Читать книгу Undressed by the Billionaire - Susanne James - Страница 7

SHE had forgotten how much her diaphragm expanded when she let herself go and really raised the rafters. How could she have forgotten something as rudimentary as that?

Maybe because the massive crowd was a blur and all she was aware of was the dark, menacing shape of the biggest man on the benches behind the England sin bin, the area England players sat in when they were sent off the pitch for misdemeanours.

Sin.

She had to shake that thought off too, Savannah realised as she lifted her ribcage in preparation for commencing the rousing chorus. But how was she supposed to do that when she could feel Ethan’s gaze in every fibre of her being? The moment she had walked onto the pitch she had known exactly where he was sitting, and who he was looking at. By the time she’d got over that, and the ear-splitting cheer that had greeted her, even the fear of singing in front of such a vast audience had paled into insignificance. And now she was trapped in a laser gaze that wouldn’t let her go.

She really must shake off this presentiment of disaster, Savannah warned herself. Nervously moistening her lips, she took a deep breath. A very deep breath …

The first of several safety pins pinged free, and as the dress fell away it became obvious that the physio’s pins were designed to hold bandages in place rather than acres of pneumatic flesh.

His mood had undergone a radical change from impatient to entranced, and all in a matter of seconds. The ruthless billionaire, as people liked to think of him, became a fan of his new young singing-sensation after hearing just a few bars of her music. The crowd agreed with him, judging by the way Savannah Ross had it gripped. When she had first stumbled onto the pitch, she had been greeted by wolf whistles and rowdy applause. At first he had thought her ridiculous too, with her breasts pouting over the top of the ill-fitting gown, but then he remembered the famous dress had been made for someone else, and that he should have found some way to warn her. But it was too late to worry about that now, and her appearance hardly mattered, for Savannah Ross had him and everyone else in the palm of her hand. She was so richly blessed with music it was all he could do to remain in his seat.

She refused to let the supporters down. She carried on regardless as more pins followed the first. She was expected to reflect the hopes and dreams of a country, and that was precisely what she was going to do—never mind the wretched dress letting her down. But as she prepared to sing the last few notes the worst happened—the final pin gave way and one pert breast sprang free, the generous swell of it nicely topped off with a rose-pink nipple. Not one person in the crowd missed the moment, for it was recorded for all to see on the giant-sized screen. As she started to shake with shame, the good-natured crowd went wild, applauding her, which helped her hold her nerve for the final top note.

Thrust from his seat by a rocket-fuelled impulse to shield and protect, Ethan was already shedding his jacket as he stormed onto the pitch. By the time he reached Savannah’s side, the crowd had only just begun to take in what had happened. Not so his target. Tears of frustration were pouring down her face as she struggled to re-pin her dress. As he spoke to her and she looked at him there was a moment, a potent and disturbing moment, when she stared him straight in the eyes and he registered something he hadn’t felt for a long time, or maybe ever. Without giving himself a chance to analyse the feeling, he threw his jacket around her shoulders and led her away, forcing the Italian tenor to launch into Canto degli Italiani—or ‘Song of the Italians’, as the Italian national anthem was known—somewhat sooner than expected.

There was so much creamy flesh concealed beneath his lightweight jacket it was throwing his brain synapses out of sync. Unlike all the women he’d encountered to date, this young Savannah Ross was having a profound effect on his state of mind. He strode across the pitch with his arm around her shoulders while she endeavoured to keep in step and remain close, whilst not quite touching him. As he took her past the stands the crowd went wild. ‘Viva l’Orso!’ the Italians cried, loving every minute of it: ‘hurrah for the Bear’. The England supporters cheered him just as loudly. He wondered if this compliment was to mark his chivalry or the fact that Ms Ross could hardly conceal her hugely impressive bosom beneath a dress that had burst its stitches. He hardly cared. His overriding thought was to get her out of the eyeline of every lustful male in the Stadio Flaminio, of whom there were far too many for his liking.

It crossed his mind that this incident would have to have happened in Italy, the land of romantic love and music, the home of passion and beauty. He had always possessed a dark sense of humour, and it amused him now to think that in his heart, the heart everyone was so mistakenly cheering for, there was only an arid desert and a single bitter note.

By the time Ethan had escorted Savannah into the shelter of the tunnel she was mortified. She felt ridiculously under-dressed in the company of a man noted for his savoir faire. Ethan Alexander was a ruthless, world-renowned tycoon, while she was an ordinary girl who didn’t belong in the spotlight; a girl who wished, in a quite useless flash of longing, that Ethan could have met her on the farm where at least she knew what she was doing.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked her gruffly.

‘Yes, thank you.’

He was holding on to her as if he thought she might fall over. Did he think her so pathetically weak? This was worse than her worst nightmare come true, and it was almost a relief when he turned away to make a call.

It couldn’t be worse, Savannah concluded, taking in the wide, reassuring spread of Ethan’s back. This was a very private man who had been thrust into the spotlight, thanks to her. No doubt he was calling for someone to come and take her away, nuisance that she was. She couldn’t blame him. She had to be so much less in every way than he’d been expecting.

While he was so much more than she had expected … Ethan Alexander in the flesh was a one-man power source of undiluted energy, a dynamo running on adrenalin and sex. At least that was what her vivid imagination was busy telling her, and she could hardly blame it for running riot. No television-screen or grainy newspaper-image had come close to conveying either Ethan’s size or his compelling physical presence. And yet the most surprising shock of all was the way his lightest and most impersonal touch had scorched fireworks through every part of her. He’d only touched her elbow to help steer her, and had draped his jacket across her back, and yet that had been enough to hot-wire her arm and send sparks flying everywhere they shouldn’t.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the young physio coming over to see if she could help. ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Savannah assured her, hoping Ethan could hear. She didn’t want him blaming the young girl for Savannah’s problems. ‘It was my breathing,’ she explained.

‘What a problem we’d have had if you hadn’t breathed!’ The young physio shared a laugh with Savannah as she started pinning Savannah back into the dress. ‘And I’m really glad you did breathe, because you were fantastic.’

Savannah had never been sure how to handle compliments. In her eyes she was just an ordinary girl with an extraordinary voice, and no manual had come with that voice to explain how to deal with the phenomenon that had followed. ‘Thank you,’ she said, spreading her hands wide in a modest gesture.

But the girl grabbed hold of them and shook them firmly. ‘No,’ she insisted, ‘Don’t you brush it off. You were fantastic. Everyone said so.’

Everyone? Savannah glanced at Ethan, who still had his back turned to her as he talked on the phone. She pulled his jacket close for comfort; it was warm and smelled faintly of sandalwood and spice. Tracing lapels that hung almost to her knees, she realised that even though Ethan’s jacket was ten sizes too big for her it did little to preserve her modesty, and she hurriedly crossed her arms across her chest as he turned around.

‘Okay, I’ve finished,’ the physio reported. ‘Though I doubt the pins on Ms Ross’s dress will hold for long.’

‘Right, let’s go,’ Ethan snapped, having thanked the girl.

‘Go where?’ Savannah held back nervously as the physio gave her a sympathetic look.

‘Ms Ross, I know you’ve had a shock, but there are paparazzi crawling all over the building. Don’t worry about your bag now,’ Ethan said briskly when Savannah gazed down the tunnel. ‘Your things will be sent on to you.’

‘Sent where?’

‘Just come with me, please.’

‘Come with you where?’ The thought of going anywhere with Ethan Alexander terrified her. He was such an imposing man, and an impatient one, but with all the paparazzi in the building the thought of not going with him terrified her even more.

‘After you,’ he said, giving her no option as he stood in a way that barred her getting past him.

‘Where did you say we were going?’

‘I didn’t say.’

Savannah’s nerve deserted her completely. She wasn’t going anywhere with a man she didn’t know, even if that man was her boss. ‘You go. I’ll be fine. I’ll get a cab.’

‘I brought you to Rome, and like it or not while you’re here you’re my responsibility.’

He didn’t like it at all, she gathered, which left one simple question: did she want this recording contract or not? She couldn’t take the chance of losing it, Savannah realised. She hadn’t come to Rome to sabotage her career. She might not like Ethan’s manner, but she was here on his time. Plus, she didn’t know Rome. If her only interest was getting home as quickly as possible, wasn’t he her best hope?

She had to run to keep up with him, and then he stopped so suddenly she almost bumped into him. Looking up, Savannah found herself staring into a face that was even more cruelly scarred than she had remembered. Instead of recoiling, she registered a great well of feeling opening up inside her heart. It was almost as if something strong and primal was urging her to heal him, to press cream into those wounds, and to … love him?

This situation was definitely getting out of hand, Savannah concluded, pulling herself together, to find Ethan giving her an assessing look as if to warn her that just looking at him too closely was a dangerous game well out of her league. ‘It’s important we leave now,’ he prompted as if she were some weakling he had been forced to babysit.

‘I’m ready.’ She held his gaze steadily. This was not a time to be proud. She didn’t want to do battle with the paparazzi on her own, and she would be safer with Ethan. There were times when having a strong man at your side was a distinct advantage. But she wouldn’t have him think her a fool either.

‘After you.’ Opening the door for her, he stood aside.

He looked more like a swarthy buccaneer than a businessman, and exuded the sort of earthy maleness she had always been drawn to. Her fantasies were full of pirates and cowboys, roughnecks and marines, though none of them had possessed lips as firm and sensual as Ethan’s, and his hand in the small of her back was an incendiary device propelling her forward.

‘What’s wrong now?’ he said impatiently when she stopped outside to shade her eyes.

‘I was just looking for a taxi rank.’ By far the safest option, she had decided.

‘A taxi rank?’ Ethan’s voice was scathing. ‘Do you want to attract more publicity? Don’t worry, Ms Ross, you’ll be quite safe with me.’

But would she? That was Savannah’s cue for stepping back inside the stadium building. ‘I’m sure someone will find the number of a cab company for me.’

‘Please yourself.’

She couldn’t have been more shocked when Ethan stormed ahead, letting the door swing in her face. Defiantly, she pushed it open again. ‘You’re leaving me?’

‘That’s what you want, isn’t it?’ he called back as he marched away. ‘And as you don’t need my help …’

‘Just a minute.’

‘You changed your mind?’

Savannah’s heart lurched as Ethan turned to look at her. ‘No, but.’

‘But what?’ He kept on walking.

‘I need directions to the nearest taxi rank, and I thought you might know where I should look.’ She had to run to keep up with him, which wasn’t easy in high-heeled shoes, not to mention yards of taffeta winding itself like a malevolent red snake around her feet.

‘Find someone else to help you.’

‘Ethan, please!’ She would have to swallow her pride if it meant saving her parents more embarrassment. ‘Can you really get us out of here without the paparazzi seeing?’

He stopped and slowly turned around. ‘Can I get us out of here?’

The look of male confidence blazing from his eyes was at its purest. When she should be considering a thousand other things—like how long before the paparazzi found them, for example—a bolt of lust chose that moment to race down her spine. His eyes were the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen, deep grey, with just a hint of duckegg blue, and they had very white whites, as well as the most ridiculously long black lashes.

‘I’m done waiting for you, Ms Ross.’

He was off again, but this time he grabbed her arm and took her with him. Savannah yelped with surprise. ‘Where are we going?’

‘To something that travels a lot faster than a taxi,’ he grated without slowing down.

What did he mean—a helicopter? Of course. She should have known. Like all the super-rich, Ethan would hardly call a cab when he could fly home. ‘Can we slow down just a bit?”

‘And talk this through?’ he scoffed without breaking stride. ‘We can take all the time in the world if you want the paparazzi to find you.’

‘You know I don’t want that!’ Okay, no reason to worry, Savannah told herself. They would fly straight to the airport in Ethan’s helicopter, from where she’d fly home. Traffic snarl-ups were reserved for mere mortals like herself. In no time Ethan would be back in his seat at the stadium ready for the second half, while she returned to England and her nice, safe fantasies. Perfect.

Or at least it was until a door burst open and the press-hounds barrelled out. It only took one of them to catch sight of Ethan and Savannah for the whole pack to give chase.

‘This way,’ Ethan commanded, swinging Savannah in front of him. Opening a door, he thrust her through it and, slamming it shut, he shot the bolt home.

If she hadn’t left her sensible sneakers in the tunnel she might have been able to run faster, Savannah fretted as Ethan took the stairs two at a time, but now the straps on her stratospheric heels were threatening to snap.

‘Leave them!’ he ordered as she bent down to take them off. ‘Or, better still, snap those heels off.’

‘Are you joking?’

‘Take them off!’ he roared.

‘I’m going to keep them,’ Savannah insisted stubbornly.

‘Do what you like with them,’ he said, snatching hold of her arm, half-lifting her to safety down another flight of steps. ‘And hitch up your skirt while you’re at it, before you trip over it,’ he said, checking outside the next door before rushing her out into the open air again. ‘Your skirt—hitch it up!’

Hitch it up? The photographers would surely be on them in moments, and when that happened she didn’t want to look like a …

‘Do it!’

‘I’m doing it!’ she yelled, startled into action. But she wouldn’t ruin the shoes her mother had bought her. Or Madame’s dress. Slipping off her high-heeled sandals as quickly as she could, Savannah bundled up the gown, noting she barely reached Ethan’s shoulder now. Also noting he barely seemed to notice her naked legs, which shouldn’t bother her, but for some reason did.

‘Come on,’ he rapped impatiently, still averting his gaze. ‘There’s no time to lose.’ Taking her arm, he urged her on.

Savannah was totally incapable of speech by the time they’d crossed the car park. Yet still Ethan was merciless. ‘There’s no time for that,’ he assured her when she rested with her hands on her knees to catch her breath.

Straightening up, she stared at him. She didn’t know this man. She didn’t know anything about him, other than the fact that his reputation was well deserved. The Bear was a dark and formidable man, whom she found incredibly intimidating. And she was going who knew where with him. ‘You still haven’t told me where we’re going.’

‘There’s no time!’

‘But you do have a helicopter waiting?’

‘A helicopter?’ Ethan glanced towards the roof where the helipad was situated.

He had a helicopter there, all right, she could see the logo of a bear on the tail. She could also see the scrum of photographers gathered round it.

‘A useful distraction,’ Ethan told her with satisfaction.

A red herring, Savannah realised, to put the paparazzi off the trail. ‘So what now?’

‘Now you can sit,’ he promised, dangling a set of keys in front of her face.

Ah … She relaxed a little at the thought that life was about to take on a more regular beat. She should have known Ethan would have a car here. His driver would no doubt take them straight to the airport, where the helicopter would meet him and she would fly home. She was guilty of overreacting again. Ethan was entitled to his privacy. He’d taken her out of reach of the paparazzi and saved her and her parents any further humiliation. She should be grateful to him. But she still felt a little apprehensive.