Her lips opened under his, her teeth grazing his bottom lip…before they sank in deep.
He jerked his head away, but grasped her hands to prevent her from shoving him completely away. The pain snapped him out of whatever haze he’d been in. He’d never, ever forgotten where he was and who was watching before. Oh sure, he didn’t give a flying shit most of the time, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of it, until he’d tasted those sweet lips of hers. The prim Miss McMurty was dangerous.
He tightened his grip on her hands when she tried to pull away, keeping her close and twisting his body so any view of her from the street was shielded.
He licked his lip to take some of the sting away. “Now, that wasn’t very nice.” The intention behind it, maybe. The actual experience of it had been fucking hot. He’d give a large chunk of his fortune to have her bite him again. In private so he could really enjoy it. And return the favor.
She glared at him. “You can’t kiss me whenever you want!”
“Yes,” he said, leaning back over her. “I can. You’re my fiancée, Stanzia. That means people expect us to act a certain way. I believe kissing one’s fiancée is perfectly reasonable behavior.”
“My name is Constance. And yes, when we’re in public is one thing,” she said, her beautiful blue eyes spitting fire. “We aren’t in public right now. I mean, not really. Standing on the street doesn’t count.”
She had no clue how much scrutiny he was under. Always. Luca sighed and hugged her to him so he could whisper in her ear. “Across the street, in the bushes.”
She glanced up at him, her forehead creased in confusion. He turned them slightly so she could look in the direction he’d indicated. Her little gasp let him know she’d seen what he’d spotted the second he’d arrived. A man camped out in the bushes, his camera poised and ready.
“When you’re with me, it’s always public,” he said, hating the note of sad resignation he heard in his own voice.
The constant media attention had been fun at first, when he was young and stupid and wanted to be famous. The older he’d gotten, the less fun it had become. They captured everything, not just the moments he was dressed to the nines and ready to strut his stuff, but everything. Him staggering outside a club. Him stopping in for a coffee. Him walking across his private beach the morning after getting his heart broken. Someone had even snapped a picture of him in his own shower. He’d had to fire his entire staff after that one because he couldn’t find out who did it and no one would confess. Now his only live-in help were Joe and Mrs. Lasko, his housekeeper, a sweet old woman who was one of the few people on the planet he trusted. The cleaning staff came in a few times a week.
He hated it, but it was his life now. He was used to it. Constance wasn’t. And the guilt that jabbed at him every time he thought of dragging this sweet, innocent woman into his world was nearly enough for him to call the whole thing off. Nearly. But he needed her too badly, and she only had to deal with it for six weeks. Then she could go back to her anonymous life. The paparazzi might hound her for a little while afterward, but they’d move on soon enough. She’d get to escape. He wouldn’t be so lucky. None of it would matter if they didn’t pull this off. He needed her on board. Now.
She gazed up at him, the anger gone from her features. “I didn’t think it would start so soon,” she murmured.
He brushed a thumb across her cheek. “We only have a month to convince my father I’ve changed. And we need to convince your director you aren’t some sex-crazed, celebrity-obsessed nut job, in case they don’t feel like taking my word for it.”
She glared at him again for that one and he grinned back at her. “Which means,” he said, “you need to get into your new fiancé’s car and get a move on. It would be really nice if you didn’t attack me every time I try and touch you.”
She snorted and his grin grew wider at such an undignified sound coming from his little schoolmarm.
“I’m not making any promises,” she said.
That had him laughing outright. He kissed her again, turning his body to give the photographer a better angle, and then released her.
“Did he get a good enough shot or should we go at it right here on the hood of your car?” she asked. Her tone was deceptively sweet, but the fire was back in her eyes.
Luca pressed her against the passenger door, his lips against her ear while his hands trailed up her sides as close as he dared to the bountiful offering her breasts presented. “Baby, we can go at it anywhere you want. You just say the word.”