A Convenient Scandal

by Kimberley Troutte

Show her who you are without the smoke and mirrors. No stage lighting. No props. Just two real people being...normal.

  And suddenly he wanted normal. Wanted real.

  More. He wanted real with Michele. The thought alone should have scared him. He should’ve pushed himself away because he knew he’d only hurt her in the end. But he was too caught up in the heat and her sparkle to do anything except pull her into his arms and kiss her like no one was looking. The little sound of contentment she made at the back of her throat went straight to his groin. He lifted his head to look at her. She still had her eyes closed and the sweetest smile on her face. This had nothing to do with the chef job—he’d have to figure that out later—it had everything to do with the sensations pulsing through him. He couldn’t hold back the tidal wave of want that overtook him.

  “Let’s take this off the dance floor.” His voice was little more than a growl.

  Breathing heavily, she nodded.

  “Tonight, the chef competition is on hold. Our date has nothing to do with that.”

  “I didn’t believe it did.”

  “Good. I had activities with the other women, but nothing like a date. I wouldn’t want you or anyone else to think this is how I operate.”

  “No. Of course not.”

  He led her down the torch-lit pathway, away from the restaurant and patio dance floor and past the Monterey pine grove. He was on the hunt for a quiet alcove far away from the dinner party and prying eyes, any place to be alone with Michele and not have to think or be judged.

  “What’s that?” She pointed toward the redwood structure perched like a beacon high above the rugged Big Sur coast.

  “A wedding pagoda. Couples come from all over to be married under that canopy.”

  “It’s lovely. I can just imagine the bride and groom standing there, gazing into each other’s eyes, with the waves rolling in, whispering sweet promises below.”

  “You’re a romantic.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “Not about weddings, no. My parents blew that institution sky-high.”

  “Ah, so that article I read about you was true. You will never get married.”

  “Don’t believe everything you read. I will get married, but it sure as hell won’t be for love.”

  Her jaw dropped. “What would it be for? A business arrangement? The trading of camels? A joining of kingdoms?”

  She was joking. He wasn’t.

  “Something like that. I wouldn’t want my bride to fall in love with me. I’d just hurt her like my parents hurt each other.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way. My parents married for love and rarely argued. They raised me and my sister in a great home before they passed away. What if you fall in love with your bride and you both live happily ever after? It could happen.”

  “Not to me. I don’t have the chemical makeup for it.”

  She blinked. “You can’t fall in love?”

  “No. And I won’t hurt anyone because of my screwed-up DNA.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “That’s because you aren’t like me. You’re warm and caring. Sweet. I see you going for the wedding pagoda and the happily-ever-after, Michele. I hope it sticks for you. I’ll take the no-drama, no-stress business contract in front of a judge. It’s better that way.”

  “That seems so...unfeeling.”

  Yeah, that’s what he was trying to tell her. No matter what was happening between them tonight, he didn’t have any of those feelings. Never would.

  He was cold.

  “Let’s find a fireplace,” he said.

  He didn’t tell her that he’d already agreed to a loveless marriage when the restaurant was completed.

  Why ruin the best date he’d had in years?

  * * *

  Michele sat beside Jeff on a couch in front of a rock fireplace. They were alone and far from the dinner party. An owl hooted in a tree nearby.

  “Cold?” He took his tuxedo jacket off and wrapped it around her shoulders. Not with him sitting this close. Her body was still humming from his kisses.

  She put her head on his shoulder and looked up at the stars. “So beautiful.”

  “Got that right.” He was looking at her.

  It surprised her. He’d dated so many gorgeous women, did he really think she was beautiful?

  She laced her fingers with his. She really wanted to touch him. All over.

  With her head still on his shoulder she whispered, “Can we just stay here forever?”

  “What about the restaurant I have to finish? And the world-renowned recipes you’re going to create?”

  She sighed. What if she couldn’t create any recipes anymore, world renowned or otherwise? She knew the answer. This would be her last night with Jeff unless she could find the magic.

  “Well, if we have to go back to reality tomorrow—” she started.

  “Let’s make this a night to remember,” he finished and punctuated the thought by cupping her jaw and kissing her lips.

  He was such an amazing kisser. When he sucked on her bottom lip she moaned with delight. She turned her head so he could have better access. He gripped her hair and pinned her in place. His tongue thrust in and out. In and out. She imagined that tongue doing wicked things between her legs and she moaned again.

  “Pull up your dress,” he growled. “I want to touch you.”

  She hesitated. The man had just told her that he couldn’t fall in love. He wasn’t interested in a real marriage, only one that was advantageous to his business. He was a playboy who dated anyone he wanted. And he was right, she wasn’t like that at all. She wanted to love, to feel everything, and to make a life and family with her soul mate, like her mother did.

  But the expression on his face—dark, determined, needy—was her undoing. No one had ever looked at her like that before and she longed to feel sexy, just once. She stood and crinkled up the material from the hem of her dress until her legs were exposed.

  “More,” he said.

  She swallowed and pulled her gown up further until he could see her pink panties. They matched the dress and probably looked almost nude in the light of the fire.

  “Come here, sweetheart.” He crooked his finger at her.

  Her brain kept trying to tell her that Jeffrey Harper was the opposite of her soul mate. He was sexually experienced and hot enough to burn her to ash. He was a one-night guy and she didn’t do one-night stands, and she didn’t sleep around at work either. It wasn’t in her chemical makeup to shut feelings off and walk away. And it certainly wasn’t like her to hook up with a take-charge kind of a guy who had the power to hurt her professionally and personally. But part of her was drawn to the sadness in Jeff, the deep pain he tried to hide.

  There was a heart in that wide, muscular chest. Jeffrey just didn’t know it. Maybe if she could show him how to love...

  She came toward him and he pulled her on top of his lap. She straddled his legs, the only thing between them were her panties and his tuxedo pants. He was so deliciously hard. He ran his hand up her leg starting at her calf and going higher, higher.

  “Kiss me,” she whispered.

  “Oh, babe, your wish is my command.”

  He kissed her shoulder, her neck, along her jawline. When he finally made his way to her lips she met him with her tongue. He opened to her, letting her lick his lips, taste, explore. He sucked in a sharp breath and she knew she was doing something right.

  One of his hands rubbed, petted, traveling up her legs, driving her wild. Their tongues danced. She’d never been kissed like that before. When he got to her glutes, he gave them a squeeze. Her heart pounded hard in her chest. The world was spinning around her. She gripped his shoulders to stabilize herself, enjoying this man and his incredible lips. His finger ran underneath the elastic of her panties. She stilled i
n his arms. Was he really going to—the thought was cut off when his hand was suddenly touching her inside her panties.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  She nodded. More than okay. She hadn’t felt like this in years.

  He petted her, making her wet.

  A voice in her head tried to remind her that she was outside a party where anyone could walk by, anyone could see what he was doing to her. But what he was doing was far too good.

  Her own moans blocked out any inner voices.

  “You like that?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes.”

  He kept petting. Kissing. Driving her wild.

  His finger went inside. He tugged gently, hitting a sweet spot she didn’t know she had.

  “Oh. ” Was all she could muster. He felt so good. Before she knew it, her hips were moving with his hand’s movements. Her breath and heart beat racing.

  “Come for me,” he growled against her neck. “Let go.”

  The words, hoarse and encouraging, undid any reserve she’d been clinging to. She threw her head back and rode him up and over the abyss. Moaning as the feelings—raw, rich, delicious—rolled through her.

  Just then, a flash went off.

  “Thanks, Harper!” a man shouted and ran off.

  She blinked in surprise.

  Jeff cursed while quickly lifting her off his lap. “Head down,” he said in a clipped sharp tone. He brought his jacket up to cover her face. But it was too late. A photographer had snapped a picture of them in a decidedly unrespectable dating moment. And...there was the fact that she’d oh-so willingly flown over the abyss with her potential boss. No one would know that they mutually agreed this date had nothing to do with the chef position.

  She’d thrown gasoline on his already damaged reputation, setting fire to everything.

  * * *

  Jeff pounded his pockets, coming up empty. “Do you have a cell phone?”

  She handed him hers.

  “Alfred, come to the side lot and get Michele the hell out of here,” Jeff barked into it.

  Paparazzi here? In the middle of freaking nowhere? Why wouldn’t those bastards leave him alone?

  He glanced at Michele. She was pale and still had his jacket held up to her neck as if she wanted to disappear. Hell, she looked so...beautiful. He’d never seen anything more gorgeous than Michele letting go in his arms. He longed to pull her back, nuzzle against her neck and whisper how much he wanted to have her come again and show her how much he still wanted her. Damn the paparazzi! He’d lived with the press long enough to know that the one night would have consequences for both of them. Sweet Michele—a woman who was already fighting insecurities—was about to have her reputation destroyed, too.

  Unless he did something.

  “Stay here. When Alfred arrives, climb in the limo and lock the door. He’ll get you home safely,” he told her.

  “What about you? Where are you going?” Her voice was small. Hell, he’d messed this up for her. He was pissed at himself for wanting her so much. He should have had better control, been stronger. But even now he wanted her and was nearly desperate to throw caution to the wind.

  “I’ll stay here as long as it takes to find that photographer and make him delete the photo. I’ll get my own ride home. Don’t worry, Michele. I’ll handle it.”

  Her eyes widened. “How will you handle it?”

  He wanted to beat it out of the guy, but he knew how these things worked. Jeff couldn’t afford an assault and battery charge on top of everything else.

  “The way Harpers do. With money.” He spat those last words out. He really was becoming his father.

  The limo pulled up. Alfred raced out of the car faster than Jeff had ever seen the old guy move and was quickly opening the door for her.

  “Get her home safely,” Jeff demanded.

  “We can figure this out together. Please come with me.” Michele reached out to him, but he stepped back.

  “I can’t.” He was stepping back because he didn’t want to hurt her. And he would, he was sure of that. A lady who wanted to get married for love would eventually hate him.

  He couldn’t love.

  But his thoughts got messed up around her. He wanted to make love to her more than anything he’d ever wanted and wasn’t sure why. He’d been with many women. Why was Michele different? Why did he need to touch her so badly? As if to prove the point, his hand was already on her shoulder before he could stop himself.

  “Let Alfred take you back. This is my fault. I’m sorry.”

  Her crestfallen expression ripped a hole in his chest. “I’m not.”

  Damn. He wanted to kiss her so deeply that she’d never doubt how special she was. She made him want to be more than he could be. He wanted to feel. To be real. To fall in love. To love Michele deeply with everything he was not.

  He exhaled slowly. “Don’t misunderstand. I’m not sorry for our time together. That was...amazing. No, I’m sorry that I can’t be a better man. You deserve more.

  “Go. Now,” Jeff finally managed.

  “Jeff, please!” Michele called after him, but he didn’t stop, wouldn’t turn around.

  He didn’t understand why all the pieces he’d held together for so long were shattering like a bashed-in chandelier. Only one thing was crystal clear—he needed to protect Michele.

  From himself.

  Thirteen

  Michele got up early to find Jeff. Had he come home at all?

  She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t mad at him. Concerned, confused, yes, but not angry. He’d given her the best night she’d had in a long time. She wanted to be with him again, in spite of everything, and she wanted to help him. If she could find him.

  He wasn’t anywhere in Casa Larga.

  She wandered outside and found both Tonia and Freja sunbathing by the pool.

  “Look who’s here, Miss Sex Kitten,” Tonia said.

  “What?” Michele asked.

  Freja pointed to the newspaper. “You made de front page.”

  Michele snatched up the paper. Sure enough, there she was on Jeff’s lap with her dress hiked up to her thighs with the caption, “Who is Jeffrey Harper’s New Sex Kitten?”

  “Oh, no.” Her heart sank. She sat on a lounge chair and read the scathing article. It painted him in a terrible light but the writer didn’t know who she was.

  “Good chefs win by their talents,” Tonia snarled. “I can understand why you would try sleeping with the boss.”

  “A bad picture. Ees you, no?” Freja asked.

  “Of course it’s her. She wasn’t here last night.” Tonia gave Michele a withering look. “I demand you be disqualified from the competition. I guess Jeffrey won’t do it, so I’m going to look for RW right now.”

  Tonia grabbed her cover-up and marched into the house.

  Freja tsked. “Too bad. I like you better than that one, but she ees right. Ees best if you quit.”

  They were both right.

  God. She’d messed things up. She really, really liked Jeff. A lot. And she’d let him down. The one night she was supposed to help improve his reputation, she gave in to her desires and let herself go on his lap. Even though it was one of the best dates of her life, she’d hurt his reputation even more. She’d been selfish and lost the job that would save both her and her sister while hurting the first guy she’d dated in a long time. Who does that? Feeling terrible, she decided she’d go clear the air with him, make sure he was okay, and then...she’d leave.

  * * *

  Angel was heading down the hallway in RW’s private wing when she saw a woman opening doors and peeking inside each room.

  Who was she? What was she looking for? And where was the guard?

  Cautious, Angel stepped back inside RW’s room and closed the door. The woman didn’t seem to be dangerous. She
was barefoot and wearing a pool cover-up, for Pete’s sake, but Angel couldn’t take any chances. Not with Cristina and her little boy hiding here from Cuchillo’s gang. Angel had made many mistakes in her life, including trusting the wrong man and staying with him when she should have left. She wasn’t that girl anymore. She was a woman who had escaped all of that. Now she had to protect everyone—RW’s family and her own.

  She called security. “A young woman is wandering the halls in RW’s private wing. Please escort her back to wherever she is supposed to be. And make sure the guard is stationed at his post in the next thirty seconds, or RW will fire him.”

  Not even a minute later, Angel heard a commotion in the hall.

  “Idiota! Get your hands off me,” the young woman yelled. The voice sounded familiar. Was she one of the chefs? Had Angel made a mistake by calling security?

  Angel was about to go and correct the situation when her phone rang in her hand. “Hola?”

  “Oh, Angel. Good, I’m glad you answered.” It was Chloe. “Can you come to Matt and Julia’s house? Dad’s here, too.”

  RW left Casa Larga and went to Julia’s house? Something was wrong. With her heart in her throat she asked, “RW...is he...okay? Is Julia? What’s going on?”

  “It’s about Jeff. Another picture has popped up in the newspaper this time. I’m worried this will convince Jeff that he can’t have a real relationship and he’ll marry for the wrong reasons. We need to figure out a way to convince Jeff that he is not like Mom and Dad. Please come here so we can talk. We need your help.”

  * * *

  Jeff was on the restaurant work site, hammering nails with the rest of the framing crew.

  He didn’t want to think, or talk; he just wanted to pound nails. Over and over until his muscles screamed louder than his brain. He couldn’t stop seeing the anguish on Michele’s face after he’d forced her to walk away. After he’d given in to temptation and landed them both on the front page.

  He hadn’t been able to find the jerk who’d snuck up and interrupted the best thing Jeff had experienced in years. He still craved Michele more than anything. A cold shower, two cups of espresso and a terrible night’s sleep hadn’t dampened his desire for her. If anything, time had made his need for her grow, like an unquenchable thirst. The intensity of his desire for him scared him.