Читать книгу When Da Silva Breaks the Rules - Эбби Грин - Страница 10

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN LEXIE GOT to her room she paced. Full of pent-up energy. Hot and then cold at the same time when she reconsidered the equally disturbing prospects of appearing in public with Cesar and not. And the ramifications of the press’s interest in her if that was the case.

There was no doubt about it: appearing with Cesar would be the better scenario. It was only in the last few weeks that the tabloids’ interest in ‘Luscious Lexie the homewrecker’ had let up. If she was going to become press fodder again so soon, then she would not be the victim.

Cesar was unmarried. A bachelor. An affair with him would be old news very fast. And, she realised with some cynicism, it couldn’t hurt the film to be linked to this kind of publicity.

What she hadn’t counted on was the attraction she felt for Cesar. She’d just kissed him back again, as passionately as she had earlier, with no qualms. No hesitation! It was as if as soon as he touched her some ever-vigilant switch in her brain turned to off and she became mute. Acquiescent.

She held out her hands and noted that even now they were trembling slightly. Disgusted, she shoved them under her arms and then spied her electronic tablet. She marched over and opened it up.

She hated herself for it, but she found herself searching for Cesar Da Silva Girlfriend. Predictably not much came up except a few photos of him at events with beautiful women. They were all tall, brunette. Sleek. Classy. One was a UN diplomat. The next an attaché to a world leader. Another was a human rights lawyer.

There were also pictures of Cesar with world leaders at economic summits.

Lexie put a hand to her mouth to stem a slight surge of hysteria. She was seriously out of her depth with this man, and she didn’t like her feeling of insecurity when she was faced with the evidence of his previous lovers’ undoubted intellectual accomplishments. The plan for them to appear as lovers mocked her now. Who would ever believe he’d choose her?

Feeling like a stalker, she looked up his background. To her surprise, a new news article popped up. And a picture of him from earlier that very day, taken at a wedding in Paris. Lexie frowned for a second, wondering how he could have come from Paris back to the castillo in such a short space of time—and then she recalled hearing a helicopter earlier. Of course—to a man like Cesar Da Silva travel between European bases was far removed from most people’s more tedious, lengthy experiences.

She focused on the short piece again. It had been the wedding of Alexio Christakos and his very pretty bride—someone called Sidonie. The article seemed to be implying that a familial relationship existed between Alexio Christakos and Cesar Da Silva. And also another man: Rafaele Falcone.

Lexie frowned. She knew Christakos and Falcone were half-brothers. They’d been notoriously eligible bachelors before settling down. So...what? Cesar was related to these men? Lexie kept searching and found a very brief reference to his father. Joaquin Da Silva had been famously disinherited from his family after leaving to train as a bullfighter. He’d achieved some fame early on, before dying tragically in a goring by a bull.

There wasn’t much else apart from Cesar’s current accomplishments, of which there seemed to be many. He was listed as one of the world’s leading philanthropists.

The picture of Cesar at the wedding caught her eye again. She looked more closely. There was a definite resemblance between the two men. And Rafaele Falcone. She couldn’t be sure, but it looked as if they all shared varying shades of green eyes. Unusual. Too unusual.

A suspicion slid into place inside Lexie. He’d agreed so quickly to appearing in public with her, when all the evidence pointed to a man who would find that kind of exposure anathema. He wants me. Lexie shivered at the thought. Was he prepared to court the press’s attention just to get her into bed? That idea was both intoxicating and terrifying.

But perhaps Cesar had his own reasons for wanting to divert the press? If something was about to break about his family? She didn’t like it, but a feeling of empathy gripped her. And curiosity...

Just then a knock sounded on her door. Lexie’s heart jumped. She put the cover over her tablet’s screen and went to the door, steeling herself. But when she opened it, it was Tom—the producer. An acute dart of disappointment made her want to scowl.

She forced a smile. ‘Tom?’

He held up his own tablet to reveal the same picture of the kiss that Cesar had shown her just a short while before. Her insides tightened again at seeing herself in such an alien and lurid pose.

‘Ah...’ she said.

‘Ah...’ the older man echoed. ‘I didn’t realise you had history with Da Silva. You never mentioned anything...’

‘I don’t really want to discuss it, Tom, if that’s all right.’

‘Look,’ he said quickly, mollifying her, ‘I’m not complaining, Lexie—far from it. This is PR gold dust for the film. If you two are...together.’

Tom was obviously concerned that an affair between her and Cesar Da Silva might jeopardise filming if it wasn’t all that it seemed. He could throw them off his estate at any moment if he so wished.

Lexie’s jaw was tight. She imagined the press furore after they appeared in public next week. ‘Yes...’ she said reluctantly, as if not even wanting to give the words oxygen. ‘We are...together.’

The relief that crossed the producer’s face was almost comical. ‘Okay, that’s good. I mean, like I said, it’s gold dust for the film. We could never have generated this much press just by—’

‘Tom?’ Lexie cut him off, forcing another smile. ‘I’d appreciate an early night. I’ve a lot of prep to do this weekend before we start shooting on Monday.’

He backed away, putting a hand up. ‘Of course. I’ll leave you to it. Night, Lexie.’

When he was gone she sagged back against the door with relief. Out of the past, the words of her counsellor came back to her: ‘Lexie, one day you’ll meet someone and you’ll feel desire. And you’ll feel safe enough to explore it...and heal.’

Lexie stifled a semi-hysterical giggle. She’d felt it today, all right, but she didn’t feel safe right now. She felt in mortal danger. Especially when she thought of those distinctive green eyes and that hard-boned face...and that powerful body. That dark, brooding energy...

She felt anything but safe.

She thought again of Cesar’s nonchalant assertion that they would become lovers. A dart of anger gripped her insides. He was obviously used to women falling at his feet if he could make such a declaration. He had no idea of the scars that scored her insides like tattoos. Not visible to the naked eye, but she felt them every day. Scars she’d fought hard to overcome so she could function and live and work.

She resented Cesar Da Silva right then for inserting himself so solidly and irrevocably into her life. And yet she had no one to blame but herself.

Sighing volubly, Lexie pushed off the door and vowed to do whatever it took to focus on the most important thing in her life right now: the job she had to fulfil for the next four weeks. Her real acting job, as opposed to the acting she’d be doing in a week’s time. Although that filled her with a lot more trepidation because she was afraid that she wouldn’t have to act at all.

* * *

Midway through the following week Lexie was pacing back and forth on the set while they set up the cameras for a new shot. She was listening to the script on her mp3 player and repeating her lines to herself.

They were shooting not far from the castillo, in a walled garden. Inevitably, though, her thoughts deviated yet again to the person who had dominated almost every waking and sleeping moment since she’d met him, in spite of her best efforts.

He’d appeared to watch the filming at various intervals, effortlessly unsettling Lexie in the process. If he was around she became acutely self-conscious. And being dressed in cleavage-revealing nineteenth-century garb didn’t help.

Right then, just as she was sighing with relief that he hadn’t appeared today, he did appear—as if conjured up from her overheated imagination—striding towards her on the narrow path. She had nowhere to go. Trapped. All of the crew were busy working, oblivious to the seismic physical reaction inside Lexie as Cesar bore down on her in a secluded part of the garden.

Her heart sped up. She went hot all over. Pinpricks of sensation moved across her skin. Nipples tightened against her bodice. The corset became even more constrictive. She pulled the long coat she wore to keep warm more closely around her, to try and hide some of her far too buxom cleavage. She took the earphones out of her ears and fought the urge to take several steps back.

Cesar came to a stop in front of her. It didn’t help that he was dressed in much the same way as when she’d seen him for the first time, in a close-fitting polo shirt and jodhpurs. Hair mussed. Jaw stubbled. He’d obviously just been riding.

For a bizarre second Lexie actually couldn’t speak. His eyes were hypnotic. When he spoke, it jarred her out of the daze she was in.

‘I’ve arranged for my assistant to have some clothes delivered to you from a boutique in Salamanca.’

Lexie looked at him blankly. ‘Clothes?’

‘For the weekend...for future events.’

Suddenly Lexie realised what he meant, and immediately chafed at the implication that he had to buy clothes for her because she wasn’t as classy or elegant as his other lovers. And she hated that she’d thought that.

Stiffly she said, ‘You really don’t need to do that.’ Lexie knew she was out of his league; she didn’t need a reminder.

Cesar was obdurate. ‘Well, it’s too late. They’ve been delivered to your suite.’

Lexie opened her mouth again, but Cesar put up a hand.

‘If you don’t want to use them, that’s fine. See what’s there and decide. It’s no big deal.’

No, thought Lexie churlishly, because all it had taken was a mere snap of his fingers. She looked at him suspiciously. ‘How did you know what size I was?’ She immediately regretted asking the question when his gaze swept up and down her body. What he could see of it...

‘I asked the costume designer, just to be safe, but my own estimation wasn’t far off.’

Lexie burned with indignation and something much hotter to imagine Cesar guessing her vital statistics.

Just then a PA came close and hovered. When Lexie looked at her she made a signal that she was required. Lexie looked back at Cesar and said, with evident relief, ‘I have to go. They’re ready to shoot again.’

But he didn’t get out of the way. And Lexie knew she wasn’t supposed to step onto the manicured lawn.

She was about to open her mouth when he moved closer and put a hand around the back of her bare neck, exposed because her hair was up in a complicated chignon. He bent down and pressed a fleeting but hot kiss to her mouth, and then pulled back, letting her go.

Lexie tingled all over. Her head felt fuzzy. ‘What was that for?’

Cesar smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and Lexie felt something tug inside her, wondering again what he’d look like if he really smiled.

‘As you so memorably pointed out, there are camera phones around. I’m just being vigilant.’

Lexie flushed to recall what she’d said to him. There was nothing remotely fossil-like about this man. He was all bristling, virile energy.

Faintly she said, ‘Celeste will have to retouch my lipstick.’

He smirked. ‘Well, you’d better run along and let Celeste do that.’

For a second Lexie blinked at him. There was a tantalising glimmer of something lighter between them. But then he was turning and striding back the way he’d come, and as Lexie walked over to the main hub of the set she couldn’t be unaware of several appreciative female and male glances that lingered in his direction and then on her with undisguised envy.

* * *

Cesar was waiting for Lexie in the main castillo drawing room three days later. Looking back on the last tumultuous week, he did not relish the twisting and turning of events since he’d taken one look at that woman and his brains had migrated to his pants.

Cesar was renowned for lots of things: his inestimable wealth; philanthropy; scarily incisive business acumen; a zealous desire for privacy; success. And control. Above all control over his emotions. He’d become a master of controlling them from a young age. Too young.

His usual choice of woman was tall and brunette. Elegant. Classic. Not blonde, petite and curvy, with blue eyes big enough to drown in. And with a dubious reputation splashed across the tabloids.

On some level he’d always sought to stay away from prying eyes, as if somehow they might see something in him that he couldn’t articulate himself. A darkness that had clung to him for a long time. The stench of abandonment. The cruelty of neglect and a lack of care. It had been like an invisible stain on his skin.

Yet for someone who had spent his life largely on the periphery of the media glare, largely due to his very non-scandalous social life, the prospect of suddenly being thrust front and centre was not having the effect he might have expected.

Of course he didn’t relish the idea. But at the same time it didn’t fill him with repugnance.

Cesar poured himself a drink and smiled grimly. Right now though, all those concerns were receding and being replaced by something else. Someone else. Lexie Anderson. Cesar had been due to go to North Africa that week, to attend a meeting about aid, but had cancelled it on the flimsy pretext of wanting to make sure that the first week of filming went smoothly.

Cesar would be the first to admit that he had dismissed the film industry as flaky and narcissistic, but just one week had proved him wrong. The crew were tireless and worked twelve-and thirteen-hour days—if not longer. He was also surprised by how quickly and well they worked as a cohesive unit.

The producer had explained that most of them had worked together before, but there were lots of inexperienced locals in the mix and Cesar had witnessed more than one incident of a more experienced crew member patiently showing someone the ropes.

Lexie was one of the most tireless. Standing for long minutes on a mark while the lighting crew and cameraman worked around her. Her co-star would invariably go back to his trailer. Cesar had found out that she could have insisted they use a stand-in but had wanted to be there herself. He had to admit that he hadn’t really expected her work ethic to be that strong.

She was popular. Especially with the male members of the crew. Cesar was more aware of that than he liked to admit. He’d never been jealous because of a woman before and he didn’t welcome jealousy’s appearance.

He heard a sound then, and with something whispering over his skin like a warning Cesar took a breath and turned around.

Bombshell. That was the only word that seemed to compute in his head when he saw the woman standing in the doorway. Her effect on him was like a bomb too—exploding out to every extremity and making his flesh surge as blood pumped south.

He took in details, as if he couldn’t handle the full reality. Glossy blonde hair, trailing over one shoulder in classic screen siren waves. Pale skin. Slim bare arms. A sleeveless gold lamé dress that fell to the floor in a swirl of glamorous luxury.

She was poured into it, and the material highlighted her curves to almost indecent proportions. The deep, plunging vee of the neckline drew his eye to that abundant cleavage.

She was every inch the glittering movie star. And the most provocatively beautiful woman Cesar had ever seen in his life. He knew that if they hadn’t already kissed, if he hadn’t already seen her up close, he might have seen her like this and dismissed her as too garish. But right now he could no more dismiss her than recall his own name.

His hands clenched so tightly that he heard a crack, and he looked down stupidly to see his heavy Waterford crystal glass about to break in his hand.

He put it down on the sideboard with a clatter that jarred his ragged and sensitised nerve-endings.

She moved into the room, and the sinuous sway of her hips nearly undid him. Normally he had finesse. He could utter platitudes to women like You look beautiful. But right now all he could do was say gruffly, ‘My driver is waiting outside—we should go.’

* * *

Lexie fought down a betraying quiver of insecurity as she preceded Cesar out of the room, and cursed herself for wanting his reassurance that she looked okay and not too over the top. Her dresses were normally fine—fairly standard designer fare, given to her after photo shoots or premieres—but when she’d compared them to the finery he’d ordered there had been no competition. She’d had to choose one of his.

She had not been prepared for his impact on her in a classic black tuxedo. It was obviously a bespoke suit, moulded to his powerful body in a way that most men’s weren’t. It should have made him appear civilised. Just like trousers and a shirt should make him look civilised. But the structured clothes only made him seem more raw. Untamed.