‘In some instances,’ she countered.
‘In all,’ he insisted, striding on.
It was his eyes that made him irresistible, she decided as Cesar led her through the open glass doors and into the garden. Well, almost. She would resist, of course. Black sable in colour, they delivered a message no woman in charge of her senses could misinterpret. He had a particular mix of intensity and easy confidence that held the promise of sensational sex.
Brutally handsome, Cesar was savage on the polo field, which was why her brothers often fielded him on their team. And even before the infamous article the media had hinted at Cesar’s extraordinary prowess in bed. Did every palace bedroom have a reporter sitting on the windowsill? Were there paparazzi in the bushes even now? she wondered as he led her deeper into the black, fragrant night.
What did Cesar want with her? Why was she here? Where sex was concerned, he was betting on a loser. She might be twenty-four, but her experience to date was incredibly limited, involving inept fumbles in a car, several lunges in the stable, subjecting her to an assortment of acne, halitosis, sloppy kisses and inept, searching hands. This was hardly the stuff of which dreams were made, and was definitely not sufficient preparation for a night-time encounter with Cesar.
‘Sprigati!’ Cesar urged as her footsteps lagged. ‘Hurry up, Sofia!’
This was no romance, only impatience in his voice. So what was this about? Did he plan to rant about the article? He should. She deserved it. He’d probably warn her off ever writing about him again. She could handle that. She hadn’t wanted to write about him in the first place.
‘It’s private enough here,’ she stated firmly, refusing to take another step.
‘Not private enough for me,’ Cesar informed her curtly.
She sucked in an involuntary breath as he swung around to stare at her. Formidable by moonlight, and backlit by flickering torches, Cesar was an awesome sight. Sweet-smelling jonquil and delicate sprays of white star jasmine scrambling up a nearby wall, threatened to weaken her with their scent. Lifting her chin, she confronted him. Entirely by chance, she’d chosen the most romantic spot to stand her ground. Far beyond the palace walls the lights of the city provided a fitting backdrop for a man whose darkly glittering glamour rivalled even that of night-lit Rome.
Cesar’s response was the lift of a brow. ‘Well? Why have you stopped here?’
‘I would like to know the purpose of this meeting.’
A humourless huff was her answer. ‘You’ll find out,’ he called over his shoulder.
‘Life is more exciting when you say yes.’ Cesar’s words banged in her brain. But what had she said yes to?
What was this woman doing to him? He could take his pick. Countless beauties vied for his attention. He wanted none of them because they were obvious and Sofia was not. She simmered with sexuality, yet retreated if he so much as looked at her a beat too long. Was she a virgin? Was that even possible at Sofia’s age? Remembering her brothers, he thought it more likely than not. Which rubbished his thoughts on seducing her. The idea of bedding an innocent was inconceivable to him. He preferred older, more experienced women who knew the score, women who used him as he used them, for casual pleasure with no strings attached. His dealings with Sofia Acosta would, from this moment on, be solely restricted to business.
Things did not go entirely according to plan. Having led Sofia into a secluded, lamp-lit pavilion where they would be quite alone until the meeting with Sofia, his sister and her brothers began, she was immediately on guard. Angry and affronted as he was by what she’d done, he had no intention of terrorising her. To this end, he switched on the light and left the route to the door clear, while Sofia stood in the centre of the pavilion, staring at him with a multitude of questions in her eyes.
‘What do you want of me, Cesar?’
He kept his distance, but her intoxicating scent had joined them by some invisible alchemy. Bringing the article to mind, he dismissed the magic with a cutting gesture of his hand. ‘An explanation would be a start.’
‘I’m so sorry, it was—’
‘A mistake?’ he queried, finding he couldn’t contain his anger. ‘A mistake that threatens to damage my reputation and that of your brothers?’
‘How many times can I apologise?’
‘I’m listening.’
‘It wasn’t what you think—’
‘So it wasn’t an appalling exposé?’ When she didn’t answer, he lost it completely. ‘If you accepted my invitation to attend the banquet tonight so you could carry on “snooping” for another article, let me warn you that my legal team will take the newspaper down, and you with it.’
There was silence for a moment, only broken by the sound of the Acosta brothers laughing and joking as they approached. For a moment he saw surprise, even anger in Sofia’s eyes, as if she’d forgotten the purpose of the meeting, and perhaps thought he’d orchestrated a confrontation with her brothers to get to the bottom of her reasons for writing the article.
Frowning, she confirmed these thoughts. ‘I thought our meeting with my brothers and your sister Olivia was scheduled to start after the banquet?’
‘It is,’ he agreed. ‘Can’t you hear the orchestra? The dancing has already started.’
They stared at each other while electricity between them sparked like a living force. It was a force that would find no outlet tonight.
‘You could help put out the agendas,’ he suggested. ‘Clipboards? Now?’ he proposed when she continued to stare at him in bemusement. ‘The charity matches?’ he prompted. She lifted her chin with an expression so like his sister Olivia’s he could have laughed. The two women shared many characteristics—combat being only one of them. Excellent. He loved a good fight. ‘Well? What are you waiting for?’
‘For you to say “please”,’ she suggested mildly.
