by Teri Wilson
This lifestyle was going to prove more challenging than he’d anticipated.
But that was okay. Franco had never been the kind of man who backed down from a challenge. On the contrary, he relished it. He’d always played his best polo when facing his toughest opponents. Adversity brought out the best in Franco. He’d learned that lesson the hard way.
A long time ago.
Another time, another place.
“You two are breathtaking,” the photographer said. “Diana, open the collar of your blouse just a bit so we can get a better view of the sapphire.”
She obeyed, and Franco found himself momentarily spellbound by the graceful contours of her collarbones. Her skin was lovely. Luminous and pale beside the brilliant blue of the sapphire around her neck.
“Okay, I think we’ve got it.” The photographer lowered her camera.
“We’re finished?” Diana asked.
“Yes, all done.”
“Excellent.” She started walking away without so much as a backward glance.
“Aren’t you forgetting something, mi cielo?” he said.
She spun back around, face flushed. He’d seen her wear that same heated expression during competition. “What?”
He held up his wrists. “Your cuff links.”
“Oh. Um. Yes, thank you.” She unfastened them and gathered them in her closed fist. “Goodbye, Mr. Andrade.”
She squared her shoulders and slipped past him. All business.
But Franco wasn’t fooled. He’d seen the tremble in her fingertips as she’d loosened the cuffs of his shirt. She’d been shaking like a leaf, which struck him as profoundly odd.
Diana may have pretended to forget him, but he remembered her all too well. There wasn’t a timid bone in her body, which had made her beyond memorable. She was confidence personified. It was one of the qualities that made her such an excellent rider.
If Diana Drake was anything, it was fearless. In the best possible way. She possessed the kind of tenacity that couldn’t be taught. It was natural. Inborn. Like a person’s height. Or the tone of her voice.
Or eyes the color of violets.
But people changed, didn’t they? It happened all the time.
It had to. Franco was counting on it.
Chapter Three
Diana was running late for work.
Since the day of the mortifying photo shoot, she’d begun to dread the tenth-floor showroom with more fervor than ever before. Every time she looked up from one of the jewelry cases, she half expected to see Franco Andrade strolling toward her with a knowing look in his eyes and a smug grin on his handsome face. It was a ridiculous thing to worry about, of course. He had no reason to return to the store. The photo shoot was over. Finished.
Thank goodness.
Besides, if history had proven anything, it was that Franco wasn’t fond of follow-through.
Still, she couldn’t quite seem to shake the memory of how it had felt when he fastened that sapphire pendant around her neck...the graze of his fingertips on her collarbone, the tantalizing warmth of his breath on her skin.
It had been a long time since Diana had been touched in such an intimate way. A very long time. She knew getting her photo taken with Franco hadn’t been real. They’d been posing, that’s all. Pretending. She wasn’t delusional, for heaven’s sake.
But her body clearly hadn’t been on the same page as her head. Physically, she’d been ready to believe the beautiful lie. She’d bought it, hook, line and sinker.
Just as she’d done the night she’d slept with him.
It was humiliating to think about the way she’d reacted to seeing him again after so long. She’d practically melted into a puddle at the man’s feet. And not just any man. Franco Andrade was the king of the one night stand.
Even worse, she was fairly sure he’d known. He’d noticed the hitch in her breath, the flutter of her heart, the way she’d burned. He’d noticed, and he’d enjoyed it. Every mortifying second.
Don’t think about it. It’s over and done. Besides, it wasn’t even a thing. It was nothing.
Except the fact that she kept thinking about it made it feel like something. A very big, very annoying something.
Enough. She had more important things to worry about than embarrassing herself in front of that polo-playing lothario. It hadn’t been the first time, after all. She’d made an idiot out of herself in his presence before and lived to tell about it. At least this time she’d managed to keep her clothes on.
She tightened her grip on the silver overhead bar as the subway car came to a halt. The morning train was as crowded as ever, and when the doors slid open she wiggled her way toward the exit through a crush of commuters.
She didn’t realize she’d gotten off at the wrong stop until it was too late.
Perfect. Just perfect. She was already running late, and now she’d been so preoccupied by Franco Andrade that she’d somehow gotten off the subway at the most crowded spot in New York. Times Square.
She slipped her messenger bag over her shoulder and climbed the stairs to street level. The trains had been running slow all morning, and she’d never be on time now. She might as well walk the rest of the way. A walk would do her good. Maybe the spring air would help clear her head and banish all thoughts of Franco once and for all.
It was worth a shot, anyway.
Diana took a deep inhale and allowed herself to remember how much she’d always loved to ride during this time of year. No more biting wind in her face. No more frost on the ground. In springtime, the sun glistened off her horse’s ebony coat until it sparkled like black diamonds.
Diana’s chest grew tight. She swallowed around the lump in her throat and fought the memories, pushed them back to the farthest corner of her mind where they belonged. Don’t cry. Don’t do it. If she did, she might not be able to stop.
After everything that had happened, she didn’t want to be the pitiful-looking woman weeping openly on the sidewalk.
She focused, instead, on the people around her. Whenever the memory of the accident became too much, she tried her best to focus outward rather than on what was going on inside. Once, at Drake Diamonds, she’d stared at a vintage-inspired engagement ring for ten full minutes until the panic had subsided. She’d counted every tiny diamond in its art deco pavé setting, traced each slender line of platinum surrounding the central stone.
When she’d been in the hospital, her doctor had told her she might not remember everything that had led up to her fall. Most of the time, people with head injuries suffered memory loss around the time of impact. They didn’t remember what had happened right before they’d been hurt.
They were the lucky ones.
Diana remembered everything. She would have given anything to forget.
Breathe in, breathe out. Look around you.
The streets were crowded with pedestrians, and as Diana wove her way through the crush of people, she thought she caught a few of them looking at her. They nodded and smiled in apparent recognition.
What was going on?
She was accustomed to being recognized at horse shows. On the riding circuit she’d been a force to be reckoned with. But this wasn’t the Hamptons or Connecticut. This was Manhattan. She should blend in here. That was one of the things she liked best about the city—a person could just disappear right in the middle of a crowd. She didn’t have to perform here. She could be anyone.
At least that’s how she’d felt until Franco Andrade had walked into Drake Diamonds. The moment she’d set eyes on him, the dividing line between her old life and her new one had begun to blur.
She didn’t like it. Not one bit. Before he’d shown up, she’d been doing a pretty good job of keeping things compartmentalized. She’d started a new job. She’d spent her evening h
ours in Dalton’s apartment watching television until she fell asleep. She’d managed to live every day without giving much thought to what she was missing.
But the moment Franco had touched her she’d known the truth. She wasn’t okay. The accident had affected her more than she could admit, even to herself.
There’d been an awareness in the graze of his fingertips, a strange intimacy in the way he’d looked at her. As if she were keeping a secret that only he was privy to. She’d felt exposed. Vulnerable. Seen.
She’d always felt that way around Franco, which is why she’d been stupid enough to end up in his bed. The way she felt when he looked at her had been intoxicating back then. Impossible to ignore.
But she didn’t want to be seen now. Not anymore. She just wanted to be invisible for a while.
Maybe she wouldn’t have been so rattled if it had been someone else. But it had been him. And she was most definitely still shaken up.
She needed to get a grip. So she’d posed for a few pictures with a handsome man she used to know. That’s all. Case closed. End of story. No big deal.
She squared her shoulders and marched down the street with renewed purpose. This was getting ridiculous. She would not let a few minutes with Franco ruin her new beginning. He meant nothing to her. She was only imagining things, anyway. He probably looked at every woman he met with that same knowing gleam in his eye. That’s why they were always falling at his feet everywhere he went.
It was nauseating.
She wouldn’t waste another second thinking about the man. She sighed and realized she was standing right in front of the Times Square Starbucks. Perfect. Coffee was just what she needed.
As soon as she took her place in line, a man across the room did a double take in her direction. His face broke into a wide smile. Diana glanced over her shoulder, convinced he was looking at someone behind her. His wife, maybe. Or a friend.
No one was there.
She turned back around. The man winked and raised his cardboard cup as if he were toasting her. Then he turned and walked out the door.
Diana frowned. People were weird. It was probably just some strange coincidence. Or the man was confused, that was all.
Except he didn’t look confused. He looked perfectly friendly and sane.
“Can I help you?” The barista, a young man with wire-rimmed glasses and a close-cropped beard, jabbed at the cash register.
“Yes, please,” Diana said. “I’d like a...”
The barista looked up, grinned and cut her off before she could place her order. “Oh, hey, you’re that girl.”
That girl?
Diana’s gaze narrowed. She shook her head. “Um, I don’t think I am.”
What was she even arguing about? She didn’t actually know. But she knew for certain that this barista shouldn’t have any idea who she was.
Unless her accident had somehow ended up on YouTube or something.
Not that. Please not that.
Anything but that.
“Yeah, you are.” The barista turned to the person in line behind her. “You know who she is too, right?”
Diana ventured a sideways glance at the woman, who didn’t look the least bit familiar. Diana was sure she’d never seen her before.
“Of course.” The woman looked Diana up and down. “You’re her. Most definitely.”
For a split second, relief washed over her. She wasn’t losing it, after all. People on the sidewalk really had been staring at her. The triumphant feeling was short-lived when she realized she still had no idea why.
“Will one of you please tell me what’s going on? What girl?”
The woman and the barista exchanged a glance.
“The girl from the billboard,” the woman said.
Diana blinked.
The girl from the billboard.
This couldn’t be about the photos she’d taken with Franco. It just couldn’t. Artem was her brother. He wouldn’t slap a picture of her on a Drake Diamonds billboard without her permission. Of course he wouldn’t.
Would he?
Diana looked back and forth between the woman and the barista. “What billboard?”
She hated how shaky and weak her voice sounded, so she repeated herself. This time she practically screamed. “What billboard?”
The woman flinched, and Diana immediately felt horrible. Her new life apparently included having her face on billboards and yelling at random strangers in coffee shops. It wasn’t exactly the fresh start she’d imagined for herself.
“It’s right outside. Take two steps out the front door and look up. You can’t miss it.” The barista lifted a brow. “Are you going to order something or what? You’re holding up the line.”
“No, thank you.” She couldn’t stomach a latte right now. Simply putting one foot in front of the other seemed like a monumental task.
She scooted out of line and made her way to the door. She paused for a moment before opening it, hoping for one final, naive second that this was all some big mistake. Maybe Artem hadn’t used the photo of her and Franco for the new campaign. Maybe the billboard they’d seen wasn’t even a Drake Diamonds advertisement. Maybe it was an ad for some other company with a model who just happened to look like Diana.
That was possible, wasn’t it?
But deep down she knew it wasn’t, and she had no one to blame but herself.
She’d stormed into Artem’s office and demanded that he find a role for her in the company that didn’t involve Engagements. She’d practically gotten down on her knees and begged. He’d given her exactly what she wanted. She just hadn’t realized that being on a billboard alongside Franco Andrade in the middle of Times Square was part of the equation.
She took a deep breath.
It was just a photograph. She and Franco weren’t a couple or anything. They were simply on a billboard together. A million people would probably walk right past it and never notice. By tomorrow it would be old news. She was getting all worked up over nothing.
How bad could it be?
She walked outside, looked up and got her answer.
It was bad. Really, really bad.
Emblazoned across the top of the Times Tower was a photo of herself being embraced from behind by Franco. The sapphire necklace dangled from his fingertips, but rather than looking like he was helping her put it on, the photo gave the distinct impression he was removing it.
Franco’s missing tie and the unbuttoned collar of his tuxedo shirt didn’t help matters. Neither did her flushed cheeks and slightly parted lips.
This wasn’t an advertisement for cuff links. It looked more like an ad for sex. If she hadn’t known better, Diana would have thought the couple in the photograph was just a heartbeat away from falling into bed together.
And she and Franco Andrade were that couple.
What have I done?
* * *
Franco was trying his level best not pummel Artem Drake.
But it was hard. Really hard.
“I didn’t sign up for this.” He wadded the flimsy newsprint of Page Six in his hands and threw it at Artem, who was seated across from Franco in the confines of his Drake-blue office. “Selling cuff links, yes. Selling sex, no.”
Artem had the decency to flinch at the mention of sex, but Franco was guessing that was mostly out of a brotherly sense of propriety. After all, his sister was the one who looked as though Franco was seducing her on the cover of every tabloid in the western hemisphere.
From what Franco had heard, there was even a billboard smack in the middle of Times Square. His phone had been blowing up with texts and calls all morning. Regrettably, not a single one of those texts or calls had included an offer to return to the Kingsmen.
“Mr. Andrade, please calm down.” Artem wave
d a hand at the generous stack of newspapers fanned across the surface of his desk. “The new campaign was unveiled just hours ago, and it’s already a huge success. I’ve made you famous. You’re a household name. People who’ve never seen a polo match in their lives know who you are. This is what you wanted, is it not?”
Yes...
And no.
He’d wanted to get Jack Ellis’s attention. To force his hand. Just not like this.
But he couldn’t explain the details of his reinvention to Artem Drake. His new “employer” didn’t even know he’d been cut from the team. To Franco’s knowledge, no one did. And if he had anything to say about it, no one would. Because he’d be back in his jersey before the first game of the season in Bridgehampton.
That was the plan, anyway.
He stared at the pile of tabloids on Artem’s desk. Weeks of clean living and celibacy had just been flushed straight down the drain. More importantly, so had his one shot at getting his life back.
He glared at Artem. “Surely you can’t be happy about the fact that everyone in the city thinks I’m sleeping with your sister.”
A subtle tension in the set of Artem’s jaw was the only crack in his composure. “She’s a grown woman, not a child.”
“So I’ve noticed.” It was impossible not to.
A lot could happen in three years. She’d been young when she’d shared Franco’s bed. Naive. Blissfully so. If he’d realized how innocent she was, he never would have touched her.
But all that was water under the bridge.
Just like Franco’s career.
“Besides, this—” Artem gestured toward the pile of newspapers “—isn’t real. It’s an illusion. One that’s advantageous to both of us.”
This guy was unbelievable. And he was clearly unaware that Franco and Diana shared a past. Which was probably for the best, given the circumstances.
Franco couldn’t help but be intrigued by what he was saying, though. Advantageous to both of us...
“Do explain.”
Artem shrugged. Yep, clueless. “I’m no stranger to the tabloids. Believe me, I understand where you’re coming from. But there’s a way to use this kind of exposure and make the most out of it. We’ve managed to get the attention of the world. Our next step is keeping it.”
