Ben really suggesting something? His eyes glinted in the candlelight and his mouth quirked upwards. He knew what she was thinking! The realization slammed through Natalia, ignited shock and even fear inside her. How did this man know her so well? She’d spent her whole life trying not to be known, even as she inwardly longed for someone to truly understand her, not the pampered party princess, but the girl—and then the woman—underneath … whoever she was. Yet she didn’t want the person who truly knew her to be Ben Jackson, with his cynicism and his sneers and his stupid sense of duty. She couldn’t.
‘I should go,’ she said abruptly, the sudden urgency she felt to escape coming through in her tone. Ben quirked one eyebrow.
‘It’s only a little after eight. The night is young.’
‘I have other plans,’ Natalia told him, a blatant lie but one she managed with breezy confidence. ‘My social calendar is quite full, you know.’
He straightened in his seat, his eyes narrowing now not with speculation but, Natalia suspected, with disapproval or even disdain. Well, at least that was more familiar. She stood, and a waiter hurried to her side.
‘Your Highness …?’
‘My coat, please.’
Ben stood as well. ‘I’ll drive you home.’
‘There’s no need. I can text my driver—’
‘And bring him out for no good reason? Why do that?’ And she heard—or at least thought she heard—a thread of judgement in his voice. She’d do that because she didn’t care about other people. She didn’t think about them or their needs. She was selfish, shallow, vain—everything the tabloids said she was. Of course.
‘Fine.’ Natalia glanced at the table, their three-thousand-dollar bottle of champagne only half finished. ‘I’ll wait for you to settle up.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, Princess. They know who I am here.’ And he strolled past her with a smile, clearly relishing her surprise and discomfort at hearing her own words laughingly parroted back to her.
Snatching her coat from the waiter, silently fuming at the way he always seemed to best her, Natalia followed Ben out to the street. Her heel caught on a tile in the doorway of the restaurant, and as she pitched forward Ben’s arm came around her instinctively, supporting her and drawing her to him so her breasts collided with his hard chest, her own arm coming up around his shoulders in an attempt to steady herself. And yet even as she regained her balance her heart tumbled inside her as if she’d just fallen down a whole flight of stairs.
She breathed in the scent of him, woodsy and clean, and felt the lean strength of his body pressed against her own. Her senses exploded to life with longing, and her breath hitched revealingly as she remained half wrapped around him and stars exploded around her.
No, not stars, just the relentless flash of the paparazzi’s cameras. A half-dozen of them had been camped outside of the restaurant, waiting for her exit.
Natalia felt Ben’s calm, capable hands steady her and then he stepped away, his face expressionless, yet underneath that purposeful blandness she sensed he was now seething with anger. She felt it like the pulse of her own blood, hot and demanding. She’d just given him some major, and undoubtedly unwanted, publicity.
He strode down the street, away from the flashing cameras, and she followed as best she could, hobbling a little bit. The paparazzi hurried after them, shouting questions in both Italian and English.
‘Who is your boy toy now, Princess?’
‘Give us a kiss!’
Ben strode faster, suddenly turning a corner onto a dark and narrow side street, and breathless Natalia tried to keep up. ‘Wait—’
‘You want to stay for that?’ he asked in a sneer. ‘Of course you do. That kind of publicity stunt is right up your alley, Princess.’
So he thought she’d tripped on purpose, for the cameras. It didn’t really surprise her, yet it still hurt. ‘I just,’ she panted, ‘want to keep from breaking my ankle. My heel broke when I tripped.’
Ben glanced back at her, then ducked into an alley between two tall and crumbling buildings. Natalia could barely see, and she tripped over some old terracotta pots piled against the wall. They clattered onto the cobbles, the sound echoing off the high walls. She blinked, the darkness pressing close all around her, making her palms damp and her heart thud. She hated the dark, especially unlit, enclosed spaces like this wretched alley. ‘Where … where are we going?’
‘I don’t want any more pictures,’ Ben growled. ‘So if you think this next month is your chance to drag me through the gutter press, think again, Princess.’
She heard the sound of motorcycles speeding off into the distance. ‘I think we lost them.’ Her voice sounded high and frightened to her own ears, and the thought that Ben might guess how scared she was made her furious. Another thing for him to mock her about. ‘Anyway, didn’t you say any publicity is good publicity?’ she reminded him defiantly.
Ben turned so quickly she nearly lost her balance. He prowled closer, the strength and breadth of him both intimidating and overwhelming in this dark, narrow alley. She’d been scared of the dark; now she was frightened of something else. Or not frightened exactly, but aware. Definitely aware.
The stone wall of the building came up hard against her back, and Ben was so close she had to tilt her head up to look at him. She could barely see his face in the darkness and gloom, but she still felt his anger.
And something else—for whatever was pulsing between them was powerful, dangerous and impossible to resist. He stepped closer, so she could feel the length of his body against her own, heard the thunder of her heart in her ears and the ragged tear of both of their breathing, unnaturally loud in the enclosed space. He dipped his head so his lips hovered above her own. Desire spiralled inside her, crazy and out of control even though he hadn’t even kissed her.
But he would … wouldn’t he? Her mind was dizzy, overcome by his closeness. All she could think about was the feel of his lips on hers, the need of it. Her head fell back, her lips parted in silent, open invitation.
‘Don’t play games with me, Princess,’ Ben breathed, and his lips were so close if she moved at all she would be touching him. Kissing him. Yet she didn’t move, couldn’t, because her body was frozen, paralysed with this helpless yearning. She remained pinned against the wall, her head tilted back, her lips open, her body pulsing with need. She wanted him to move. She wanted him to kiss her.
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.
‘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