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Suddenly conscious of Valentino behind her, Miller nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt his large hand settle on her hip. Both men looked at him, eyes agog, as if he was the Dalai Lama come to pay homage.
‘Dexter, TJ—this is—’
‘We know who he is, Miller.’ Dexter almost blustered, sticking his hand out towards Valentino. ‘Tino Ventura. It’s a pleasure. Dexter Caruthers—partner at OCG. Oracle Consultancy Group.’
Valentino took his hand in a firm handshake and a cog shifted in Miller’s brain.
Tino?
‘Maverick,’ TJ said, addressing Valentino.
Maverick?
Had TJ and Dexter mistaken Valentino for someone they knew?
Valentino smiled and accepted their greetings like an old friend.
No! He couldn’t possibly know her client!
‘Miller, you dark horse,’ TJ guffawed, slapping Valentino on the back. ‘You certainly play your cards close to your chest. I’m impressed.’
Impressed? Miller looked up at Valentino, and just as her boss started asking him about the injury he’d incurred in a motor race in Germany last August his name slotted into place inside Miller’s head.
Tino Ventura—international racing car legend.
She would have stumbled if Valentino hadn’t tightened his hand on her hip to steady her.
She swore under her breath. Valentino must have heard it because he immediately took charge. ‘It’s been a long drive, gents. We’ll save this conversation for dinner.’
Miller smiled through clenched teeth as he took their bags from the car and handed them to a waiting butler.
‘Roger, please show our esteemed guests to their room,’ TJ said, turning to the formally dressed man.
‘Certainly. Sir? Madam?’
Miller refused to meet Dexter’s eyes even though he was burning a hole right through her with his open curiosity.
She deliberately moved out of Valentino’s reach as he went to place his hand at the small of her back. Her skin was still tingling from his earlier unexpected hold on her.
Ignoring his piercing gaze, Miller concentrated on keeping her legs steady as she preceded him up the stone steps.
Tino Ventura!
How had she not put two and two together? It was true that she didn’t follow sport in any capacity, but as the only Australian driver in the most prestigious motor race in the world she should have recognised him. It was being introduced to him as Valentino that had thrown her, but even then, she conceded with an audible sigh, she’d been so stressed and distracted she might not have made the connection.
None of that, however, changed the fact that he should have told her who he was. That thought fired her temper all the way up the ornate rosewood staircase, ruining any appreciation she might have had of the priceless artworks lining the vast hallways of TJ’s house.
Not that she cared about TJ’s house. Right now she didn’t care about anything but giving Valentino Ventura a piece of her mind for deceiving her.
‘Stop thinking, Miller.’
Valentino’s deep voice behind her sent a shiver skittering down her spine.
‘You’re starting to hurt my head.’
‘This is your room, madam. Sir.’
The butler pushed open a door and Miller followed him inside. The room was spacious, and a tasteful combination of modern and old-world. At the far end was a large bay window with sweeping ocean views encompassing paper-white sand and an ocean that shifted from the brightest turquoise to a deep navy.
‘Mr Lyons and his guests are about to adjourn to the rear terrace for cocktails. Dinner is to be served in half an hour.’
‘Thank you.’ Valentino closed the door after the departing butler. ‘Okay, out with it,’ he prompted, mimicking her wide-legged stance with his arms folded across his chest.
Miller stared at him for a minute but said nothing, her mind suddenly taken up by the size of the four-poster bed that dominated the large room. She glanced around for a sofa and found an antique settee, an armchair and a curved wooden bench seat inlaid into the bay window.
She heard Valentino move and her eyes followed his easy gait as he perched on the edge of the bed, testing the mattress. ‘Comfy.’
He smiled, and she fumed even more because she knew he was laughing at her discomfort. ‘I’m not sleeping with you in that,’ she informed him shortly.
‘Oh, come on, Miller. It’s big enough for six people.’
Six people her size, maybe…Why hadn’t she thought of the sleeping arrangements before now?
Probably because her mind had been too concerned with finishing her proposal and she hadn’t wanted to dwell on the fact she was even in this predicament. But she was in it, and it was time to face it and work out how she was going to make this farce work with her fake and very famous boyfriend.
‘It would have been nice if you had thought to let me know who you are,’ she said waspishly.
‘I did tell you my name. And my job.’
Miller pressed her lips together as she took in his cavalier tone and relaxed demeanour. That was true—up to a point. ‘You must have known that I didn’t recognise you.’ She paced away from him, unable to stand still under his disturbing grey-blue gaze.
Valentino shrugged. ‘If I’d thought it was going to be an issue I would have mentioned it.’
‘How could you think it wouldn’t be?’ she fumed, stopping mid-pace to stare at him. ‘Everyone in the country knows who you are.’
‘You didn’t.’
‘That’s because I don’t follow sport, but…Oh, never mind. I need to use the bathroom and think.’
After splashing cold water on her face Miller glanced at her pale reflection and thought about what she knew about her fake boyfriend other than the garbage he’d thrown at her in the car. Taxi driver…How he would laugh if he knew she had entertained that thought for a while.
Okay, no need to rehash that embarrassing notion. It was time to think. Strategise.
She knew he was a world-class athlete and a world-class womaniser with a penchant for blonde model-types—although she couldn’t recall where she’d read that, or how long ago. Regardless, it still made it highly improbable that they would be seeing each other. And she knew everyone who saw them together would be thinking the same thing—including Dexter, who would not be backward in asking the question.
Of course she’d refuse to answer it—she never mixed business with her personal life—but Dexter was shrewd. And he’d be too curious about her “relationship” to take it lying down. Anyone who knew her would. Serious, ambitious Miller Jacobs and international playboy Valentino Ventura a couple?
God, what a mess. They had as much in common as a grasshopper with an elephant.
‘You planning to hide out in there for the rest of the weekend?’
His amused voice brought her head around to stare at the closed door. Wrenching it open, she found herself momentarily breathless when she found him filling the space, one arm raised to rest across the top of the doorjamb, making him seem impossibly tall.
She pushed past him and tried to ignore the skitters of sensation that raced through her as her body brushed his. Anger. It was only anger firing her blood.
Taking a couple of calming breaths, she turned to face him. ‘No one is going to believe we’re a couple.’
‘Why not?’
Miller rolled her eyes. ‘For one, I don’t exactly mix in your circles. And for two, I’m not your type and you’re not mine.’
‘You’re a woman. I’m a man. We share a mutual attraction we can’t ignore. Happens all the time.’
To him, maybe.
Miller smoothed her brows, her mind filled with an endless list of problems. ‘You’re right. We can’t say we met at yoga…’
‘Listen, you’re blowing this out of proportion. Let’s keep it as close to the truth as we can. We met at a bar. Liked each other. End of story. That way you’ll feel more comfortable and it’s highly probable—not to mention true.’
Except for the liking part. Right now Miller couldn’t recall liking anyone less.
Valentino opened his bag on the bed.
‘Why are you here?’ she asked softly.
His eyes met hers. Held. ‘You know why I’m here,’ he said, just as softly. ‘You challenged me to be here.’
Miller arched an eyebrow. ‘I thought you said you were thirty-three, not thirteen.’
A crooked grin kicked up the corners of his mouth and he pulled his shirt up over his rippling chest. Lord, did men really look that good unairbrushed?
Last night’s dream flashed before her eyes and she was relieved when he turned his back on her. Only then she got to view his impressive back, and her eyes automatically followed the line of his spine indented between lean, hard muscle. ‘What exactly are you doing?’
He dropped his T-shirt on the bed and turned to face her. ‘Changing my shirt for dinner. I don’t want to embarrass you by coming across too casual to meet your friends.’
Ha! Now that she knew who he was she knew he’d impress everyone downstairs even in a clown suit.
Tino shrugged into his shirt and tiny pinpricks of heat glanced across his back as he felt Miller’s eyes on him. A powerful surge of lust and the desire to press her up against the nearest wall and explore the attraction simmering between them completely astounded him. He’d been trying to keep things light and breezy between them—his usual modus operandi—but his libido was insistently arguing the toss.
‘Next time I’d prefer you to use the bathroom,’ she said stiffly. ‘And these people aren’t my friends. They’re business colleagues—although as to that I doubt I’ll know many of the other people in attendance.’
‘How many are staying here?’
‘I think six others tonight. Tomorrow night at TJ’s fiftieth party I have no idea.’
‘I thought this was a business weekend?’
‘TJ likes to multi-task.’
Tino rolled his silk shirt sleeves and noticed her frowning at his forearms. ‘Problem?’
His question galvanised her into action and she crossed to her small suitcase and started rifling through it.
‘I’ll be ten minutes.’
Five minutes later she reappeared in the doorway and padded over to the wardrobe. She barely looked different from the way she had when she’d gone in. Black tailored pants, a black beaded top, and a thin pink belt bissecting the two. She perched on the armchair and secured a fancy pair of stilettos on her dainty feet. The silence between them was deafening.
‘Am I getting the silent treatment?’
She exhaled slowly and he noticed the way the beads on her top swayed from side to side. ‘I hope you’re not currently in a relationship.’
‘Would I be here with you if I was?’
‘I don’t know. Would you?’
Her chin had come up and he was surprised he had to control irritation at her deliberate slur. She didn’t know him, and he supposed, given his reputation—which wasn’t half as extensive as the press made out—it was a valid question.
‘Okay, I’m going to humour that question with an answer—because we don’t know each other and I understand you feel compromised by the fact that I’m a known personality. I don’t date more than one woman at a time and I never cheat.’
‘Fine. I just…’ Her hand fluttered between them. ‘If we really were going out you’d know I hate surprises.’
‘Why is that?’
She glanced away. ‘I just do.’
Her answer was clipped and he knew there was a story behind her flat tone.
‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance you can just fade into the background and not draw attention to yourself, is there?’
Tino nearly laughed. So much for coming on to him once she found out who he was. He shook his head at his own arrogance. But, hell, most women he met simpered and preened and asked stupid questions about how many cars he owned and how fast he drove. This gorgeous female was still treating him like a disease. And she was gorgeous. She’d dusted her sexy mouth with a peach-coloured gloss that made him want to lick it right off.
‘We need to go downstairs.’ She sounded as if she was about to face a firing squad.
She grabbed a black wrap from the back of the cream chair and stopped suddenly, nearly colliding with him. He felt a shaft of heat spear south as he touched her elbow to steady her, and knew she felt the same buzz by the way she pulled back and went all wide-eyed with shock, just as she had by the car.
A shock he himself still felt. He hadn’t anticipated being this physically attracted to her. He reminded himself of his ironclad rule of not getting involved with a woman this close to the end of the season—particularly this season, which had started going pear-shaped three months ago.
So why couldn’t he stop imagining how she would taste if he kissed her?
He stepped back from her, out of the danger zone. ‘You might want to think about not jumping six feet in the air every time I touch you.’ He sounded annoyed because he was.
‘And you might want to think about not touching me.’
Large aquamarine eyes, alight with slivers of the purest gold, stared up at him, and the ability to think flew out of his head. Her eyes reminded him of a rare jewel.
Then she blinked, breaking the spell.
Get a grip, Ventura. Since when did you start comparing eyes to jewels?
