Harlequin Presents February 2013 - Bundle 2 of 2: Dealing Her Final CardUncovering the Silveri SecretBartering Her InnocenceLiving the Charade

by Jennie Lucas

  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 materialised 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 sharply 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.’

  ‘I’m fine. I just have a headache.’

  Tino wasn’t convinced, but he wasn’t going to argue with her on the sidewalk even if it was basically empty; most of the residents of this upper-class neighbourhood were safely behind closed doors.

  ‘Let’s go, then.’

  He felt a stab of remorse at how exhausted she looked and knew he was partly responsible for her condition. Possibly he should have told her who he was before he had agreed to help her on Thursday night, but it was too late now and he wasn’t a man who wasted time on regrets.

  The lift up seemed to take a month of Sundays, but finally she unlocked her door and stepped inside, reluctantly letting him follow.

  He glanced around the stylish cream interior of her apartment, surprised by the splashes of colour in the rugs and cushions. ‘Nice.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She remained stubbornly in the doorway and he set her rollaway case near her bedroom door. Then he looked around, perversely unwilling to say goodbye just yet.

  ‘I said thank you.’

  Tino glanced at a row of family photos on her bookcase. ‘I heard you—and, believe me, you don’t want to know what that makes me want to do.’

  She made a small noise in the back of her throat and he knew she was scowling at him.

  ‘Don’t you have somewhere to be?’

  Yeah, inside you.

  He ground his teeth together as his thoughts veered down the wrong track.

  Really, it was past time to go. Her prickly challenges turned him on, and the only risk he was up for right now was six hundred and forty kilos of carbon plastic and five point six kilometres of svelte bitumen.

  He turned and noticed that she didn’t seem quite steady in the doorway, although she did her best to hide it.

  Frowning, he pulled a business card out of his wallet. ‘If you need anything contact my publicist. His number is on here.’

  ‘What would I need?’

  ‘I don’t know, Miller. Help changing a tyre? Just take the card and stop being so damned difficult.’

  She held his card between her fingers as if it had teeth.

  ‘You’re not going to return the favour?’ he asked silkily.

  ‘I’m all out of cards.’

  Sure she was.

  ‘And you already know how to change a tyre.’

  He smiled. He did enjoy her dry sense of humour on the rare occasions she unleashed it.

  Like her passion.

  Her voice sounded scratchy and he studied her face. Her eyes had taken on a glossy sheen and small beads of sweat clung to her hairline. This time he didn’t ignore the inclination to reach out and lay his palm along her forehead. She jumped and tried to pull away, but he’d felt enough. ‘Hell, Miller, you are burning up.’

  She stiffened and her eyes were bleak when she raised them to his. ‘I’m fine.’
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  Like hell.

  A moment passed.

  Two.

  She jerked her eyes from his and swayed. Tino cursed, grabbed her, and eased her over into one of the overstuffed armchairs facing the TV.

  ‘It’s just a headache.’

  ‘Sit.’ He headed into the alcove kitchen and flicked on the electric kettle.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Making you a cup of tea. You look shattered.’

  She didn’t argue, which showed him how drained she was. He located a cup and saucer in her overhead cupboard and a teabag in a canister on the bench and waited for the water to boil. ‘What’s your mother’s number?’

  ‘Why do you want it?’

  She had her eyes closed and didn’t look at him when she answered.

  ‘I think she should stay over tonight.’

  ‘She lives in Western Australia.’

  ‘Your friend, then—what’s-her-name.’

  She peeled her eyes open and looked at him as if he was joking. ‘No man ever forgets Ruby’s name. She’s in Thailand.’

  There was a wistful note in her voice and he paused. ‘Were you supposed to go with her?’

  ‘I...had to work.’

  He shook his head. ‘Who else can I call to take care of you?’

  She closed her eyes again, shutting him out. ‘I can take care of myself.’

  He poured her tea. ‘Do you take milk?’

  ‘Black is fine.’

  As he handed her the hot tea a compelling bright yellow canvas dotted with tiny blue and purple fey creatures caught his attention on the far wall and he stepped closer. ‘Who did this?’

  ‘No one famous. Can you please go now?’

  He looked at the indecipherable artist’s scrawl in the corner of the canvas and took a stab in the dark. ‘When did you do this?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  Liar.

  And she hadn’t just wanted to illustrate children’s books either; he’d bet his next race on it.