His mouth fell open. “You are crazy. I told you over and over I am not in love with Alexa. It is your delusions and need to control everything around you. And what does this have to do with Carina and your bit of exhibitionism?”
“I cast her in shadow; no one will really see her face. I would never expose her to anything inappropriate.”
His body shook with hot male frustration. “You already did!”
“Michael?” Carina flew between them and gave her brother a big hug. The affection and worry in his gaze clearly showed Maggie he did not know how to deal with his youngest sister growing up. “Did you see me up there, Michael?” she squealed. “I was a real model.”
“You were wonderful, cara.” His hand gently touched her springy curls. “Who did this?”
“I got a makeover. You should have seen Maggie work, I’ve never been at a shoot before and it was ultracool. Now I may be in the real ad, and the models are supernice. Decklan invited me to dinner with some of the other models and—”
“Absolutely not.” His brows came together in a fierce frown. “I’m glad you had fun, but the shoot is now over. You will not be going out with some strange men you don’t know. Besides, you’re babysitting for Uncle Brian tonight.”
Maggie opened her mouth to say something, then quickly shut it. Hell, no, she would not get involved. This wasn’t her real sister-in-law. She was not in Michael’s family. She was not really his wife.
Carina glared. “I babysit for Uncle Brian almost every Saturday night while other people date.”
Michael rubbed a hand over his face. “I will not argue with you on this point. Now be a good girl and wash your face, get back to normal, and let’s go. We have an appointment at the consulate soon.”
Silence.
Maggie winced. Oh, this was bad. Very bad. Like an oncoming train wreck, she watched Carina’s face fall at his comment. Carina pressed a trembling hand to her mouth in order to stop herself from crying, but her voice came out broken and wispy. “Why can’t you see I’m not a baby and respect me? I wish you’d never come back to Italy!”
She walked out of the studio and a door slammed in the distance.
Maggie closed her eyes. Ah, crap.
Michael shook his head and let out a litany of creative phrases in Italian. He paced and muttered, and Maggie gave him wide berth, because she didn’t know at the moment whether to hug him since he looked so frickin’ lost, or slap him in the hope he gained some sense.
She decided to compromise.
She jumped in front of his quickly moving feet and he almost barreled into her. “Michael—”
“What did I do now? Huh? Is it so wrong to deny her to go off on a drunken fest with a bunch of naked male models to be lost forever? We are one of the richest families in Italy. She’s too young! She could be kidnapped and ransomed. And why did she look so different? She always babysits for Brian and said she loved doing it. Suddenly, she wants to change her routine and prowl the town so someone can kidnap her? Absolutely not.”
Maggie mashed her lips together. The absurdity of his comments struck her hard, and she tamped down on her instinct to burst out laughing. Her powerful count was really a crabby Papa Bear, not wanting to deal with the reality of his sister flying the coop. At twenty-one she’d been running her own life, and no one had cared whom she went out with and if she came home at night. She coughed into her hand and concentrated on trying to look serious. “Well, I agree, I wouldn’t let her go on a drunken fest either.”
He narrowed his eyes as if daring her to mock him.
She threw up her hands in defense. “Hey, it sounds like babysitting four rambunctious nephews would be a blast, but the girl got invited to dinner with a nice, handsome man and wants to go. You can’t blame her for asking.”
He practically gasped. “You would let her go?”
“I would let her go with provisions,” she corrected. “I don’t know the group well enough to let her go alone, either. But I do have a close friend who could join them. She has a daughter Carina’s age, whom I think Carina would get along with. I usually visit Sierra when I’m in Milan, and she’s someone I trust. I don’t know if she’s free today, but I can make the call. She can chaperone, and drive her home after dinner. If not, then I agree with you completely—she shouldn’t go alone. But at least it looks as if you are trying to compromise.”
He practically moaned. “How does Mama handle her temper? Carina is usually so calm and reserved. What’s happening to her? Why won’t she listen?”
Maggie gentled her voice. “Why are you trying so hard to keep her from growing up?”
He lifted his head. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of grief and fear in the blue-black depths of his eyes. She touched his hard cheek, needing the contact of skin on skin.
“I made a promise not to fail.”
His words rose to her ears in a whisper of sound. Her heart squeezed but she pressed further, needing to delve deeper. “Who did you make a promise to, Michael?”
“My father. Before he died.” The normal confidence he carried faltered. “I’m responsible for them all.”
The realization of the weight he carried on those broad shoulders hit her full force. She’d never imagined someone could take the words so literally, but it seemed Michael believed every success and failure of his family rested on him. The sheer stress and pressure of making decisions for them all blew her mind.
God, she had only herself to rely on for so long she wouldn’t know how to make hard choices for others. Any man she knew would’ve walked away and cleansed his hands of the mess. But not him. No, once a person belonged to Michael’s world, he’d look out for them forever.
A burning need to be the woman he cared for so passionately rocked her mind, her body, and shook her soul. What would it feel like to be claimed so completely by him?
Maggie’s throat tightened with emotion. His delicious spicy scent surrounded her, and his body heat burned through his clothes and reached out to entangle her. She craved to unbutton his shirt and smooth her palms over all that naked flesh, open her legs, and allow him to dive in and stop the endless ache inside of her. Instead, she dropped her hand from his and took a step back. She was tired of running sometimes, but it seemed the only thing she knew how to do well.
“If we don’t let them make some mistakes, how will they ever know?” she asked softly. “Carina is crazy about you. She just needs a little breathing room.” She paused. “Your family is lucky to have you watching over them. Now, let me make a phone call to see if we can fix this.”
She grabbed her smartphone and dialed.
* * *
Michael watched the closed door and waited for his sister to exit. Dios, he was trapped in female hell and saw no way out. Yes, Venezia had been difficult, but once she fell in love with Dominick she’d calmed, and he was able to relax. Of course, her decision to take a career outside the family business caused fireworks, and he was still disappointed, but that was mild in comparison with Carina’s sweet innocence on the verge of decay.
Julietta had been a breeze, not interested in boys and driven to succeed in her career and prove her worth. She reminded him so much of Mama with her ability to focus and a sharp business sense that built La Dolce Famiglia. His papa may have turned the place into a successful chain, but without his mother’s vision and drive, there would have been nothing.
Carina was different. She’d always been Papa’s little girl and held a lightness of spirit no one else claimed in the family. She experienced emotions more deeply, saw things no one else did, and her ability to give without caution had worried Papa.
The scene at his father’s deathbed flashed in his mind. The promise to keep his family safe and protected. To always take care of the girls. And to lead the bakery into a successful chain. Failure was never an option.
Sweat pricked his brow as he gazed at the three men hanging around, waiting for Carina. They were definitely older. Was he nuts to even consider letting
her go?
He marched toward the small refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water, giving the cap a vicious twist. His fake wife had done it again. His innocent sister had been in a photo shoot for male underwear, had a makeover, and wanted to run around with models. Why did he bring Maggie here again?
Oh, yeah. Because she was his wife.
He brooded as he drank his water and watched her. He hated the tiny leap his heart gave when she first turned and met his gaze. He was becoming used to the fiery connection that zinged between them, the tiny flare of awareness that lit those cat-green eyes and tempted him to push boundaries. The physical temptation he could handle.
It was the other things that were starting to bug him.
Her ability to surprise him was the worst. He’d expected a certain intimacy on the set with Maggie and the models. He’d never been on a live shoot, and her sharp eye and easy manner fascinated him. At first, Carina distracted him on the stage, but soon Maggie pulled his gaze until everything else fell away. She took control of her scene in a way that never threatened, but in fact encouraged teamwork.
Oh, she flirted. It was part of the woman’s core. But as he continued to study her, he spotted so much more beneath the rippling, cool surface, like discovering a vivid coral hidden beneath the muddy brambles of dull sea plants.
She always kept her distance.
Not physically. She touched, often, until even he squirmed when she had to actually adjust the bulge between the models’ legs. She laughed and teased and gave naughty winks in good fun. But there was a cool detachment in her aura, surrounding her like a thicket of thornbushes bushes with nasty-looking spines. Look, but don’t touch. Touch, but don’t feel. Her emotions were locked up and controlled to a point of strangling. Yet, when she looked at him, she seemed tempted to give him more. And he wanted more.
But would she say no? Her pride battered from their first encounter—her false belief he was in love with her best friend—all of the factors conspired to form a big fat No Way.
Unless he took what he wanted.
Her lithe frame clad in sleek black pants, a matching sleeveless black tunic blouse, and ridiculously high black sandals emphasized every graceful motion and luscious curve. Her gorgeous cinnamon hair played a game of hide-and-seek, showing off the tender nape of her neck, her soft cheeks, and her long, refined nose that always looked down upon him. To be the prince to break down those cutthroat defenses pulled to his Italian core. When had another woman ever challenged him like this?
He wanted her.
The sound of his name snapped through his thoughts. Maggie pointed to her phone, then motioned him over. “Okay, Sierra’s free. She can be here in a bit and drive her home tonight. You can trust her. But it’s up to you.”
His heartbeat sped up at the thought of sending his sister off with men and a strange woman he didn’t know. But something in Maggie’s words rang true. What if he didn’t let Carina experiment a bit and then she exploded? He couldn’t screw it up. Carina and his promise to Papa were too important.
“Maggie, can I trust my sister with this woman?”
Something flared to life in his fake wife’s eyes. A memory of pain, then regret. “Yes. I would never put Carina in a vulnerable position where she could be hurt. I know Sierra well, and she will not let something happen to your sister.”
He nodded. “Set it up. I’ll talk to Carina.”
“Talk to me about what?”
He turned and she stood beside him. Chin up in defiance. Eyes glittering. She’d left on the makeup, but even Michael admitted it was so much better than that goop she’d put on before. Now, she looked fresh. Herself, only better. “Maggie made arrangements to have her friend chaperone you,” he said.
Carina gasped. “Dios! Are you kidding me? For real, I can go?”
Michael put up his hand. “There are rules. You text me and let me know where you are at all times. Sierra will be in charge and will take you home. And before you go, I have a talk with them.” He stabbed his finger at the models, now donning T-shirts and jeans and combing their designer haircuts. “Capisce?”
Carina nodded frantically. “Si, grazie, Michael.”
His heart bloomed at her happy, open expression.
“They have the photos ready,” Maggie said.
They joined her at the small computer, which flashed a bunch of photos in a rapid stream. He listened as Maggie went through them, pointing out problems and deficiencies, what she liked and didn’t. Her opinions were bold, bossy, and turned him on big-time. Nothing like a strong woman in business—he’d always craved that in his mate. Unfortunately, many of the women he dated loved the idea of him taking care of them, and though he may come from a traditional household, he yearned for something more in his wife. Someone with a little brass.
The screen clicked on an image and everyone stopped. Michael sucked in his breath.
“That’s it,” Maggie whispered. “I got it.”
Michael stared at the photo. Carina leaned against a fake wall, staring out into space. Cast in half shadow, her figure was blurred, luminous. The features of her face were hidden by a wave of thick, curly hair, and her lips were pursed in longing for something . . . out there.
The three men were carefully positioned behind her to show off the product, but it didn’t seem posed. As if they had spotted an angel, they seemed rooted to the floor, entranced by her, expressions of need flickering across their strong features. The physical aspect of the picture paled in relation to the unexpressed emotions in each body, compelling the onlooker to stop and look deeper.
A whoot sounded from the production guy and he high-fived Maggie. She tilted her head and looked at him. “Can I use it, Michael?”
Carina shook her head, still gazing as if in a trance. “How did you do that, Maggie?” She breathed in awe. “It’s so beautiful.”
Maggie chuckled. “Part of my job. You’re the star, though. You’re the one who’s beautiful.”
Michael watched his sister blush and squirm in delight. His body shook slightly, as if preparing for a lockdown. How was she able to see exactly what his sister needed? Yes, she was a woman, but she’d always touted herself as disconnected from the usual woman stuff. Cooking, gossipy chatter, kids, domestic scenes. Yet, she offered his sibling a compliment that simply came from her soul, with no thought to sugarcoat or be fake.
Michael leaned down and pressed a kiss to Carina’s head. Then he looked into the eyes of a girl who was no longer a girl. “She’s right, you know. You are beautiful. And yes, Maggie, you can use it.”
The sudden emotion choked at his throat until he made himself turn abruptly and disappear down the hallway. Damned if he didn’t need a moment to get himself together.
Chapter Eight
She was approved to be married in a civil ceremony right now. Today. This moment.
Maggie sank down in the luxurious bubbles and blew out a breath. A spray of foam shot up and sprinkled the air with tiny pockets that caught the last rays of light and shimmered. She wiggled her feet, propped up her legs on the sides, and soaked.
Their visit to the court office in Milan terrorized her. Talking about a fake marriage was one thing; actually filing papers was another. After obtaining the Atto Notorio with two witnesses, they obtained their Nulla Osta—the final declaration of their intent to marry—after stacks of paperwork were approved, notarized, and filed.
Maggie groaned. Because of Michael’s high-ranking and well-known contacts, his mother had eased the paperwork chain so they were able to take care of everything in one busy afternoon. Maggie lifted up her hand and looked again at the cheery sparkle of the diamond ring encircling her finger. Michael’s plan seemed foolproof. He’d string his mother along for the next few months until Venezia was safely married, then advise them of a terrible fallout and their breakup.
Messy, but necessary. Maggie gave a deep sigh as the delicious scent of sandalwood calmed her senses. It was truly amazing the lengths Michael was
going through just to help his sister, and his actions bespoke a respect for his mother that touched her. Instead of waving off her crazy demands that he marry and allowing his sister to take the brunt, he’d composed a plan to make everyone happy.
Except himself.
Her skin tingled and she rested a hand on the swell of her breast, stroking gently. What type of woman would make Michael happy? Someone sweet and undemanding? Or would he get terribly bored within the month? And why did she care so much?
Because she wanted him.
The truth slammed into her like a rear-end jolt. Yes, she’d always known they had sexual chemistry. But sleeping in the same bed, seeing him in his element, was doing terrible things to her. She craved to finally sate her appetite and be done with it. After all, if her track record was any indication, she’d be happily satisfied by morning and could move on. Nothing was worse than that empty, gnawing feeling in her stomach when she rolled over and realized the man next to her was not The One. Would never be The One. Surely, a good bout of healthy, satisfying sex would finally quiet her hormones.
But what about Alexa?
She nibbled on her lower lip at the thought. He may want to deny it, but he loved her best friend. Of course, after this trip, he’d finally stay far away from Alexa and her family, and Maggie wouldn’t need to worry he’d muck things up.
It was just sex. They played at being married anyway, so it might give their ruse a bit of punch. Nobody would ever need to know. They were adults and could handle a strictly physical relationship.
She wanted to have sex with Michael Conte. Excitement slithered down her spine. Her nipples pebbled under the slap of water. She wouldn’t be settling for second best because, once again, the bargain was on her terms. Her rules.
Oh, yeah.
Her fantasy exploded in front of her when the door opened.
A girlish yelp escaped her lips. She slithered farther down underneath the bubbles and hastily pulled back her leg from the edge. Michael strode in, a glass of white wine in one hand, a plate with a luscious crème puff in the other, and a full, wicked grin curving his lips.
The Marriage Trap mtab-2 Page 10