Living the Charade(23)

But she rested her head against the car seat and closed her eyes.





      CHAPTER ELEVEN

MILLER knew she should probably put up more resistance to his  high-handedness but she felt too weak and light-headed. And some deeply  held part of herself was insanely pleased by his gesture.

But she was being a sucker again. It was obvious that his behaviour had  more to do with his overdeveloped sense of responsibility than it did  with her as a person and she would do well to remember that.

He expertly pulled the silver bullet into the area of the airport  reserved for private planes, and Miller gave up fighting the inevitable.  She was so weak she had no choice but to lean into him and soak up some  of his strength as he guided her towards the steps to his plane.

It was sleek and white, and she didn't feel so unwell that she couldn't  be impressed. 'You're not the prime minister, are you?' she murmured  faintly.

He smiled softly. 'Sorry. I'm not that big.'

Their eyes caught and held and his smile turned devilish.

'I meant that important.'

Keeping her sheltered against his broad shoulder, he led her past wide  leather bucket seats with polished trim down a narrow corridor and into a  room lit only by the up-lights in the carpet.

'You have a bed?' She couldn't keep the astonishment from her voice.

'I fly a lot. Hop in.'

'Don't I have to wear a seat belt for take-off?' As she said the words  she felt the jet move slowly forward. Or backwards. It was hard to tell.

'Not on a private plane.'

'Does it have a bathroom?'

'Through there.' He gestured towards a narrow sliding door. 'If you're  more than five minutes I'm going to assume you've collapsed and come  in.'

'And you accuse me of being bossy?' She sniffed, but didn't argue. Her  back ached, her stomach hurt, and her head felt as if it had some sort  of torture device attached to the top.

When she came out he was on the phone speaking to someone in Italian. One of his family maybe?

God, their worlds were so different. She felt a pang as she recalled  watching the cool kids all eating at the same cafeteria table at school  every day while she pretended she needed to be alone to spread out her  drawing pad.

'I've ordered you a light meal. It'll be delivered as soon as we're  airborne.' He shoved his phone in his pocket and came towards her. 'You  look like you're about to fall over, Miller. Please get in the bed.'                       
       
           



       

He might have said please but his tone implied he'd put her there in about three seconds if she didn't comply.

Slipping off her boots, she folded herself inside the cool, crisp  sheets and laid her head on the softest pillow in the world...

'Come on, Miller, we're here.'

Groggy from sleep, Miller allowed Valentino to lift her out of the bed.

'Don't forget her boots,' he told someone, and Miller rested her head  against his shoulder, unable to completely pull herself from the  blissful depths of unconsciousness.

Seconds later she was placed in a car, and seconds after that she was being lifted again.

The next time she woke the nausea had passed and so had the headache.  She stretched and felt the resistance of a top sheet. Someone had made  this bed with hospital corners. She wondered if she was in a hospital.

Opening her eyes, the first thing she noticed was that the room was in  semi-darkness, with a set of heavy silk drapes pulled across the  windows. The second thing was that the room was expensively furnished in  rich country decor and definitely not in a hospital. She strained her  ears but could only hear the faint sound of white noise. A washing  machine, perhaps.

Pulling back the covers, she was pleased to see she was wearing her  T-shirt and leggings from earlier. So it was still Sunday, then. She  felt utterly displaced and wouldn't have been surprised if she'd slept  for a week.

Feeling grimy and hot, she checked through a door and was relieved to see it was a bathroom.

Before going in she glanced around and spied her case in a corner.  Flicking on the bedside lamp, she went to rummage through it for  something else to put on and was surprised to discover it held only  underwear and shoes.

Resting back on her heels, she let out a short, bemused laugh,  remembering the exasperation in Valentino's voice when he'd asked her if  she wore anything other than black.

'You're awake, then?'

Miller spun around, so startled by his voice she fell back on her  bottom. Which only made him seem to fill the doorway even more. She  tried not to think about how gorgeous he looked in his casual clothing.  He hadn't shaved and his hair was still slightly damp from a recent  shower. Then she noticed he was holding a steaming porcelain bowl.

He walked into the room and placed it on the bedside table. 'Chicken noodle soup.'

'You made chicken noodle soup?'

His lips twitched. 'My chef did.'

'You have a chef?'

'Team chef, to be precise.'

'Well...' Miller stood up, not sure what to say. 'That's very nice of  you but I feel fine. Great, in fact. I did tell you I wasn't sick.'

'You should feel great. You've slept for nearly twenty-four hours.'

'Twenty-four hours! Are you kidding?'

'No. The doctor checked your vital signs this morning but he wasn't  overly concerned. He said you might have picked up a bug and if you  didn't wake properly by tonight to call him again. You spoke to him  while he was here. You don't remember?'

'I have a vague recollection but...I thought I was dreaming. I know I've been pushing myself lately, but-wow. I feel fine now.'

Valentino stuck his hands into his jeans pocket. 'I'll leave you to have your soup and a shower.'

'Thanks.' Miller's mind was still reeling from the fact that she'd  slept for so long. 'Oh, wait. I don't have anything to change into. You  only packed...underwear and- What is that noise?'

He stopped at the door. 'The ocean. A cold front came through this morning so the swell is up.'

'You live on the ocean?'

'Phillip Island.'

'We're not even in Melbourne?'

'Take a shower, Miller, and join me in the kitchen. Down the hall, left  and then right. There are clothes in the wardrobe. They should fit.'

Curious, Miller went to the wardrobe door and gasped when she opened it  to find an array of beautifully crafted women's clothes filling the  cupboard-half of them black! Wondering who they belonged to, she  fingered the beautiful fabrics of the shirts and dresses, the soft wool  pants and denim jeans.

But whose were they? And why did Valentino have a closet full of-she checked a few of the labels-size ten clothes?

Her size.

The thought of wearing another woman's clothing wasn't exactly  comforting and her stomach tightened. T-shirts, jeans and shorts lined  the shelves, and there was a grey tracksuit.

Feeling as if she was stealing the pretty girl's clothing from a school  locker, Miller gingerly pulled out the tracksuit pants and a T-shirt.  Thank God she had her own underwear-because there was no way she was  wearing somebody else's. In fact, she'd put on her own clothes again if  she hadn't slept in them for so long. The thought that she'd actually  been ill was still something of a shock.                       
       
           



       

Going through to the marble bathroom, Miller quickly showered under the  hot spray and opened the vanity and found the basics. Deodorant,  toothpaste and a new brush, a comb and moisturiser. Brushing the tangles  from her hair, Miller hunted in the cupboard for a hairdryer and came  up empty.

Damn.

Without a hairdryer her hair would dry wavy and look a mess. She felt  vulnerable and exposed without her things, but there was nothing she  could do about it. Valentino had swooped down, got her at a weak moment,  and she'd just have to brave it out. It was only clothes and hair  anyway. He probably wouldn't even notice.

She walked back into the bedroom and her stomach growled as the smell  of cooling soup filled her nostrils. Salivating, she perched on the bed  and demolished the fantastic broth in seconds, her body feeling both  clean and nourished.

But, knowing she couldn't hide out in this room any longer, she picked  up the empty bowl and followed Valentino's directions to the kitchen.

His home was modern and spacious, with lots of exposed wood and a  raw-cut stone fireplace that dominated a living area that was furnished  with large pieces of furniture built to be used as well as to look good.

When she stepped into the modern cream and steel kitchen she was  assailed with the smell of sautéed garlic and her eyes became riveted to  the man facing the stove. She drank in his athletic physique in a  fitted red T-shirt and worn, low-riding denims that cupped his rear end  to perfection.

He was without a doubt the sexiest man she had ever seen, and he made  her forget all about being self-conscious or cautious. But she wasn't  here because he was attracted to her. He'd made it perfectly clear  Saturday night he didn't want her in that way, so it was time to stop  thinking about the way he made her feel.