Santina's Scandalous Princess(13)

‘You hate the press?' She widened her eyes in mocking  astonishment. ‘What a surprise.'

‘Shocking, I know-'

‘Did something happen,' Natalia asked abruptly, ‘to make you  hate it so much? Something specific?'

Ben pressed his lips together. He had no desire to trot out his   little sob stories, his mother's distress at having her private  heartache made  into public shame, how the press had pounced on his  own weaknesses again and  again to milk a story. ‘I simply find the  entire practice of making money off  people's anguish completely  reprehensible.' He stopped himself from saying  anything more, for he  knew he'd already revealed too much. Anguish. Yes, that's what his  mother had felt. What he had felt. Yet  he didn't want Natalia to  know. ‘I suspect having you volunteer here has  challenged me as much  as it has you.'

‘As long as we're both getting something out of it.'

‘When I asked you to volunteer,' he continued steadily, ‘I  didn't  foresee this kind of press coverage.' That wasn't, he knew, quite true.   He had anticipated something like it, but he'd willfully ignored it,  told  himself he could handle it. And right now it felt like he  couldn't. ‘That was  foolish on my part, I realise.'

Natalia's eyes flashed, this time with sudden humour. ‘Wait a  minute. You asked me?'

Ben felt a flicker of admiration for the way she adjusted,  always  matching him. And a flicker of something else. He watched her chest rise   and fall under that crisp white blouse and he wanted to undo its  buttons.  ‘Didn't I ask?' he said, feigning confused innocence. ‘And  you so politely  agreed?' A wry smile tugged at his mouth, and she  smiled back, the moment  spinning on and turning into something  else-something that reminded Ben of how  slender and lithe her body  had felt last night, how close his lips had been to  hers. How much  he'd wanted to kiss her.

‘I think you're rewriting history as much as the press do,' she  said.

Which brought them back to their current situation with an  unwelcome  thud. Ben jerked his gaze away from her blouse and those tempting   little buttons. ‘I'm sorry for losing my temper and accusing you  unfairly,' Ben  said. ‘I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. But we  can't have this,' he  continued, glancing down at the newspapers.  ‘If the camp receives negative local  press before it even starts, it  could affect parents' decisions to send their  children, not to  mention some of the camp's endorsements.' He glanced up, saw  she  looked serious now too, and maybe even a little sad. ‘I know you think  I'm  doing this as some sort of PR stunt-'                      
      
          



      

‘I don't really,' she said quietly.

‘The truth is,' Ben said, the words sounding and feeling  awkward,  ‘I'm doing it for the children. Well, myself and the children. I-I used   to love playing sport. It gave me a great sense of confidence  and-and control  when I needed it most, and I want to share that with  others, with children who  might never have an opportunity to kick a  football or run around the pitch.' He  gave a small laugh, feeling  oddly vulnerable at having shared so much. He knew  to her it must  sound like a small thing, but it felt like his very soul.

‘I understand,' Natalia assured him with one of her lightning   smiles. ‘The next time you ask me out for a drink, I'll say no.'

He let out a little laugh. Natalia never let up, never admitted   defeat. He liked that, he realised. Once again he wondered about the  woman  underneath the party-princess, publicity-seeking facade. Was  she there? Was she  real? And did he want her to be? ‘All right,' he  said at last. ‘Fair enough. Now  we really ought to do some proper  work. I'm sure Francesca has some more  photocopying or filing for  you to do.'

‘Right,' Natalia said. Her tone had turned brittle again, all  traces  of that odd moment of intimacy vanished. ‘I'm on the job,' she said,   giving him a mock salute, and left the room with Ben still staring  after her,  wondering if he'd ever understand her … and why he wanted  to.

Frowning, he glanced at the papers again, and saw a few inches  of  print he hadn't noticed before. Jackson's Prodigal Daughter Parties with  the Earl?

His frown deepened as he pulled the papers towards him and  scanned  the few lines. Apparently his stepsister Angel Tilson had left the   engagement party last weekend with the Earl of Pemberton. Ben didn't  know him,  but from the blurry photograph he looked dark, menacing,  and rich. What could  Angel possibly be up to this time?

Still frowning, he reached for his mobile and punched in his   sister's number. Although he wasn't related by blood to Angel, his  father's  second wife's daughter from a previous relationship, he  still felt responsible  for her. Ben knew Angel had never really felt  part of the boisterous Jackson  clan. Tough and street-wise, she'd  always been determined to make it on her  own.

She answered the phone after several rings. ‘Big brother,' she  greeted him in a drawl, ‘what new worry has you ringing me?'

Ben smiled in spite of his concern. Angel knew him well. So did Natalia.  Pushing that uncomfortable thought  aside, he glanced at the paper  in front of him. ‘What are you doing with the  Earl of Pemberton,  Angel?'

‘Having a blast,' she told him, ‘of course. Had your daily dose  of  the tabloids, Ben? Why don't you just stop reading those rags?'

‘Because I like to know what's going on in my own family.'

‘Don't worry about me.'

‘You know I do.'

She sighed, and the sad sound pulled at Ben's heart. He knew  many  were quick to assume Angel was just like her mother, social-climbing or   even money-grubbing. Few tried to see beneath her streetwise facade,  but Ben  thought he did. He tried to know the woman underneath all  the wisecracks,  because he sensed she was both courageous and  vulnerable.

 Just like Natalia.

Why couldn't he stop thinking about her?

‘Be careful, Angel.'

‘I always am.'

‘I mean it. I don't even know this guy-'

‘He's rich and titled, Ben. What more could I want?'

‘Don't sell yourself short.'

She said nothing, and yet that silence seemed so lonely. So   sorrowful. Ben sighed. ‘You will ring me if you need anything? Ever?'

‘Of course.' But he could tell she didn't mean it.

After saying goodbye, he disconnected the call and stared into   space, thinking once again of another sharp, funny woman who hid her  true self  from him.

* * *

Back in the front office Natalia drew in a big breath  and let it out  slowly. Right. Photocopying. Filing. She could do this. She  smiled  at Francesca.                      
      
          



      

‘You have something for me to do?'

‘It's rather boring-'

‘I think the point of me being here is to do boring,' Natalia said  drily, and listened as Francesca directed  her to a pile of about a  zillion envelopes that all needed stuffing with some  sort of support  letter. Perfect. It would take several hours, and required no  more  skill than putting one piece of paper inside another. She could do this.  She nearly sagged with relief.

Yet Natalia soon found that stuffing envelopes left her mind  all too  free to wander. And to wonder. Did Ben now believe she hadn't planned  to  trip into his arms on purpose? As pleasant as it had been to feel  his hard body  against her own, it had still been completely  unintentional. And then in that  dark alley …  Just remembering that  exquisitely taut moment caused a shudder of  longing to ripple  through her. He'd been so close to kissing her. A single  breath  away. He'd been going to kiss her, and then  he'd forced himself to  stop.

That was why he was so angry today,  Natalia decided as she sealed  yet another envelope. He'd desired her last night,  and he knew she  knew it, and it annoyed him. She could just imagine how  aggravated  Ben Jackson would be at wanting someone he thought shallow, spoilt   and completely inappropriate.

She wondered just what kind of women decorated his arm … and  warmed  his bed. Brisk and business-minded, like himself? Surely not. She could   certainly see Ben entertaining a model or starlet, and then calmly  discarding  them when he'd finished with their services. Sex-or even  love-was probably just  another item to tick on his to-do list.