A cupboard? It sounded like she’d had some kind of bad experience. Ben decided not to press. He hadn’t meant to tease her; he just couldn’t imagine Natalia being afraid of anything. She seemed so fearless. ‘What else?’ he asked. The Seabird was gaining speed and Natalia didn’t answer as they took off into that endless stretch of sky, the horizon a vivid streak of magenta as the sun slid below the sea.
‘No, now it’s your turn,’ she said when the Seabird levelled out. ‘What are you afraid of?’
Ben flexed his hands on the controls and considered. ‘Something bad happening to someone in my family,’ he said at last.
Natalia rolled her eyes. ‘I could have told you that. You are a complete control freak. I’m sure you feel responsible for everyone in your family, even your parents.’
‘And that’s a bad thing?’ Ben asked drily, although in truth he felt a bit disconcerted by her perception.
‘I don’t know, I haven’t asked your family.’ She wiggled a little bit in her seat, getting comfortable, and Ben was momentarily distracted by the sight of her dress sliding around, that huge emerald swinging in the shadowy V between her breasts. ‘Anyway,’ she resumed, clearly more comfortable now, although Ben was decidedly not, ‘I mean, what are you really afraid of? Your deepest, darkest, most secret fear.’
He gave her an amused look, although he was definitely feeling uncomfortable in a whole variety of ways. ‘And why should I tell you that?’
She slid him a slyly challenging look from under her lashes. ‘Scared?’
‘No. I’m just not sure I want the next headline of the local rag to be Ben Jackson: The Truth About His Phobia of Spiders.’
She let out a little laugh, but it sounded brittle. He’d been teasing—sort of—but he had the feeling he’d hurt her with his deflective remark, bringing in the stupid press. Again. And all he’d been trying to do was take the glare of her scrutiny away from himself.
‘I don’t actually talk to the press that much,’ she said, staring out at the darkening sky. ‘Despite what you think. They make most of it up all on their own.’
‘I know they do.’ He didn’t really want to talk about her press coverage.
‘It’s just easier,’ she continued, a surprising tremble in her voice, ‘to try to control it. Or at least feel like you do. You know?’ She turned to face him, and he saw a new vulnerability shining in her eyes, making them glitter like sunlight off a puddle.
He stared at her, sifting her words, looking for truth. ‘Are you saying you seek that kind of publicity because it makes you feel better?’ he asked, and heard the blatant disbelief in his voice. As someone who had avoided that kind of attention forever, it seemed like an incredibly foolish thing to do.
She stared back at him, her eyes shadowed. Guarded. ‘That and I can’t get enough of seeing myself in the papers,’ she said lightly, and Ben knew she wasn’t telling the truth. She was hiding behind another cutting, self-deprecating remark because that was what she did. Everyone had their defense mechanisms, their ways to stay safe. Natalia’s just happened to be very different than his.
Her expression lightened and she gave him a challenging smile, all traces of vulnerability gone. ‘You know what I think you’re scared of?’
He eyed her in wary bemusement. ‘What?’
‘Of being scared.’
‘The only thing we have to fear is fear itself?’ he quoted drily.
‘Roosevelt said it better, I suppose, but it’s still true. You’re afraid of feeling weak and out of control and helpless.’
Ben’s hand tightened on the controls. He felt as if she’d just flayed him alive with her words, her perception. ‘I didn’t know you were such a history buff,’ he finally said, and she laughed softly.
‘I’m not the only one who likes to deflect personal questions, I see.’
‘Well, that was really quite personal.’
‘And true.’
‘So why are you scared of the dark?’ he asked, and felt Natalia tense. Amazed at how attuned he was to her moods and her body. He glanced at her, saw the strap of her dress had fallen a little down one golden shoulder. Yes, definitely her body.
‘Does there have to be a reason?’
‘There usually is.’
‘Why are you scared of being scared?’ she shot back, and suddenly Ben burst out laughing.
‘Oh, Princess,’ he said, ‘maybe we should change the subject. Two guarded people asking each other invasive questions is surely a recipe for disaster.’
‘Or at least a few awkward pauses,’ Natalia agreed with a little laugh of her own. ‘Fine. How long have you had your pilot’s license?’
‘I never actually said I had my pilot’s license.’
She widened her eyes in mock horror. ‘You lied to me?’
‘Five years.’
‘Why do you like flying?’
‘This is starting to get personal, Princess.’
‘Really? That’s personal? You are quite the closed book.’
‘So are you.’ He slid her a thoughtful look. ‘A lot more closed than I thought.’ With more secrets and depths than he’d realised. Or even wanted.
She turned away from him and he could see the curve of her cheek, the angle of her jaw. In profile she seemed softer somehow. Vulnerable. He felt that protective tug again and resented it. They should stop this conversation. He didn’t actually want to get close with someone like Natalia.
Did he?
Yet as the darkness of the sky and sea stretched out in front of them, Ben realised he didn’t know what he wanted any more.
Natalia stared out at the darkness dropping like a velvet curtain all around them. Far below she could see a few twinkling lights, perhaps from a pleasure yacht cruising on the Mediterranean. She felt bizarrely unsettled and excited at the same time. Talking to Ben had energised her in a way nothing else had or could. Scared her too. She wasn’t used to telling anybody … well, anything. At least, anything important.
And yet in the space of a few minutes she’d told Ben secrets no one else knew, like her fear of the dark. Why she courted the press. What was it about this man, Natalia wondered, that made her want to spill her secrets? Be known?
‘You didn’t actually tell me where we’re going,’ she said, determined to keep the conversation light. Impersonal. Surely that was what Ben wanted too.
‘Rome.’
‘Very nice. What restaurant?’
‘Il Pagliaccio, on via dei Banchi.’
Natalia nodded. She knew it to be sophisticated, elegant and discreet. She leaned forward to gaze out at the sweep of sea below them, now barely visible in the darkness of night. ‘So you keep a plane on the island? Is that how you get back and forth from London?’
‘Gene rally.’
‘How long are you going to stay on Santina? It must be difficult to be away from work for so long.’
‘I telecommute, but no, it’s not ideal. I’ll stay till the end of the camp, wrap a few things up and then head back to London.’
So a couple of more weeks at most. Natalia felt an icy plunging sensation in her stomach, and realised it was disappointment. How ridiculous. She didn’t even like Ben