For a second she felt horribly exposed, as if he’d just stripped her clothes, or even her skin, right off in the middle of the restaurant. Ben gazed at her with that same thoughtful seriousness, and Natalia scrambled to regain her equanimity. Her armour.
She raised one hand, waggling her fingers. ‘Filing is murder on the nails. I wanted to keep my manicure.’
His mouth tightened, although his expression remained thoughtful. Knowing. ‘You’ll have to say goodbye to your nails next week, when the camp starts. I doubt your manicure will survive on the football pitch.’
‘Yes, and just what do you expect me to do on a football pitch?’
‘Whatever needs doing,’ Ben replied. His tone was equable, and yet Natalia sensed that hardness underneath that told her this man was a formidable adversary. He’d managed to get her father to agree to her volunteering for a month; he could probably get anyone to agree to just about anything. In fact, she realised, swallowing drily, he could get her to agree to all manner of things… ?.
She pushed that thought aside, as well as the accompanying images that danced through her mind of Ben looking at her with heavy-lidded languor rather than this quiet speculation. Ben drawing her to him and brushing those soft, mobile lips against her own. Ben slipping his hands …
No. She willed the images and thoughts away. Thinking about getting any closer to Ben Jackson was foolish to the point of insanity. He already guessed—and knew—too much.
‘I should tell you,’ she informed him blithely, ‘I don’t know the first thing about football.’
‘Oh, don’t worry.’ His mouth curved into a slow smile. ‘I’ll teach you.’
Again awareness raced along Natalia’s nerve endings and burst like sun-fire through her blood. If she reached one hand out, she would be able to touch him. She wondered how his skin would feel, imagined the rough brush of faint stubble under her fingers. Just how soft would his lips be? She’d spent too much time thinking about his lips, his eyes, the hard, sculpted body underneath that sober silk suit. She needed to stop. Flirting was one thing, desire another. Need, she knew, was dangerous. She’d given into it really only once before and the results had been disastrous and long-lasting. She was still living them down. With the way the press loved to hate her, she always would be.
‘I’m not a very good student,’ she warned him, keeping her voice as light as ever. That was as close as she could come to admitting the truth.
‘Fortunately I’m a good teacher.’
Was she imagining the innuendo, wanting it even, or was Ben really suggesting something? His eyes glinted in the candlelight and his mouth quirked upwards. He knew what she was thinking! The realization slammed through Natalia, ignited shock and even fear inside her. How did this man know her so well? She’d spent her whole life trying not to be known, even as she inwardly longed for someone to truly understand her, not the pampered party princess, but the girl—and then the woman—underneath … whoever she was. Yet she didn’t want the person who truly knew her to be Ben Jackson, with his cynicism and his sneers and his stupid sense of duty. She couldn’t.
‘I should go,’ she said abruptly, the sudden urgency she felt to escape coming through in her tone. Ben quirked one eyebrow.
‘It’s only a little after eight. The night is young.’
‘I have other plans,’ Natalia told him, a blatant lie but one she managed with breezy confidence. ‘My social calendar is quite full, you know.’
He straightened in his seat, his eyes narrowing now not with speculation but, Natalia suspected, with disapproval or even disdain. Well, at least that was more familiar. She stood, and a waiter hurried to her side.
‘Your Highness …?’
‘My coat, please.’
Ben stood as well. ‘I’ll drive you home.’
‘There’s no need. I can text my driver—’
‘And bring him out for no good reason? Why do that?’ And she heard—or at least thought she heard—a thread of judgement in his voice. She’d do that because she didn’t care about other people. She didn’t think about them or their needs. She was selfish, shallow, vain—everything the tabloids said she was. Of course.
‘Fine.’ Natalia glanced at the table, their three-thousand-dollar bottle of champagne only half finished. ‘I’ll wait for you to settle up.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, Princess. They know who I am here.’ And he strolled past her with a smile, clearly relishing her surprise and discomfort at hearing her own words laughingly parroted back to her.
Snatching her coat from the waiter, silently fuming at the way he always seemed to best her, Natalia followed Ben out to the street. Her heel caught on a tile in the doorway of the restaurant, and as she pitched forward Ben’s arm came around her instinctively, supporting her and drawing her to him so her breasts collided with his hard chest, her own arm coming up around his shoulders in an attempt to steady herself. And yet even as she regained her balance her heart tumbled inside her as if she’d just fallen down a whole flight of stairs.
She breathed in the scent of him, woodsy and clean, and felt the lean strength of his body pressed against her own. Her senses exploded to life with longing, and her breath hitched revealingly as she remained half wrapped around him and stars exploded around her.
No, not stars, just the relentless flash of the paparazzi’s cameras. A half-dozen of them had been camped outside of the restaurant, waiting for her exit.
Natalia felt Ben’s calm, capable hands steady her and then he stepped away, his face expressionless, yet underneath that purposeful blandness she sensed he was now seething with anger. She felt it like the pulse of her own blood, hot and demanding. She’d just given him some major, and undoubtedly unwanted, publicity.
He strode down the street, away from the flashing cameras, and she followed as best she could, hobbling a little bit. The paparazzi hurried after them, shouting questions in both Italian and English.
‘Who is your boy toy now, Princess?’
‘Give us a kiss!’
Ben strode faster, suddenly turning a corner onto a dark and narrow side street, and breathless Natalia tried to keep up. ‘Wait—’
‘You want to stay for that?’ he asked in a sneer. ‘Of course you do. That kind of publicity stunt is right up your alley, Princess.’
So he thought she’d tripped on purpose, for the cameras. It didn’t really surprise her, yet it still hurt. ‘I just,’ she panted, ‘want to keep from breaking my ankle. My heel broke when I tripped.’
Ben glanced back at her, then ducked into an alley between two tall and crumbling buildings. Natalia could barely see, and she tripped over some old terracotta pots piled against the wall. They clattered onto the cobbles, the sound echoing off the high walls. She blinked, the darkness pressing close all around her, making her palms damp and her heart thud. She hated the dark, especially unlit, enclosed spaces like this wretched alley. ‘Where … where are we going?’
‘I don’t want any more pictures,’ Ben growled. ‘So if you think this next month is your
