‘In a place like this? I'd say about three thousand euros. But I didn't think you concerned yourself with filthy lucre, Princess.'
‘I don't,' she threw back at him. ‘But I thought you might. New money and all that.'
‘I thought we were calling a truce.'
‘And I said there was no fun in that.'
Ben gazed at her, his expression thoughtful, assessing. Uncomfortable. He'd looked at her with compassion when he'd finished the filing for her, and this was just about as bad. Too understanding. Too knowing. Natalia shifted in her seat, recrossed her legs. ‘So you're going to bait me and bicker with me for the next month?' he finally asked.
She shrugged, unwilling to admit how exhausting that sounded. But what other choice did she have? What else did she do? She certainly couldn't attempt honesty. Intimacy. She'd tried that once and it had been a complete disaster. Just like it had been for Carlotta, ending up heartbroken and a single mother in the bargain. ‘Until it gets old,' she finally told him with an attempt at breeziness.
‘And how long will that be, do you think?'
‘It depends how much fun you are.'
‘I think we have different definitions of fun.'
‘I have no doubt about that,' she assured him, and he gave her a small smile.
‘So, Princess, what do you do with yourself besides shop and party and play?' There was no real censure to his tone, but Natalia felt it all the same. His choice of words were telling enough. He thought she was shallow. What a surprise. She didn't actually expect him to think any differently, yet his assumption still annoyed her.
‘What else is there? Unless you're going to bore me with a lecture about work and duty and the satisfaction of a job well done.' She rolled her eyes, and even though Ben smiled slightly she still sensed his disapproval.
‘All right, here's another question. What do you hope to gain from this next month?'
Any number of flip answers could have tumbled off her tongue, yet for some reason Natalia remained silent. Ben's question seemed so sincere, she was oddly reluctant to offer another jibe. And, she realised, she wanted to know the answer. Unfortunately she was the one who was meant to give it, and she had no idea.
‘Cat got your tongue?' Ben said softly, echoing her earlier words.
‘I must admit, I haven't thought about this next month as anything but an endurance test.'
‘Fair enough. It's all I pitched it as.'
‘But now you're thinking of something else?'
He shrugged, one powerful shoulder lifting. ‘Only that it's an awfully long time to just endure.'
She leaned forward with a catlike smile. ‘A perfect reason to end the bet right now. We could both walk away.'
He let out a low laugh. ‘Oh, I wasn't thinking of anything like that,' he assured her, his gaze lingering and speculative. ‘Most definitely not.' The waiter came then with the champagne, popping the cork with a flourish and pouring two glasses of a very expensive vintage. Ben raised his glass in a toast, and Natalia followed suit. ‘To the next twenty-nine days,' he said, ‘and all they promise.'
Natalia murmured her agreement and took a sip of the champagne, the bubbles crisp on her tongue. What could she gain from the month ahead? Ben's question bothered her, not just because she didn't know the answer, but because of what it implied. He made it sound as if this little exercise was meant to teach the spoilt princess a lesson in kindness and compassion, blah, blah, blah. It just showed how lacking Ben thought her in those qualities. And maybe she was. Yet she didn't know how to change-or if she could.
‘What's wrong?' he said, and she looked up, startled that he'd sensed the change in her mood.
‘What on earth could be wrong?' she replied lightly. ‘I'm drinking some of the best champagne I've ever had with a handsome man, even if he is a bit of a stuffed shirt. Maybe a glass or two will loosen him up.' She gave him a flirtatious look from under her lashes, putting their conversation back on familiar territory, firm ground.
‘Going on the offensive?' Ben replied drily, startling her again.
‘Is that what you call flirting?'
‘In your case, yes. You don't like it when I ask questions.'
She couldn't believe how well he understood her. It made her furious, and a bit scared, and more determined than ever to keep it light. ‘Or perhaps you just don't like flirting.'
‘Oh, I don't mind flirting,' Ben assured her in a lazy drawl that sent unwanted awareness tingling along Natalia's spine and uncoiling deep inside of her. ‘But you're not flirting,' he added, taking a sip of champagne. ‘You're just trying to keep me from getting to know you.'
She let out an abrupt laugh, the sound sharp and bordering on bitter, and far, far too revealing. ‘You don't want to get to know me.'
He stilled, his glass halfway raised to his lips. ‘Poor little princess?' he mocked gently. ‘Nobody understands you? Nobody loves you?'
Natalia stared at him, wanting to laugh it off, needing to, yet somehow she couldn't. Her chest felt tight, her throat aching. She took a sip of champagne to ease the soreness. ‘Of course,' she finally said lightly. ‘Would you really expect anything else from me?'
‘I'm not sure,' Ben said slowly, and Natalia jerked her surprised gaze to his own thoughtful one.
‘I'm an open book,' she said, raking her hands through her hair and giving him a challenging little smile. ‘Obviously.'
‘Why did it take you so long to do that filing?' Ben asked quietly, and Natalia stilled, the smile slipping right off her face. 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.