Living the Charade(24)

There was nothing else going on here but his over-developed sense of  responsibility, and if she didn't pull herself together she'd likely  make a huge fool of herself again.

Something must have alerted him to her presence because he stopped  pushing the wooden spoon around the pan and turned towards her.

His eyes swept over her and she felt the thrill of his smoky,  heavy-lidded gaze from across the room. She wished her senses weren't so  attuned to his every look and nuance because the tension she felt in  his presence made it impossible for her to relax.

Miller sensed he was holding himself utterly still, almost taut, and  she was definitely using someone else's legs as she moved further into  the kitchen.

'The clothes fit, then?'

She remembered the dull feeling that had washed over her when she'd first seen them. 'Yes. Whose are they?'

'Yours.'

'You bought me clothes?'

He shrugged carelessly at her stunned tone and added tinned tomatoes to the pan. 'Technically Mickey bought them.'

'Mickey?'

'My Man Friday.'

He had a Man Friday? One who knew his way around women's fashion? She  hated to think how many other women Mickey had clothed at Valentino's  request.

'Mickey runs interference between all the people vying for my attention  and makes sure my life runs smoothly. Calling up a department store and  organising a few items of clothing for a woman was a first.'

'I didn't say anything.' She felt impossibly peeved that he'd read her so well.

'You didn't have to. You're very easy to read.'

'Not usually,' she muttered.

His slow smile at her revelation made breathing a conscious exercise.

'Why didn't you just pack me something other than underwear and shoes?'  Realising she was still holding the empty soup bowl she set it down on  the benchtop between them. 'That would have made more sense.'

'Probably,' he said. 'But I saw all that black in your wardrobe and  panicked. And I have a soft spot for your lingerie and shoes. How was  the soup?'

'Divine.' Miller felt flustered by his admission about her underwear.  'I'm not keeping the clothes,' she said stubbornly. 'There's enough  there for ten women.'

He leaned against the lacquered cabinet beside the stove. 'Mickey's  ex-army-a complete amateur when it comes to what women need.'

'Whereas you're an expert?'

His eyes studied her in such a way that goosebumps rose up on her arms. 'So I've been told.'

Miller sighed deeply, searching around in her mind for some way to  change the subject and lower the tension in the room to a manageable  level. It would be too embarrassing if he guessed how disturbed she was  in his presence.

'I should probably get going. I've taken up enough of your time.'                       
       
           



       

'I'm cooking dinner.'

'I thought you had a chef?' She tried to make her tone light but she wasn't sure she'd pulled it off.

'He provides the food. I cook it when I'm here.'

'What is it?'

'Not poison.'

He gave a short laugh, and she realised she'd screwed up her face.

'Relax. If you want to go home after dinner I'll arrange it.'

Just like that, she thought asininely. Did nothing faze this man?

Yes. Talking about his family. His father. The accident that had  claimed the life of his friend. He had his demons, she knew, he just  kept them close to his chest.

Miller nodded. She felt stiff and awkward, and when she wetted her  painfully dry lips his eyes locked onto her mouth with the precision of a  laser. She felt the start of a delicious burn deep inside.

So much about this man stimulated her to the point that she could think  of little else. Which made staying for a meal a questionable decision.  Wasn't it playing with fire to spend any more time in his company?

A vague memory of him feeling her head and administering a drink of  water to her some time during the day filtered into her mind. His  gentleness and consideration of her needs was breaking down all of her  defences against him. Something she really didn't want. Lord only knew  what would happen if he showed any indication that he wanted her half as  much as she wanted him. She wasn't sure she would say no. Wasn't sure  she could say no.

Spotting his phone on the far bench, her mind drifted to work.

'Did you happen to bring my phone yesterday?' she asked, wondering if  she still had a job and if it was too late to call Dexter. She'd done  nothing on TJ's account all day, so chances were slim, but she'd rather  know than not.

He stopped stirring the sauce on the stove. 'It wasn't in your handbag?'

'No.'

'You can borrow mine. But if you're calling work don't bother. They know you're with me.'

'Sorry?' She forced her eyes away from the muscled slopes of his arms. 'What did you tell them?'

'That you were sick.'

Miller barely suppressed a groan. 'Why did you do that?'

'I presumed you'd want your workplace to know where you were and you weren't capable of telling them.'

Miller knew he was right, but it didn't change the fact that she was  irritated. 'I have to finish TJ's proposal, and I'm still not sure  Dexter isn't planning to put me under a formal performance review. Now  he'll just think I'm skiving in order to spend time with you and  definitely do it.'

'After his own behaviour over the weekend he'd be crazy to question  yours. I'm sure your job is perfectly safe. And everyone's entitled to a  sick day. I bet you have almost a year's worth accumulated by now.'

Miller blushed. He made her feel like a goody-two-shoes. But his  championing of her gave her a warm glow that was hard to shake.

Something she could never rely on long term, she reminded herself. Especially with a man like him.

'You have a point.' Hopefully one Dexter recognised. 'But still, I can  take care of myself.' She tried to hide her irritation but it wasn't  easy. Everything about her response to him-and his lack of one to  her-was just debilitating.

He flicked a knob on the stove and put a lid on the saucepan, his gaze  never shifting from hers as he prowled towards her. He rounded the  island bench and Miller felt her breathing become choppy. She knew it  wasn't just because of her rush of irritation.

He stopped just shy of touching her, his blue-grey eyes piercing, his  arms folded across his chest. 'Thank you, Tino, for helping me out  Sunday night when I felt like something the cat had dragged in,' he said  mockingly.

Miller felt ashamed of her stroppy behaviour. What was wrong with her?  'Thank you, Tino, for helping me out Sunday night when I felt like  something the cat had dragged in.' And probably looked it...

'That's better.'

His smile could have melted a glacier. Then his eyes locked onto her  hair and she suddenly remembered that it wasn't straight, as usual, and  probably looked terrible.

She raised a self-conscious hand. 'Wavy.'

He reached out and looped a semi-dry curl around a finger. 'Pretty.'

She shook her head and his finger snagged on the curl, pulling it tight. She shivered. 'I prefer it straight.'

His hand drifted to the side of her face, his fingers following the  curve of her jaw. 'That's because it gives you a sense of control. I  like it either way.'                       
       
           



       

Miller's breath stalled in her lungs at the way he was looking at her.  She could read desire in his eyes. Want. Intent, even. She was shocked  by it because previously she had assumed his interest in her wasn't  real. But now she suspected he had just been resisting the chemistry  between them on Saturday night-as she had done for most of the weekend.  As she should still be doing...

Only she felt powerless to look away from the banked heat in his gaze  and a thrill of remembered pleasure raced through her body. A thousand  reasons as to why this wasn't a good idea pinged into her mind, but  overwhelming her logical thinking was a wicked, sinful sensation that  refused to go away.

All her life she'd done the right thing. The proper thing. Working hard  to get good grades and make her mother proud, building a reputation at  work that would ensure her future was secure, shelving the more risqué  side of her nature. Until now that had been enough. Satisfying, even.

But Valentino brought out a delicious craving in her that was impossible to ignore.





      CHAPTER TWELVE

TINO saw the sharp rise and fall of Miller's chest as his finger  lingered on the side of her jaw, felt her tremble as he deepened the  caress. He hadn't intended to touch her, seduce her, but now he could  think of nothing else.

Some part of him hesitated. Really, if he had any integrity he'd stop.  She'd been sick. She was a guest in his house. But none of that  registered with her standing in front of him looking gorgeous and  tousled, her cheeks pink, her lips softly parted. God, he wanted to kiss  her. He wanted-

She swayed slightly towards him, pressed the side of her face into his palm. 'Valentino...?'

Her blue eyes were huge, shining with an age-old invitation that sent  every ounce of blood in his body due south. Breathing felt like an  effort, and it would have taken more strength than he possessed not to  lean in and kiss her.