by Kira Archer
The faint moonlight filtering in from the window made her pale skin glow like a freshly harvested pearl. The dark, wavy hair cascading over her shoulders just brushed her nipples and he ached to brush those tendrils aside and bring those tight little buds to his waiting lips.
“Luca?”
He blinked and brought his gaze back up to meet hers. She stared at him, somehow both amused and disapproving. “You seem surprised,” she said.
He forced himself to get a grip. “I am, a little.”
“Oh really? I know I’ll probably regret asking this, but what did you think I slept in?”
“I don’t know. Something flannel maybe. With sleeves down to your wrists and buttons up to here,” he said, flicking a finger at her throat.
She slapped at his hand. “Oh, so because I have a houseful of kids and work with nuns I must dress like them, too?”
“Don’t be so offended. You’d look amazing in a nun’s habit.”
She snorted. “Thanks. I think.”
His eyes flicked over her again. “I could tell you what I hoped you slept in.”
“Do I really want to know?”
He laughed. “Probably not.”
“Too bad you won’t be seeing the rest of it.”
“Oh, I’m sure I can think of some more inappropriately intrusive moments to get the rest of those blankets off.”
She faked a yawn. “I don’t know. I’m getting tired. It’d have to be a pretty good moment. Something not about your sex life would be great, if you even have any stories like that.”
He knew one. It wasn’t something he wanted to share, but the words were coming out of his mouth before he had made the conscious decision to speak.
…
“It’s funny, I guess. I used to think all the attention was fun,” he said quietly. “I’d purposely do the most outrageous things I could think of to get my pictures in the magazines. The paparazzi were almost like friends, there to immortalize me. Capture all my amazing moments. They made me famous for doing nothing, as you pointed out.”
Constance bit her lip, wanting to apologize for her hasty words. Nothing she said ever seemed to faze him much. Maybe she’d been wrong. She held her breath, afraid if she spoke she’d spook him. She needed him to keep talking. The way he’d looked at her she was surprised her clothes hadn’t melted right off. She was already having a hard time keeping her breathing slow and even, like she wasn’t affected by the fact that she was lying in a bed with the sexiest man she’d ever seen, who, if she wasn’t mistaken, wasn’t wearing a stitch of anything beneath the sheet that covered him.
They weren’t even touching, not even close. Aside from the brief brush of her shoulder, all he’d done was look at her, and she was ready to climb him like he was Mount Olympus…only he’d be the one planting his flag.
She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the sight of him long enough to get a grip on herself. And it was only the first night. How was she ever going to survive six weeks of nightly torture?
Luca took a deep breath and she glanced back at him. Some of her libido drained away at the look on his face. He was speaking, but not looking at her, just lying there staring at the ceiling, emotion raw on his face.
“The problem was,” he continued, still staring at the ceiling instead of looking at her, “they didn’t only capture the amazing moments. They captured all my moments. They once took pictures of me vomiting outside a club. That was attractive, let me tell you. I was too young to be there in the first place, too dumb to know any better.” He laughed, but there was no humor in the sound.
“But the worst thing was the questions, always the questions. They’ll ask anything, and I really do mean anything. Nothing is sacred to them if it’ll sell a few papers. In fact, the more private, the better for them. You wanted to know what the worst, most invasive question I’ve ever been asked was?”
He glanced at her and it took all her will power not to flinch from the pain and anger in his face. She knew it wasn’t directed at her but at some distant ghost of his past. Still, the sight made her want to curl up and hide, or maybe just cry for him. He didn’t seem the type to cry for himself. She had wanted to know the answer to that question, but now she wasn’t so sure she wanted to know what put that kind of pain in his eyes.
“The morning after my mother died, the paparazzi were waiting outside the hospital. When I came out they were screaming my name, taking their pictures as always. I tried to wave them off, asked them to give me some privacy.” He laughed again and the sound almost broke Constance’s heart. “You know what’s stupid? I really thought they’d do it. I thought they’d back off. Not stick cameras in my face as I waited for them to wheel my mother’s body out so we could take her to the funeral home. Not ask me how I felt over and over again. How did they think I felt?”
He shrugged and she reached over to lay a hand on his arm, hoping to offer some comfort.
“When they placed her body in the hearse, I broke down, sobbed like a baby right there on the street. Joe hugged me, kept his arms around me until we could get back inside. The moment he touched me, someone started asking if I was gay, if we were lovers. If my mother had known about us before she’d died and what she’d thought about it.”
She squeezed his arm. “It bothered you they thought you were gay?”
“It bothered me they thought they had the right to ask about something so personal, something that was so beyond none of their business it truly amazed me they’d ask, especially in that moment, and that they’d connect it to my mother. My mother was being taken away so we could bury her and they are asking how she felt about my apparently fluid sexuality.
“Then one of them asked how much money I’d get. How much she’d left me. What was I going to do with my inheritance? Did we have life insurance on her that I’d get a piece of? Come on, you can tell us, how much did you get? Sorry about your mom, but at least you got something good out of it, eh?”
He swallowed hard and shook his head. “Did they think I cared about whether or not she’d left me anything? Or that any of that was any of their business? She was my mother. I’d have given everything I owned to bring her back.”
“I’m so sorry, Luca. I lost my mother, too. I can’t imagine…”
He nodded, breathing deeply for a moment before he spoke again. “After that I stopped trying to get their attention, but it didn’t matter. They’ve never stopped following me around. And it doesn’t matter what I do or who I do it with. So I do what I want, let them make up whatever they want. They’ll do it anyway, no point fighting it.”
Constance had no idea what to say to any of that. Her throat tightened with unshed tears at the young man he’d been, and for the disillusioned man he’d become. He didn’t seem the type to welcome sympathy, and there was precious little she could do to erase years of pain. “I’m so sorry, Luca.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter now.”
“Of course it does.”
He looked at her, though she wasn’t sure he really saw her. “It’s in the past. It’s how life is.”
Constance squeezed his arm but he shook his head. She let go, wishing desperately she could take some of the hurt from him. Yes, he was an egotistical, often manipulative control freak, but he’d just proved even he had feelings. Even if there was nothing she could do to make things better for him.
But she could at least try and take his mind off it a little.
“Well,” she said, “you certainly kept up your end of the bargain. So here you go.” She whipped off the blanket so nothing covered her and was rewarded by the haunted look fading from his eyes as he took her in.
Had she’d known the morning before that she’d be spending six weeks in a gorgeous billionaire’s bedroom, she’d have purchased more appropriate pajamas. Well, more conservative was probably a better word. At home, alone, she liked to sleep in little scraps of silk that were cool and soft against her skin. She didn’t own anything other than sets of camis and
shorts like the one she was currently wearing, except for the silk nightgowns that she thought might be even worse in her current situation.
She knew the pajama set did nothing to hide her curves from his hungry, roving eyes. She’d worry about that later. For the moment, she was just happy to see that it had chased the shadows from his face.
“Satisfied?” she asked.
The laugh he gave this time was deep and male and held no hint of sorrow. “Oh, Miss McMurty, not even close.”
She smiled. “That’s too bad, Mr. Vasilakis. Now go back to your sofa and go to sleep.”
“You aren’t going to give your fiancé a kiss good night?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, so cruel, Stanzia.”
“Good night, Luca,” she said, mortified when a giggle escaped before she could rein it in.
She yanked the covers back over her and turned on her side, comforted by his quiet laughter in the darkness.
Chapter Ten
Luca stood in his front doorway, unease rolling through him. He’d faced down hordes of reporters, ex-girlfriends with serious revenge issues, and once an entire rugby team he’d taunted mercilessly through their defeat. He’d been more comfortable in all of those situations than he was at that moment.
The van he’d been watching pull into his driveway came to a stop. Before the motor had even shut off, five little girls jumped out and rushed toward him. He stood back to let them pass, although his instincts screamed at him to bar the door. No good could come of this.
Constance alighted from the vehicle, following behind the first rush much more slowly, her hand held firmly by a sixth little girl, the one who’d been pulling up his flowers. His eyes narrowed. To his surprise, she glowered right back at him. He was kind of impressed. She was a tenacious little thing. She just better stay away from his flowerbeds.
They were followed by the sweetly plump Mrs. Ballas who patted the handkerchief tied around her graying hair before ambling to a stop beside Constance. She glanced back and forth between Luca and Constance, her cheeks growing redder by the moment.
“Mr. Vasilakis, you remember Mrs. Ballas from the Family Aid organization?”
“But of course,” he said, kissing her hand. “Welcome to my home.”
She giggled and batted him away before hurrying inside after the children.
“And this is Elena,” Constance said, nodding down at the little girl holding her hand. “You met the other day.”
“So we did,” he said, staring down at her. She was a beautiful child, really, if she’d get that scowl off her face. “You were the one ripping up my flowers.”
She stuck her chin in the air, but kept silent.
“Don’t touch anything,” he ordered.
Elena stuck her tongue out at him and let go of Constance’s hand, running inside to join the others who, by the sounds of it, were already destroying his home.
Constance folded her arms and frowned up at him.
“What?” he asked.
“She’s a child, Luca, for heaven’s sake. You don’t need to be so…gruff.”
He smiled at that and pulled her resisting form into his arms. “I was laying down the ground rules. Children need rules.”
“Oh, they do? And how do you know anything about children?”
She kept her arms folded across her chest like a shield, but she didn’t struggle against him.
“I know enough.” He leaned down and brushed his lips across hers. To his delight, she responded, her mouth moving under his. But when he would have deepened the kiss, she pulled away.
“Luca,” she murmured. “The children might be watching.”
“So?”
She blew out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for us to be…intimate in front of them.”
His eyebrows rose at that. “I agree. If we are going to be intimate, I want you alone so you can scream my name as loud as you want.”
Her mouth dropped open, her cheeks flaming red. Luca laughed and she pushed away from him.
“You are so…uncouth,” she said, trying to walk past him.
He caught her hand. “That I am. Never pretended to be otherwise.”
A half smile tugged at her lips. “Well, that’s true enough.”
“I was simply stating my opinion that a rather chaste kiss is appropriate enough for the kids to handle.”
“Chaste?”
“This, on the other hand, probably wouldn’t be.”
He pulled her back into his arms, his mouth descending before she could break free. The moment his lips touched hers, she stopped trying. Instead, she sank into him with a sigh of pleasure that had him angling his head so he could delve deeper. She tasted of lemon and honey and Luca couldn’t get enough.
His hand trailed down her waist and she broke away with a little gasp. She stepped back, a bit shaky, and reached up to pat her hair back into place.
“We shouldn’t,” she said, not meeting his gaze. “The girls might be watching.”
“More importantly, other people might be watching.”
The frown was back and he hated to be the one to chase her smile away, nor did he want her to think that the watching vultures were the only reason he’d kissed her. They hadn’t even entered his mind until she’d pulled away. He’d just wanted to kiss her. He’d spent most of their moments together wanting to kiss her, among other things. After spending a sleepless night lying on that damn sofa, listening to her softly snoring in the dark, his entire body begged for some attention.
But it didn’t hurt to remind both of them what they were really doing there. His revelations the night before had put a new softness in her eyes when she looked at him, and a new tenderness in his heart when he looked at her. He’d never told anyone what he’d told her last night. There was something about her that made him want to open up, spill his soul, and that should be the last thing he wanted to do with a woman, especially an attractive one half naked in his bed. They both needed to remember this was a business arrangement. There was no room for heartfelt confessions of any kind.
“Let’s go inside then,” she murmured, stepping into the house.
He brought her hand to his lips for a gentle kiss. Her eyes widened but she smiled and the knot in his gut loosened a bit.
He followed her into the house where absolute chaos reigned. Mrs. Ballas stood next to his housekeeper, who watched the scene before her with one hand over her bosom, the other over her mouth. The maid who had come in for the day to help set up the children’s bedrooms watched in total amazement as six little girls turned his couches into trampolines while screeching at the tops of their lungs.
“Quiet!” Luca shouted.
Seven pairs of eyes stared at him in astonishment, including Constance’s.
“Sit,” he said, jabbing his finger at the couches.
The girls dropped onto the sofas and watched him warily.
“Mrs. Lasko has made some snacks for you, and some movies are being set up for you to watch. You will eat and watch the movies with minimal noise and mess. Is that understood?”
The girls all nodded. Constance watched him, biting her lip like she was trying to keep from laughing.
“What?” he asked her.
“You want the girls to sit quietly through several movies? Without making any mess at all?”
“I fail to see why that’s amusing.”
She cleared her throat but the amused smile remained. “Which movies did you get?”
He had no idea. He glanced at Mrs. Lasko who proudly said, “Barney.”
Constance grimaced which sparked a frown in Luca. “What’s wrong with Barney?”
Constance’s eyebrow rose. “Nothing. They don’t get to watch many movies, so I’m sure it will be fine.”
“But?”
“But…Barney is a large purple dinosaur generally more popular with younger children.”
His frown deepened. “They don’t look all that old.”
�
��The songs also have an annoying tendency to get stuck in your head for days at a time. It drives me nuts. You, I think, will be absolutely certifiable by the end of the day.”
“You underestimate my mental acuity.”
She shrugged and smiled at him. “We’ll see.”
He ignored that. “Mrs. Lasko, is their food ready?”
She nodded and quickly exited, dragging the maid behind her.
“Mr. Vasilakis—” Constance started.
He interrupted her, irritated by her sudden formality since the arrival of the children. “Stanzia, my ring is on your finger. You spent last night in my bed. Call me Luca.”
Her mouth opened and closed a couple times, her face red as the merlot they’d had for dinner the night before. Her eyes darted around the room at their audience. Luckily, only the girls remained and they were too busy using Joe as a May pole to have heard what he said. Her priority was, of course, making sure the girls didn’t know about their sleeping arrangements and continuing the whole vacation-with-a-friend story. He, on the other hand, needed the world to think their engagement was real. Their charade would never work if she wouldn’t call him by his Christian name. Maybe they could spin it as a nickname, calling each other Mr. and Mrs. Vasilakis.
That thought made his stomach drop, though he wasn’t entirely sure if it was a bad feeling or not. It was odd.
Constance recovered herself and tried again.
“I addressed you so for the children’s benefit, but if you prefer it, fine. Luca. Even if I could get them to sit through one movie, multiple movies will bore them to tears. Even if it was something they wanted to watch. If they are going to be in your home then they need to be able to do something that will actually keep them entertained.”
“Such as?” he asked. The thought of the little heathens running wild through his house was going to make him break out into hives. Yet another reminder, as if he needed one, of how incompatible children were with his life.
“The only thing here for them to do is swim, so let them use the pool. They brought their suits.”
