The Scandalous Collection. Кейт Хьюит
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on the island.’
‘And what happened? He broke your heart?’
‘It felt like it at the time.’ She shrugged, not wanting to rake up old memories, old hurts. ‘I thought I was in love and I did a lot of stupid things and he told them all to the tabloids. Gave them photos.’ She closed her eyes briefly, remembered the scorching shame of seeing what she’d thought had been a wonderful and private romance laid bare in all of its humiliating detail. ‘He got a lot of money for it anyway,’ she finished lightly. ‘It was an exclusive.’
‘I’ll bet.’ Ben shook his head. ‘So that wasn’t your choice.’
‘No.’
‘The papers made it seem like it was.’
She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. ‘That’s what papers do.’
Ben gave her a hard look. ‘And so after that you decided you’d be the one calling the shots. You’d go to them before they could get you.’
He’d summed it up so perfectly, yet she thought she heard a thread of judgement in his voice. ‘Something like that.’
He let out a huff of breath. ‘And I did the opposite.’ Was he implying that’s what she should have done? And maybe she should have. Lived life quietly, above reproach, like Carlotta had. Like Ben had. Surely it was too late now for regrets. But was it too late to change? To want to change?
‘When I was young,’ Ben said slowly, ‘about four or five, the papers printed a photograph of me. I was crying. I’m not sure if it had to do with my parents’ divorce or not. Maybe I’d just skinned my knee and some photographer got the shot. In any case, that blasted photo was in every newspaper from here to Los Angeles. My mother hated it, made her feel like her privacy had been invaded, like the world was watching the breakdown of her marriage and its effect on her children. I hated it because what boy wants the world to see him crying?’
Natalia gave him a glimmer of a smile. ‘No boy that I can think of.’
‘And there were others. It seemed like every unguarded moment of my childhood was captured on film and tied to my parents’ marriage. All I had to do was look a little glum and the papers were screaming about how my mother’s heart was broken.’
‘That must have been hard for her.’
‘It was.’
‘And you.’ He shrugged, and she continued quietly, ‘And when you injured your knee? They must have had a field day.’
‘You saw those photos?’
She laughed softly, yet without humour. ‘No. I just know how the press works. They blow everything out of proportion. Use everything they can get.’
He nodded. ‘It was tough.’
She sighed, feeling sad for both of them. Their experiences had been so similar, yet their responses so incredibly different.
‘Your hatred of the press is starting to make sense. Not to mention your control issues.’
‘But both of those things have blinded me.’
‘Blinded you?’
‘To the way things really are.’ He paused, his gaze hard, unyielding, relentless. She could not look away from it. ‘To the way you really are.’
Natalia felt her heart freeze, suspended in her chest, before it seemed to do a free fall. This was what it was to be known. Except Ben didn’t really know her. Not all of her.
Stupid, slow Natalia.
She angled her head away from him. ‘Don’t go overboard on me, Ben,’ she said lightly, although her voice sounded strangled to her own ears. ‘I’m not that different from what I seem.’ Her heart hammered insistently otherwise. Yes, I am, yes, I am. Why was she pushing him away? Was it just fear? If she pushed him away first, he wouldn’t get the chance. Just like with the tabloids, with everyone, even Carlotta. Act-attack-first, and you wouldn’t get hurt.
‘Aren’t you?’ Ben said quietly, and she felt his hand on her jaw, turning her to face him. She opened her mouth to say something, something sharp and cutting, but no words came out. Ben’s eyes blazing into her own, scorched her soul. She was on fire, and no more so than when he leaned forward and kissed her.
This kiss was so different from the others. His lips brushed hers, once, twice, like a greeting. Then slowly, deliberately, he deepened the kiss, his lips parting, the tip of his tongue sweetly demanding her own to part, and a soft sigh of surrender escaped her without her even realising it.
Ben reached up to cradle her cheek with his hand, his thumb brushing her jawbone, the movement so achingly tender tears came to Natalia’s eyes. His mouth moved more surely over hers, taking, demanding, needing, and the sweetness fell away to reveal the hunger underneath.
She heard his breath release in a ragged gasp that matched her own as he eased her back on the sand, one knee nudged between her legs, his hand sliding under her T-shirt, his palm warm on her bared skin.
Her T-shirt … even in her passion-dazed state Natalia realised she was grubby and muddy and wearing PE kit. Not exactly the setting for a seduction. But this wasn’t a seduction. This was need, maybe even love. And it didn’t matter what she wore or looked like, because they were both beyond that.
The realisation of how much this meant to her slammed into her, left him more dazed than ever. Ben must have sensed something of it for he drew back, his dark eyes glittering as he gazed down at her.
‘Natalia …?’ Her name was a question.
‘Yes …’ she whispered, because the thought of stopping now—even if it was sensible, strong, safe—was surely impossible. She needed this too much. She needed Ben.
Ben kissed her again, like a brand or a seal, and then he rose from the beach. ‘We’re doing this properly.’
‘Properly …?’ Natalia repeated uncertainly, for part of her wanted passion, hard and quick, right there on the beach. Anything else—anything more—felt too scary. Too much.
Ben just smiled, and lacing her fingers with his own, he led her back to the beach house, and his bedroom with that huge king-size bed. Natalia stared at the slippery-smooth sheets with a flicker of uncertainty. Doubts crept in.
‘I’m dirty,’ she said, gesturing to her muddy clothes, and he drew her closer, shaking his head.
‘You’re perfect.’
But she wasn’t perfect, Natalia thought. She’d made so many mistakes, had so many problems and weaknesses and flaws. Ben didn’t even know them all. And she couldn’t forget, even now, that he’d pushed her off his lap when he thought someone might see. Had that moment been a real reflection of his feelings—or was this one?
‘Natalia. Look at me.’
She realised she’d been scrunching her eyes shut and she opened them, stared into his face. He looked as calm and steady as ever, and she wanted to trust him. She wanted to love him.
‘Do you want this?’ Wordlessly she nodded. ‘Why are you afraid?’
Her throat felt so tight she could barely speak. ‘Because this is scary.’
Ben gave her the glimmer of a smile. ‘You’ve got that right,’ he said, and he kissed her again, a hard press of his lips against hers that felt like a promise. ‘Perhaps,’ he suggested as his hands slid underneath her T-shirt, ‘we shouldn’t overthink it.’
She nodded, even as her brain buzzed with the feel of his hands on her skin, cool and so assured. So knowing. She didn’t want to think. Thinking meant doubt, uncertainty, fear. She just wanted to feel. ‘Sounds good to me,’ she murmured, and slid her arms around his neck, drawing him closer, pulling his face down to hers so their lips met again in a desperate, demanding kiss. The kind