Читать книгу Rebel's Bargain - Annie West - Страница 13

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.