against his groin. At last things were getting interesting.
Maybe he didn’t hate modeling so much, after all.
Franco cleared his throat. “Well, this is awkward,” he whispered, sending a ripple through Diana’s thick dark hair.
He tried his best not to think about how soft that hair felt against his cheek or how much her heady floral scent reminded him of buttery-yellow orchids growing wild on the vine in Argentina.
“Awkward?” Diana shot him a glare over her shoulder. “From what I hear, you’re used to this kind of thing.”
He tightened his grip on her tiny waist. “And here I thought you didn’t remember me.”
“You’re impossible,” Diana said under her breath, wiggling uncomfortably in his arms.
“That’s not what you said the last time we were in this position.”
“Oh, my God, you did not just say that.” This was the Diana Drake he remembered. Fiery. Bold.
“Nice.” Artem strode toward them, nodding. “I like it. Against the sunset, you two look gorgeous. Edgy. Intimate.”
Diana shook her head. “Artem, you’re not serious.”
“Actually, I am. Here.” He lifted his hand. A sparkling diamond and sapphire necklace dangled from it with a center stone nearly as large as a polo ball. “Put this around your neck, Diana.”
Diana crossed her arms. “Really, I’m not sure I should be part of this.”
“It’s just one picture out of hundreds. We probably won’t even use it. The campaign is for cuff links, remember? Humor me, sis. Put it on.” He arched a brow. “Besides, I thought you were interested in exploring other career opportunities around here.”
She snatched the jewels out of his hands. “Fine.”
Career opportunities?
“You’re not working here, are you?” Franco murmured, barely loud enough for her to hear.
Granted, her last name was Drake. But why on earth would she give up a grand prix riding career to peddle diamonds?
“As a matter of fact, I am,” she said primly.
“Why? If memory serves, you belong on a medal stand. Not here.”
“Why do you care?” she asked through clenched teeth as the photographer snapped away.
Good question. “I don’t.”
“Fine.”
But it wasn’t fine. He did care, damn it. He shouldn’t, but he did.
He would have given his left arm to be on horseback right now, and Diana Drake was working as a salesgirl when she could have been riding her way to the Olympics. What was she thinking? “It just seems like a phenomenal waste of talent. Be honest. You miss it, don’t you?”
Her fingertips trembled and she nearly dropped the necklace down her blouse.
Franco covered her hands with his. “Here, let me help.”
“I can do it,” she snapped.
Franco sighed. “Look, the faster we get this picture taken, the faster all this will be over.”
He bowed his head to get a closer look at the catch on the necklace, and his lips brushed perilously close to the elegant curve of her neck. She glanced at him over her shoulder, and for a sliver of a moment, her gaze dropped to his mouth. She let out a tremulous breath, and Franco could have sworn he heard a kittenish noise escape her lips.
Her reaction aroused him more than it should have, which he blamed on his newfound celibacy.
This lifestyle was going to prove more challenging than he’d anticipated.
But that was okay. Franco had never been the kind of man who backed down from a challenge. On the contrary, he relished it. He’d always played his best polo when facing his toughest opponents. Adversity brought out the best in Franco. He’d learned that lesson the hard way.
A long time ago.
Another time, another place.
“You two are breathtaking,” the photographer said. “Diana, open the collar of your blouse just a bit so we can get a better view of the sapphire.”
She obeyed, and Franco found himself momentarily spellbound by the graceful contours of her collarbones. Her skin was lovely. Luminous and pale beside the brilliant blue of the sapphire around her neck.
“Okay, I think we’ve got it.” The photographer lowered her camera.
“We’re finished?” Diana asked.
“Yes, all done.”
“Excellent.” She started walking away without so much as a backward glance.
“Aren’t you forgetting something, mi cielo?” he said.
She spun back around, face flushed. He’d seen her wear that same heated expression during competition. “What?”
He held up his wrists. “Your cuff links.”
“Oh. Um. Yes, thank you.” She unfastened them and gathered them in her closed fist. “Goodbye, Mr. Andrade.”
She squared her shoulders and slipped past him. All business.
But Franco wasn’t fooled. He’d seen the tremble in her fingertips as she’d loosened the cuffs of his shirt. She’d been shaking like a leaf, which struck him as profoundly odd.
Diana may have pretended to forget him, but he remembered her all too well. There wasn’t a timid bone in her body, which had made her beyond memorable. She was confidence personified. It was one of the qualities that made her such an excellent rider.
If Diana Drake was anything, it was fearless. In the best possible way. She possessed the kind of tenacity that couldn’t be taught. It was natural. Inborn. Like a person’s height. Or the tone of her voice.
Or eyes the color of violets.
But people changed, didn’t they? It happened all the time.
It had to. Franco was counting on it.
Diana was running late for work.
Since the day of the mortifying photo shoot, she’d begun to dread the tenth-floor showroom with more fervor than ever before. Every time she looked up from one of the jewelry cases, she half expected to see Franco Andrade strolling toward her with a knowing look in his eyes and a smug grin on his handsome face. It was a ridiculous thing to worry about, of course. He had no reason to return
