LITMIR.BIZ

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for Cesar. She’d just kissed him back again, as passionately as she had earlier, with no qualms. No hesitation! It was as if as soon as he touched her some ever-vigilant switch in her brain turned to off and she became mute. Acquiescent.

      She held out her hands and noted that even now they were trembling slightly. Disgusted, she shoved them under her arms and then spied her electronic tablet. She marched over and opened it up.

      She hated herself for it, but she found herself searching for Cesar Da Silva Girlfriend. Predictably not much came up except a few photos of him at events with beautiful women. They were all tall, brunette. Sleek. Classy. One was a UN diplomat. The next an attaché to a world leader. Another was a human rights lawyer.

      There were also pictures of Cesar with world leaders at economic summits.

      Lexie put a hand to her mouth to stem a slight surge of hysteria. She was seriously out of her depth with this man, and she didn’t like her feeling of insecurity when she was faced with the evidence of his previous lovers’ undoubted intellectual accomplishments. The plan for them to appear as lovers mocked her now. Who would ever believe he’d choose her?

      Feeling like a stalker, she looked up his background. To her surprise, a new news article popped up. And a picture of him from earlier that very day, taken at a wedding in Paris. Lexie frowned for a second, wondering how he could have come from Paris back to the castillo in such a short space of time—and then she recalled hearing a helicopter earlier. Of course—to a man like Cesar Da Silva travel between European bases was far removed from most people’s more tedious, lengthy experiences.

      She focused on the short piece again. It had been the wedding of Alexio Christakos and his very pretty bride—someone called Sidonie. The article seemed to be implying that a familial relationship existed between Alexio Christakos and Cesar Da Silva. And also another man: Rafaele Falcone.

      Lexie frowned. She knew Christakos and Falcone were half-brothers. They’d been notoriously eligible bachelors before settling down. So...what? Cesar was related to these men? Lexie kept searching and found a very brief reference to his father. Joaquin Da Silva had been famously disinherited from his family after leaving to train as a bullfighter. He’d achieved some fame early on, before dying tragically in a goring by a bull.

      There wasn’t much else apart from Cesar’s current accomplishments, of which there seemed to be many. He was listed as one of the world’s leading philanthropists.

      The picture of Cesar at the wedding caught her eye again. She looked more closely. There was a definite resemblance between the two men. And Rafaele Falcone. She couldn’t be sure, but it looked as if they all shared varying shades of green eyes. Unusual. Too unusual.

      A suspicion slid into place inside Lexie. He’d agreed so quickly to appearing in public with her, when all the evidence pointed to a man who would find that kind of exposure anathema. He wants me. Lexie shivered at the thought. Was he prepared to court the press’s attention just to get her into bed? That idea was both intoxicating and terrifying.

      But perhaps Cesar had his own reasons for wanting to divert the press? If something was about to break about his family? She didn’t like it, but a feeling of empathy gripped her. And curiosity...

      Just then a knock sounded on her door. Lexie’s heart jumped. She put the cover over her tablet’s screen and went to the door, steeling herself. But when she opened it, it was Tom—the producer. An acute dart of disappointment made her want to scowl.

      She forced a smile. ‘Tom?’

      He held up his own tablet to reveal the same picture of the kiss that Cesar had shown her just a short while before. Her insides tightened again at seeing herself in such an alien and lurid pose.

      ‘Ah...’ she said.

      ‘Ah...’ the older man echoed. ‘I didn’t realise you had history with Da Silva. You never mentioned anything...’

      ‘I don’t really want to discuss it, Tom, if that’s all right.’

      ‘Look,’ he said quickly, mollifying her, ‘I’m not complaining, Lexie—far from it. This is PR gold dust for the film. If you two are...together.’

      Tom was obviously concerned that an affair between her and Cesar Da Silva might jeopardise filming if it wasn’t all that it seemed. He could throw them off his estate at any moment if he so wished.

      Lexie’s jaw was tight. She imagined the press furore after they appeared in public next week. ‘Yes...’ she said reluctantly, as if not even wanting to give the words oxygen. ‘We are...together.’

      The relief that crossed the producer’s face was almost comical. ‘Okay, that’s good. I mean, like I said, it’s gold dust for the film. We could never have generated this much press just by—’

      ‘Tom?’ Lexie cut him off, forcing another smile. ‘I’d appreciate an early night. I’ve a lot of prep to do this weekend before we start shooting on Monday.’

      He backed away, putting a hand up. ‘Of course. I’ll leave you to it. Night, Lexie.’

      When he was gone she sagged back against the door with relief. Out of the past, the words of her counsellor came back to her: ‘Lexie, one day you’ll meet someone and you’ll feel desire. And you’ll feel safe enough to explore it...and heal.’

      Lexie stifled a semi-hysterical giggle. She’d felt it today, all right, but she didn’t feel safe right now. She felt in mortal danger. Especially when she thought of those distinctive green eyes and that hard-boned face...and that powerful body. That dark, brooding energy...

      She felt anything but safe.

      She thought again of Cesar’s nonchalant assertion that they would become lovers. A dart of anger gripped her insides. He was obviously used to women falling at his feet if he could make such a declaration. He had no idea of the scars that scored her insides like tattoos. Not visible to the naked eye, but she felt them every day. Scars she’d fought hard to overcome so she could function and live and work.

      She resented Cesar Da Silva right then for inserting himself so solidly and irrevocably into her life. And yet she had no one to blame but herself.

      Sighing volubly, Lexie pushed off the door and vowed to do whatever it took to focus on the most important thing in her life right now: the job she had to fulfil for the next four weeks. Her real acting job, as opposed to the acting she’d be doing in a week’s time. Although that filled her with a lot more trepidation because she was afraid that she wouldn’t have to act at all.

      * * *

      Midway through the following week Lexie was pacing back and forth on the set while they set up the cameras for a new shot. She was listening to the script on her mp3 player and repeating her lines to herself.

      They were shooting not far from the castillo, in a walled garden. Inevitably, though, her thoughts deviated yet again to the person who had dominated almost every waking and sleeping moment since she’d met him, in spite of her best efforts.

      He’d appeared to watch the filming at various intervals, effortlessly unsettling Lexie in the process. If he was around she became acutely self-conscious. And being dressed in cleavage-revealing nineteenth-century garb didn’t help.

      Right then, just as she was sighing with relief that he hadn’t appeared today, he did appear—as if conjured up from her overheated imagination—striding towards her on the narrow path. She had nowhere to go. Trapped. All of the crew were busy working, oblivious to the seismic physical reaction inside Lexie as Cesar bore down on her in a secluded part of the garden.

      Her heart sped up. She went hot all over. Pinpricks of sensation moved across her skin. Nipples tightened against her bodice. The corset became even more constrictive. She pulled the long coat she wore to keep warm more closely around her, to try and hide some of her far too buxom cleavage. She took the earphones out of her ears and fought the urge to take several steps back.

      Cesar came to a stop in front of her. It didn’t help that he was dressed

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