Living the Charade(7)

Probably because her mind had been too concerned with finishing her  proposal and she hadn't wanted to dwell on the fact she was even in this  predicament. But she was in it, and it was time to face it and work out  how she was going to make this farce work with her fake and very famous  boyfriend.                       
       
           



       

'It would have been nice if you had thought to let me know who you are,' she said waspishly.

'I did tell you my name. And my job.'

Miller pressed her lips together as she took in his cavalier tone and  relaxed demeanour. That was true-up to a point. 'You must have known  that I didn't recognise you.' She paced away from him, unable to stand  still under his disturbing grey-blue gaze.

Valentino shrugged. 'If I'd thought it was going to be an issue I would have mentioned it.'

'How could you think it wouldn't be?' she fumed, stopping mid-pace to  stare at him. 'Everyone in the country knows who you are.'

'You didn't.'

'That's because I don't follow sport, but... Oh, never mind. I need to use the bathroom and think.'

After splashing cold water on her face Miller glanced at her pale  reflection and thought about what she knew about her fake boyfriend  other than the garbage he'd thrown at her in the car. Taxi driver... How  he would laugh if he knew she had entertained that thought for a while.

Okay, no need to rehash that embarrassing notion. It was time to think. Strategise.

She knew he was a world-class athlete and a world-class womaniser with a  penchant for blonde model-types-although she couldn't recall where  she'd read that, or how long ago. Regardless, it still made it highly  improbable that they would be seeing each other. And she knew everyone  who saw them together would be thinking the same thing-including Dexter,  who would not be backward in asking the question.

Of course she'd refuse to answer it-she never mixed business with her  personal life-but Dexter was shrewd. And he'd be too curious about her  "relationship" to take it lying down. Anyone who knew her would.  Serious, ambitious Miller Jacobs and international playboy Valentino  Ventura a couple?

God, what a mess. They had as much in common as a grasshopper with an elephant.

'You planning to hide out in there for the rest of the weekend?'

His amused voice brought her head around to stare at the closed door.  Wrenching it open, she found herself momentarily breathless when she  found him filling the space, one arm raised to rest across the top of  the doorjamb, making him seem impossibly tall.

She pushed past him and tried to ignore the skitters of sensation that  raced through her as her body brushed his. Anger. It was only anger  firing her blood.

Taking a couple of calming breaths, she turned to face him. 'No one is going to believe we're a couple.'

'Why not?'

Miller rolled her eyes. 'For one, I don't exactly mix in your circles. And for two, I'm not your type and you're not mine.'

'You're a woman. I'm a man. We share a mutual attraction we can't ignore. Happens all the time.'

To him, maybe.

Miller smoothed her brows, her mind filled with an endless list of problems. 'You're right. We can't say we met at yoga...'

'Listen, you're blowing this out of proportion. Let's keep it as close  to the truth as we can. We met at a bar. Liked each other. End of story.  That way you'll feel more comfortable and it's highly probable-not to  mention true.'

Except for the liking part. Right now Miller couldn't recall liking anyone less.

Valentino opened his bag on the bed.

'Why are you here?' she asked softly.

His eyes met hers. Held. 'You know why I'm here,' he said, just as softly. 'You challenged me to be here.'

Miller arched an eyebrow. 'I thought you said you were thirty-three, not thirteen.'

A crooked grin kicked up the corners of his mouth and he pulled his  shirt up over his rippling chest. Lord, did men really look that good  unairbrushed?

Last night's dream flashed before her eyes and she was relieved when he  turned his back on her. Only then she got to view his impressive back,  and her eyes automatically followed the line of his spine indented  between lean, hard muscle. 'What exactly are you doing?'

He dropped his T-shirt on the bed and turned to face her. 'Changing my  shirt for dinner. I don't want to embarrass you by coming across too  casual to meet your friends.'

Ha! Now that she knew who he was she knew he'd impress everyone downstairs even in a clown suit.

* * *

Tino shrugged into his shirt and tiny pinpricks of heat glanced across  his back as he felt Miller's eyes on him. A powerful surge of lust and  the desire to press her up against the nearest wall and explore the  attraction simmering between them completely astounded him. He'd been  trying to keep things light and breezy between them-his usual modus  operandi-but his libido was insistently arguing the toss.                       
       
           



       

'Next time I'd prefer you to use the bathroom,' she said stiffly. 'And  these people aren't my friends. They're business colleagues-although as  to that I doubt I'll know many of the other people in attendance.'

'How many are staying here?'

'I think six others tonight. Tomorrow night at TJ's fiftieth party I have no idea.'

'I thought this was a business weekend?'

'TJ likes to multi-task.'

Tino rolled his silk shirt sleeves and noticed her frowning at his forearms. 'Problem?'

His question galvanised her into action and she crossed to her small suitcase and started rifling through it.

'I'll be ten minutes.'

Five minutes later she reappeared in the doorway and padded over to the  wardrobe. She barely looked different from the way she had when she'd  gone in. Black tailored pants, a black beaded top, and a thin pink belt  bissecting the two. She perched on the armchair and secured a fancy pair  of stilettos on her dainty feet. The silence between them was  deafening.

'Am I getting the silent treatment?'

She exhaled slowly and he noticed the way the beads on her top swayed  from side to side. 'I hope you're not currently in a relationship.'

'Would I be here with you if I was?'

'I don't know. Would you?'

Her chin had come up and he was surprised he had to control irritation  at her deliberate slur. She didn't know him, and he supposed, given his  reputation-which wasn't half as extensive as the press made out-it was a  valid question.

'Okay, I'm going to humour that question with an answer-because we  don't know each other and I understand you feel compromised by the fact  that I'm a known personality. I don't date more than one woman at a time  and I never cheat.'

'Fine. I just...' Her hand fluttered between them. 'If we really were going out you'd know I hate surprises.'

'Why is that?'

She glanced away. 'I just do.'

Her answer was clipped and he knew there was a story behind her flat tone.

'I don't suppose there's any chance you can just fade into the background and not draw attention to yourself, is there?'

Tino nearly laughed. So much for coming on to him once she found out  who he was. He shook his head at his own arrogance. But, hell, most  women he met simpered and preened and asked stupid questions about how  many cars he owned and how fast he drove. This gorgeous female was still  treating him like a disease. And she was gorgeous. She'd dusted her  sexy mouth with a peach-coloured gloss that made him want to lick it  right off.

'We need to go downstairs.' She sounded as if she was about to face a firing squad.

She grabbed a black wrap from the back of the cream chair and stopped  suddenly, nearly colliding with him. He felt a shaft of heat spear south  as he touched her elbow to steady her, and knew she felt the same buzz  by the way she pulled back and went all wide-eyed with shock, just as  she had by the car.

A shock he himself still felt. He hadn't anticipated being this  physically attracted to her. He reminded himself of his iron-clad rule  of not getting involved with a woman this close to the end of the  season-particularly this season, which had started going pear-shaped  three months ago.

So why couldn't he stop imagining how she would taste if he kissed her?

He stepped back from her, out of the danger zone. 'You might want to  think about not jumping six feet in the air every time I touch you.' He  sounded annoyed because he was.

'And you might want to think about not touching me.'

Large aquamarine eyes, alight with slivers of the purest gold, stared  up at him, and the ability to think flew out of his head. Her eyes  reminded him of a rare jewel.

Then she blinked, breaking the spell.

Get a grip, Ventura. Since when did you start comparing eyes to jewels?

'You really have the most extraordinary eyes,' he found himself saying  appreciatively. 'A little glacial right now, but extraordinary  nonetheless.'

'I don't care what you think of my eyes. This isn't real so I don't need your empty compliments.'

How about the back of my hand across your tidy tush? The thought  brought a low hum of pleasure winging through his body. He did his best  to ignore it. 'Are you usually this rude or do I just bring out the best  in you?'