the risks were, and yet he’d gone and done it anyway. Recklessly. Stupidly. And he knew why, even if he didn’t like the reason.
Because he wanted her.
He wanted her physically, had been so close to kissing her last night he’d almost tasted the sweetness of her lips, better than any champagne they could have drunk. His hands had ached to slide along the lush curves encased in that tight little skirt, slip beneath the snug T-shirt and touch the warm golden skin underneath.
He’d never wanted a woman so much, felt desire so painfully, and yet that wasn’t what infuriated him. It was the other, more dangerous wanting. He wanted to believe there was more to her than the shallow, party-going princess. Wanted to trust those glimpses of raw vulnerability and courage. Wanted more.
And there was more to her, he thought grimly. She was a vindictive, selfish bitch as well. He’d asked her out for a simple drink, and she’d used the opportunity—and him—shamelessly. He glanced up at his three employees. ‘If the press rings, tell them we have no comment and the camp will go ahead as planned. And,’ he finished, his voice sharpening, ‘when Natalia arrives, tell her to see me immediately.’ They nodded, and with a jerk of his head he dismissed them.
Alone in his office Ben took the newspaper and scanned the front page article once more. It was just as infuriating upon the second reading. The Santina family exploits, he saw, took up most of the tabloid’s pages. Alessandro and Allegra’s engagement took second place to other, more salacious events. Princess Sophia, apparently, had eloped to India with a maharajah. Carlotta, the disgraced single mum, was now in the company of some jilted prince. And Natalia had had the gall to accuse his family of bad behaviour!
He glanced at the photo of him and Natalia in front of the wine bar. It looked all too much like some kind of lovers’ embrace. His arm was snugged around her waist, her head upon his shoulder. And the other photo … a carefully angled picture of them standing close together at the restaurant, with the accompanying caption: Charity Work a Cover for Natalia’s Next Conquest?
Disgust and anger roiled in his stomach and he threw the newspaper down again. She’d planned it all perfectly, and played him for a complete fool.
A light knock sounded on the door, and then Natalia poked her head in, a small smile playing around her mouth, her eyebrows arched. Was she actually smirking? Ben rose from his desk.
‘Come in,’ he said coldly. ‘And shut the door behind you.’
‘Ooh, somebody didn’t sleep well,’ Natalia remarked as she closed the door and came to stand in front of his desk.
‘You aren’t wearing your T-shirt,’ Ben said, knowing it was probably the most inane thing he could have said but unable to keep from noticing. She wore a slim black pencil skirt and crisp white blouse, standard office wear, and yet somehow on her it looked as sexy and inappropriate as a black lace negligee. He could not keep his gaze from roving down those endless legs encased in sheer black tights, ending in high black stiletto heels. The skirt emphasised the perfect curve of her hip and thigh, and she’d left the white blouse unbuttoned at the throat, a silver pendant nestling in the shadowy, golden V between her breasts.
‘I had to have it washed,’ Natalia told him. ‘So if it really is required uniform, perhaps you could find a spare?’
He nodded tersely, not wanting to dwell on it or how enticing she looked in the clothes she’d chosen to wear. He shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place. ‘Tell me, Natalia, how is it that in twenty-four hours you’ve managed to put this entire enterprise into complete disarray?’
‘Natural talent, I suppose.’
Ben planted his fists on his desk and leaned forward. ‘Do you realise,’ he demanded, ‘how much harm your stupid little ploy has caused?’
Natalia blinked, surprise flashing across her features at the restrained fury in his tone. Then her face cleared of all expression except perhaps boredom. ‘Which stupid little ploy,’ she drawled, ‘are you referring to?’
‘You didn’t read the papers this morning?’
‘I make a point never to look at them.’
‘How surprising. I would have thought you’d enjoy such an exercise.’
‘Just more proof of how little you know me.’
‘What I know,’ Ben gritted, ‘is your little plan to take my employees out to lunch and then trip all over me worked admirably. The press have sunk their teeth into the story and are claiming the only reason I’m sponsoring this sports camp is as a cover to get into your bed.’
‘How ridiculous,’ she scoffed. ‘Surely there’s an easier way to get into my bed.’
For a split second Ben once again had the bizarre sense that she was putting herself down on purpose, and he felt his anger drain away. He realized he was overreacting, and he knew it was because of his own experiences with the press. Still he could not get the bitter taste out of his mouth, the sickening feeling of being used and manipulated simply for the sake of a photograph. ‘Read that,’ he said, thrusting a paper into her hands.
She took it, glancing down at it without seeming to really read it. After a few seconds she tossed it back onto the desk. ‘All of it drivel. Just ignore it. It’s just a trashy tabloid anyway.’
‘Did you read it?’ Ben demanded, and she blinked.
‘I scanned it.’
‘Did you see the accusations they were making against the camp?’
She lifted one slender shoulder in an aggravatingly dismissive shrug. ‘It’s just gossip.’
‘Which you obviously don’t care about,’ Ben snapped, ‘based on how heavily you’re featured in these rags. I know you court the tabloids, Princess. You make sure they get all the photos they want of you at all your high-flying parties.’ She said nothing, only lifted her chin in challenge, which infuriated him all the more. ‘I read an astonishingly thorough exposé of an affair you had with some Frenchman,’ he drawled, ‘including rather intimate details you were clearly happy to provide.’
She stilled, and Ben had an odd sense that she’d somehow retreated from him even though she hadn’t moved. ‘You’ve really done your research, Ben,’ she said with a cool little smile. ‘I’m so impressed.’
‘Trust me, it didn’t take much. Just pick up a paper.’
‘You’ve made your point.’
Ben sighed, raking a hand through his hair. ‘My point, Natalia, is that I run a respectable business, with sensitive, high-profile clients who come to me for discreet financial advice. This kind of exposure is exactly what I don’t want and can’t have.’
‘Then maybe you shouldn’t have asked me to volunteer.’
‘Maybe I shouldn’t have,’ Ben agreed. He’d thought he could handle the press, handle her, but right now he felt like he couldn’t. He felt like he was spinning out of control, and not just because of the press. Because of her.
‘So,’ Natalia said, ‘is that it? You lasted one day with me?’
‘Not
