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Cesar was waiting for Lexie in the main castillo drawing room three days later. Looking back on the last tumultuous week, he did not relish the twisting and turning of events since he’d taken one look at that woman and his brains had migrated to his pants.
Cesar was renowned for lots of things: his inestimable wealth; philanthropy; scarily incisive business acumen; a zealous desire for privacy; success. And control. Above all control over his emotions. He’d become a master of controlling them from a young age. Too young.
His usual choice of woman was tall and brunette. Elegant. Classic. Not blonde, petite and curvy, with blue eyes big enough to drown in. And with a dubious reputation splashed across the tabloids.
On some level he’d always sought to stay away from prying eyes, as if somehow they might see something in him that he couldn’t articulate himself. A darkness that had clung to him for a long time. The stench of abandonment. The cruelty of neglect and a lack of care. It had been like an invisible stain on his skin.
Yet for someone who had spent his life largely on the periphery of the media glare, largely due to his very non-scandalous social life, the prospect of suddenly being thrust front and centre was not having the effect he might have expected.
Of course he didn’t relish the idea. But at the same time it didn’t fill him with repugnance.
Cesar poured himself a drink and smiled grimly. Right now though, all those concerns were receding and being replaced by something else. Someone else. Lexie Anderson. Cesar had been due to go to North Africa that week, to attend a meeting about aid, but had cancelled it on the flimsy pretext of wanting to make sure that the first week of filming went smoothly.
Cesar would be the first to admit that he had dismissed the film industry as flaky and narcissistic, but just one week had proved him wrong. The crew were tireless and worked twelve-and thirteen-hour days—if not longer. He was also surprised by how quickly and well they worked as a cohesive unit.
The producer had explained that most of them had worked together before, but there were lots of inexperienced locals in the mix and Cesar had witnessed more than one incident of a more experienced crew member patiently showing someone the ropes.
Lexie was one of the most tireless. Standing for long minutes on a mark while the lighting crew and cameraman worked around her. Her co-star would invariably go back to his trailer. Cesar had found out that she could have insisted they use a stand-in but had wanted to be there herself. He had to admit that he hadn’t really expected her work ethic to be that strong.
She was popular. Especially with the male members of the crew. Cesar was more aware of that than he liked to admit. He’d never been jealous because of a woman before and he didn’t welcome jealousy’s appearance.
He heard a sound then, and with something whispering over his skin like a warning Cesar took a breath and turned around.
Bombshell. That was the only word that seemed to compute in his head when he saw the woman standing in the doorway. Her effect on him was like a bomb too—exploding out to every extremity and making his flesh surge as blood pumped south.
He took in details, as if he couldn’t handle the full reality. Glossy blonde hair, trailing over one shoulder in classic screen siren waves. Pale skin. Slim bare arms. A sleeveless gold lamé dress that fell to the floor in a swirl of glamorous luxury.
She was poured into it, and the material highlighted her curves to almost indecent proportions. The deep, plunging vee of the neckline drew his eye to that abundant cleavage.
She was every inch the glittering movie star. And the most provocatively beautiful woman Cesar had ever seen in his life. He knew that if they hadn’t already kissed, if he hadn’t already seen her up close, he might have seen her like this and dismissed her as too garish. But right now he could no more dismiss her than recall his own name.
His hands clenched so tightly that he heard a crack, and he looked down stupidly to see his heavy Waterford crystal glass about to break in his hand.
He put it down on the sideboard with a clatter that jarred his ragged and sensitised nerve-endings.
She moved into the room, and the sinuous sway of her hips nearly undid him. Normally he had finesse. He could utter platitudes to women like You look beautiful. But right now all he could do was say gruffly, ‘My driver is waiting outside—we should go.’
* * *
Lexie fought down a betraying quiver of insecurity as she preceded Cesar out of the room, and cursed herself for wanting his reassurance that she looked okay and not too over the top. Her dresses were normally fine—fairly standard designer fare, given to her after photo shoots or premieres—but when she’d compared them to the finery he’d ordered there had been no competition. She’d had to choose one of his.
She had not been prepared for his impact on her in a classic black tuxedo. It was obviously a bespoke suit, moulded to his powerful body in a way that most men’s weren’t. It should have made him appear civilised. Just like trousers and a shirt should make him look civilised. But the structured clothes only made him seem more raw. Untamed.
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