His Thirty-Day Fiancée

by Catherine Mann

  “I have to agree,” she murmured against his lips, eyes wide, intimate as they watched, touched, even talked, both completely into each other and the moment. “As much as I would love to take your picture right now, the last thing we need is someone hacking into my computer and finding naked photos of you.”

  She’d surprised him there. But then he should be used to the way she lobbed bombshells his way. “You want to take risqué pictures of me?”

  “I beg your pardon? I had something more artistic in mind.” She ground her hips against his as she continued to whisper her fantasy. “But yes, you would be totally, gloriously, naked.”

  He throbbed inside the satiny clasp of her body. While he couldn’t imagine himself pulling some pretty-boy naked modeling session even for Kate, he absolutely enjoyed hearing her fantasize. “Artistic how?”

  “You’re a mesmerizing man. The way light plays across the cut of your muscles in your arms, the six-pack ridges. Everything about you is stark angles. And shadows. The things I see when I look in your eyes…”

  “Enough.” He kissed her hard to break off her words, uncomfortable with the turn her scenario had taken. To hell with giving over control. He rolled her to her back and she didn’t protest.

  In a flash, she hooked her legs around his waist and took charge of her pleasure—of theirs—all over again. And it was every bit as combustible as before. The glide of sweat-slicked skin against skin, the scent of her with him lingering in the air. He couldn’t get enough of her. Even as they thrust toward completion, he knew the sex between them would always be thus.

  And it hadn’t brought them any closer to resolving their argument.

  A week later, Kate snapped a photo of Jennifer lounging in a hammock strung between two palm trees. Jennifer tucked in one earbud for her new iPod, boy-band music drifting from the other loose earpiece.

  Click. Click.

  Kate had photos galore, much to Harold Hough’s delight, although in his emails he kept pressing for one of the king. She could answer honestly that she hadn’t seen him. The monarch was still in the hospital. She hadn’t been allowed access.

  Focusing on her favorite Canon camera and her job rather than her confusing relationship with Duarte, Kate swung the lens toward her next subject. Antonio straddled a paddleboard in the shallow tides with little Kolby in front of him, both of them wearing wet suits for the cooler waters. Click. Click.

  These photos would be her wedding gifts to Shannon and Tony. Some pictures she considered off-limits to Harold Hough, the Intruder and the public in general. During the past week, she’d found herself more protective of the images than even Duarte. These people had welcomed her into their lives and they trusted her to represent them fairly in the media. She’d learned there were some moral lines she refused to cross, even for her sister.

  Lifting the camera, she went back to work on images for her gift to the bride and groom. Two large dogs loped in the surf, the king’s trained Rhodesian Ridgebacks named Benito and Diablo. Click. The dogs might look scary but they were pussycats around the little boy.

  A strange squeeze wrapped around Kate’s heart as she took a close-up of the child and his soon-to-be dad in matching wet suits. The towheaded little boy sported white zinc oxide on his nose and a big grin on his face.

  Lowering her camera, she wondered how Duarte would act with his children someday. He wasn’t the lighthearted playmate sort like Tony, but she’d seen his gentle patience and understanding with Jennifer over the past week. Her heart went tight again.

  Don’t think.

  Duarte wore jeans and a lightweight pullover, wind threading in off the ocean and playing with his hair the way she longed to. From a distance he may have appeared casual, lounging back against a tree. But through her lens, Kate saw the iPhone in his hand and he sure wasn’t playing music. His brow furrowed, he seemed intent on business.

  Their week together had been guarded to say the least. While the king stayed isolated in the hospital, they’d settled into an unspoken standoff, participating in five-star family dinners. Smiling at movie nights in the home theater. Sailing. Swimming. Even going to the gym with a stationary bike for her to work off all the meals while Duarte completed a martial arts workout looking like sex personified.

  Most would have considered the week a dream vacation.

  Except Duarte hadn’t apologized for his autocratic move in bringing Jennifer to the island without consulting her. And she simply couldn’t tell him never mind, it didn’t matter. Because it was important.

  Although, she didn’t understand why she felt so compelled to make her point. They would be out of each other’s lives in another two weeks or so when she took the photos of Tony and Shannon’s wedding. She should just enjoy the sex and let the deeper issues float away like palmetto fronds on the waves.

  And the sex was most definitely enjoyable.

  While their days together might be tension packed, the nights were passion filled. In her bed or his, they never planned ahead but somehow found their way into each other’s arms by midnight, staying together until sunrise.

  Pictures. Right. She’d forgotten.

  Click, click, click. She captured Duarte in photos just for her personal collection when she left the island. After all, she would probably need proof for herself that it all happened in the first place. Every moment here felt surreal, a dream life she’d never been meant to live.

  She shifted the lens.

  Shannon sat cross-legged on a beach blanket with a basket, arranging a picnic lunch. “Okay, y’all,” she drawled, nudging her glasses in place, “we have roasted turkey and cheese with apricot-fig chutney on a baguette, spinach salad with champagne vinaigrette, and fresh fruit tarts for dessert. And for Kolby…” She pulled out what appeared to be lunch meat rolled in tortillas. Her blonde ponytail swished in the wind as she called out to her son and future husband. Click. Click. “Caterpillars and snakes.”

  Jennifer swung a leg over the side of the hammock and toe-tapped it into motion, rocking gently. “Tortillas as snakes? You’re a fun mom, Shannon.”

  The young mother placed the deli rollups on a Thomas the Tank Engine plate. “Anything to make mealtime an adventure rather than a battle.”

  Swiping moisture off the lens, Kate refocused on her sister. “This reminds me of home in the summer, with picnics by the shore.”

  Before life had turned vastly complicated.

  Jennifer adjusted her pink polka-dot visor. “Except it’s January. I could get used to no snow.” Her younger sister glanced at Duarte leaning against the tree at her feet. “Why did you wanna live somewhere so different from here? This is perfect.”

  “Not that different.” He looked over patiently, tucking away his iPhone in a waterproof backpack. “Living on Martha’s Vineyard reminds me of the parts of home that meant most to me, the rocky shore, the sailboats.”

  Something in his voice told Kate by “home” he meant San Rinaldo, not this island. For Duarte growing up, the luxury here must have seemed a poor substitute for all he’d lost. The sun dimmed behind a cloud.

  Slipping from the hammock to stand beside Duarte, Jennifer pulled out her earbud and wrapped the cord around the iPod. “And when your toes get too cold, you can simply visit one of your other resorts.”

  “Like your sister travels with her job.”

  Kate’s finger twitched on the next shot.

  Her sister scrunched her nose. “Yeah, but the postcards aren’t as fun anymore.” Jennifer’s face cleared. “I still have the one she sent me from an airport in Paris when she was on her way to somewhere else. I don’t remember where, but the postcard has the Eiffel Tower on it. Cool, huh?”

  “Very cool, Jennifer.”

  “Hey.” Shannon smiled from the blanket. “Duarte and Kate can fly you to the Eiffel Tower in their family jet.”

  Kate gasped and bit her tongue hard to keep from snapping back while Jennifer chattered excitedly about the possibility of such a trip. Shannon had no
way of knowing she’d raised Jennifer’s hopes for nothing. Kate nearly staggered under the weight of her deception. The future Medina bride had no idea this whole engagement was a farce. Kate hadn’t foreseen how many people would be affected—would be hurt—by this charade. Including herself.

  What a time to realize she didn’t want this to end in two weeks. She wasn’t sure what the future held, but how amazing it would have been to date Duarte for real, let a real relationship follow its course. Her thumb went to the engagement ring, turning the stone round and round. Her camera slid from her slack grip to thud against the sand.

  Oh, God. She dropped to her knees and dusted the camera frantically. She didn’t have the money to replace her equipment. She knew better than to get caught up in some fairy-tale life that included flights to Paris and inherited family jewels, for crying out loud. What was the matter with her?

  A shadow stretched beside her a second before Duarte knelt near her, offering her lens cloth. “Need this?”

  “Thank you.” She felt so confused. He’d given her nothing more than himself this week, making his body delectably available to her increasing demands, but never letting her have a glimpse of the heart within.

  How long could they play this sensual teasing game before they hurt too many people to count?

  “You miss it,” he said. “The travel with your old job, before Intruder days of star chasing.”

  Ah. The least of her troubles right now. But then, Duarte had no idea he’d touched her heart in a way she could never seem to penetrate his.

  Wary of being overheard, she checked on the rest of their party and found they’d moved away from the blanket, involved in setting up an elaborate new sunshade tent for Kolby’s lunch. She looked back at Duarte quickly.

  “My sister needs continuity,” she responded and evaded his question. “This is the only way I can earn a living that provides for her.”

  “Perhaps there are different ways to find continuity than living in one particular place.”

  Did the man learn nothing? There he went again, presuming to handle Jennifer’s life for her. Frustration from the past week boiled to life again. “Spoken like a man who lives in hotels, a man scared of having a real home.”

  A real connection, damn it.

  They stared at each other in a standoff that had become all too common over the past seven days. Except with her heart aching she wondered how she could simply indulge in heated, no-strings sex with him tonight when they had failed to find common ground in every other arena of their lives.

  Swallowing back a lump in her throat, she stood. “I should go and upload these photos. My editor’s expecting an update and I would hate to miss a deadline.”

  Duarte clasped her arm, his eyes broadcasting his intent to press her for more…when a Jeep roared in the distance, rumbling across the sandy beach toward them. As the vehicle drove closer, Javier Cortez came into sight behind the wheel. The four-wheel drive skidded to a stop, spewing sand from the tires.

  The head of security grabbed the roll bar and swung to the ground. “Duarte, I wanted to tell you in person.”

  Shannon shot to her feet, gasping. “Is it their father? Is he…?”

  Tony rushed up the shore, his board under one arm, his other hand holding tight to little Kolby. “Javier?”

  Cortez held a hand up. “Calm down, everyone. It’s good news that I thought you should hear face-to-face. The king has recovered enough to be released from the hospital. He will be home by the end of the day.”

  The weight on Kate’s shoulders increased as she thought of fooling yet another person with the fake engagement. This time, they added an old man in frail health to the list of people who would be hurt. And right now, she worried less about how she would be able to forgive Duarte and more about how she would ever forgive herself.

  Eleven

  His father was home.

  Duarte had been as stunned as everyone else by Enrique’s surge of energy. But the old man made it clear. He wanted to meet Kate.

  Guiding her down the hall toward the wing housing his father’s quarters, Duarte kept his hand on her back to steer her through the winding corridors. He barely registered the familiar antique wooden benches tucked here, a strategic table and guard posted there, too preoccupied with the introduction to come.

  What the hell was up with the edginess? He’d planned this from the start, to bring her along to appease the old man. They’d made a business proposition. So why did the whole thing suddenly feel off?

  Because they’d clearly gone from business to personal in the past week and that rocked him to the core. He wanted more. Over the past weeks, she’d surprised him in ways he never could have foreseen. Like how she’d left her camera behind for this meeting with the king.

  She’d told him that she planned to limit her photos of the king to the old man’s appearance at Tony’s wedding. For that matter, Duarte had been surprised at how few pictures she opted to send to the Intruder overall. Since the world was getting a steady flow of photos, news outlets ran those and weren’t searching as hard for others. The interest hadn’t gone away, but Javier’s security team back home wasn’t peeling as many reporters off the fences.

  Now, entering the monarch’s private suites, Duarte tried to focus on the present. While the mansion sported a small fortune in works of art by Spanish masters, Enrique saved his Salvador Dali collection for himself, a trio of the surrealist’s “soft watches” melting over landscapes.

  The old guy had become more obsessed with history after his had been stolen from him.

  Cradling his antique Breguet pocket watch, Enrique waited in his bed, sitting on top of the cover, wearing a heavy blue robe and years of worries. His father’s two Rhodesian Ridgebacks lounged on the floor at the foot of the bed. Brown, leggy and large, the dogs provided protection as well as companionship. Kate leaned down to pet Benito, the dogs accepting her because she was with Duarte.

  Frail and pasty, Enrique appeared to be sleeping. Then his eyes snapped open with a sharp gleam in his gaze.

  “Father.” Duarte kept his hand planted on the small of her back. “This is Kate.”

  Enrique tucked his watch into his robe pocket and stayed silent, his coal-dark eyes assessing Kate. Duarte slid his arm farther around her, bringing her closer to his side. “Father?”

  Kate rested a hand on his softly and stepped forward, facing the old man head-on and bold as always. “I’m glad you’re well enough to return home, sir.”

  Still, his father didn’t speak and Duarte began to wonder if Enrique had taken a turn for the worse. Was his once-sharp mind now failing, as well?

  Kate stepped closer, magnificent in her unfailing confidence. “Do you mind if I sit?”

  Still staring intently, Enrique motioned to the leather armchair beside his bed.

  Sinking onto the seat, Kate perched a bit more formally than normal, her legs tucked demurely to the side. But other than that, she showed no sign of nerves in meeting the deposed king.

  She pointed toward the framed painting closest to his bed. “I’ve always been a fan of Dali’s melting watch works.”

  “You’ve studied the Masters?”

  “I took art history classes in college along with my journalism degree. I can’t paint or draw to save my soul, but I like to think I capture natural art and tell a story with my lens.”

  “I’ve seen some of your earlier photographs in our security file on you. You have an artist’s eye.”

  She didn’t even wince over the background check, some thing his father appeared to have noticed, too.

  Pushing against the mattress, Enrique sat up straighter. “You’re not upset that I had you investigated?”

  “I investigated your family. It only seems fair you should have the same freedom.”

  Enrique laughed, rumbly but genuine. “I like the way you think, Kate Harper.” He lifted her hand and eyed the ring, thumbing the top of the ruby once before nodding. “A good fit.”

>   With that succinct endorsement, his father leaned back on the pillow, his eyes sliding closed again.

  That was it? Duarte had expected…something more. Digs for specifics on a wedding date. Hints for grandchildren. Even a crack at her profession, and that made him wonder if perhaps there’d been something to Javier’s accusation that he’d chosen Kate to jab back at the old man, after all.

  If so, the joke was soundly on Duarte, because seeing Kate reach out to his father stirred a deeper sense of family than Duarte had ever felt before. Watching her in this setting finally pounded home what had been going on for weeks without him even noticing. Kate was more a part of his world than he was. She was a seamless fit in a high-stress environment, a strong but calming influence on the people around her, an intelligent and quick-witted woman who knew her mind and took care of her own.

  What a kick in the ass to realize Kate was right about his lack of commitment to even a house, much less a relationship. He’d always prided himself on being a man of decisive action, yet when it had come to Kate, he’d been living in limbo—granted, a sex-saturated limbo—but limbo all the same.

  Time to take action. He had about two weeks until his brother’s wedding and he needed to utilize every second to persuade Kate to stay in his life after the thirty-day dead line.

  Whatever the cost.

  Gasping, Kate bolted upright in her bed. Alone.

  Her heart pounding out of her chest, she searched the room for him…but no luck. She’d fallen asleep in his arms, slipping into a nightmare where she’d melted away like a Dali watch, sliding from the ledge of Duarte’s resort on Martha’s Vineyard.

  Sliding away from him.

  She scraped her hair back from her face, the sheets slithering over her bare skin. The scent of his aftershave clung to the linens as surely as he lingered in her memories. He’d been so intense, so thorough tonight.

  Stretching, her arm bumped something on the pillow. She jolted back and switched on the Tiffany lamp. A wrapped present waited in the cradle left by the imprint of his head. She clamped a hand to her mouth at the flat twelve-by-twelve package, a maroon box with a gold bow and no card. Not that she needed a card to know. Receiving a gift was different from the jewels and clothes he’d given her as part of the public charade. This was a private moment.