himself be swept away like he never had before. He knew, instinctively, elementally, that kissing Natalia would be like that. Kissing Natalia would change him, and he didn’t want to be changed.
He should be relieved she’d broken it before he did, but he wasn’t. He was annoyed and disappointed and incredibly sexually frustrated. Raking a hand through his hair, he followed her off the dance floor, searching the crowds for her familiar lithe frame.
He found her by the coat check, slipping on her snug little jacket. ‘Is the fun over, then?’ he asked lightly, and she didn’t look at him as she answered.
‘It most certainly is.’
Ben felt a flicker of guilty regret along with every other emotion twisting inside him and frying his brain. Why did this woman make him feel so much? He wasn’t used to it. Didn’t like it. Couldn’t have it.
Yet he knew in that moment on the dance floor he’d hurt her somehow. Maybe she’d sensed his reluctance. Maybe—and this thought actually frightened him—she understood him better than he thought.
Neither of them spoke as Ben opened the passenger door for her, and then slid into the driver’s seat. He thought about explaining, or apologizing, or something, but his thoughts were too tangled up inside him to separate, much less speak.
As the gate of the palazzo swung smoothly open and he drove up to the front of the magnificent building, he decided silence was better. Surely saying anything—explaining anything—would just drag them in deeper to this mess they’d found themselves in.
This mess of emotion and desire and need that Ben had never let himself feel before. The kind of mess his father made, and his mother endured. The kind of mess he never wanted for himself.
‘Well.’ Natalia cleared her throat, then shot him a cool smile. ‘What can I say? It was fun.’
Ben nodded tersely. ‘See you on the football pitch,’ he said and for a second something flashed in her eyes, something Ben suspected was hurt, or perhaps sorrow. Her smile suddenly seemed brittle.
‘See you then,’ she said, and slipped out of the car.
NATALIA blinked in the bright sunlight of Santina’s football stadium and smoothed her hands down the sides of her baggy shorts. She felt ridiculously sloppy wearing what felt like a school PE kit, but Ben had been insistent that she dress appropriately for the first day of camp.
‘And,’ he’d told her, his mouth quirking upwards in that way she now recognised, ‘that does not mean a miniskirt and stilettos.’
She would have felt better in a skirt, Natalia thought with a flicker of resentment. Safer and stronger. Fashion was one thing she got, one small way she felt successful.
‘Ready to really work?’ Ben asked, jogging up to her. He wore the same thing she did, and yet somehow it looked amazing on him. The T-shirt clung to the six-pack abs hiding under the thin fabric, and he wore his shorts slung low on his hips. Natalia could see his strong, muscular thighs and calves and she jerked her gaze upwards. She did not need any reminders of how his body had felt against hers; she’d been remembering all weekend. Yet clearly Ben was back to professional mode today, and if she hadn’t experienced it herself, she wouldn’t have believed he’d held her so close, he’d almost kissed her.
Almost.
‘Are you saying I haven’t been working already?’ she enquired. ‘Because I think a thousand envelopes would disagree.’
‘Today you’re going to really work. And get tired and muddy and sweaty.’ Natalia wrinkled her nose, and Ben grinned, so obviously enjoying this. ‘Come on, Princess. Let’s get going. The kids are about to arrive.’ And without any warning he tossed her a football. Natalia caught it out of instinct, but she heard the distinct sound of a nail breaking and with a little yelp she dropped the ball to inspect the damage.
‘There goes your manicure,’ Ben murmured as he walked by her. ‘Can’t say I didn’t warn you.’
‘Can’t say you’re a complete arse,’ Natalia muttered back. ‘Oh wait, I can.’
Ben just chuckled, his good humour clearly impossible to deflate. He was like a different man today, Natalia thought, alive and invigorated in a way she’d never seen him before. Except when he’d held her in his arms … he’d seemed pretty invigorated then. Yet Ben clearly wanted to forget that entire episode, and Natalia knew she should too. Unfortunately she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Remembering. Wanting. Sighing, Natalia picked up the football and followed him to the front of the stadium. Dozens of children swarmed the gates, and several tables were set up for registration. Ben, she saw, was greeting each child with warm enthusiasm, an easy smile or a ruffle of their hair, his attitude laid-back and natural.
He glanced back at her, and then jerked his head towards one of the tables. ‘Why don’t you take names?’
‘Take names?’
‘Just write them down, Princess.’ He turned back to the stream of kids coming through the gates, and Natalia made her way over to the makeshift table. Fabio was already there, taking children’s names and writing them on a form. He pointed to a stack of name tags. ‘Could you fill out those?’
‘Certainly,’ Natalia said after a moment. ‘Of course.’ She sat down next to Fabio and pulled a stack of name tags towards her and uncapped a pen. Then, smiling brightly, although her heart had started to thud with hard, painful beats, she looked up at the first child who came towards her, hesitant and shy. ‘Como ti chiami?’
‘Paulo.’
‘Ciao, Paulo.’ Biting her lip hard in concentration, she started to write a P. And then an A. She had to think carefully about each stroke, knowing she was taking far too long, sensing the backup of kids restlessly waiting for their tags. Prickly heat burst all over her body and she knew she was going blotchy again. Fabulous. She bit down hard on her lip, willed that all-too-telling flush to fade. Finally she finished and passed the tag over to Paulo. He took it with murmured thanks, and Natalia saw it looked like it had been written by a child younger than he was.
The next child came forward. ‘Gabriella.’
So many letters. Natalia started again. She could do this. She wasn’t normally this slow, but the panic of performing in public, of knowing that any moment Ben might come over and demand why the princess was taking so long and couldn’t she even write made her fingers tremble and the letters dance before her eyes.
She glanced up at Gabriella, a solemn-eyed little girl with a cloud of dark hair. ‘You know what? I’m sure it would be faster if you did this.’ She grabbed a handful of pens and started passing them out to each child, who gladly took them and began to write their own names on the tags.
Natalia slumped back in her chair in trembling relief. That had been a close one. Too close. She’d hid her disability for so long, first out of confusion and then from shame, and finally on command. She wasn’t about to have it ripped out in the open now. Not by Ben. Not by anyone.
The kids had started to trickle away from the table, and she straightened, glancing over at Ben, who was organising the children into lines. She watched him covertly, noticing how confidently he strode across the pitch, how much he seemed to be enjoying this. She had never seen him look so relaxed or so … happy. She’d seen him look amused, or entertained, or interested, but he’d never actually seemed happy.
And neither had she.
‘Natalia?’ She started at the sound of her name. Ben was calling to her, and she stood, smoothing her T-shirt and shorts as if she could magically turn them into a silk blouse and tailored skirt. ‘Would you help me show the kids how to dribble?’
Dribble?