The Fiancée Caper

by Maureen Child

  And yet...

  He touched her again, skimming one hand down the length of her arm, and even as Marie jolted in surprise, she felt a wild skitter of heat race through her system in response.

  She was trying to get used to him touching her, but frankly this whole day had been overwhelming. Having a man like Gianni focused on her was nerve-wracking. Plus, she’d never liked shopping and the stores they’d been in that day had all made her feel uncomfortable. The woman looking at her now from behind her gilded cash register was only exacerbating that feeling.

  Seemingly, like every other salesclerk they’d encountered that day, this one was tall, curvy, with an upswept blond hairdo that made Marie feel completely unkempt. The woman had razor-sharp cheekbones, an innate elegance when she walked and an upper-crust British accent that only heaped more of the barbarian-in-the-city vibes on Marie’s head. This was the kind of woman Gianni was probably used to being with. Elegant sophistication bordering on bored. Marie felt more and more like a Cabbage Patch Kid in a cluster of princess dolls. Not to mention that the woman’s sharp blue eyes had locked onto Marie’s naked ring finger and then delivered silent, but very pithy commentary.

  The saleswoman accepted Gianni’s black credit card, gave him a simpering smile and shot Marie a glance of pure envy tinged with confusion, as if she were trying to figure out how Marie had landed a guy like Gianni. If the woman knew the real reason she and Gianni were together today, things might have been different. But then that was the point, wasn’t it? They were supposed to be acting out their roles. Convincing people, family and strangers alike, that they were a couple wildly in love.

  Well, Marie thought, she’d start here. Jump into the role she’d agreed to and surprise Gianni with just how good an actor she really was. She threaded her arm through Gianni’s, leaned into him and tipped her head back as if expecting a kiss. He thought she couldn’t act? She’d show him. And at the same time, give the saleswoman a bit of a lesson, too.

  “I’d love lunch, sweetie. Where shall we go today? Somewhere...private?” Her voice was breathy and her eyes locked on his, so she noticed the flare of something hot in the depths of his dark brown eyes.

  “Very tempting, my darling,” he whispered, lifting one hand to stroke down her back and over her behind.

  Marie tensed and saw amusement flicker in his eyes. He was getting her back. Damn it.

  “First, though, I think we’ll do some more shopping.”

  “Great,” Marie whispered, trying to sound excited.

  “You’re a lucky woman,” the saleswoman said on a sigh. “Having a boyfriend who loves buying you nice things?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Marie said tightly, reaching back to move his hand off her butt.

  “No, I’m her fiancé,” he corrected and didn’t seem to notice the woman glance at that naked ring finger again. But he did give Marie’s butt a little pinch as if to remind her that they were still acting.

  So Marie leaned into him even farther, practically rubbing her breasts against him. She smoothed her hand along his chest in a proprietary manner, then let it slide down. Before she reached belt territory, Gianni caught her hand in his and muttered, “Let’s just sign this slip, shall we, and go back home for lunch? I can’t wait to have you to myself again, my love.” As if to emphasize those words for the saleswoman’s benefit, he nibbled gently on Marie’s knuckles.

  Her breath caught, her stomach lurched and heat set up shop a bit lower down her body. The man had a great mouth. His teeth and tongue darted across her skin in only a second or two, but it was enough to shut down her brain and give him the full points for this little encounter.

  She’d tried to show him up and he’d ended the contest by shutting her up completely. Now she had a clerk jealous of her, a fake fiancé angry at her and her own body slowly simmering to a full boil.

  Five

  “I have something for you,” Gianni said, dipping into his suit pocket for the small velvet box he’d stashed there before leaving the flat that morning.

  “Oh, God,” Marie groaned as she reached for her glass of white wine. “Please, nothing else. I’ve already got enough clothes for ten women. I don’t need more.”

  He smiled as he watched her gulp twenty-year-old sauvignon blanc as if it were tap water. He’d never met a woman quite like her. Most of the females he encountered were only too happy to go on the kind of spending spree he’d taken her on all day. But she had complained throughout, as if having someone spend money on her were physically painful.

  And the more pained she became the more enjoyment he took out of the exercise. He’d dressed her as she should be dressed. In bright colors that made her auburn hair shine like dark fire. In tight skirts, deeply veed shirts and sky-high heels that made her legs look even longer than they already were. Hell, Gianni admitted silently, a couple of times, when she’d stepped out of a dressing room, it had taken every ounce of his self-control not to push her back inside and take her there.

  Now, he had her at one of the more exclusive restaurants in London and all he could think about was getting her alone so they could “practice” loving each other. He shook his head and gave up trying to figure out why it was that Marie O’Hara was able to push every button he had. She was dangerous. To his future. To his family’s freedom. And yet...

  The room was quiet, but for the muted conversations going on around them. Tray ceilings with intricate wood carvings dating to the 1500s were overhead and gleamed in the soft glow of crystal chandeliers. The walls were a honey-colored wood and the floor shone with deep, rich warmth.

  She was exhausted and he was completely wired. He felt as full of adrenaline as he used to on the eve of a big job. She was tangling him up in knots and that was something Gianni wasn’t used to. Women were interchangeable in his world. A blonde, a redhead, a brunette—it had never mattered to him before meeting this one intriguing woman. Always before, if he wanted a woman, he took her, and then he let her go. He never indulged longer than a night or two because, in his experience, more than that caused a woman to get that isn’t-this-cozy look in her eyes.

  Not Marie, though.

  In her brilliant green eyes, all he read was determination. She was going to get what she needed from him and then she would move on. And it struck him that this was the first time in his life that a woman was the one making the plan to leave.

  Why did he find that so...interesting?

  “May I take your order or do you need a few more minutes?”

  Gianni looked up at the young waiter standing beside their table. “We’re ready.” He closed his menu and said, “Two orders of roast beef, please.”

  “Right away.” The waiter gathered up both menus and hurried off.

  “What if I didn’t want roast beef?” Marie glared at him from the bench seat beside him. “What if I felt like chicken? Or fish?”

  “Then you’d have been disappointed,” he said, taking a sip of his wine.

  “Do you always have to take control?”

  “Isn’t that what you try to do?” he countered and rubbed his thumb over the back of the small jewelry box in his hand.

  “I’m not a control freak,” she argued. “I simply know the right way to do something.”

  “Ah, me, too,” he said, smiling at her obvious frustration. “Now. As I was saying before, I have something for you.”

  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What?”

  “Ah, so eager for surprises, like a child at Christmas.” He felt amusement fill him again. She was wonderfully contrary and damned if he wasn’t enjoying that. He was so accustomed to women agreeing with him, smiling at him, that having this particular woman shooting daggers at him was refreshing. Exciting.

  “I’m not a child—”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  Her lips thinn
ed. “It’s not Christmas and I’ve had enough surprises today, thanks.”

  “Always room for one more.” He slid the small jewelry box across the table to her.

  She went utterly still. If he hadn’t seen the slight rise and fall of her really magnificent chest, he might have thought she’d died of shock. Her gaze dropped to the box and she stared at it as if expecting it to rise up like a cobra and strike. Finally, though, she lifted her gaze to his. “A ring?”

  “We are engaged after all,” he said with a shrug. “And I noticed that last clerk looking at your ring finger.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter. It’s an important piece of the whole fabrication we’re building. I put the ring in my pocket this morning before we left the flat and simply forgot to give it to you.”

  She looked at the box again and sighed.

  “My family will notice even more than the salesclerk did. They will expect you to be wearing my ring. It’s all a part of our act, Marie. The role you agreed to play.”

  Steeling herself, she picked up the small box, flipped it open and gasped. “I can’t wear this. It’s practically an ice rink!”

  Pride reared up inside him. It was a big diamond. One of the biggest he’d ever stolen. But mostly, that ring was a symbol and he’d kept it for that very reason when he should have fenced it a dozen years ago.

  “It’s exactly the kind of ring I would buy for my fiancée,” he told her, plucking the diamond from its velvet bed.

  “You mean showy and over-the-top?”

  Once again, she baffled and intrigued him. “You are the first woman I have ever heard say that a diamond is too big. Isn’t that in the same category as being too thin or too rich? An impossibility?”

  “I’m not like most women,” she pointed out, shaking her head as she pushed the box back toward him.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “I’ve noticed that, as well.”

  Her gaze narrowed further. “You say you had it at the flat. When did you buy it? Is there another fiancée somewhere in your closet that I should know about? Won’t she be furious that you’re giving away the ring you bought for her?”

  “Oh, I didn’t buy it,” he assured her.

  Her eyes went wide and he found he enjoyed the shock he saw etch itself into her features. “You mean—”

  “Such innocence,” he mused with a shake of his head. “Even though you know about me and my family, you can still be shocked.”

  “You stole it.”

  “Allegedly,” he answered. After all, it wouldn’t be prudent to give her more ammunition to use against him. “This ring has sentimental value to me.”

  “And why’s that?”

  He studied her thoughtfully for a long moment before speaking quietly, his voice low and deep and meant only for her. “If we are to pretend to be lovers, we must know each other, and so that means sharing pieces of our pasts. Yet,” he added, his fingers sliding up and down the stem of his wineglass, “I’m in the position of having to worry if my fiancée will spill whatever I tell her to her cop friends.”

  She actually appeared to be insulted, if that flash in her eyes was anything to go by. Again, she intrigued him. There was so much more to Marie O’Hara than he’d first assumed. He was beginning to get glimpses of the woman beneath the metaphorical badge she wore. And that woman interested him on several different levels. Not the least of which was the desire that pumped through him at the most unexpected moments—such as now.

  “What?” she asked, her voice low and furious. “You think I’m taking notes? That I’m wired?”

  “I hadn’t considered that,” he mused, but he was considering it now. It wouldn’t be the first time the law had used a beautiful woman to try to get information from him. Of course, those attempts had failed because they’d been such blatant plants.

  As if the authorities believed that all they had to do was drop a gorgeous woman in front of him and he would tell her everything. Really? Was it any wonder none of the Corettis had been caught when attempts to catch them were so clumsy?

  But this...he could actually see now that she could be undercover. Coming to him with this ridiculous blackmail scheme would naturally get his attention. Was she supposed to use their enforced closeness to dig for more information against him and his family?

  Gianni looked into her eyes and wondered, but even as he did, she was talking again and he listened to not only her words, but also the tone of her voice. Just as he watched her body language. He’d learned as a child how to pick out a liar. And the signs he was getting from Marie weren’t that of deception.

  “I’m not wearing a wire. You can frisk me later if you want to be sure.”

  Instantly he thought about that. About stripping her new, white silk blouse from her shoulders, unhooking the lace of her bra and checking her entire body very thoroughly for any trace of a wire planted by the police. As that thought claimed the front of his brain, his body tightened even further and he was grateful that he was sitting down. Walking at the moment would have been painful.

  “Frisking you sounds tempting,” he said.

  Heat zipped across the surface of her eyes before she was able to hide her reaction. And her response only fed the burn inside him. Damn.

  “Leaving your searching me aside,” she said, voice tight, “why would I repeat anything you tell me?”

  “You could be secretly working with the law and this is all an elaborate setup.” He didn’t think so, but best to get it all out onto the table.

  “No one would make up a scenario like this.” Astonished she just looked at him through wide eyes. “But if it helps, I’ll say it. I’m not working for anyone. And as for my talking to the police, how could I?” She laughed shortly, a sound with zero humor in it, and lifted both hands in a classic shrug. “Even if I tried, no one would believe me. I wouldn’t have evidence to back up whatever I said and you would probably tell them I blackmailed you into helping me, so I wouldn’t come off looking very good, would I?”

  “An eloquent, if lengthy explanation,” he said, nodding. He hadn’t really thought she was some undercover spy, but it was good to hear it said out loud. “Still, I would prefer simply to have your word that you won’t repeat what you hear from me or my family.”

  Now he’d had the satisfaction of surprising her.

  “You would accept my word on that?”

  Gianni smiled to himself. She was a cop to her bones—whether she held that job at the moment or not. Honesty was ingrained into her very soul—current blackmail attempt notwithstanding. He looked into her eyes and saw what he needed to see before answering, “Yes. I would accept your word on it.”

  She gave him a small smile that felt like a victory. “Then you have it. Whatever we talk about—here or on the island—won’t be repeated.”

  He inclined his head briefly. “With that understanding...” he said, plucking the ring from its velvet bed to study it. He turned it one way then the other, watching as the diamond caught the overhead lights and shone like a small sun in his hand. “I stole this ring twelve years ago. It was the first big job my brother, Paulo, and I pulled on our own.”

  She sucked in a breath and held it. Gianni knew her honest little soul was cringing from his tales of life in the criminal lane, but to give her her due, she didn’t interrupt him.

  “We were in Spain,” he said, his memories sliding back over the years to a warm summer night in Barcelona. When he and his brother had formed a plan, laid out the strategies and, in one night, declared their independence from the family and shown that they had earned their way into the Coretti legacy.

  Every Coretti was raised to the life. As children they were taught to pick locks, to walk without sound, to cross rooflines as easily as most people walked across their back gardens. They learned how to tell diamon
ds from paste, how to fit in to any situation and how to slide away from pursuit. For generations, the Coretti family had been thieves. The best of the best, and the family business had only grown over the years.

  Gianni’s sister, Teresa, had been the only Coretti in generations to not embrace the life. She’d always chosen to walk an honest path. With an actual career. None of the family had understood her desires until a year ago, when Gianni had finally come to understand what his sister had known all along. That stealing wasn’t the way to live. That taking things from people meant you were taking pieces of their lives, too.

  Strangely enough, it had been stealing an antique dagger from the man who turned out to be Teresa’s husband that had jolted Gianni into making some personal changes. It had been an epiphany that had left Gianni shaken and willing to rewrite his lifestyle. But most of his family was still out there, and he couldn’t risk their freedoms with his choices.

  “The woman who lost this ring was lovely. Paulo was quite taken with her as I recall,” he mused, remembering.

  “But he stole from her anyway,” Marie said.

  “Of course,” Gianni agreed. “It’s what we do. There was a long weekend party at her home in the countryside outside Barcelona. To get the lay of the land, Paulo and I crashed the party, mingled with her guests and then helped ourselves to the jewels she kept tucked in a safe in her bedroom. It went beautifully.”

  “And they didn’t suspect you?”

  “Why would they?” He smiled, closing his fist around the ring briefly, feeling the sharp edges dig into his palm. “We were just two of hundreds of guests at the party and we were long gone before the police arrived to investigate.”

  “I don’t know whether to be impressed or appalled.”

  He chuckled, opened his fist and glanced at the ring again. “I vote impressed. Appalled seems so close-minded.”

  The waiter appeared tableside, delivered their dinners, then left again. Once they were alone once more, Marie glanced at her plate and grudgingly admitted, “The roast beef does look good.”