her.
Poppy pushed aside the memory of his tension as he’d walked beside her. He’d been shaking, muscles bunched and rigid. She’d been foolish enough to feel sorry for him, reading the stress in his tight jaw and pale face.
No more!
She wasn’t her mother to be swayed so easily by sympathy for a man who despised her.
She wasn’t that self-destructive.
‘The car is just a couple of metres away.’ She turned and pushed her way through the throng.
They were silent on the way to the airport. Twice Poppy opened her mouth to give Orsino an indignant blast and twice she caught the driver sneaking a peek at them in the rear-view mirror and looked away.
That kiss would be all over the press. The last thing she needed was an eyewitness account of her and Orsino arguing.
Restlessly she pulled the tie from her hair, scooped back the stray curls that had escaped and twisted the mass high on her head, tugging so tight she winced.
Good. A bit of pain might knock some sense into her. What had she been thinking, letting Orsino kiss her?
There was a jittery, excited feeling in her stomach. Horror, she assured herself, not excitement.
She shifted in her seat, unable to repress the shivers tightening her skin.
Finally they arrived at the airport, but instead of drawing up at the terminal, the car went to a private entrance. They passed security staff and drove onto the tarmac where a sleek jet stood, its door open and staff waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
‘A private jet? That’s how you travel now?’
‘Not usually. But it seemed most convenient in the circumstances.’ A quick gesture encompassed his glasses and plastered arm. He sounded perfectly composed. No roiling stomach for Orsino after that scene in front of the paparazzi. No regrets or concerns.
Poppy’s fingers curled till the nails bit her palms. She wished she could be so blasé.
‘The hotel business must be booming.’ She shoved open her door and swung her legs out.
‘I’m not in the hotel business.’
Something in his voice made her turn in time to see him flatten his lips as if in distaste.
Poppy tilted her head, watching his long fingersflex then clench into a fist. She frowned. Orsino was so good at guarding his thoughts. Did he realise the tension he was signalling?
‘I know you don’t have to work for a crust, Orsino.’ Carefully she kept her voice neutral. His attitude to her career had never been supportive, as if he couldn’t understand her need to pay her own way. ‘But your family fortune comes from hotels. It’s the same thing.’
He opened his mouth as if to say something then paused. ‘The jet belongs to a friend,’ he said at last.
Poppy hesitated, about to call him on his blatant change of subject then shrugged. She wasn’t interested in what made Orsino tick. He’d cured her of caring.
Twenty minutes later they were finally alone, seated on opposite sides of the cabin. The plane had lifted off and the steward had retired to the galley after serving drinks.
‘What the hell did you think you were doing back there, Orsino?’ Her outrage hadn’t abated. Her fingers were white-knuckled around her glass.
‘Where?’ He turned his head towards her but his expression was unreadable behind those glasses.
‘Oh, don’t be so coy.’ She all but grated her teeth together. ‘Outside the hospital.’
‘What? The kiss?’
‘Of course, the kiss.’ Heat saturated her skin at the nerve of the man pretending not to understand. ‘What did you think gave you the right to do that?’
Above the dark glasses one black eyebrow arched. ‘A husband’s right?’ he purred in a whisky-deep voice.
‘A husband’s—!’ Her words were cut off as she surged upwards, only to find herself restrained by the seatbelt. With a fumbled click she freed herself and shot to her feet, stalking across the luxurious lounge to stand before him. She shook with the force of her indignation.
‘How many times do we have to go through