shrugged again and fleetingly she thought of how his occasional Mediterranean gestures, the use of his hands as he spoke, the lifting of those broad shoulders, used to fascinate her. As had the intriguing combination of stunning Italian good looks and English reserve, courtesy of his Italian mother and British father.

‘It’s what you want, isn’t it?’

Poppy stared. Was he offering an easy divorce because that’s what he wanted or because he thought she did? Had he found someone else to fill the rarefied position of his wife?

For years she’d resolutely turned her thoughts away from Orsino with anyone else. Even though he wore gorgeous women like fashion accessories every time he appeared in public.

A hollow ache started up beneath her ribs. She told herself it was stress from the long journey and from facing Orsino again.

‘Why should I go to such bother, when I could just visit a lawyer and file for divorce?’

He didn’t like that. She saw his mouth tighten.

‘Because I have it in my power to make divorce easy.’ He paused. ‘Or hard. You get to choose whether it’s smooth and painless or drawn out and very, very public.’

No mistaking the threat in the rough velvet timbre of his voice. It was on the tip of Poppy’s tongue to ask why he hadn’t divorced her. But she wouldn’t give him an excuse to pry into her own reasons for inaction. She hadn’t worked that out herself. ‘Unless—’ his voice dropped to a speculative murmur ‘—you don’t want a divorce after all?’

Silence throbbed between them, fraught with vulnerabilities she’d thought she’d conquered years ago, and a challenge she didn’t dare refuse.

Divorce meant an end to their relationship. No more lingering dregs of regret, no ‘if onlys’ in the wakeful predawn hours.

A divorce would free her, make her whole. She’d thought herself free of Orsino but her reaction today taught her otherwise. Despite the way he’d shattered her dreams, some remnant of emotion remained.

It was a remnant she was determined to obliterate.

A couple of weeks with this arrogant, selfish man would cure her of those last hints of doubt. It would be hell but it would be worth it to finally be free.

Poppy stepped to the edge of the bed and watched him turn his head towards her.

‘You’ve got yourself a deal, Orsino. I’ll give you a couple of weeks for old times’ sake and then I never want to see you again.’

CHAPTER THREE

ORSINO GRIMACED AS the doctor probed gently and pain throbbed through him.

‘How long till I’m fit?’ he demanded, his voice hoarse from fighting pain and the unexpected emotion of meeting Poppy just hours before.

He felt raw inside, as if the slip of deadly ice and rock had crashed right through his innards instead of merely cracking a few bones and tearing skin.

Despite his injuries, death from exposure had, by comparison, been a strangely peaceful prospect. Numbness would lead to loss of consciousness then nothing. No pain, no struggle. Only his brain hadn’t let him give in. He’d heard a voice, Poppy’s voice, whenever he’d wanted to give up. He’d known he couldn’t just slip away until he’d finished what was between them.

‘For the arm, a month or so, though you could have lingering symptoms in this hand especially. You were in the ice too long for my liking.’

The doctor scrawled another note in his report and Orsino reminded himself he was lucky he could see the movement, no matter how poorly. The prospect of blindness had terrified him. He repressed fear that this distorted vision was the best he’d ever get.

‘I’d prefer that you stayed here longer.’

Orsino opened his mouth to protest but the doctor spoke again. ‘I know, I know. That’s not going to happen. Since you insist on leaving I’ll forward a report so your doctor can keep an eye on you. In the meantime you need rest and plenty of it.’

The doctor’s terseness was a welcome change. He’d grown sick of that unfailingly upbeat tone with which the nurses avoided answering questions about his recovery.

‘You’ll have to be careful of the ribs for some time. As for the lacerations and bruising, that’s all healing nicely.’

Orsino let himself sag against the pillows.

‘And my eyes?’

Orsino tried not to read significance into the pause before the doctor answered.

He’d come a long way from those hours half frozen as he dragged Michael from the avalanche. More than once he’d thought them both lost for ever.

Whatever the prognosis it was better than being another fatal statistic.

‘Ah. Your vision. That’s more difficult. As we discussed earlier, snow blindness usually doesn’t last. But in some cases, such as yours, there can be longer-term damage. The injury to your head hasn’t helped.’

‘But I will recover?’

Again that pause. Orsino drew a deep breath as he fought panic. These days of darkness had been the most taxing of his life. How would he cope if poor vision stopped him doing the things that made life worthwhile? He’d go insane.

‘I’m hopeful.’

‘But?’

‘But how long it takes and whether the recovery will be complete I can’t say. You’ll need regular monitoring. I’ve made a referral for you to see an excellent specialist in France.’

Orsino murmured his thanks as the doctor left.

Ironic that he’d damaged his vision while raising money for an eye clinic.

No, that wasn’t true. The clinic hadn’t been the real impetus for his perilous climb. It had been his father, and his own impetuous anger.

Five years ago Orsino had thrown himself into ever more reckless adventures, trying to escape the pain of loss and Poppy’s betrayal.

The media had loved his dangerous stunts, providing him with an opportunity to do something he actually felt proud of—making a difference in the lives of those who needed help. His exploits lured donors to support a range of causes and for the first time he’d had real purpose, not just an easy life of privilege.

Till his father, Gene Chatsfield, took an interest.

Orsino’s unbandaged hand clenched against the bedclothes, frustration rising.

If his father had wanted to reconcile Orsino would have met him halfway.

But Gene wasn’t interested in happy families. His interest was purely commercial.

Orsino gritted his teeth. Had he really hoped the old man was interested in more than making money?

To Gene Chatsfield his daredevil son was no more than a potential business asset. He wanted Orsino as the public face of his revamped luxury hotel chain, using his philanthropy as a draw card.

Heat seared Orsino’s belly. His father cheapened everything Orsino had built. What had given him such purpose and satisfaction was reduced to the level of tawdry circus stunts to draw a crowd.

And when Orsino had refused he’d been threatened with loss of income from the family trust.

As if he was some callow kid, to be manipulated and brought to heel!

His father didn’t know him at all. In twenty-eight years he’d learned enough about investment to build his own fortune separate from his family trust fund. These days Orsino lived off his own earnings and the trust monies were channelled into charitable programs.

Sure he’d been wild in his youth, not surprising given his family background. But his father made the mistake of thinking he was still eighteen.

Orsino shook his head, his mouth twisting. Who was he kidding?

His decision to make this last climb had been pure defiance, thumbing his nose at his father’s manipulations.

Orsino shoved away the covers and sat up, sick of being confined.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, vowing to be done with emotion. Look where it had got him. Disappointment and, yes, hurt at his father’s attitude had sent him on a climb that had been a hairsbreadth from suicidal.

As for Poppy … Orsino paused, pain lancing as he forgot his ribs and took a deep breath.

Poppy made him feel out of control, no longer master of his own destiny. She threatened him in ways his father could never manage.

This vulnerability had to be faced, defeated and destroyed. Then he could get on with his life.

He drew a slow breath and levered himself to his feet, ignoring another sharp throb of pain.

It was time to put his plan into action.

The group of reporters outside the hospital had grown when Poppy returned. Years of practice kept her moving at a steady clip but their shouted questions about a reconciliation with Orsino jarred like physical blows. Every strident call was a lash on tender skin.

Once inside she paused, barely resisting the need to lean against the wall for support.

Reconciliation with Orsino? No way!

He’s still your husband, a tiny voice chided.

All at once she felt like the Poppy she’d told herself no longer existed. The one who’d responded to Orsino’s shivery deep voice yesterday as she had all those years ago. The Poppy whose pulse had leapt into a jittering rhythm when he’d touched her. The Poppy who’d been devastated when he’d turned on his heel and left her bereft.

A shudder of unadulterated terror ripped through her.

She wasn’t that girl any more.

She’d rebuilt herself into someone stronger. Into the woman she’d wanted to be for as long as she could remember—independent and successful. No man would ever take over her life again. She’d seen that side of the coin with her mother. For an awful time she’d been there herself. She wouldn’t let herself be so vulnerable again.

Her relationship with Orsino had been an aberration—proof she’d been right in not wanting romantic love.

Love made you weak.

Poppy straightened, her tattered confidence growing.

She could deal with Orsino. Besides, for all his faults and the anger that stirred when she remembered the past, she pitied him those injuries.

Setting her shoulders she knocked and entered Orsino’s room. He wasn’t there and for one heart-stopping moment Poppy wondered if he’d taken a turn for the worse.

‘You’re late.’

Hand to chest, she spun around, her heart catapulting.

Orsino sat in a wheelchair, surveying her. The bandages around his eyes were gone, replaced by glasses so black she caught no hint of his eyes behind them.

‘Your eyes.’ It was more question than statement, but he said nothing, merely sat statue still, facing her.

Was he blind? Infuriatingly he said nothing, shutting her out completely.

Her belly cramped. He was an expert at that.

Most of the bandages on his head had been removed, except for one at a rakish angle that made him look like a stranger. A tough stranger you wouldn’t want to mess with.

Yet she’d know the angle of that cheekbone, the strong thrust of his nose and that square jaw even in her sleep.

Poppy told herself it was natural to remember so much. He’d been her first lover, after all.

Though the plan was to leave for France today, it was a shock to see him in street clothes. The image of Orsino buried in bandages had haunted her through the long, sleepless night.

Now a casual jacket hung loose from one shoulder, partly covering his sling, and he wore a pale chambray shirt. Jeans clung to his long, solid thighs. Hiking boots encased his feet on the wheelchair’s footrest.

Poppy worked to smother unwilling sympathy.

‘They must have cut the sleeve to get that shirt on.’ Her voice emerged just right, even and easy.

‘Trust a model to consider the clothes first and foremost.’ The words were an accusation that sliced straight through her. And the way he said model as if it was a euphemism for something ugly …

Her lips firmed as indignation ignited. Did she really want to deal with Orsino in condescending mode?

Being with him was an outrageously bad idea. Every instinct screamed at her to walk away. He could spill his version of their break-up to the press and she’d survive. He could make divorce difficult but he couldn’t stop it.

It wasn’t too late to back out.

Except she was determined never to reveal vulnerability before him again. If she reneged on the deal he’d know it for weakness.

She had to face him and prove these feelings were mere phantoms of memory.

Poppy squared her jaw. She was woman enough to cope with him. After what she’d been through a few jibes were nothing.

‘You’d prefer if I made a fuss of you?’ She stepped closer, watching for some sign he could see her but his face remained impassive. Deep in her stomach tension swirled at the possibility he couldn’t see, and worse, he’d never see again.

She cleared a knot in her throat. ‘If you’re after someone to simper and sigh over you you’ve picked the wrong woman. Call one of your girlfriends instead.’

‘The claws are out, I see.’

Poppy shrugged, meeting that blank, reflective stare. ‘No claws. That implies I have a personal, emotional interest.’ She paused to let that sink in. ‘The only reason I’m allowing you to impose yourself is the prospect of a gloriously Chatsfield-free future.’ Poppy let her mouth curve in a smile that she knew didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Besides, no matter what you think of me I’m not the sort to kick a man while he’s down.’

No matter how much he deserved it.

‘So tell me, Orsino, what do the doctors say? I need to know if I’m going to help you.’

The sight of that wheelchair did nothing to dispel her concern. Had he damaged his spine? The idea chilled her to the marrow.

His lips twisted and she sensed his impatience.

‘They counsel patience.’

No wonder he was moody. Pain would be bad enough, but for Orsino, waiting to recuperate would be even worse. ‘I see.’

‘I’m glad someone does.’ He spoke under his breath but his bitter tone cut through the still air.

Poppy stepped closer, her gaze on those dark glasses. ‘You can’t see at all?’

He expelled a breath in a rush of air. ‘Let’s just say I won’t be driving a car any time soon.’

Poppy sucked in a sharp breath. Words of sympathy rose on her tongue but she forced them away, knowing he’d reject them. Instead she aimed for brisk and pragmatic.

‘If you’re blind, Orsino, I need to know. We’re returning to a photo shoot.’ She stumbled over ‘we’re’ and had to force down a pang of doubt. ‘I’ll be working long hours so I’ll be on-site but not always at hand. If you can’t see you’ll need a full-time carer.’

His lips turned up in a smile that showed his teeth. He looked like he wanted to snap a bite out of her.

‘God forbid that I should interfere with your exalted career.’ His drawl made the hairs on her nape rise and her jaw clench.

She refused to fight that battle again. Orsino had lost the right to an opinion years ago.

Poppy waited till her riotous pulse subsided before answering. ‘I refuse to be goaded, Orsino. I understand you’re hurting and scared but if you think you can take that out on me you’re mistaken.’

She ignored his hiss of indrawn breath. It was about time someone made him face the truth. ‘I’m not your whipping boy.’ She folded her arms, glaring down at him. ‘If you can’t understand that then the deal is off. I’ve already disrupted a very expensive shoot to be here, so don’t try your high-and-mighty attitude on me. I don’t expect gratitude.’ A sour laugh escaped at the very idea. ‘But I do expect common courtesy and politeness.’

Orsino leaned forward as if reading her features. ‘You’ve changed,’ he said finally. Poppy wasn’t sure if that was approval or regret in his voice.

‘I should hope so!’ She’d been unbearably naive when they’d met. You’d have thought her upbringing would have toughened her up but when it came to Orsino she’d been lamentably innocent. She’d been swept away on a fantasy of love that even common sense couldn’t puncture. Until it was too late.

‘Common courtesy? I think I can manage that. If you can.’

He shrugged and Poppy watched as those wide shoulders snagged her gaze again. Even in a wheelchair Orsino emanated a concentrated masculinity. It was just as well she was immune to him….

‘Good, now perhaps you’ll answer my question. Can you see?’

Orsino looked up at the slim woman standing rigid before him. One thing was clear. If he hadn’t been able to let the past go completely, nor had she.

Even with his poor vision he saw Poppy was on edge, ramrod stiff, shoulders hunched and arms crossed. He still got under her skin.

But there was more. She also looked gorgeous: sexy and alluring in a bone-deep way that had nothing to do with makeup or lighting. To his chagrin he wasn’t impervious.

His gut tightened as dormant parts of his body stirred.

His gaze lingered on the elegant sweep of her throat and jaw. The lush mouth she’d bemoaned wasn’t wide enough and he’d always found perfect. The stunning eyes he’d lost himself in time and again when they’d climaxed together.

Something akin to shame flooded him that after all this time he still remembered.

‘I can see but not well,’ he finally admitted, turning his head away. How much did he see when he looked at Poppy and how much did memory superimpose? Looking towards the window he could make out dark and light, shapes and shadows, but there was none of the clarity with which he’d viewed her.

Damn! How long before he recovered?

‘What I see is distorted and I’m sensitive to light. So as I say, I won’t be driving for a while.’ Orsino shoved aside the fear that perhaps he’d never drive, or climb, or parachute again. He scrubbed his jaw with his unbandaged hand. He’d even needed help shaving!

‘I’m sure I’ll be able to manage for myself while you’re working.’ He was careful not to let doubt enter his voice. He would manage, even if it killed him.

His mouth twisted in a mirthless smile. Not so long ago he’d faced the prospect of death head-on. Was that why every moment now was so vivid and emotion so close to the surface?

‘And the wheelchair? Will you need that to board the plane?’ Poppy’s clipped questions scraped away at his pride. He hated being unable to manage for himself.

If he’d expected concern he should have known better. She didn’t ask because she cared but so she could work out how little assistance to give.

Orsino told himself that didn’t hurt. Hadn’t he always managed alone? As kids he and Lucca had been all but abandoned by their parents, given everything money could buy but left to fend for themselves.

His mouth curved derisively. Just as well he’d never learned to expect sympathy. He had as much chance of genuine caring from his wife as a heatwave on Everest.

Had she ever cared for him? Or had it all been a clever con to win her money and fame? The question was like a canker inside, eating away at him.

If nothing else, he intended to discover the answer.

‘You were imagining the photos, were you? The brave wife wheeling her incapacitated hero?’

Poppy didn’t rise to the bait. Just stood silent and unmoving and suddenly the urge to bait her died. Exhaustion tugged at his body, making him slump in the chair.

He sighed. ‘I can walk, but given my vision—’ and the lacerations and bruising ‘—I’m not as mobile as I was. The wheelchair is at the insistence of the staff—’ who’d continued to badger him about staying. ‘I’ll use it as far as the entrance but after that I’ll walk.’ He just hoped he didn’t make a fool of himself by collapsing in a heap. Getting ready had sapped more strength than he’d anticipated.

Abruptly Orsino gestured to the wheelchair. He’d had enough of this conversation. ‘Given the sling it’s hard to push. Do you mind?’

‘Of course.’ She hurried behind him and he caught a faint scent of berries on the air. He ignored it.

They had to run the gamut of staff who’d assembled to see him off. At the entrance Orsino carefully stood, his body creaking like an old man’s.

‘Are you sure you’re fit to walk?’ It was Amindra, his favourite nurse. Her concern was at odds with her usual brisk kindness and he found himself groping for her hand. This round dumpling of a woman had given him more care and concern than he remembered from his own mother.

Had Poppy really been jealous of her?

‘Of course I am, Amindra. Thanks to your care. When I’m healed I’ll be back to thank you all properly.’

He thought he caught a glimpse of a smile before she curled his hands around the head of a walking stick.

‘Good. Then you can bring this back to me.’ She squeezed his hand then melted into the gloom that was his peripheral vision.

‘This way.’ It was Poppy, beside him again, her voice as colourless as a mountain brook. She swept one arm in a wide gesture and he located the door.

Slowly he paced beside her, his good hand clenched around the walking stick, his body tense with effort.

The big door swung open with a whoosh of crisp air. He hesitated then stepped out, relishing the cocktail of smells bombarding him: exhaust fumes and dust, smoke and spicy cooking. It was so different to the scoured smell of the hospital. He heard bustling life surround him. Relief battered like a wave, making him light-headed.

Not even to himself had he admitted to fear that he’d never leave the hospital. Yet he felt a weight slide off his shoulders.

‘Orsino! Orsino! Over here!’

He blinked, trying and failing to focus on the faces surrounding him. His heart drummed in his chest and a cold sweat broke out on his brow. Something suspiciously like panic twisted in his gut.

A hand closed around his sleeve.

Poppy. She was there beside him.

He breathed deep, hating the way tension eased because he wasn’t alone. Hating the fact that she felt the way his arm shook. She of all women.

It was one thing to imagine her pandering to his every whim while he regained his strength. It was another to have her guess how much this cost him. To know how much he needed her right now. His pride smarted.

Gritting his teeth, Orsino walked on, aware of the warmth of her hand through the sleeve of his jacket. Aware, too, of the curious leap of excitement he felt being close to her again.

As they walked slowly the voices grew strident and blurred faces crowded close.

‘Can you see, Orsino?’

‘How close did you come to death?’

‘Are you and Poppy reconciling? Are you in love after all this time? How about a kiss for the camera?’

Poppy spoke. ‘The car is straight ahead.’ There was nothing in her tone, neither stress nor sympathy. She might have been talking to a stranger.

He hadn’t expected her to feel anything. He’d had her measure since the night five years ago when he’d discovered what she really was.

Why did it matter that he’d been mistaken in the hospital, imagining he’d got under her skin? Why did it matter that he meant nothing to her?

Yet it did.

Because almost dying out there on the mountain, he’d faced the terrible truth that some part of him was still connected to her.

The realisation was like salt poured on an open wound. A wound he’d believed healed. His gut churned with the force of his reaction as years of resentment came flooding free.

Someone jostled them and his stick clattered to the ground. He reached out and found himself grasping soft cashmere and even softer hair. His fingers tightened.

‘That’s it, Orsino. Just one kiss!’ Around them the paparazzi pressed closer.

‘Can you stand while I reach for your stick?’ Poppy’s words were innocent enough but her ice-cool tone struck him again. To her he was an encumbrance till the divorce, a necessary responsibility. No more.

Five years ago she’d made a fool of him. Even now, when he’d blackmailed her into dancing to his tune, he hadn’t dented her self-assurance, much less her emotions.

Impotent fury spiked.

He would get a reaction from her.

Planting his feet more solidly, he released his hold and heard her breath sigh out. But before she could draw away he lifted his hand to the back of her head, to the silk tresses that moved as she jerked beneath his hold.

Her tangy, sweet scent filled his nostrils.

‘Orsino?’ Her voice wobbled.

Now that was a reaction.

He looked down into wide eyes. The fiery burn in his belly flared and spread as he held her tight and slanted his mouth over hers.

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