do.’ He didn’t really want to talk about her press coverage.
‘It’s just easier,’ she continued, a surprising tremble in her voice, ‘to try to control it. Or at least feel like you do. You know?’ She turned to face him, and he saw a new vulnerability shining in her eyes, making them glitter like sunlight off a puddle.
He stared at her, sifting her words, looking for truth. ‘Are you saying you seek that kind of publicity because it makes you feel better?’ he asked, and heard the blatant disbelief in his voice. As someone who had avoided that kind of attention forever, it seemed like an incredibly foolish thing to do.
She stared back at him, her eyes shadowed. Guarded. ‘That and I can’t get enough of seeing myself in the papers,’ she said lightly, and Ben knew she wasn’t telling the truth. She was hiding behind another cutting, self-deprecating remark because that was what she did. Everyone had their defense mechanisms, their ways to stay safe. Natalia’s just happened to be very different than his.
Her expression lightened and she gave him a challenging smile, all traces of vulnerability gone. ‘You know what I think you’re scared of?’
He eyed her in wary bemusement. ‘What?’
‘Of being scared.’
‘The only thing we have to fear is fear itself?’ he quoted drily.
‘Roosevelt said it better, I suppose, but it’s still true. You’re afraid of feeling weak and out of control and helpless.’
Ben’s hand tightened on the controls. He felt as if she’d just flayed him alive with her words, her perception. ‘I didn’t know you were such a history buff,’ he finally said, and she laughed softly.
‘I’m not the only one who likes to deflect personal questions, I see.’
‘Well, that was really quite personal.’
‘And true.’
‘So why are you scared of the dark?’ he asked, and felt Natalia tense. Amazed at how attuned he was to her moods and her body. He glanced at her, saw the strap of her dress had fallen a little down one golden shoulder. Yes, definitely her body.
‘Does there have to be a reason?’
‘There usually is.’
‘Why are you scared of being scared?’ she shot back, and suddenly Ben burst out laughing.
‘Oh, Princess,’ he said, ‘maybe we should change the subject. Two guarded people asking each other invasive questions is surely a recipe for disaster.’
‘Or at least a few awkward pauses,’ Natalia agreed with a little laugh of her own. ‘Fine. How long have you had your pilot’s license?’
‘I never actually said I had my pilot’s license.’
She widened her eyes in mock horror. ‘You lied to me?’
‘Five years.’
‘Why do you like flying?’
‘This is starting to get personal, Princess.’
‘Really? That’s personal? You are quite the closed book.’
‘So are you.’ He slid her a thoughtful look. ‘A lot more closed than I thought.’ With more secrets and depths than he’d realised. Or even wanted.
She turned away from him and he could see the curve of her cheek, the angle of her jaw. In profile she seemed softer somehow. Vulnerable. He felt that protective tug again and resented it. They should stop this conversation. He didn’t actually want to get close with someone like Natalia.
Did he?
Yet as the darkness of the sky and sea stretched out in front of them, Ben realised he didn’t know what he wanted any more.
Natalia stared out at the darkness dropping like a velvet curtain all around them. Far below she could see a few twinkling lights, perhaps from a pleasure yacht cruising on the Mediterranean. She felt bizarrely unsettled and excited at the same time. Talking to Ben had energised her in a way nothing else had or could. Scared her too. She wasn’t used to telling anybody … well, anything. At least, anything important.
And yet in the space of a few minutes she’d told Ben secrets no one else knew, like her fear of the dark. Why she courted the press. What was it about this man, Natalia wondered, that made her want to spill her secrets? Be known?
‘You didn’t actually tell me where we’re going,’ she said, determined to keep the conversation light. Impersonal. Surely that was what Ben wanted too.
‘Rome.’
‘Very nice. What restaurant?’
‘Il Pagliaccio, on via dei Banchi.’
Natalia nodded. She knew it to be sophisticated, elegant and discreet. She leaned forward to gaze out at the sweep of sea below them, now barely visible in the darkness of night. ‘So you keep a plane on the island? Is that how you get back and forth from London?’
‘Gene rally.’
‘How long are you going to stay on Santina? It must be difficult to be away from work for so long.’
‘I telecommute, but no, it’s not ideal. I’ll stay till the end of the camp, wrap a few things up and then head back to London.’
So a couple of more weeks at most. Natalia felt an icy plunging sensation in her stomach, and realised it was disappointment. How ridiculous. She didn’t even like Ben Jackson … except she couldn’t really say that any more, could she? She was certainly attracted to him. And she was afraid she might feel even more than that. There was something so steady about Ben, so strong and true. She trusted him … perhaps even with her secrets.
She glanced over at him, his gaze steady on the sky, his hands relaxed on the controls. She let her gaze wander over the strong line of his jaw, the powerful curve of his shoulder, the crisp whiteness of his shirt emphasising the tanned column of his throat. He was a beautiful man, she thought with a throb of desire. She wanted to run her fingers along his jaw, loosen that tie and undo the buttons of his shirt, spread her hands along the taut, warm skin of his bare chest… ?.
With a gulp Natalia turned away to stare blindly out the window. How was she going to get through this evening without touching him?
‘Just a few more minutes,’ Ben said, jerking her from her dazed thoughts, and she managed a smile and a stiff nod.
‘Wonderful.’
A chauffeured limousine was waiting for them at the airport. Ben placed a hand low on Natalia’s back as he guided her into the car. She could feel the heat of his fingers through the thin fabric of her dress, felt her body’s basic and instinctive response to that gentle pressure. This was, she thought with a flutter of panic, going to be a very long evening.
A different kind of anxiety assailed her as they entered the elegant interior of Il Pagliaccio. What did these clients of Ben’s know about her? What had they read—and what had they
