hell had just happened?
She remembered wandering away from the camera tests while they set up the lights and finding these quiet stables. She loved horses, so she had come in to investigate.
Then the peace had been shattered when this man had appeared in the courtyard on a huge black stallion. He’d swung down off the horse’s back and from that moment on everything had got a little hazy.
Lexie had been mesmerised by his powerful physique and the play of muscles under his close-fitting polo top and jodhpurs as he’d tended to the horse. And that had been before she’d seen his face properly. When he’d heard her and turned around.
He was stunning. Beautiful. But with a masculine edge that made ‘beautiful’ sound too...pretty. He was hard. Edgy. Dark. Messy dark blond hair. A sensually sculpted mouth surrounded by stubble shadowing a very masculine jaw.
But it was his eyes that rendered Lexie a bit stupid and mute even now, as he waited for her reply. They were green—unusual and stark against dark olive skin. Not hazel, or golden, or light green. Something between all three. Unnerving. Mesmerising.
And he smelled of man. Sweat and musk and heat. Along with something tangy. Woodsy.
Lexie shook her head, as if that might make all this disappear. Maybe she was having some bizarre dream. Because she knew that what had just happened was unprecedented. She did not react to complete strangers by letting them kiss her, or by feeling as if she’d die if they didn’t keep kissing her.
She remembered his big hands around her waist, then reaching under her skirts to pull them up, and how she’d burned between her legs for him to touch her there.
Now was most definitely not the time to be assimilating that cataclysmic information.
‘I’m...’ She stopped, her tongue feeling heavy in her mouth. She tried again. ‘I’m Lexie Anderson. I’m with the film.’
Lexie’s face burned when she realised exactly how she was dressed, and how this man’s eyes had widened when he’d seen her. Belatedly self-conscious, she went to cross her arms but realised the corset only made things worse—especially when those green eyes dropped to her heaving flesh again.
Feeling trapped now—literally backed into a corner—and not liking it, Lexie forced her legs to move, wobbly as they were, and stepped cautiously around him.
He turned to face her. Eyes cool, unreadable. Hands clenched into fists by his sides. ‘You’re Lexie Anderson...the lead actress?’
She nodded.
He looked at her, his eyes no longer unreadable now. Angry. ‘And how did you get in here?’
She blinked, not understanding for a moment. ‘I didn’t see any sign or a gate...I just saw the horses—’
‘It’s off-limits here. You should leave—now.’
Anger gripped Lexie. She’d just behaved in a way that was completely out of character. The last thing she needed was to feel the lash of his censure. Stiffly, she replied, ‘I didn’t realise this was off-limits. If you can tell me how to get back to the unit base, I’ll happily leave.’
His voice was harsh, curt. ‘Turn left. It’s at the end of the lane and to your right.’
Seething inwardly now, because she had been overcome by the first rush of physical desire she’d ever felt, and it had been for some anonymous person who worked at the castle and not even someone she knew or who was particularly charming, Lexie stalked off, tense as a board.
Then she heard the man curse and he commanded, ‘Wait. Stop.’
Lexie stopped, breathing hard, and turned reluctantly again, rigid with tension.
He walked towards her, his movements powerfully agile, and she stepped back. His eyes flashed but she just tipped up her chin. What was wrong with her judgement? There wasn’t anything remotely forgiving or alluring about this man. He was all hard edges and brooding energy.
He looked grim. ‘That was a paparazzo. He got our picture.’
She’d forgotten. Her brain was refusing to work properly. Lexie could feel her blood draining south. The man must have feared she was about to faint or something, because he took her arm and none too gently drew her over to a haystack by the entrance, where he all but pushed her down onto it.
She ripped her arm free and glared up at him, hating the betraying quiver in her belly at his touch. ‘There’s no need to manhandle me. I’m perfectly fine.’
As if to confirm her worst suspicions, the young groom came running back, his face red.
‘Well?’ barked the man.
Lexie felt like standing up and telling him to go and take out his aggression on someone his own size, but she was disgusted to feel that her legs might not hold her up.
‘Señor Da Silva...’
The groom spoke quickly after that, in incomprehensible Spanish, but Lexie was now gaping at the tall, angry man who was answering equally gutturally and quickly, making the groom turn puce and rush off again.
Lexie was too shocked to care for the groom’s welfare any more. He turned back to her and she said faintly, ‘You’re Cesar Da Silva...?’
‘Yes.’
He didn’t seem to be too thrilled she’d made the connection. She’d thought he was a worker! Lexie hadn’t recognised him as the owner of this entire estate because he was famously reclusive. Also, she’d never expected the Cesar Da Silva to be so young and gorgeous.
She had to will down her mortification when she thought of how she’d been all but crawling all over him like a hungry little kitten only minutes before. Begging. ‘Please.’
Oh, God.
She stood up. She had to get out of here. This was not her. She’d been invaded by some kind of body-snatcher.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
Lexie looked at him. Anger flashed up again—at him and herself. She put her hands on her hips. ‘You just told me to leave, didn’t you? So I’m leaving.’
She moved around him again, towards the entrance, relieved that her legs were working.
‘Wait.’
Lexie stopped and sighed heavily, turned around. She arched a brow, hiding how damn intimidating she thought he was. ‘What now?’
He couldn’t have looked more stern. ‘That photographer got away. My groom saw him get into a car before any of the security guards could be alerted. I would imagine that right about now he’s emailing pictures of us to any number of agencies around the world.’
Lexie felt sick. She felt even sicker to think that she was potentially going to be splashed across the tabloids again. And with Cesar Da Silva, one of the most reclusive billionaires in the world. It would be a sensation and it was the last thing she needed—more intense media interest.
She
