answer all your questions. At least—’ Ethan tempered with a glint in his eyes ‘—those I am prepared to.’
This made the reporters laugh, and as Ethan turned to glance at Savannah she felt her body respond. ‘Of course, I can’t speak for Ms Ross,’ he added, with another of those dangerously addictive, reassuring squeezes.
As the noise of conversation fell Savannah realised how tense she had become. Pressed up hard against Ethan, she had grown as stiff as a board. Ethan, of course, had no such inhibitions, and was perfectly relaxed in the spotlight. He felt great—fantastic, in fact—warm, strong and in control. The first surprise he launched was to announce that she had his full authority to say anything she wanted to say about their relationship.
Their relationship?
‘Not that Ms Ross needs my authority to do so,’ he added with an engaging shrug. ‘She’s got plenty to say for herself.’ Ethan’s eyes were darkly amused as he turned to her for confirmation. He went on to agree to answer three questions. After which he was sure they’d all want to get away. ‘So choose wisely,’ he added, which brought another chuckle from the crowd.
He’d got them in the palm of his hand, Savannah realised. The female reporters were practically panting to be first to ask him questions. They might as well have called out, ‘Choose me! Choose me!’ she thought tensely as a forest of red-gloss-tipped hands shot up. How were they supposed to resist Ethan’s wicked smile when it was sending seismic signals through her own system? And something told her this was just the tip of the iceberg where Ethan’s charm offensive was concerned.
So, was she jealous? And since when? Since she realised she couldn’t have him. She might not be able to have him, but did she want other women going there? Now she was supposed to convince him she knew this was only an act for the press. Well, she’d give it her best shot.
The first question came from a young woman, who moistened her lips and arranged them in a pout before asking him, ‘So, do you deny there is a relationship between yourself and your protégée, Ethan?’
‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘Why should I?’
‘But Ms Ross said—’
He didn’t even blink, though he couldn’t have had a clue what she had said. ‘Miss Ross was trying to protect me …’ As Ethan turned to look at her and his voice softened, his eyes held everything she could have hoped for.
Except sincerity, Savannah registered, meeting Ethan’s gaze and holding it so that he was in no doubt that she knew this was all pretence. He got the message loud and clear. There was more humour in his gaze than anything else—humour and warmth—which was a devastating combination in such a dark, forbidding man, and all the warning she needed to keep her feelings for Ethan in check.
‘So you and Ms Ross are an item?’ the same girl pressed.
‘Take care.’ Ethan cut in like this was a game. ‘That’s your second question. Don’t you think you should give someone else a chance?’
Reluctantly, the girl stepped back.
‘Are you and Ms Ross an item?’ A well-known wily reporter from a national television-station asked the same question, with more relaxed laughter.
‘Ms Ross has already given you her answer—and, before you ask me to confirm what she’s said, please think about your stories and how you’re going to flesh them out. The tycoon leaving the stadium with his star performer can only be old news now, right?’
Ethan’s audacity made Savannah gasp. Was he going to write the press release for the reporters? From hunted to hunter in the space of a few seconds was not bad going, she reflected, even as the wily reporter pressed his lips down in acknowledgement of a worthy foe. ‘But you must admit it’s a great headline?’ he said, launching his own fishing expedition.
‘Is that question two or three?’ Ethan’s eyes were glinting with challenge, and Savannah knew he was enjoying this. Everything was a game to Ethan, a game he was determined to win.
‘Will Ms Ross be staying at the palazzo with you for long?’ The reporter waited patiently for Ethan to reply while the rest held a collective breath.
‘As long as she likes,’ Ethan said, turning to look at Savannah when she started to protest.
Okay, so she was only trying to defend Ethan’s dignity—forget her honour; he clearly had. Pulling her tight, Ethan kissed away her protest, leaving her trembling like a leaf and everyone else gasping. ‘Which means Miss Ross might be here quite some time,’ he announced.
By the time Ethan released her she was fit for nothing, and even the reporters were still reeling with surprise that the famous recluse had come out. Ethan, of course, was completely unmoved, and continued his verbal jousting as if nothing unusual had happened.
So, what was he was up to? Disarming the press with more truth than they could handle? Even she wasn’t naïve enough to believe that. His behaviour towards her had to be an act. She should have known better than to try and fight Ethan’s battles in his own back yard. He was hardly the type to let her take over.
As cameras swivelled to take a better shot of her, Savannah’s arms flew up instinctively to shield her face, and in that same moment Ethan stepped in front of her. ‘We have a deal,’ he told everyone firmly. ‘And I expect you to honour that agreement, as I shall. I answer your questions, and in return you respect our privacy.’
Ethan’s back cut off Savannah’s view of the proceedings, but her pulse pounded a reminder that Ethan was a warrior who wouldn’t allow her to stand alone. That didn’t mean he felt the same about her as she felt about him, just that he was a natural born protector. She longed to tell the press that, whatever the future held for them, she adored Ethan Alexander and always would.
‘And your third and last question?’ Ethan prompted, reclaiming Savannah’s attention as he drew her close.
‘How long do you expect this liaison to last, Ethan?’ the reporter asked him, making the word liaison sound sordid.
Savannah felt Ethan’s grip change and soften, instead of growing angry, and she realised that she could have walked away from him at that point, had she wanted to.
‘Don’t you think it would be more chivalrous if you addressed that question to Ms Ross?’ Ethan’s tone was neutral, almost as if he was condoning the reporter’s scathing tone. But as the reporter turned to her Savannah felt very strongly that Ethan had played some clever move.
‘Well, Ms Ross?’ the reporter demanded.
Before she could answer, Ethan held up his hand. ‘You’ve had your three questions,’ he pointed out wryly.
As a clamour of protest threatened to break out, Ethan smiled at her. ‘Why don’t we pose for an official photograph?’ he suggested.
‘Are you serious?’ Savannah said incredulously, still reeling from Ethan’s killer move.
‘Never more so.’
As Ethan’s mouth quirked with familiar humour, Savannah realised she trusted him. It was that simple and that complicated, she thought, taking her place standing at Ethan’s side.
That
