Читать книгу When Da Silva Breaks the Rules - Эбби Грин - Страница 8

CHAPTER ONE

Castillo Da Silva, near Salamanca

CESAR WAS HOT, sweaty, grimy and thoroughly disgruntled. All he wanted was a cold shower and a stiff drink. A punishing ride around his vast estate on his favourite stallion had failed to put a dent in the dark cloud that had clung to him since his return that afternoon from his half-brother Alexio’s wedding in Paris. Those scenes of chirpy happiness still grated on his soul.

It also irritated him intensely that he’d given in to the rogue compulsion to go.

As he neared the stables his black mood increased on seeing the evidence of a serious breach of his privacy. A film was due to start shooting on his estate after the weekend, for the next four weeks. If that wasn’t bad enough, the stars, director and producers were all staying in the castillo.

He wasn’t unaware of his complicated relationship to his home. It was both prison and sanctuary. But one thing was sure: Cesar hated his privacy being invaded like this.

Huge equipment trucks lined his driveway. People were wandering about holding clipboards, speaking into walkie talkies. A massive marquee had been set up, where locals from the nearby town were being decked out as extras in nineteenth-century garb.

All that was missing was a circus tent with flags flying and a clown outside saying, Roll up! Roll up!

One of his biggest stable yards had been cleared out so that they could use it as the unit base. The unit base, as a film assistant had explained earnestly to Cesar, was where the actors got ready every day and where the crew would eat. As if he cared!

But he’d feigned interest for the benefit of his friend Juan Cortez, who was the Lord Mayor of Villaporto, the local town, and the reason why Cesar had given this idea even half a second’s consideration. They’d been friends since the age of ten, when they’d both had to admit defeat during a fist fight or remain fighting till dawn and lose all their teeth. And they would have—both were stubborn enough.

As his friend had pointed out, ‘Nearly everyone has been employed in some capacity—accommodation, catering, locations, the art department. Even my mother is involved in making clothes for the extras and putting up some of the crew. I haven’t seen her so excited in years.’

Cesar couldn’t fail to acknowledge the morale and economic boost the film had already brought to the locale. He was known in the press for his ruthless dealings with people and businesses—one journalist had likened his methods to those of the cold, dead-eyed shark before it ate you whole. But Cesar wasn’t completely heartless—especially if it involved his own local community.

More than one person caught a glimpse of his glowering features and looked away hurriedly, but Cesar was oblivious, already figuring out how he could rearrange his schedule to make sure he was away for as much of the next four weeks as possible.

To his relief, his own private stable yard, which was strictly off-limits to the crew, was empty when he returned. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone—not even a groom. After unsaddling his horse and hosing him down, Cesar led him back to his stall and made sure he was secure, patting his still quivering flesh after their exertion.

It was only when he was turning to leave again that Cesar spotted a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to look.

And stopped breathing, and thinking.

In the other corner of the quiet stable stood a woman. Cesar felt slightly dizzy for a moment and wondered if he was seeing an apparition.

She was wearing a white corset that cinched in her waist to almost impossible proportions while provocatively pushing up the abundant swells of her breasts. Long wavy golden hair was pulled back from an ethereally beautiful face and left to tumble down her back. Very feminine hips curved out from that tiny waist and a long, voluminous skirt almost touched the ground.

She was stunning...exquisite. She was Venus incarnate. She couldn’t be real. Nothing so perfect existed in reality.

Almost without realising that he was moving, Cesar closed the distance between them. She didn’t move. Just stared at him, looking as transfixed as he felt. Imbuing the moment with an even headier other-worldly feeling.

Her eyes were huge and blue...piercing. She was tiny, and it seemed to call to some deep, primal part of him. Evoking an alien urge to protect.

Her face was small and heart-shaped, but with an inherent strength that elevated it out of the merely beautiful to the extraordinary. High cheekbones. Elegant straight nose. A full, lush mouth made for sin and sinners. Skin like alabaster.

There was a beauty spot close to the edge of her upper lip. She exuded an earthy and very feminine sexual allure. She couldn’t be real. Yet every single ounce of his masculinity was humming and throbbing in reaction to her luminosity.

As if to check that he wasn’t losing it completely, Cesar reached out a hand, noting with almost dispassionate surprise that it trembled slightly. He cupped his hand near her cheek and jaw, without actually touching her, almost afraid that she might disappear if he did...

And then he touched her...and she didn’t disappear. She was real. Warm. Skin as soft as silk.

A movement made his eyes drop and he saw her chest moving up and down rapidly with her breaths.

‘Dios,’ he said faintly, almost to himself, ‘you are real.’

Her mouth opened. Cesar saw small, even white teeth. Her tongue-tip pink. She said, ‘I...’ and then stopped.

Just that one tiny word had been uttered in a husky voice, making Cesar’s whole body tighten with a need that was unprecedented.

Sliding his fingers further around her jaw to the back of her neck, silky hair tickling his hand, Cesar tugged her into him and after a minute hesitation she came, stumbling ever so slightly. All he knew, once he felt the barest whisper of a touch of her body to his, was that he couldn’t hold back now even if a thousand men tried to stop him.

He lowered his head and his mouth touched hers, and all that sweet, soft voluptuousness pierced him right to the centre of his being, and threw him into the pit of a fire of lust so strong it obliterated everything he knew, or thought he knew.

Cesar felt her hands clutching at him, grabbing his shirt. Any resistance vanished when her mouth opened under his, and his arms tightened around her as his hungry tongue thrust into that hot, moist cavern.

However sweet that first initial taste had been, it turned to pure sin. Decadent and rich. Her tongue was sharp and smooth, teasing. Stoking his levels of arousal so that every bit of blood seemed to be rushing to the centre of his body, making that shaft of flesh lengthen and stiffen painfully.

Moving his hands to her waist, encircling it, Cesar almost groaned aloud when he felt his fingers meet. That evidence of her intense femininity pushed his body over the edge, made it betray him as if he were an over-sexed teenager.

He could feel her chest, struggling with constricted breath, moving up and down rapidly. Blood surging anew, Cesar lifted a hand and dragged it up between their bodies, itching to touch that smooth pale skin.

When he came into contact with the swell of one breast his body pulsed with a need that shocked him. He broke the contact of their mouths for a moment, resting his forehead against hers, overwhelmed at the strength of his desire.

‘Please...’

Her voice sounded even huskier...needy. The way he felt. He needed this woman now. Needed to free himself and lift up her skirts and plunge right into the centre of that taut, smooth body. To feel her legs wrap around him.

On some very dim and distant level Cesar was aware that he had become animalistic. Reduced to the cravings and needs of a base animal in an effort to achieve a kind of satisfaction he’d never anticipated before.

But that still couldn’t stop him. Not after that husky please had filled the space between them.

Branding her mouth with his again, the kiss was open-mouthed and carnal. Electrifying.

In the act of lifting up her skirts, almost desperate now, Cesar jerked and flinched when a flash of light seemed to illuminate the world for a second. Like the crack of a whip. Shattering the heady moment.

Lifting his head from where their mouths were welded together, Cesar could only see two huge pools of blue, ringed by long black lashes. That plump mouth was pink. He could feel her chest moving against his.

Then there was another flash, and a rapid jarring, clicking sound. He flinched again. Some vague notion of reality and sanity returned from a long distance. He turned his head, but it was the hardest thing to do—to look away from that face. Those eyes.

He saw a man standing at the entrance of the stables holding a camera up to his face. It was the equivalent of having a bucket of cold water thrown over him. Suddenly reality was back.

Cesar straightened up. Instinctively he pushed the woman behind him as he snarled at the man who was backing away, still shooting, ‘Get out of here. Now.’ One of Cesar’s grooms appeared near the door and he rapped out at him, ‘Get Security now—and get that man’s camera.’

But the photographer had disappeared, and even though Cesar’s groom darted away after him Cesar had the sinking feeling it would be too late. He’d reacted too late himself.

Becoming aware of rapid harsh breathing behind him, Cesar turned around.

And almost fell into the pit again when he saw those huge blue eyes staring up at him and that body which made him ache.

But reality had intruded. This woman was no apparition or ghost. She was flesh and blood, and he had just lost his legendary control spectacularly. Dios, had he gone mad?

Accusingly, Cesar asked, ‘Who the hell are you?’

* * *

Lexie Anderson was barely aware of the sharp accusation in the deep, deliciously accented voice. She couldn’t seem to get enough breath into her challenged lungs to speak. All she could ask herself was: what the hell had just happened?

She remembered wandering away from the camera tests while they set up the lights and finding these quiet stables. She loved horses, so she had come in to investigate.

Then the peace had been shattered when this man had appeared in the courtyard on a huge black stallion. He’d swung down off the horse’s back and from that moment on everything had got a little hazy.

Lexie had been mesmerised by his powerful physique and the play of muscles under his close-fitting polo top and jodhpurs as he’d tended to the horse. And that had been before she’d seen his face properly. When he’d heard her and turned around.

He was stunning. Beautiful. But with a masculine edge that made ‘beautiful’ sound too...pretty. He was hard. Edgy. Dark. Messy dark blond hair. A sensually sculpted mouth surrounded by stubble shadowing a very masculine jaw.

But it was his eyes that rendered Lexie a bit stupid and mute even now, as he waited for her reply. They were green—unusual and stark against dark olive skin. Not hazel, or golden, or light green. Something between all three. Unnerving. Mesmerising.

And he smelled of man. Sweat and musk and heat. Along with something tangy. Woodsy.

Lexie shook her head, as if that might make all this disappear. Maybe she was having some bizarre dream. Because she knew that what had just happened was unprecedented. She did not react to complete strangers by letting them kiss her, or by feeling as if she’d die if they didn’t keep kissing her.

She remembered his big hands around her waist, then reaching under her skirts to pull them up, and how she’d burned between her legs for him to touch her there.

Now was most definitely not the time to be assimilating that cataclysmic information.

‘I’m...’ She stopped, her tongue feeling heavy in her mouth. She tried again. ‘I’m Lexie Anderson. I’m with the film.’

Lexie’s face burned when she realised exactly how she was dressed, and how this man’s eyes had widened when he’d seen her. Belatedly self-conscious, she went to cross her arms but realised the corset only made things worse—especially when those green eyes dropped to her heaving flesh again.

Feeling trapped now—literally backed into a corner—and not liking it, Lexie forced her legs to move, wobbly as they were, and stepped cautiously around him.

He turned to face her. Eyes cool, unreadable. Hands clenched into fists by his sides. ‘You’re Lexie Anderson...the lead actress?’

She nodded.

He looked at her, his eyes no longer unreadable now. Angry. ‘And how did you get in here?’

She blinked, not understanding for a moment. ‘I didn’t see any sign or a gate...I just saw the horses—’

‘It’s off-limits here. You should leave—now.’

Anger gripped Lexie. She’d just behaved in a way that was completely out of character. The last thing she needed was to feel the lash of his censure. Stiffly, she replied, ‘I didn’t realise this was off-limits. If you can tell me how to get back to the unit base, I’ll happily leave.’

His voice was harsh, curt. ‘Turn left. It’s at the end of the lane and to your right.’

Seething inwardly now, because she had been overcome by the first rush of physical desire she’d ever felt, and it had been for some anonymous person who worked at the castle and not even someone she knew or who was particularly charming, Lexie stalked off, tense as a board.

Then she heard the man curse and he commanded, ‘Wait. Stop.’

Lexie stopped, breathing hard, and turned reluctantly again, rigid with tension.

He walked towards her, his movements powerfully agile, and she stepped back. His eyes flashed but she just tipped up her chin. What was wrong with her judgement? There wasn’t anything remotely forgiving or alluring about this man. He was all hard edges and brooding energy.

He looked grim. ‘That was a paparazzo. He got our picture.’

She’d forgotten. Her brain was refusing to work properly. Lexie could feel her blood draining south. The man must have feared she was about to faint or something, because he took her arm and none too gently drew her over to a haystack by the entrance, where he all but pushed her down onto it.

She ripped her arm free and glared up at him, hating the betraying quiver in her belly at his touch. ‘There’s no need to manhandle me. I’m perfectly fine.’

As if to confirm her worst suspicions, the young groom came running back, his face red.

‘Well?’ barked the man.

Lexie felt like standing up and telling him to go and take out his aggression on someone his own size, but she was disgusted to feel that her legs might not hold her up.

‘Señor Da Silva...’

The groom spoke quickly after that, in incomprehensible Spanish, but Lexie was now gaping at the tall, angry man who was answering equally gutturally and quickly, making the groom turn puce and rush off again.

Lexie was too shocked to care for the groom’s welfare any more. He turned back to her and she said faintly, ‘You’re Cesar Da Silva...?’

‘Yes.’

He didn’t seem to be too thrilled she’d made the connection. She’d thought he was a worker! Lexie hadn’t recognised him as the owner of this entire estate because he was famously reclusive. Also, she’d never expected the Cesar Da Silva to be so young and gorgeous.

She had to will down her mortification when she thought of how she’d been all but crawling all over him like a hungry little kitten only minutes before. Begging. ‘Please.’

Oh, God.

She stood up. She had to get out of here. This was not her. She’d been invaded by some kind of body-snatcher.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’

Lexie looked at him. Anger flashed up again—at him and herself. She put her hands on her hips. ‘You just told me to leave, didn’t you? So I’m leaving.’

She moved around him again, towards the entrance, relieved that her legs were working.

‘Wait.’

Lexie stopped and sighed heavily, turned around. She arched a brow, hiding how damn intimidating she thought he was. ‘What now?’

He couldn’t have looked more stern. ‘That photographer got away. My groom saw him get into a car before any of the security guards could be alerted. I would imagine that right about now he’s emailing pictures of us to any number of agencies around the world.’

Lexie felt sick. She felt even sicker to think that she was potentially going to be splashed across the tabloids again. And with Cesar Da Silva, one of the most reclusive billionaires in the world. It would be a sensation and it was the last thing she needed—more intense media interest.

She bit her lip. ‘This isn’t good.’

‘No,’ Da Silva agreed, ‘it’s not. I have no desire to become the centre of some grubby little tabloid sensation.’

Lexie glared at him, incensed. ‘Well, neither do I.’ She pointed a finger at him. ‘And you kissed me.’

‘You didn’t stop me,’ he shot back. ‘And what were you doing in here anyway?’

Lexie burned. No, she hadn’t stopped him. Anything but. She’d been caught up in a dreamlike state of...hot insanity.

‘I told you.’ Her voice was stiff, with the full ramifications of what had happened sinking in. ‘I saw the stables, I wanted to see the horses... We’re doing camera tests with Make-up and Wardrobe, and while they were setting up the lighting...’

She tensed as realisation hit.

‘The camera tests! I have to go back—they’ll be looking for me.’

Lexie went to rush off, but her arm was caught by a big hand. She turned and gritted her jaw. Those green eyes were like burning gems in his spectacular face. His hand on her arm was hot.

‘This isn’t over—’

Just then a PA rushed into the yard, breathless. ‘Lexie, there you are. We’ve been looking all over for you. They’re ready to shoot again.’

Lexie pulled free of Cesar Da Silva’s grip. She could see his irritation at the interruption but she was glad, needing to get away from his disturbing presence and so she could try to assimilate what had just happened.

Lexie tore her gaze from his and hurried after the officious PA, who was speaking into the walkie-talkie microphone that came out of her sleeve near her wrist. Lexie heard her saying, ‘Found her...coming now...one minute...’

Her head was reeling. She felt as if in the space of just that last...fifteen minutes?...her entire world had been altered in some very fundamental way.

She’d let that man...who had been a complete stranger...walk up to her and kiss her. Without a second’s hesitation. And not just kiss her...devour her. And she’d kissed him back.

She could still feel that dizzying, rushing sweep of desire like a wave through her body. Impossible to ignore or deny. Immediate. All-consuming.

It was crazy, but she’d felt protected by his much larger bulk when he’d put her behind him as soon as he’d seen the paparazzo. Lexie wasn’t used to feeling tiny, or in need of protection, even though she was physically small at five foot two. She’d been standing up for herself for so long now that she wasn’t usually taken unawares in a situation like that. It sent a shiver of unease through her.

The photographer.

She felt sick again. Memories of lurid headlines and pictures rose up. Before she could dwell on it though, they’d entered the yard where the camera tests were taking place and everyone snapped to attention as soon as she appeared.

The cameraman beckoned her over. ‘Right, Lexie, we need you over here on your mark, please.’

* * *

Cesar paced back and forth in his office, behind his desk. If it were at all possible his black mood had just become even blacker. Like a living, seething thing crackling around him. He had a file open on his desk and there were clippings and pictures strewn across it.

It was a file on Lexie Anderson. And it was not pretty.

One of the film assistants had furnished Cesar’s office with files on everyone involved in the film. As much for security purposes as for a little general knowledge about the cast and crew. He hadn’t even looked at them before now, because he hadn’t been interested.

The files generally just held people’s CVs. Except for Lexie’s file. Her file was fat, not only with her CV, covering work which consisted mainly of TV and some indie movies before she’d shot to stardom via some vacuous-looking action movies, but also with numerous clippings from papers and magazines.

There were pictures of her, scantily clad, for a lads’ magazine some years previously. One image showed her posing as some sort of half-dressed cheerleader, in nothing but thigh-high socks, knickers and a cardigan, teasingly open just enough to show off the voluptuous swells of her breasts and the sensual curve of her tiny waist. Her hair was down and tumbling sexily over her shoulders.

It was exactly the kind of image that Cesar found a complete turn-off, but right now he was having to battle with his own body to stop it responding as helplessly as if he were an over-sexed teenager all over again.

Cesar cursed and picked up the picture, throwing it aside. It fluttered to the floor. She was an actress. That was what she did.

But much worse than that were the more recent pictures and headlines: Luscious Lexie—Homewrecker! The tabloids had indulged in a feeding frenzy because she had been involved with a married actor who had subsequently left his heartbroken wife and children. He and Lexie weren’t together now, though. According to the salacious copy, once he’d left his wife, heartless Lexie hadn’t been interested any more.

Cesar knew that he couldn’t have cared less what any lead actress got up to in her spare time, or with whom. But he’d kissed this woman in a moment of extreme madness only a short time before.

The imprint of that petite lush body against his was still branded into his memory. No woman had ever got him so hot that he’d lost control like that. He’d been moments away from backing her into a wall and thrusting up into her slick body if they hadn’t been interrupted by the paparazzo when they had.

Cesar cursed. And then his phone rang. He answered it abruptly.

His solicitor’s voice came down the line, ‘Cesar, I’ve got some news you’re not going to like.’

If his solicitor could have seen Cesar’s expression right then he probably would have put the phone down and run. But he couldn’t, so he went on, oblivious.

‘You were photographed at Alexio Christakos’s wedding this morning in Paris.’

‘So?’ Cesar offered curtly, his mind still full of lurid images of Lexie Anderson and her effect on his body.

His solicitor in Madrid sighed heavily. ‘Well, it would appear that some very industrious reporter decided to do a quick search, to see if there was any connection between you and Christakos. They came up with the fact that the recently deceased Esperanza Christakos was briefly married to one Joaquin Da Silva, years before she became a renowned model.’

For a second Cesar saw only blackness. He sat down. ‘How did they find this?’

‘It’s not a secret who your mother was, Cesar,’ his solicitor pointed out carefully. ‘It’s just never been discovered before...the connection...’

Cesar knew this. His mother had left so long ago that no one had ever seemed to have the inclination to go digging. He came from the Da Silva dynasty and that was all people cared out.

Until now.

Cesar managed to give an instruction to his solicitor to monitor the media attention closely and put his phone down.

The press would have a field day. He was the estranged half-brother of two of the most renowned entrepreneurs in the world. It would be open season on prying into their lives. For speculating on why nobody had ever spotted the connection before now. And so on, and so on.

He was well aware that this was hardly big news—people discovered half-siblings all the time. What he wasn’t prepared for was the prospect of ignominious media intrusion into an area of his life that had always been shut away. Not acknowledged.

The only time the reality of his brothers had been acknowledged, it had been used to taunt him. To drive home the fact that he was not the chosen one. That he could trust no one. Ever. As much as he hated to admit it, the scar was still deep. He only had to think back to earlier that day to remember how it had felt to be so black and bitter next to their happiness and ease with the world. A world that had taught them they could trust. That mothers didn’t leave you behind.

Cesar cursed the maudlin direction of his thinking. Cursed himself again for having gone to Christakos’s wedding.

With this film on his estate his privacy was already being well and truly eroded. Now this.

And then another picture of Lexie caught Cesar’s eye and a headache started to throb behind his right temple. He feared that the reclusive life he’d lived for so long was about to slip out of his grasp unless he could do some serious damage limitation.