by Weaver, Lisa
Luke breathed a resigned sigh. “Guarding Rafe’s sister.”
Surprise rendered Lauren temporarily speechless. “Wow,” she murmured once the enormity of her brother’s announcement sunk in. “Now that’s a news flash. I thought Rafe was an only child.”
“The revelation came as quite a shock to the Dimitriou family, too. They only learned of the woman’s existence a few weeks ago. Rafe’s father, Philip, had had an affair. Twenty-three years ago the mistress disappeared from his life without a trace. He never got over her, and when his wife passed away, he set out to locate his former lover. When the investigator was finally able to track her down, it was too late. She’d died a year prior. But he found that the woman had a daughter. Philip’s daughter.”
“Amazing.”
“Yeah, and from what I’ve been able to gather from our intel, she’s quite a handful. Her dossier paints her as strong-willed, sharp as a whip, and a free spirit who wants nothing at all to do with her newly discovered family.”
As covert bodyguards, Lauren and Luke generally remained invisible to the people they were tasked to protect, but certain situations called for closer interaction. She had a feeling if Luke had to make contact with Rafe’s sister, things could get interesting. The stubborn, independent side of Luke’s new charge would mix with her brother’s personality like oil and water. “Sounds like a challenge.”
“I’m always up for a challenge,” her brother assured her. “And despite my giving you a hard time, I know you are, too. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I will be,” she assured him. “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”
“I hope so,” he sighed. “Good luck, sis.”
Opening her door to Rafe’s knock a few hours later, she knew she was going to need all the luck she could get to make it through the evening unscathed. Sexiness personified stood in her doorway. She wasn’t sure her newly fortified defenses were up to the challenge of deflecting Rafe in full pursuit mode. She was in trouble. He was trouble.
His gaze raked over the black denim jeans and violet polo shirt she wore. “Gorgeous.” You do casual well.”
Heaven help her, so did he. She hadn’t counted on the hormonal damage Rafe could wreak in faded blue jeans that hugged his muscled thighs like a second skin. She drew in a breath as he sauntered past her. Ditto to his perfectly sculpted rear view. He was even more devastating than he’d been in the tuxedo.
“I’ll just get my purse and we can go,” she hurriedly relayed, eager to be anywhere else but here in the intimate seclusion of her home with him. A crowded restaurant would be far safer.
Instead of driving into the city as she thought he would, Rafe chose a scenic route that snaked along the ocean and away from all the popular dining spots.
“You said to dress casually, but you didn’t mention where we were going,” she probed, curious as to where they were headed.
“I’ve chosen someplace quiet and secluded so we can iron out the details of our arrangement in privacy.” Parking by a picturesque outlook with a view of the water, he cut the engine and turned to face her. “Don’t worry agapi mou. I don’t plan on letting you go hungry.”
Her pulse leapt at his thinly veiled double entendre. “I’m not worried.” She shrugged, shooting for unaffected but failing miserably. “I’m just curious.”
“Since it’s such a perfect evening, I thought we could dine alfresco.”
Watching him collect a picnic basket and blanket from the trunk of his car, Lauren’s heart stuttered. They were alone in an intimate setting, exactly what she’d hoped to avoid. On the other hand, his safety wouldn’t be as pressing a concern here. She’d been vigilant for any indication of suspicious activity since he’d picked her up, and there’d been no sign of a threat. That didn’t mean she could let her guard down, though, and it would be easier to hone in on anything amiss on this secluded stretch of beach than in a bustling, crowded restaurant.
Nerves made the thought of eating about as appealing as taking a stroll across a bed of hot coals, but at least the act of forking food to her mouth would take her mind off the shimmering undercurrent of sensual awareness humming between them.
“Dinner awaits,” Rafe pronounced, stretching out a tanned hand towards the blanket he’d spread at the water’s edge.
He’d packed a mouthwatering array of potato and pasta salads, crispy fried chicken, fresh baguettes, deviled eggs, and assorted cheeses. Despite her nerves, her stomach grumbled in anticipation.
It was the perfect setting for a picnic. Waves lapped peacefully against the shore, and a soft breeze carried the scent of the wild roses that grew in glorious tangles along the ledges. Lauren slipped her sandals off and took a seat on the blanket, sinking her toes into the blissfully warm sand.
“Dig in,” he encouraged.
The setting sun transformed the pre-dusk sky into a delightful watercolor wash of pinks, mauves, and purples. Rafe directed the conversation to innocuous topics while they ate, and Lauren found she was actually enjoying herself. It wasn’t long before a flock of seagulls, lured by the tempting fare, winged in to join them. The birds’ excited vocals communicated their eagerness to share the meal.
“They think they’ve hit the jackpot,” she laughed, delighted by their aerial antics as they competed for the morsels of baguette Rafe threw to them.
“I hate to break it to them,” he drawled, “but we’re not sharing our dessert. I hope you saved room. It’s chocolate cheesecake.”
Remembering what had transpired the last time they’d enjoyed that particular confection, her thoughts took a detour into dangerous territory. His skillful chocolate-laced kisses had shattered her.
Don’t go there, she admonished herself. This is a business deal, plain and simple. Don’t go getting all fanciful because he remembered you love cheesecake. Focus on why you’re here.
Rafe handed her a plate with a generous slice of the decadent cake. She forked a mouthful and savored it while trying to block out all thoughts of the mind-numbing kiss they’d shared. “So what’s our next step?”
We’ll meet with my attorney tomorrow to review the prenuptial agreement and sign the necessary paperwork. From there I’ll travel to London to wrap up an acquisition. I return Wednesday, and I’ll need you to free up the entire day to finalize our plans.”
Lauren rolled her eyes. “Really? We’re preparing for a low-key, private ceremony. What could we possibly have to do that requires a whole day?”
“We’re going shopping. In less than a week, you’ll be my wife. You need the trappings that go along with your new status if we’re going to create a believable façade.”
“If you’re afraid I’ll embarrass you by showing up at your side in sweats and bunny slippers, you needn’t worry. I have a closet full of clothes that will suffice.”
“I’m sure you do, but from the moment we arrive at the Fullertons’ estate and word spreads that we’ve tied the knot, you’ll be in the spotlight. The Fullertons are wonderful people and very down-to-earth despite their fortune. Sadly, the majority of our fellow guests aren’t like our hosts.
We’ll be spending four days with a bunch of barracudas. When they learn you’re my wife, they’ll be on the lookout for the slightest misstep to pounce on. They’ll scrutinize everything from your choice of designers to which shoes you slip your feet into. You’ll be in the spotlight, and that means kicking it up a notch.”
“That’s so . . . so . . .” she broke off, struggling to describe such blatant shallowness.
“Pompous . . . ostentatious . . . materialistic?” he supplied with a quirked eyebrow.
“All of the above. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to wrap my mind around it.”
“Nor I. Even though I travel in the same circles, that’s not how I play the game. But I plan on winning this one, and that means keeping up with the Joneses in this instance. Think of it as a pop quiz from the fashion police. One we don’t want to fail.”
“You
r business associates sound like a charming group of people. I still think I can pull this off with my current wardrobe, though.”
“I’ve never had to twist a woman’s arm to get her to go shopping with me before,” he told her. “It’s a first. But then you’re full of firsts aren’t you?”
Her face heating, she remembered the most exclusive of firsts she’d gifted him. He’d been her first lover because she’d thought he would be her last. She’d believed they would build a future together. He’d awakened her to the gravity of her misjudgment in short order.
Her ruminations sparked her temper and made her reckless. If he wanted to flash his platinum card, more power to him. “If you’re sure I can’t get by with what’s already hanging in my closet, who am I to argue?” she shot back. “It’s your money.”
“Be ready at eight Wednesday morning. Our first stop will be my jeweler’s to pick out your engagement ring and choose wedding bands.”
“You plan on wearing a wedding band? Accessorizing your ring finger seems rather unnecessary considering the circumstances. We won’t be intimate, and a year is a long time to remain celibate. I’m not harboring any illusions about your being faithful.”
Rafe pinned her with a hard look. “Then you had better reassess your impression of my character. I intend to honor my vows for the duration of our marriage arrangement, even if you decide to deprive yourself of the physical perks our deal could provide.”
“I mean it when I say I have no intention of sleeping with you again. If you think I’m going to change my mind, then you’ll find it’s going to be a very long year.”
“We’ll see,” he drawled. “Regardless of whether you decide to share my bed or not, I won’t take a mistress. Illicit behavior—on either of our parts—will cast suspicion on the authenticity of this marriage. I can’t afford that. There’s too much at stake.”
“Why do I get the feeling that there’s more going on between you and your former business partner than boardroom rivalry gone bad?”
Rafe met her inquiry with a glare. “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with. Milton Payne is my problem, not yours.”
Chapter Five
Wednesday morning found Lauren swept up in the human cyclone that was Rafe Dimitriou. The last time she’d seen him, he was jetting off to London after they’d dropped a ton of ink at his lawyer’s office.
Liz had dispatched Michael to guard Rafe while he was overseas, and she shared the operative’s surveillance reports with Lauren. Things had been eventful on the business front, with Rafe spending the majority of his time in closed-door meetings. But thankfully his time in London had been free from any security concerns.
Now Rafe was back, and it was obvious he wasn’t suffering from jet lag. He collected her at eight for breakfast, disgustingly chipper. She wasn’t a morning person, so his cheerful demeanor should have grated on her nerves. Instead, she found it contagious.
They spent the morning shopping for the clothing and accessories he deemed essential in order for her to be convincing in the role of Mrs. Rafe Dimitriou. The first item of business was selecting rings. Rafe insisted bigger was better, but she held firm on her preference for something smaller. He zeroed in on a perfect princess-cut diamond that was far less flamboyant than his earlier selections. It was the exact ring that had drawn her eye. The setting was detailed, yet timeless. She loved it instantly and told him so. With that purchase settled, they embarked on a whirlwind tour of high-end boutiques. Now her feet were begging for mercy.
“Lunch?” Rafe suggested as morning rolled into early afternoon.
“Yes, please,” she readily concurred, her stomach growling in agreement.
They took seats at a charming sidewalk café. “The shopping trip hasn’t been too bad so far, has it?” he queried.
“No. I’m having fun,” she admitted, meaning it. “Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
And he meant that. Literally. Visions of her in the stunning outfits she’d modeled for his approval were now branded into his brain. She was born to wear haute couture, but her allure went deeper than her stunning physical beauty. There were so many layers to her personality he found captivating.
And that was dangerous ground, he acknowledged. It would be prudent to remember she had once been a hair’s breadth away from destroying the Dimitriou family empire. He was playing with fire by admitting her back into his life.
Still, he had no choice but to take the risk. He needed Lauren to pose as his wife in order to emerge victorious against Milton Payne. Milton had bested him twice. He had no intention of letting him win round three.
When Milton had first betrayed him, he’d kicked himself for not recognizing that the man he considered a friend as well as a trusted business partner harbored such a capacity for deceit.
Once he’d moved past the initial shock of having been played for a fool by a man he’d thought of as a brother, he tried to understand what had motivated his partner to steal from him. He wanted to pull Milton up out of the darkness he’d descended into, but his friend made it painfully evident he didn’t want his help. And then Milton had done the unthinkable and betrayed him a second time.
In the end it had been easier to let him walk away.
Would you like to see our dessert menu?” their waiter asked, collecting their lunch plates.
Lauren smiled, nodding her head eagerly. Skimming the menu, she promptly settled on a hot fudge sundae.
“Make that two,” Rafe seconded, humor dancing in his eyes as he placed the order.
Lauren fixed him with a narrow-eyed stare. “Care to share what you find so amusing?”
“It’s just refreshing to share a meal with someone who isn’t afraid to eat more than a lettuce leaf. Most of the women I know stalk their calories right down to the gram.”
“Life’s too short to pass up the things you enjoy. I’ve learned to love working out so I can offset my indulgences. I swim, jog, and practice yoga. I try to mix my routine up so I don’t get bored.”
“You’ll like my gym, then. It’s one of my favorite features of my country house in Pawling.”
“You have a place in New York? Still, I don’t see why I have to give up my home for this temporary arrangement of yours.”
“It’s simple. You’ll be Mrs. Rafe Dimitriou. Separate residences aren’t an option. The house is outfitted with an annex to my main office, and I use it as my base of operations while I’m in New York. You can keep your home for when we dissolve our agreement, of course, but until then you will reside under my roof.”
Lauren’s body language clearly telegraphed that his casual assumption she would fall into line and do his bidding rankled her, but she didn’t press the issue. “Let’s see how we’re coming along on today’s agenda,” he continued.
“You drew up an agenda?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Well, for one thing, there’s nothing wrong with spontaneity.”
“Of course not. But spontaneity and successful business deals don’t mix,” he noted wryly before turning his attention back to the tablet in his hand. “So, we’ve found a swimsuit.”
“Check,” she confirmed, a blush spreading across her cheeks as she no doubt pictured the cleverly designed scrap of next-to-nothingness in dazzling emerald he’d selected.
“Cocktail dresses?”
“Check.”
“Riding pants and tennis outfit?”
“Check and check.”
“Good. Our work here is almost done. We’ll head back to the front after dessert. We still need to track down shoes, lingerie, and a gown for the gala Sunday evening.”
“This is the first time you’ve mentioned a gala. The Fullertons are hosting a party while we’re guests at the estate?”
“They’re throwing a bash to celebrate Gracious Living’s fiftieth anniversary. It’s going to be the social event of the year.”
Apparently there wasn’t a dress in the entire city of New Yor
k that was good enough for the occasion. Rafe dragged her to a dozen exclusive designer boutiques in search of the perfect gown, yet scores of exquisite designer creations later he still hadn’t found one he deemed suitable.
He purchased several of the fashions for other functions they would be attending together, but none, he insisted, were appropriate for the event. By midafternoon, Lauren’s patience was beginning to wear thin.
“I’ve reached the shop-till-you-drop pinnacle, and I’m about to go over the edge,” she sighed in exasperation. “Can’t we just go with one of the gowns you’ve already selected?”
Rafe shook his head. “Hang in there for a little longer. I have an idea.”
Puzzled, she waited while he pulled out his cell and placed a call.
“Paul,” he greeted. “You once said if I ever needed a favor I was to call on you. I was wondering if I might collect. My fiancée and I are attending the Gracious Living gala this weekend, and she needs something special to wear for the occasion.”
After a brief pause, Rafe grinned. “Yes, I said, ‘fiancée.’” There was a pause as he listened to the response. His dimples danced again. “I knew you would have just the thing. We’ll see you soon.”
Fifteen minutes later he parked in front of an elegant brownstone. A sign emblazoned with beautifully detailed calligraphy hung outside the entrance, identifying the building as the DeChamps Workroom.
Lauren blew out an amazed breath. “Wow. The Paul you just phoned was the Paul DeChamps? The man who designed the dream of a wedding gown I modeled for the benefit fashion show?”
“Is that a problem?” he drawled, amused at her animated response.
“Yes. I mean no,” she hastily corrected, flustered. “His designs are exquisite. It’s just that I’ve heard his consultations are by appointment only and his waiting list is six months out.”
“No worries. He’s assured me he’s delighted to see what he can do for us.”
“I’m impressed. How is it you’re on drop-by-for-a-visit-anytime terms with one of the shining stars of the fashion world?”