‘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.