Living the Charade

by Michelle Conder

  Of course dancing with her wasn’t exactly conducive to that plan, but seeing Caruthers pawing her earlier had made him see red, and he knew he couldn’t just drag her off to a secluded location feeling the way he did. Dancing with her was the safer of the two options.

  ‘You’re going to have to be a bit more specific than that,’ he said, telling himself to ignore the way she seemed to fit so perfectly in his arms.

  He was still a little shocked by the way he had nearly put his fist through Dexter’s arrogant face. He had forgotten that this thing with Miller was fake. Of course that had more to do with male pride than the delicate, sensual woman in his arms right now.

  Yeah, and pigs might fly. You want her and there’s no shame in admitting it. Just don’t do anything about it.

  Just when he was about to end the exquisite torture of dancing with her, she answered his question.

  ‘Race? Don’t you ever get scared?’

  Ah, she’d been asking him about his job.

  Okay, that he could talk about on a superficial level. ‘Motor racing is all about pushing yourself to the limit. There’s no room for fear.’

  Her body swayed against his in time to an eighties love song; the room too warm with the crush of similarly entwined bodies dancing together.

  ‘But you push yourself beyond the limit, don’t you? Isn’t that why they call you an arrogant adrenalin junkie and a shock-jock? Maverick?’

  ‘Don’t believe everything you read about me, Miller. I’m happiest living on the edge, it’s true. But I don’t take stupid chances with my own life or anyone else’s. Fear is an emotion. Controllable like any other. And while I’m not crazy, sometimes...’ He paused, his mind automatically spinning back to the race that had taken the life of his good friend and caused him to question the sport he loved so much. ‘Sometimes you have to squeeze the fear a little.’

  And in this game you never look back, he silently added.

  ‘Squeeze the fear?’

  She said the words as if she were savouring a new taste on her tongue, and his body burned with a restless energy at the thought of tasting her again. But this time not just her mouth.

  ‘You really love it don’t you?’ she said, a soft smile curving her lips.

  Tino’s mind jerked and went blank. Then he used his formidable mental control to switch off the erotic images turning his body hard. ‘I get to experience life in its most heightened and intense form. Nothing else has ever come close.’

  And probably right now he was too close to her—both mentally and physically. He couldn’t remember ever having revealed so much about why he raced, and as for talking about his reasons for steering clear of relationships...

  He frowned down at her. ‘You’re not going to repeat what I just said, are you?’

  ‘You mean to a journalist?’ Her tone was light, almost teasing.

  ‘Yes.’ His wasn’t.

  ‘Are your illustrious words worth very much?’

  He scowled and she smiled.

  ‘Relax.’

  That captivating smile grew and he knew she was thinking of all the times he had told her to do the same thing.

  ‘I don’t need the money.’

  Tino was jostled from behind by an exuberant dancer and his whole body came up flush against Miller’s. Foreign emotions he couldn’t name and a healthy dose of testosterone heightened as the arousal he’d been holding at bay flared instantly to life.

  So much for that formidable mental control, Ventura.

  He stopped dancing. ‘I think it’s time to call it a night.’

  He noticed her face was flushed, and his arms tightened around her like a steel cage.

  She stood still, looking up at him. ‘I had no idea your job was so fascinating.’

  His eyes became hooded and he saw his own desperate need reflected back at him from her over-bright eyes. Her lips parted softly in silent invitation and he had to fight the instinct to crush her mouth beneath his.

  He studied her slender hands curled around his shoulders, her fingers elegant, the nails unvarnished. They suited her serious nature and reminded him that ‘serious’ females were best avoided at all costs.

  ‘Valentino, are you okay?’

  Her hands slid from his shoulders to rest lightly against his chest and he felt scalded.

  Deliberately slowing his heart-rate, he evened out his breathing and stepped back from her. Every minute he spent in her presence eroded his self-control and he hated that. Without self-control he was nothing. He had no choice but to sever whatever bond had sprung up between them, because right now he sensed she was more dangerous to him than a hairpin turn at three hundred clicks.

  He saw the moment comprehension dawned that he was rejecting what she was unconsciously offering and silently cursed as a moment of hurt flashed across her beautiful face.

  It was as if he’d betrayed her. And maybe he had. The way he’d come on to her on the beach, then taken her for ice cream, grilled her about her life, his behaviour with her boss...

  Feeling as if he owed her a massive apology, he didn’t know where to start. Or if it would make the situation between them better or worse.

  Then she took the decision out of his hands and closed down her emotions as effectively as he had, pivoting on her sexy heels and walking away from him.

  Immediately, an image of his father slotted into his brain, but rather than shake it off straight away, as he usually did, he let it settle there for a moment. The image was always the same. A smiling, larger-than-life hero in a white jumpsuit with a cerulean-blue helmet under his arm.

  Miller’s eyes.

  His father’s helmet.

  His father’s death hanging over him like a sword.

  In this game, you never look back.

  Tino felt his old rage at his father rear up and flattened it. This weekend was supposed to be light and easy. Relaxing. But Miller was drawing something out of him he had no wish to face, and it was messing with his head.

  She was messing with his head.

  He wasn’t supposed to want her. At least not this much. And he sure as hell wasn’t supposed to want to make her world a better place.

  What a crapshoot.

  CHAPTER TEN

  STALKING into the breakfast room the next morning, Tino plastered what he hoped was an easy smile across his face.

  Miller was there, as were TJ, Dexter and another female guest decked out in a Lycra leotard.

  Tino hadn’t returned to the bedroom he shared with Miller for a good two hours after she’d walked off the dance floor the night before, and when he had it had been to find her curled up in the middle of the huge bed.

  He’d slept on the floor.

  If you could call staring at the bedroom ceiling all night sleeping. Then he’d risen early and gone for a run, so he didn’t know what mood Miller was in. By the look of the dark shadows beneath her eyes she hadn’t slept much either.

  ‘Maverick. You’re up early.’

  Valentino’s gaze turned from Miller to TJ. He hated the familiarity with which TJ addressed him but it was one of those things that came with success. Men always thought he was their best friend and women always wanted to nail him. Well, except Miller, who might prefer to put an axe through his head after last night. He poured muesli from the selection of breakfast cereal arranged on the sideboard into a bowl and pulled out the dining chair beside the woman he was supposed to act as if he was in love with. He’d been chivalrous last night—truly, unselfishly chivalrous for the first time in his life—and he had no doubt she’d thank him for it later. Hopefully more than he was thanking himself right now.

  ‘As are you.’ He glanced at Miller and her grip tightened around the shiny fork she was using as a weapon against a grapefruit.

  ‘Habit,’ TJ said. ‘No sleeping in when you’re raised on a cattle station. So, are you up for a game of tennis later today?’

  ‘Thank you.’ Valentino accepted hot coffee from the maid who had just ma
terialised at his side.

  ‘As I explained before you insisted I have breakfast, TJ,’ Miller interjected, ‘I have to get back to the city by lunchtime.’

  ‘What could be so important you have to rush back on a glorious day like today?’

  Covering for her slight hesitation, Tino jumped in. ‘Unfortunately I have to go over a new engine with my engineers today.’

  Miller glanced up at him through the screen of her sooty lashes and he was disconcerted to find that he couldn’t read her expression.

  ‘And have you given any more thought to my proposal, Mav? To represent Real Sport?’ TJ asked, confidence dripping from every word.

  Not expecting such a direct question, Tino hesitated. He would have liked to tell TJ what he thought of his business tactics, but Miller stayed him with her hand on his.

  ‘I’ve advised Valentino to set aside any final decisions about working on your campaign until after our business is concluded. I wouldn’t want to muddy the waters by mixing the two—as I’m sure you can appreciate.’

  The skin around TJ’s eyes tightened briefly before the man recovered himself. He clearly hadn’t been expecting Miller to turn the tables on him so neatly. And neither had Dexter, who started choking on his eggs.

  Tino had actually been considering telling his publicist to accept the Real Sport deal in a bid to help Miller win the account, but perhaps he didn’t need to. It really wouldn’t affect him all that much, so long as TJ’s company fitted the strict criteria he insisted on and was willing to pay one of his pet charity organisations an exorbitant sum of money for the privilege.

  TJ scratched his ear in a dead giveaway of his mounting tension. ‘Interesting decision. Not one I would have made.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it’s one I’ve made.’

  Miller had her bushfire extinguishing voice in place and Tino felt his fists clench when he caught Dexter’s murderous expression.

  Easing his bulk back in his chair, his face flushed, TJ fixed narrowed eyes on Miller’s boss. ‘I thought you were supposed to be the senior consultant on this account, Caruthers?’

  He didn’t need to say anything else to indicate how he felt, and everyone in the room held their collective breaths.

  A muscle in Dexter’s jaw twitched, but Tino cut off any response he might have made with a single look. ‘Miller’s principles are admirable,’ he said. He reached for an apple from the middle of the table. ‘Qualities I would expect any company I endorse to emulate.’

  For a moment no one seemed to know what to say.

  ‘Then get that final proposal to me quick-smart, young lady,’ TJ snapped. ‘I want everything wrapped by race day.’ He stared at Tino. ‘Maybe we can even announce our collaboration at your mother’s bash next Saturday night.’

  Damn. If Lyons was going to his mother’s party, he would expect to see Miller there.

  Tino shook his head. ‘I play a low-key role at that event. It’s my mother’s show.’

  Miller stopped torturing her breakfast. ‘I’ll make sure I have the proposal to you in time for an early decision, TJ.’ She dabbed at her lips with her napkin and stood up. ‘Thank you for your hospitality and, again, happy birthday.’ Then, acknowledging the other occupants in the room, she walked out like a queen.

  * * *

  Miller sat beside Valentino in the car as they headed back to Sydney, nursing a headache to end all others and a stomach that felt as if it was twisted up with her intestines.

  She’d hardly slept the night before, completely mortified that Valentino had not only read how much she had wanted him on the dance floor, but that he had not wanted her in return. Her embarrassment from the whole trying day had been absolute.

  It was a cliché that pride went before a fall, but right now Miller was grateful for the extra cushioning. In fact, she felt so terrible she almost felt sorry for the way Dexter must have felt when she had rejected him. One-way chemistry was not a pleasant thing to come face-to-face with for anyone.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  Valentino’s quiet concern in the stuffy little car was the last thing she needed. ‘No, not really.’ She was too tired to pretend any more. ‘Dexter is probably going to put me on performance management for overstepping hierarchical boundaries, TJ is livid, my promotion is most likely dead in the water, and I have the mother of all headaches.’

  ‘If it’s any consolation I thought you were magnificent this morning.’

  This morning—but not last night... ‘I was stupid.’ This morning and last night.

  ‘You’ll win TJ’s business and save the day. You’ll be a hero.’

  ‘Thanks for the pep talk.’ She rubbed her forehead and grimaced as she thought of pulling her computer out of its bag. Still, it had to be done. She had ‘squeezed the fear’ and stood up to TJ this morning—which she didn’t regret—but she didn’t want to lose her job over it, and she knew she had major sucking up to do if she wanted to get her goals back on track.

  ‘TJ and Dexter will expect to see you at my mother’s charity event next weekend.’

  Miller had heard of the Melbourne gala charity night, of course, but she’d had no idea it was Valentino’s mother’s event. ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘If you need to attend I can arrange it.’

  Miller glanced at him and winced as the sun reflected off the circular speakers on the dashboard. Was he kidding? She couldn’t wait for this weekend to be over. The thought of seeing him again was just...horrifying. ‘It’ll be fine.’

  He sped up and passed two cars at once. Miller tensed.

  ‘Surely you’re not still nervous about my driving?’

  ‘This isn’t a racetrack. It’s a national highway.’

  ‘With lots of room to pass. How are you going to explain your absence next weekend?’

  ‘I’ll have a headache.’ Something she could easily envisage right now. Then she realised why she hadn’t connected the event with him. ‘Why does your mother have a different surname from yours?’

  ‘She remarried.’

  His response to the personal question was typically abrupt, and it stupidly hurt. Her brain slow to accept that her feelings were as one-sided as Dexter’s.

  Reaching down, she unzipped her computer satchel and opened her laptop. Squeeze the fear? What had she been thinking?

  * * *

  Tino knew the conversation was at an end the minute Miller pulled her computer out and, really, short of hurling the thing out of the window, there was nothing he could do about it. Certainly she wouldn’t be pleased if he told her she looked as pale as a snowflake and should just close her eyes and rest.

  And what did he care? He was a man who had never found it necessary to encourage female conversation, and right now, with the sound of four hundred and forty-three pound-feet of torque eating up the heated tar of the Pacific Highway he was in his element. If she wanted to work her life away that was her choice.

  A little voice in his head piped up, asking if that wasn’t also his choice, but he sent it packing. The difference between him and Miller was that he loved his work. He didn’t want to do anything else. Whereas, while she was clearly good at her job, it wasn’t her first love.

  And what did love have to do with anything?

  Shaking his head, he shifted his thoughts into neutral and the car into top gear and just enjoyed the peace of the open highway and Miller tapping on her keyboard.

  More than once he found himself distracted by those killer legs encased in black cotton leggings when she shifted in her seat, but as soon as that happened he forced his eyes to the road and his mind to think about the important round of meetings he had lined up for tomorrow.

  Thankfully she fell asleep soon after that and he reclined her seat and tried to ignore the way her soft scent filled the car. The way her hair glinted golden-brown in the sun. The way her deep, even breaths pulled her shirt tight across her breasts. He merged onto the Harbour Bridge and pulled into the left lane, jerking the steering wheel s
harply right when a car he nearly cut off blared behind him.

  What’s your day job again, Ventura?

  Thank God it wasn’t standard procedure to drive around a racing track with a raging hard-on. He’d be dead at the first corner.

  The sharp movement jolted Miller’s head against the car door and she woke up and rubbed her scalp. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Lousy driving. Do I go left or right off the bridge?’

  He skilfully navigated the rest of the way through the posh backstreets of Neutral Bay to her apartment.

  The weekend was just about over and soon they’d go their separate ways. A fact that should make him feel better than it did.

  ‘Thank you for the weekend.’

  She held out her hand in a show of politeness as he pulled the car up to the kerb near the entrance to her apartment building. He could tell by the wary look in her eyes that she instantly regretted the overture, which only made him perversely take hold of her hand and hold it firmly enough that if she pulled away from him it would make her movement jerky.

  She swallowed—hard—and his eyes dropped to her lips. For a second he contemplated yanking her forward into his arms and kissing her, but her mouth flattened and he knew it would be a mistake.

  Clean break.

  Still holding her hand, he let his eyes snag hers and felt decidedly unsettled at the glazed look in her eyes. ‘I hope I fulfilled my purpose this weekend?’

  Okay, now he sounded like Sam. Time to go.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  Again with the thank-yous.

  ‘Good luck with the coming race.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Valentino frowned. Another thank-you from either one of them and he was likely to ignore all his good intentions and kiss her anyway.

  Climbing out of the car, he grabbed her bag and met her on the sidewalk.

  ‘I can take that.’

  She held her hand out for her bag but he only stared at it grimly. ‘I know you can, but you’re not.’

  She hesitated, her eyes briefly clashing with his. ‘Well, thank—’

  ‘Don’t.’ He watched her sharply as she stepped away from him. She was holding herself a little too stiffly. Was that so he wouldn’t touch her? Or...? ‘You look like you’re burning up.’