the ground she’d gained had been lost. Ethan thought she couldn’t handle it. He was going to mop up the mess she’d created without her help. No wonder he’d cooled towards her. He’d had time to think, and had concluded she was a liability. A man who guarded his privacy as Ethan did must be eager to be rid of her. ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am.’
‘Sorry?’ he cut across her. ‘Please don’t be. You have nothing to apologise for, Savannah. You’ve done nothing wrong.’
Other than to fall in love with him. Ethan was all concern for her—not because he loved her, but because she was under his protection—and he would do anything it took to keep her safe. Savannah knew she shouldn’t want more than that, but she did. ‘What can I do to help?’
‘Stay out of the way?’ Ethan suggested.
So she was to be compliant, invisible and ineffectual? She had never longed for the farm more. At least there she could have shown Ethan another side of her. It seemed now that was a side of her he would never see.
‘The only problem, as I see it,’ he observed, thoughtfully thumbing his stubble, ‘Is that you’ll have to stay here a little longer.’
He couldn’t have made it clearer. There never had been any long-term plans where Ethan was concerned. That was the price she must pay for playing the game of love without the necessary credentials. ‘But I can’t just sit here. I have to do something.’
‘The best thing you can do,’ he said, ‘is stay out of my way.’
Ethan was right; what did she know? Life on a working farm was great, but it wasn’t the best apprenticeship for this world of celebrity. Whatever Ethan did now would be swift and decisive. He’d deal with the press and then he’d come back for her, by which time she must be ready to leave.
He returned to his office where he immediately contacted his legal team. He wanted them to draft an injunction to keep Savannah safe and free from harassment by the press when she left him, which must be soon now. She preoccupied his thoughts, and he missed her already. He’d noticed the softening touches she’d made—the dust sheets had all been removed and the palazzo had been thoroughly aired. There were flower arrangements in many of the rooms, punctuating the ancient artefacts and imbuing the palazzo with fresh life, he reflected, tapping his pen on the table top as he waited for his call to connect.
He had to stop this! He was relieved when his call connected, and he heard the cool, impersonal voice of his lawyer on the other end. Savannah was a real danger to the status quo in his life. She had made him look at things that had never mattered to him before—frescoes, carvings, and all the incredible paintings he’d inherited when he’d bought the palazzo. She was a Salome of the arts, he concluded, whilst firing instructions at his lawyer. Savannah had beguiled him with her voice, and then enchanted him with her innocence and naivety, tempting him beyond the logical and factual to appreciate the beauty and emotional wealth locked in the treasures he owned. Raking his hair into a worse state of disorder than before, he signed off, determined that Savannah’s qualities would never be compromised. Thank goodness he’d recognised in time the imperative of putting a stop to this fantasy of loving her, and had brought cool legal minds to bear on the problem instead.
A few short words and his lawyer had got the picture. In fact, his lawyer had seen all the pictures. As he stowed the phone, he relaxed. Back in a familiar world without emotion, he could focus on the facts. Savannah’s welfare meant everything to him. His feelings towards her might have muddied the water for a short time, but that was over now.
Over …
He still had her music. Picking up the remote-control, he turned on her CD. As Savannah’s voice floated around him he found it impossible to remain tense—impossible to forget how very special she was, and how at all costs he must protect her.
At all costs, he reminded himself, as he left the room to make sure that Savannah had the chance to live her dream.
She wasn’t good with make-up. In fact, she was useless, Savannah concluded as she peered into the mirror. She was back in her room and, having packed, she supposed putting on make-up before she left was all about pride. She was going to leave the palazzo with her head held high, and not looking like some washed-out waif. But a good technique with make-up took more skill than she had. Professional make-up artists had worked on her for the photo shoot for her album, though when she appeared on stage she could pile on the slap with the best of them; no subtlety required. But she hardly ever wore make-up off-duty. It would frighten the animals, she concluded wryly.
Well, she would just have to do, Savannah decided, having pulled her face this way and that. With no outfits to choose from, she was wearing jeans and flip-flops. But at least she had combed her hair, and she was wearing the pretty, lacy cardigan she always packed to wear over her evening gown to keep her warm in the wings while she was waiting to sing.
Moistening her lips, she attempted a pout and quickly gave up. You could put the glitz into the farm girl, but you could never take the farm girl out of Savannah Ross.
And thank goodness for it. She’d need every bit of grit she had to part from Ethan and act as if it didn’t hurt like hell.
After instructing his lawyers, Ethan went outside and issued a statement to the press. He went back to the office, and had barely walked through the door when he saw Savannah’s face staring out of one of the monitors. It was so unexpected, he stood transfixed, and then realised one of the reporters had somehow managed to elude his security staff and had accosted Savannah as she was coming out of the bedroom on her way across the courtyard. She was going to say goodbye to his staff in a typical act of kindness, he realised. His eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. Far from running scared, Savannah had the news hound by the elbow and was showing him the door. From the tilt of her chin he gathered she was about to send the man off with a flea in his ear. But were more opportunists hanging around? He was already through the door, this time with a look of murder in his eyes.
One reporter she could handle, but a jostling crowd …
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
HE WAS mobbed the moment he stepped outside the door by the paparazzi. Now that they’d seen Savannah leaving his private rooms, he would struggle to deny that anything was going on between them. Whatever Savannah had told them must have been good, he concluded as the reporters formed an arc around him. He gave them a look and they went scattering back. They had agreed to leave, and had been caught out. The photographers remained a safe distance away from him, hovering like slavering hyenas as they bumped each other shamelessly in an attempt to capture both him and Savannah in the same frame. He hadn’t looked at her directly yet, but he was deeply conscious of her standing close by him. He made no attempt to close the gap. He had no intention of compromising her, and would keep his distance until he’d had his say.
‘Is it true you and Ms Ross are an item?’ one of them asked. ‘I thought you told us that Ms Ross’s welfare was your only concern.’
So, what had she told them? He had no way of knowing. His only concern was to protect Savannah and prevent scandal blighting her career. They had spent the whole day avoiding just this situation—but when she gave him a look that said her brave act of ejecting the reporter from the palace grounds had gone badly wrong, and she was sure she had just shot her reputation to hell and back, he moved swiftly into damage-limitation mode. He had two options: he could deny a relationship, and make Savannah look like a fool if she had said something different, or confirm one and bring her firmly under his protection. There was really no decision to be made. As he strolled over to her an air
