Living the Charade(22)

What's your day job again, Ventura?

Thank God it wasn't standard procedure to drive around a racing track with a raging hard-on. He'd be dead at the first corner.

The sharp movement jolted Miller's head against the car door and she woke up and rubbed her scalp. 'What happened?'

'Lousy driving. Do I go left or right off the bridge?'

He skilfully navigated the rest of the way through the posh backstreets of Neutral Bay to her apartment.

The weekend was just about over and soon they'd go their separate ways. A fact that should make him feel better than it did.

'Thank you for the weekend.'

She held out her hand in a show of politeness as he pulled the car up  to the kerb near the entrance to her apartment building. He could tell  by the wary look in her eyes that she instantly regretted the overture,  which only made him perversely take hold of her hand and hold it firmly  enough that if she pulled away from him it would make her movement  jerky.

She swallowed-hard-and his eyes dropped to her lips. For a second he  contemplated yanking her forward into his arms and kissing her, but her  mouth flattened and he knew it would be a mistake.

Clean break.

Still holding her hand, he let his eyes snag hers and felt decidedly  unsettled at the glazed look in her eyes. 'I hope I fulfilled my purpose  this weekend?'

Okay, now he sounded like Sam. Time to go.

'Yes, thank you.'

Again with the thank-yous.

'Good luck with the coming race.'

'Thanks.'

Valentino frowned. Another thank-you from either one of them and he was  likely to ignore all his good intentions and kiss her anyway.

Climbing out of the car, he grabbed her bag and met her on the sidewalk.

'I can take that.'

She held her hand out for her bag but he only stared at it grimly. 'I know you can, but you're not.'

She hesitated, her eyes briefly clashing with his. 'Well, thank-'

'Don't.' He watched her sharply as she stepped away from him. She was  holding herself a little too stiffly. Was that so he wouldn't touch her?  Or...? 'You look like you're burning up.'

'I'm fine. I just have a headache.'

Tino wasn't convinced, but he wasn't going to argue with her on the  sidewalk even if it was basically empty; most of the residents of this  upper-class neighbourhood were safely behind closed doors.

'Let's go, then.'

He felt a stab of remorse at how exhausted she looked and knew he was  partly responsible for her condition. Possibly he should have told her  who he was before he had agreed to help her on Thursday night, but it  was too late now and he wasn't a man who wasted time on regrets.

The lift up seemed to take a month of Sundays, but finally she unlocked  her door and stepped inside, reluctantly letting him follow.                       
       
           



       

He glanced around the stylish cream interior of her apartment,  surprised by the splashes of colour in the rugs and cushions. 'Nice.'

'Thank you.'

She remained stubbornly in the doorway and he set her rollaway case  near her bedroom door. Then he looked around, perversely unwilling to  say goodbye just yet.

'I said thank you.'

Tino glanced at a row of family photos on her bookcase. 'I heard  you-and, believe me, you don't want to know what that makes me want to  do.'

She made a small noise in the back of her throat and he knew she was scowling at him.

'Don't you have somewhere to be?'

Yeah, inside you.

He ground his teeth together as his thoughts veered down the wrong track.

Really, it was past time to go. Her prickly challenges turned him on,  and the only risk he was up for right now was six hundred and forty  kilos of carbon plastic and five point six kilometres of svelte bitumen.

He turned and noticed that she didn't seem quite steady in the doorway, although she did her best to hide it.

Frowning, he pulled a business card out of his wallet. 'If you need anything contact my publicist. His number is on here.'

'What would I need?'

'I don't know, Miller. Help changing a tyre? Just take the card and stop being so damned difficult.'

She held his card between her fingers as if it had teeth.

'You're not going to return the favour?' he asked silkily.

'I'm all out of cards.'

Sure she was.

'And you already know how to change a tyre.'

He smiled. He did enjoy her dry sense of humour on the rare occasions she unleashed it.

Like her passion.

Her voice sounded scratchy and he studied her face. Her eyes had taken  on a glossy sheen and small beads of sweat clung to her hairline. This  time he didn't ignore the inclination to reach out and lay his palm  along her forehead. She jumped and tried to pull away, but he'd felt  enough. 'Hell, Miller, you are burning up.'

She stiffened and her eyes were bleak when she raised them to his. 'I'm fine.'

Like hell.

A moment passed.

Two.

She jerked her eyes from his and swayed. Tino cursed, grabbed her, and  eased her over into one of the overstuffed armchairs facing the TV.

'It's just a headache.'

'Sit.' He headed into the alcove kitchen and flicked on the electric kettle.

'What are you doing?'

'Making you a cup of tea. You look shattered.'

She didn't argue, which showed him how drained she was. He located a  cup and saucer in her overhead cupboard and a teabag in a canister on  the bench and waited for the water to boil. 'What's your mother's  number?'

'Why do you want it?'

She had her eyes closed and didn't look at him when she answered.

'I think she should stay over tonight.'

'She lives in Western Australia.'

'Your friend, then-what's-her-name.'

She peeled her eyes open and looked at him as if he was joking. 'No man ever forgets Ruby's name. She's in Thailand.'

There was a wistful note in her voice and he paused. 'Were you supposed to go with her?'

'I...had to work.'

He shook his head. 'Who else can I call to take care of you?'

She closed her eyes again, shutting him out. 'I can take care of myself.'

He poured her tea. 'Do you take milk?'

'Black is fine.'

As he handed her the hot tea a compelling bright yellow canvas dotted  with tiny blue and purple fey creatures caught his attention on the far  wall and he stepped closer. 'Who did this?'

'No one famous. Can you please go now?'

He looked at the indecipherable artist's scrawl in the corner of the  canvas and took a stab in the dark. 'When did you do this?'

'I don't remember.'

Liar.

And she hadn't just wanted to illustrate children's books either; he'd bet his next race on it.

'You're very talented. Do you exhibit?'

'No. Thank you for the tea, but I don't want to keep you.'

He heard the cup rattle and turned to find her leaning her head against  the back of the chair. She looked even worse than before.

Making one of those split-second decisions he was renowned for on the  circuit, he grabbed her suitcase and stalked into her bedroom.

'What are you doing now?' she called after him.

'Packing you some fresh clothes.'

He upended the contents of her case on the bed and then opened her  wardrobe door. He was confronted by a dark wall of clothing. He knew she  liked black but this was ridiculous. He had no idea where to start.                       
       
           



       

'Do you own anything other than black?'

'It's a habit.'

So was hiding herself. 'Never mind.'

'Why are you packing my things?' Her voice was closer and he glanced  over his shoulder to see her leaning in the doorway. She should be  sitting down, but he'd take care of that in a minute.

'Because you're coming with me.'

'No, I'm not.'

He knew he was forcing his will on her, and it totally went against his  usually laid-back style, but dammit he just wasn't prepared to leave  her here. What if she got really sick?

Then she'll call a doctor, lamebrain. And since when have you taken care of anyone other than yourself anyway?

'It's stress and lack of sleep,' she murmured.

'I can see that. And you've hardly eaten all day either. You need a damned keeper.'

'I'm fine.'

'Consider this a long overdue holiday.'

'Don't you dare go near my underwear drawer!'

'It's too late. I know you like sexy lingerie.'

She groaned, and he smiled.

He threw a fistful of brightly coloured underwear into the case, pulled  a selection of footwear from her closet and zipped the case closed.

He wheeled it towards her and deftly scooped her up with one arm.

'I don't like all this he-man stuff,' she said, leaning weakly against his chest.

'Too bad.' He grabbed her computer satchel and her handbag, slammed her  apartment door behind them. 'My instincts tell me you need someone to  take care of you, and I have track practice tomorrow morning I can't  miss.'

Her head dropped against his shoulder. 'I have to go to work tomorrow. I could get fired.'

'Everyone's entitled to a sick day. If you're okay tomorrow night I'll  fly you back. Anyway, you could get fired for not coming with me. Dexter  wants TJ's business, and TJ wants me. You can tell Dexter you're  working on me.'

He put her down to fish his car keys out of his pocket and then gently deposited her inside the car.

'I don't think that's going to impress him.'