The Fiancée Caper

by Maureen Child

  Maybe, she told herself, this is what having a breakdown felt like.

  “I’m not backing out,” she told him and squared her shoulders. “I’m in this until it’s done.”

  He nodded and one corner of his mouth tipped up. “Then it’s a bargain. We are officially in love.”

  Marie’s stomach took a nosedive as he bent his head toward hers.

  “Shall we seal the deal with a kiss?”

  “Yeah,” she murmured, gaze locked on his lips as they came closer, closer... Quickly, she took a step back and said, “So not necessary.”

  He grinned and she could have kicked herself. She should have called his bluff and kissed him. Maybe that would have weakened the electricity humming between them. What if it hadn’t, though? What if that hum had only grown and kicked off a fire she so wasn’t interested in? So, she chickened out and with that action let him know that he’d managed to make her nervous. Not a good way to start. If she weren’t careful, he would snatch all the power in this situation and she’d be left stumbling along in his wake. Which, obviously, was unacceptable.

  “Darling,” he said, feigning hurt, “is that any way to treat the man you love?”

  Marie choked on a response. “Really?”

  He smirked a little, then amusement drained from his eyes. “This is the only way we can do what you want. Get used to it.”

  “In public, sure,” she said with more bravado than she was feeling at the moment.

  “And in private. My family will expect to see a woman who is mad about me. How are your acting skills?”

  Sadly, she wouldn’t have to act to portray a woman who was deeply in lust. Love might be a stretch but she would pull it off. “I worked undercover as a cop. I can handle it.”

  “We’ll see, won’t we?” He took her hand in his and dragged her along behind him on his quick march down the hall to the living room. “Let’s get you settled into our love nest so we can start practicing our mutual adoration.”

  Be still my heart.

  * * *

  They left almost immediately, with Gianni driving them both to Marie’s two-star hotel. Like his fancy flat in Mayfair, this hotel, too, was in the city of Westminster. But they might as well have been on different planets. He found a parking space directly in front of the building and Marie just shook her head silently in amazement. No one found parking in London. But it seemed the Coretti luck extended beyond avoiding capture by the law into nearly miraculous parking spots.

  She glanced out the passenger side window at her hotel. Funny, but when she had first arrived, she’d found the tiny hotel to be old, but charming. But knowing that he was looking at it through appalled eyes put the whole place in a different light.

  “‘The Prince’s A ms’? he asked as he parked out front.

  “It’s ‘Arms,’” she corrected, ignoring the sarcasm in his tone. “The R is missing, obviously.”

  “This building seems to be missing quite a few things,” he pointed out as he stepped out of the car, then walked around to open her door. “Size, convenience, beauty of any sort...”

  “Says the man who lives in a palatial iceberg,” she muttered.

  “It’s a prestigious address with a magnificent view,” he argued.

  “And not a single comfy chair in the place.”

  He frowned and Marie realized suddenly that he did that a lot. Because of her? Or did he go through life scowling at whomever got in his way?

  “I was surprised,” he mused quietly, “that the ghost chairs were so uncomfortable. It felt as if there were spikes digging into my back.”

  She stopped on the street to stare at him. “You never even sat in them before you bought them?”

  “I didn’t choose them. The decorator did.”

  “Right.” Shaking her head, she turned and headed for the front door of the hotel. How were you supposed to deal with a man who was so rich, he just bought things without even trying them out? He went through life doing whatever he wanted and if it didn’t work, he simply tried something else. Hate the ghost chairs? Replace them. Tired of being a thief? Make a deal. He wasn’t like everyone else in the world. There were no consequences for men like him.

  “You have chairs you don’t sit on and walls that are absolutely screaming for some color.” Shaking her head, she added, “The only great thing about your house is that view.”

  He frowned. Again.

  “If you think I worry what my blackmailer thinks of my home, you would be wrong.”

  Marie shrugged and tried to ignore the tiny stab of guilt. Blackmailer. Wasn’t that a nice name for a former cop? But what choice did she have? It wasn’t as if he would have volunteered to help her out if she’d simply appeared on his doorstep and asked for it. And she had to get that necklace back. Not just for Abby, who had been so nice to her, but for Marie herself. Until she’d returned the Contessa to Abigail Wainwright, Marie would be a failure. And worse, a fool for allowing herself to be romanced into lowering her guard. Well, that thought was enough to stiffen her spine and her resolve.

  It didn’t matter what she had to put up with to accomplish what she had to. She would pretend to be Gianni’s fiancée for the sake of this job. She would act and be convincing. She would pretend to be crazy about him and ignore the very real buzz of sensation she experienced every time she got close to him. She would be the very best fake fiancée the world had ever seen.

  And once it was done, she’d go back to New York, and reclaim her life. On her own terms.

  He was right behind her as she walked into the lobby of the hotel. She wondered what he thought of the small entry of the clean but shabby place. The hotel was in Westminster, close to the Underground and a little noisier than Marie usually liked. But it was cheap and since, unlike some people, her funds weren’t unlimited, it had seemed perfect. There were three floors and her room was at the top. Unfortunately, the elevator didn’t work, so she turned for the staircase only to hear Gianni behind her, muttering darkly in Italian.

  “What did you say?”

  He sighed and looked up at her as she was several stairs above him. “I said, you are a stubborn woman to take a room where you must climb stairs like a goat going up a mountain.”

  “Sorry I couldn’t afford the Ritz.”

  “As am I, cara,” he said with a slow shake of his head.

  Suddenly feeling as if she should apologize for her accommodations, Marie bit back the urge and continued up the narrow staircase. Her hand sliding along the banister, she remembered how when she had first checked in to the hotel, she’d allowed herself to fantasize about the people who had trod these same stairs over the years. The building was several hundred years old and the wooden steps had definite grooves in their centers from the thousands of people who had come and gone before her. Knights? She wondered. Serving girls struggling up and down these same stairs carrying buckets of hot water for fussy guests. Robbers and barons and maybe even secret lovers meeting in an out-of-the-way place. And now, she told herself silently, the cop and the thief.

  “You are on the top floor, I suppose.”

  “Yes.” She never stopped moving but her imagination settled into a quiet corner of her mind.

  “Of course.”

  “Really, Gianni? You’ve been working second-story jobs for years and a few flights of stairs bothers you?”

  “I’m not admitting to anything, you understand,” he said from behind her, “but if what you are saying is true, then the reward for climbing would have been much greater then than it is now.”

  She glanced back at him just as light from an old bronze wall sconce slanted across his face. It caught him just right, glancing off his eyes, dazzling them with sparks that looked like gold. His mouth was tight, his jaw clenched, and he was still the most incredible-looking man she’d ever se
en.

  Oh, this was not going to be easy, she thought, determinedly turning back around to continue up the stairs. When they finally reached her floor, Marie dug her key out of her bag and opened the door. Her room was small, just a bed, a small table, an antique wardrobe, a tiny TV and an electric heater that she’d needed even in August.

  “I’ll be packed in a minute,” she said, thinking it probably wouldn’t even take her that long. The last couple of months, she’d been living on the move, going from one hotel to the next in her quest to find the Corettis and get enough evidence on any of them to force Gianni’s hand.

  Now, she pulled her leather duffel from under the bed, unzipped it and began stuffing in jeans, shirts and underwear from the wardrobe shelves. She tucked her favorite pair of sneakers into the bag then and headed to the bathroom to gather up her hair stuff and makeup. Once she had them in the bag as well, she took a last look around the room, and turned to Gianni, who stood at the window, looking down onto the street.

  “I’m ready.”

  He turned to meet her gaze and both dark eyebrows rose. “I’m impressed,” he said. “You’re the first woman I’ve ever met who can pack that quickly.”

  “I’ve had a lot of practice the last several weeks,” she said.

  “Ah, yes.” He nodded sagely. “On your Coretti hunt.”

  He walked across the small room, his ridiculously expensive shoes looking completely out of place on the near threadbare rug beneath them. “You’re a stubborn, determined woman. I think you’re going to make a formidable fiancée.”

  “Formidable?”

  He came closer. So close in fact that she was forced to look up to meet his gaze. So close she could smell his aftershave on every breath. So close that the heat she felt building between them seemed to sizzle temptingly.

  “I’ve learned over the years that a woman with a plan is a dangerous thing.”

  She didn’t feel dangerous. Marie felt...unsteady. Her so-called plan hadn’t worked so far and now she was going to be staying at Gianni’s house. Pretending to be his fiancée. She would pretty much be allowing him to take control and that didn’t make her happy.

  “How long have you been doing this?” he asked, dragging her back to the moment at hand.

  “Doing what exactly?”

  “This.” He waved one arm, encompassing the small room. “Traveling across Europe, staying in these places, following my family.”

  “A couple of months.”

  One dark eyebrow winged up. “And you can afford all of this...luxury? Security jobs must pay very well in America.”

  She grabbed the straps of her duffel in one closed fist. “Not as well as stealing, but I do all right.”

  “Touché.” He took the duffel from her and said, “Of course, as my fiancée, the clothing I just watched you packing is unacceptable.”

  Marie flushed a little. Fine, she didn’t have a lot of slinky things with her. In fact, the outfit she was currently wearing was the only real girlie thing she owned at the moment. Traveling nonstop across Europe meant traveling light.

  “Too bad, that’s all I’ve got with me.”

  “Then we will go shopping tomorrow.”

  “I can’t afford your kind of shopping,” she said and made a grab for her bag.

  “As you’re my fiancée, I will be doing the buying.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You will convince no one that we’re engaged if you show up on Tesoro wearing faded blue jeans and old sneakers.”

  Probably true, but she didn’t have to like it. “Fine. But when this is done you can keep the clothes.”

  “Ah, such a generous gesture.” He headed for the door. “You will keep them. Give them to the poor if you like, it doesn’t matter to me.”

  She watched him go and waited until she’d counted to ten before following him. This was going to be a real test of both her patience and her self-control.

  It seemed to her that the only thing Gianni Coretti did care about was his family. Which worked out well for her. So why was she starting to feel that pang of guilt again? They were both only doing what they had to do.

  At least they had that much in common.

  * * *

  The following morning over breakfast on the terrace, Gianni said simply, “Tell me about yourself.”

  She choked on a sip of coffee and when he slapped her on the back, she glared at him. “Thanks so much,” she said when she had her breath back.

  “No dying until I have the evidence you’re holding,” he said. Then he picked up his coffee mug and took a long drink. Leaning back in the chair, he smiled to himself. At least this furniture was comfortable. How was it he had never noticed there wasn’t an easy spot to sit in his own home?

  Possibly because he was so rarely there, he’d yet to try every chair? No matter. When this mess was concluded, he’d be refurnishing the living room and possibly shooting the kitchen chairs.

  “What is it you want to know?” Marie was looking at him over the rim of her cup.

  “Everything,” he said, then added, “Condensed version if you’d be so kind. We must know something of each other before meeting my family.”

  “This is the ‘practice’ you were talking about?”

  “You can consider it part of that, yes.”

  “Fine.” She set her cup down, but kept her hands curled around the fine china. “I’m the daughter, granddaughter and great-granddaughter of cops.”

  “My sympathies.”

  She shot him one irritated glance that amused Gianni no end before she started speaking again. “My mother died when I was four and my father raised me. I had two uncles and three cousins I didn’t see much. Mainly it was just my dad and I.”

  “Was?”

  “He died a few years ago,” she said, voice dropping to a whisper that unexpectedly shot a frisson of sympathy through Gianni’s heart. He didn’t want to feel for her. She was here only because she’d forced her way into his and his family’s lives. She was threatening everything he loved and yet, seeing that shadow of sorrow in her eyes touched something inside him.

  “Anyway,” she was saying, taking a deep breath and shedding that cloak of sadness that had dropped over her so suddenly, “after Dad died, my life pretty much became my job and when I lost that...”

  “I can understand,” he said lightly. “My life revolved around my job for many years and—”

  “Your job?” she asked. “Really? You considered stealing your job?”

  “Stealing is such a common word,” he protested. “As is job. I prefer career or...calling.”

  “Oh, that’s perfect,” she said, shaking her head. “You had a calling to be a master jewel thief.”

  “Master.” He repeated it, then toasted her with his coffee cup. “I do like that word.”

  “You would.”

  Chuckling, he drained the last of his coffee and stood up, briefly turning his face skyward to allow the rare English sunlight to caress his skin. When he looked back to her, he smiled because he knew it would annoy her. “Now, if you’ll get dressed, we’ll go and do that shopping we talked about last night.”

  “I hate shopping.”

  “A shame,” he said, already heading for the sliding glass door. “I quite enjoy it.”

  * * *

  Shopping with Gianni was an eye-opening experience.

  People actually groveled when he entered a shop. And not just any old shops, either. Only the top designers in the world were good enough for him.

  That afternoon, Gianni marched her up and down Bond Street. They hit every single store and left practically swamped with elegant bags topped with tissue, holding clothes that cost enough to buy a small home. Or, they would have been if Gianni hadn’t insisted on the shop
s sending the packages on to his home, thus freeing him up to spend even more money on clothing that Marie couldn’t possibly keep.

  After the first dozen or so, she stopped looking at prices—not that many of the items were even marked. She assumed that was because in those shops, if you had to ask the price, you couldn’t afford it. Gianni had her trying on clothes she normally would never have even looked twice at and every time she did, she was forced to admit the item looked good on her. He had excellent taste and was clearly determined that she look every inch the fiancée of a gazillionaire.

  By the time they’d finished buying Ferragamo shoes and matching handbags—he’d insisted on Italian for the leather goods—Marie was ready to drop. She was hungry, her feet hurt and if she had to dress and undress again, she might just remain naked.

  “Lunch, darling?” Gianni’s voice cut in to her thoughts and she jerked, startled at the sweet, seductiveness in his tone.

  For the last couple of hours, Gianni had been “practicing” being her lover. He took every opportunity to hold her hand, stroke her hair or whisper something soft and sexy just loud enough that the people with them could overhear. He’d said that she had to get used to being close to him. To give and receive affection openly. He was Italian, he reminded her, and public displays of such affection came naturally to him and would be expected by his family.

  He had her completely on edge. Of course, the fact that she’d hardly slept the night before probably had a lot to do with that. Being in Gianni’s guest room was physically a lot more comfortable that her hotel room. But that’s where the comfort ended, too. Knowing he was in the next room had tangled her up in knots. Hearing him move around the apartment had only fried every nerve in her body. How was a woman supposed to relax enough to sleep when a man like Gianni was only one wall away?

  And how could the absolutely most wrong man she’d ever met be affecting her the way he was? She hadn’t been that attracted to a man in...ever. But she couldn’t even indulge in a simple little fantasy because it was just crazy. She was blackmailing him for heaven’s sake. He was a criminal. The very kind of man she used to arrest and toss into jail without a backward glance.