SLEEPING WITH HER RIVAL

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  "No. Later. After we get back."

  "Of course, I will. What made you think of it now?"

  A desperate feeling, he thought. A need he couldn't seem to control. "We only have a few days left, and we haven't fulfilled all of our fantasies."

  She snared his lips in a moist kiss. "What fantasy do you want fulfill tonight?"

  "I don't know. Something wild, something sexy."

  Something that would mask the sudden panic in his soul.

  * * *

  Flint parked his SUV in a dirt lot, and Gina looked around. She saw several Native American couples heading toward a community hall. She noticed their children, too. Adorable little kids wearing buckskin, beads, fringe and feathers.

  She could hardly contain her excitement. And then reality hit.

  "Aren't people going to recognize us from the tabloids?" she asked.

  "Probably, but most of the churchgoers know me. And I doubt they'll say anything. This is a spiritual gathering. It wouldn't be right for them to approach us about something so personal."

  Maybe not, she thought. But the scandal would still be on their minds. Who wouldn't be curious? "They'll probably just stare."

  "No, they won't. At least not the traditional Indians. It's not proper to stare or point." He removed his shoes and took off his T-shirt and jeans, which left him bare-chested in a pair of shorts.

  She watched as he climbed into the back seat and began to dress, explaining what the components of his outfit were.

  The transformation amazed her, and so did the beauty of his regalia. By the time he stepped out of the vehicle to complete his ritual, he wore a colorful ribbon shirt, a bone breastplate, a beaded vest and a leather apron that was used in place of a breechclout. Along with a handful of other accessories, he donned a porcupine roach in his hair, a set of fringed kneebands and a pair of fully beaded moccasins.

  He went to the back of the vehicle, opened the double doors and sat on the edge of the storage area. Silent, Gina joined him. He painted his face into a striking mask, using sticks of greasepaint, a small hand mirror and the natural light the descending sun still allowed.

  She wanted to tell him how beautiful he was, but she couldn't seem to find the words. He took her breath away.

  "I'm going to smudge," he said. "Do you want me to smudge you, too?"

  She nodded as he lit the dried herb. She knew burning sage represented a spiritual cleansing in his culture. She'd seen him smudge every morning this week, but he hadn't invited her to be part of it until now.

  He fanned the smoke over himself, then combed it over her, filling her with a sense of longing. She wanted to touch him so badly, she ached.

  "I owe you a thanks," he said afterward.

  "What for?"

  "For letting me confide in you."

  She knew he referred to the heart-wrenching information he'd shared about his mom. "I'm your friend, Flint. That's what I'm here for."

  He smiled, but the painted mask made him look a bit wicked. "Thanks."

  "Is it true that you were taught not to speak of the dead?" she asked.

  "Yes, but I never followed that practice. I used to like to talk about my mom. But that was before I found out about what she did."

  "I'm sorry," Gina said. "I'm aware of how difficult it was for you to tell me."

  "Now that you know, there's not much more to say about it." He slipped a leather satchel over his shoulder. "What's done is done. And I have to find a way to live with it."

  Yes, she thought. He would tackle his grief by marrying a woman who wouldn't regret giving up her career.

  Gina glanced at her left hand and pictured a wedding ring there. Could she give up her career for a man? Quit her job? Ignore her education?

  No, she realized. She couldn't. She needed a husband who respected her work, who valued her for it.

  Yet there was a part of her that could almost imagine sacrificing everything for Flint Kingman.

  Dear God, she thought, as she turned to look at him. What had he done to her?

  While Flint guided her toward the community center, Gina struggled to steady her pulse, to take a deep breath and relax.

  They passed a row of food vendors, and she inhaled the mouthwatering aroma.

  "Are you hungry?" he asked.

  "Sort of, but I'd rather wait until we get settled in." He studied her for a second. "Are you sure your stomach is okay? It's not burning, is it?"

  "No, it's fine. I can eat later." As they reached the front door of the community center, she realized he hadn't attached his bustle. "When are you going to put that on?" she asked.

  "Right before I dance." He smiled, and once again, the painted mask transformed him into a leering warrior. A man a bit too dangerous for his own good.

  A moment later they entered the building, and all of Gina's senses came alive. The music, a pounding drumbeat and a rhythm of native chants, drew her attention to the center of the expansive room, where people were already dancing, spinning and stepping in time to an ancient song.

  "We're a bit late, so we missed the Grand Entry. The procession that marks the official beginning of a powwow," Flint explained.

  "What's going on now?" she asked.

  "The Drum is singing an intertribal song. That means all styles of dance are welcome."

  Gina gazed at the arena again. "How many styles are there?"

  "As far as competition dances go, about four men's and four women's. Kids have their own categories."

  She zeroed in on the tots in the arena. Some clung to an adult's hand, and others demonstrated the remarkable steps all on their own.

  "Specialty and exhibition dances are part of the program, too," he added. "There's a lot to see."

  Gina met his gaze. Flint's world was fascinating, she thought. Filled with honor and pride. History and tradition.

  "I need to find my grandmother."

  He led her past a maze of craft booths until he located the lady he called Nísh'kí.

  She was surrounded by a group of other elderly women, and when she saw her grandson, she rose to embrace him.

  They separated, and he introduced Gina.

  The older woman took her hand. "I'm so glad he brought you. I've been anxious to meet you."

  "Thank you." In spite of her age, Flint's grandmother was an attractive lady, with gray-streaked hair and exotically shaped eyes. Gina suspected she had been a beauty in her day.

  Nísh'kí motioned to a folding chair. "Come. Sit with me."

  Feeling warm and welcome, Gina took the proffered seat, then she and Nísh'kí spent several hours watching Flint dance.

  He was a Northern Traditional dancer, she learned, a style inspired by an elite society of warriors centuries before.

  Nísh'kí explained that this powwow wasn't designed for competition. All the dancers, including Flint, danced for pleasure.

  Gina studied him, thinking how regal he looked, moving to the Drum, to the heartbeat of his heritage. The mirrors on his sash glinted, and the fringe on his regalia fluttered, catching the beat. He carried a wing fan in one hand and a staff in the other. The articles gave him balance, she'd been told. And the staff, wrapped in fur and decorated with an eagle claw, represented a coup stick from days gone by.

  "He's magnificent," she said.

  "Yes," the older woman agreed. "He is."

  A while later Flint left the arena and returned with several cartons of food. After Gina sampled the stew, she tasted the fry bread, then caught Flint watching her.

  "Do you like it?" he asked.

  She nodded. The bread was a flat, doughy disc, generously sweetened.

  "I put extra honey on it," he said.

  She met his gaze, and when he flashed that wicked smile, she recalled that he had a honey fetish.

  Instantly her cheeks warmed.

  Was he revealing the fantasy he hoped to fulfill? Or had her imagination run away with her?

  Unable to stop herself, she brushed his hand, desperate to to
uch him, to feel his skin against hers. And at that innocently sensual moment, she finally accepted her fate, knowing it was time to admit the truth.

  She was in love with Flint Kingman.

  * * *

  Gina awakened the following morning feeling warm and sticky. She opened her eyes and peered at Flint. He lay beside her, one arm flung over the pillow, the other clutched possessively around her waist. The sheet was tangled around his legs, the quilt shoved to the foot of the bed.

  Good heavens, what they'd done last night. A residue still clung to Gina's skin.

  She tried to move, but Flint tightened his grip.

  "Where are you going?" he asked, his voice groggy.

  "It's time to get ready for work."

  "Not for me." He squinted at her. "I don't have any appointments until this afternoon."

  "Lucky you." She kissed his mouth and tasted last night's treat. They'd poured honey all over each other, then licked and laved and made sweet, sweet love. "I have to take a shower."

  He flashed a sleepy grin. "We got a little carried away, didn't we?"

  Gina smiled. Boy, did they ever. "The least we could have done was bathed and changed the sheets."

  "I don't know. I kind of like this." He pulled her tight against him, and their bodies nearly stuck together.

  She smoothed a strand of honey-clumped hair from his forehead. Beautiful, crazy, wild Flint. God, how she loved him.

  He nuzzled her neck. "Can't you ditch work and stay home with me for a while?"

  "I wish I could, but I'm swamped this morning." Her brother had called a mandatory meeting, and she was expected to be there.

  "Will you try to come home early?"

  "Yes. I should be back by four."

  "Good." He snuggled deeper into his pillow and closed his eyes. "I'll shower and change the sheets later."

  She studied his features, the chiseled cheekbones, the determined jaw, the arch of his brows. Heaven help her, but she wanted to keep him. And she had to say what was on her mind. She had to take the chance. "Flint?"

  He opened his eyes. "Hmm?"

  She released the air in her lungs. "Would you ever consider marrying a career woman? I mean, do you think you'd ever change your mind about that?"

  Instead of answering, he turned the tables, putting the pressure on her. "Would you ever consider giving up your career for a man?"

  She had already debated that question in her mind, and she had to speak the truth. "No. My position at Baronessa is part of who I am."

  He sat up and cleared his throat. "Even if it gives you ulcers?"

  "I can't help it if I'm a nervous person."

  "Are you working there for you or for your family?" he asked.

  "Both. What about you?" she challenged. "Why are you working for your father's company?"

  "For him and for me. I really like what I do, but I have family loyalties, as well."

  Suddenly she saw the pain in his eyes, the knowledge that his family loyalty had been jeopardized by what his mother had done.

  She reached out and touched his cheek, wishing she could make him stop hurting. And when he put his hand over hers, she wished she could stop herself from hurting, too.

  "I have to get ready," she said.

  "I know." He kissed the palm of her hand and let her go.

  * * *

  Two hours later Gina entered Baronessa Gelati's corporate headquarters. Flint's touch still lingered in her mind, but she did her best to face the day without looking back, without picturing him alone in that big, honeyed bed.

  After checking in with her secretary, she proceeded to Nicholas's office. Her brother sat behind his desk, his expression troubled.

  "What's wrong?" she asked.

  "We'll discuss it when Dad arrives."

  "What about the other board members?"

  "This meeting is personal, Gina. It's between you, Dad and me." He stood and rolled his shoulders. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

  "No." That would only stir her ulcer to life. "When is Dad scheduled to get here?"

  "Any minute."

  Carlo Barone arrived precisely three minutes later, wearing a dark suit and a tense frown. Although he wasn't tall, he was a powerfully built man who carried himself with pride.

  Nicholas sat on the edge of his desk, and Carlo gestured for Gina to take a chair. Her father, with his booming voice and masculine demeanor, never failed to intimidate her.

  As instructed, she sat and waited for the ball to drop. Obviously she'd done something that displeased him. She glanced at Nicholas, but he didn't offer any brotherly signs of encouragement. Apparently she was on her own.

  "I heard you moved in with Flint Kingman," her dad said. "But only for the week. What kind of shoddy arrangement is that?"

  Momentarily stunned, she stared. "This meeting is about Flint?"

  "No, it's about you, Gina. I want to know what's going on between you and that man."

  She defended herself. "Flint and I are working together. We're creating a scandal to divert the press, to keep them from trashing Baronessa's image."

  "What about your image?" Carlo retorted. "Your brother and I should have never trusted that spin doctor. He's too Hollywood."

  "Too Hollywood? He's a Boston businessman, Dad, and he's very well respected."

  "This scandal has gotten out of hand." Nicholas cut in.

  "And you're caught in the middle of it," Carlo added.

  Gina's emotions were tangled. Her father and brother had called this meeting to defend her honor, to offer their support. It was the last thing she'd expected.

  "I appreciate what the two of you are trying to do. But this scandal is nearly over." She stood and faced her dad. "And I can handle what's left of it."

  "Are you sure?" Carlo reached out to hold her, and she found herself falling willingly into his embrace.

  God, how she needed this. Her daddy's strong arms. His strength. His concern.

  She stepped back to look at him, at his short dark hair and graying temples, at the lines that marked his eyes. "Do you think I'm good at my job?"

  "Of course, I do. You work harder than anyone I know. But you take too much on. You let the stress wear you down."

  She glanced at Nicholas. "Is that how you feel, too?"

  Her brother nodded. "We brought Flint into this so you wouldn't have to tackle the press on your own. And now you're involved with him."

  "Yes, I am. But that's my choice."

  Her father cupped her face. "Just be careful you don't get hurt."

  Too late, she thought. She was already hurting. "I'll be fine, Daddy. I promise. I will."

  * * *

  Later that day Gina told herself not to dwell on losing Flint. Instead she would cherish every moment they had left.

  Determined to prepare a home-cooked meal for the man she loved, she stopped by Marino's market and picked up the items she required. Afterward, as she balanced the grocery bag and walked to her car, she spotted Maria and a dark-haired man on the corner not far from Baronessa Gelateria, the ice-cream parlor her sister managed.

  And then she did a double take. The man was Steven Conti. Tall, handsome, blue-eyed Steven. The traitor of all traitors. In Gina's opinion, his family was responsible for the trouble at Baronessa. She was certain they had sabotaged the passionfruit promotion, spiking the gelato with those hot peppers. Steven's great-aunt was the woman who'd put the Valentine curse on the Barone family, and the withered old crone was still alive and kicking.

  Gina studied Steven's body language, the way he leaned toward Maria. Was he attracted to her sister?

  She shifted her gaze to Maria. The petite brunette smiled at the Conti villain.

  What in heaven's name was going on? Had they just happened to run into each other on the street? Or were they up to no good?

  Gina unlocked her car and placed the groceries on the passenger seat. Was Maria having an affair with Steven? A secret liaison? After all, she had been sneaking off, disappearin
g without proper explanation.

  As Steven and Maria parted company and her sister headed in the direction of the gelateria, Gina shook her head. Just because she was having an affair didn't mean Maria was doing the same thing.

  Then again, she knew all too well how easily a strong-willed, levelheaded woman could fall for the wrong man.

  Thirty minutes later Gina returned to Flint's house and found him in the kitchen. For a moment she stood watching him, thinking how handsome he was. He wore a white shirt, gray trousers and a pair of black loafers, but he'd flung his jacket and tie over a chair.

  He turned and spotted her. "Hey, you went shopping."

  She shifted her bag. "I'm making Italian."

  He laughed and reached into the fridge, removing a cellophane-wrapped package. "I bought steaks. Filet mignon. I was going to cook for you tonight. I even picked up flowers and candles."

  "Really?" She moved forward and set her groceries on the counter. "We both had the same idea." And she wanted to hug him for thinking of her, for planning a romantic meal.

  "What did you get?" He poked through her bag. "This looks good. Do you think maybe we could combine our food? Pasta and steak go together, don't they?"

  "Yes." She gave in to the need to hold him. And when she put her head on his shoulder, he stroked a gentle hand down her back.

  "Are you okay, Gina?"

  She nodded, even though her heart hurt. "Are you?"

  "Yeah, I'm fine." Flint rested his chin on the top of her head, thinking he wasn't the least bit fine. Every day that passed brought him closer to the end, closer to losing her.

  "Should we start dinner?" she asked.

  "Sure." He released her and stepped back.

  She looked tired, a little weary, and he wondered if she'd had a rough day.

  She discarded her shoes and moved through the kitchen in her stocking feet. He leaned against the counter and watched her.

  His Gina. His sweet, wild, proper Gina. She still confused him, but he didn't see the point in analyzing their relationship, in beating it to death. Once she was gone, he'd get a grip on his feelings. Eventually the panic would end, and he'd stop obsessing about her. Life as he knew it would go back to normal. Or as normal as it could get for a guy trying to shake a woman from his blood.

  "I bought an imported sauce," she said. "It comes out of a jar, but it's really good."