eviscerated by the press?”
“Having people think you’ve gotten away with murder, yet being hounded by every news outlet for your exclusive story.”
“You get used to it.”
“No, you don’t.” She went to the table and shuffled the clippings back into their folder, determinedly ignoring the minuscule distance separating them. Yet she couldn’t ignore the way her entire body tingled under his scrutiny. “No one could.”
“And you know what it’s been like for me.”
She snapped her chin up, barely catching the tail end of his look—a mixture of derision and irritation.
Something inside her gave way. “I’ve been there, Alex. It may have been on a small scale, I may have only been fifteen but I remember every single humiliating detail.” She shoved her hands on her hips, back rigid. “It’s all the Spanish press covered for weeks—‘Gabriela, the wild twelve-year-old druggie daughter of Senator Juan Valero.’ They’d follow us to school, bribe our friends for an exclusive. One even broke into our summer house. We couldn’t function, couldn’t breathe without causing a headline. We moved to Australia to get away from that.” She paused for a breath, her face hot. “So don’t tell me I don’t know what it’s like. I’ve lived it.”
Alex stared at her, at the tightly controlled, elegant fury beneath that icy demeanor.
She frowned. “Gabriela never told you?”
“No. She just said your father was appointed to the Spanish embassy.”
“He chased that appointment, much to my mother’s horror. In her opinion, Australia was an uncultured backwater. My father spent a lot of time and money—not to mention kissing up—to ensure our past faded away.”
“So that’s why…” At her raised eyebrow, he finished off with, “You’re a peacemaker. You always have been.”
She shrugged, dropping her eyes. “Am I?”
“Yes. I’ve never seen you deliberately start an argument.”
“Oh, I’ve started a few,” she said dryly.
“Not in public. And I reckon that’s why you’re in PR. It’s why you’re so good at it. You know, creating calm in the face of public frenzy.”
She blinked, faintly chagrined. “Maybe.”
“Definitely.” It didn’t take a genius to figure that out. Before now he’d never fully recognized Yelena’s obsession for calming waves. Yet it was hardly surprising, given what she’d been through. And, he realized, if one person could dragthe Rush name out of the gutter, someone who was passionate, compelled and committed, it was Yelena.
Something must have given him away, something he’d let slip that showed on his face, because she was smiling at him, her first honest-to-goodness smile since she’d walked into her office at Bennett & Harper.
“Alex, I need to ask you about—”
“Mmm?”
Yelena swallowed as a familiar look passed over his features. It was his frankly provocative “I want to taste you” look— that look —that made her blood zing, exciting all her womanly bits, making her wish for one insane second that he’d do exactly what his eyes promised and kiss her.
The fight-or-flight response snaked low in her gut, her brain commanding her to run. Her leg muscles tingled in preparation, waiting for the signal.
Then the doorbell chimed and she nearly jumped a foot in the air. A fact Alex didn’t miss, judging by his grin. She shot him a glare and went to answer the door, unsure if relief or annoyance tossed in her stomach. Both felt dissatisfying.
The waiter swept in and began to set up the meal. By the time he’d left, it was as if their little exchange had never happened. Which was fine considering she’d other things to focus on right now: her stomach began to rumble as Alex removed the warming lids with a flourish.
He’d ordered a large platter of assorted seafood—barbequed calamari, beer-batter fish and delicately crumbed scallops. To one side, there was a bowl of fresh salad with three separate dressings. Next to that, a
“Having people think you’ve gotten away with murder, yet being hounded by every news outlet for your exclusive story.”
“You get used to it.”
“No, you don’t.” She went to the table and shuffled the clippings back into their folder, determinedly ignoring the minuscule distance separating them. Yet she couldn’t ignore the way her entire body tingled under his scrutiny. “No one could.”
“And you know what it’s been like for me.”
She snapped her chin up, barely catching the tail end of his look—a mixture of derision and irritation.
Something inside her gave way. “I’ve been there, Alex. It may have been on a small scale, I may have only been fifteen but I remember every single humiliating detail.” She shoved her hands on her hips, back rigid. “It’s all the Spanish press covered for weeks—‘Gabriela, the wild twelve-year-old druggie daughter of Senator Juan Valero.’ They’d follow us to school, bribe our friends for an exclusive. One even broke into our summer house. We couldn’t function, couldn’t breathe without causing a headline. We moved to Australia to get away from that.” She paused for a breath, her face hot. “So don’t tell me I don’t know what it’s like. I’ve lived it.”
Alex stared at her, at the tightly controlled, elegant fury beneath that icy demeanor.
She frowned. “Gabriela never told you?”
“No. She just said your father was appointed to the Spanish embassy.”
“He chased that appointment, much to my mother’s horror. In her opinion, Australia was an uncultured backwater. My father spent a lot of time and money—not to mention kissing up—to ensure our past faded away.”
“So that’s why…” At her raised eyebrow, he finished off with, “You’re a peacemaker. You always have been.”
She shrugged, dropping her eyes. “Am I?”
“Yes. I’ve never seen you deliberately start an argument.”
“Oh, I’ve started a few,” she said dryly.
“Not in public. And I reckon that’s why you’re in PR. It’s why you’re so good at it. You know, creating calm in the face of public frenzy.”
She blinked, faintly chagrined. “Maybe.”
“Definitely.” It didn’t take a genius to figure that out. Before now he’d never fully recognized Yelena’s obsession for calming waves. Yet it was hardly surprising, given what she’d been through. And, he realized, if one person could dragthe Rush name out of the gutter, someone who was passionate, compelled and committed, it was Yelena.
Something must have given him away, something he’d let slip that showed on his face, because she was smiling at him, her first honest-to-goodness smile since she’d walked into her office at Bennett & Harper.
“Alex, I need to ask you about—”
“Mmm?”
Yelena swallowed as a familiar look passed over his features. It was his frankly provocative “I want to taste you” look— that look —that made her blood zing, exciting all her womanly bits, making her wish for one insane second that he’d do exactly what his eyes promised and kiss her.
The fight-or-flight response snaked low in her gut, her brain commanding her to run. Her leg muscles tingled in preparation, waiting for the signal.
Then the doorbell chimed and she nearly jumped a foot in the air. A fact Alex didn’t miss, judging by his grin. She shot him a glare and went to answer the door, unsure if relief or annoyance tossed in her stomach. Both felt dissatisfying.
The waiter swept in and began to set up the meal. By the time he’d left, it was as if their little exchange had never happened. Which was fine considering she’d other things to focus on right now: her stomach began to rumble as Alex removed the warming lids with a flourish.
He’d ordered a large platter of assorted seafood—barbequed calamari, beer-batter fish and delicately crumbed scallops. To one side, there was a bowl of fresh salad with three separate dressings. Next to that, a
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