by Pippa Roscoe
‘Is that it?’ he demanded, his sensual mouth forming in a grim line of determination.
‘Well, while we’re at it, you can give each of my parents an all-inclusive holiday to wherever they want.’
‘Done and done,’ Antonio said, discarding her outrageous request as if it were nothing. ‘You should know that as my fiancée you will be coming to Argentina for the Hanley Cup, once my meeting with Bartlett has been arranged.’
A rush of excitement swept across her skin. She’d always wanted to see the world. It was why she’d come to New York eighteen months ago.
‘There will be a need to keep up this façade for a short while after the deal. Six months should be enough. So naturally you will accompany me on my visit to Hong Kong as well.’
As she thought through the future, to the trip to Buenos Aires and the trip to Hong Kong, the reality of what she was agreeing to dawned on her.
‘And what about after Hong Kong? After six months when I’m no longer needed as your...your fake fiancée?’
‘You’ll be taken care of,’ he announced.
She was sure he meant that. There was clearly no way she would be able to continue as his assistant once their ‘engagement’ was broken. She knew that he would provide her with a glowing reference and help secure her a future position, because he was that kind of boss. But she also knew—more than most—that the only person who could take care of her was herself.
No, she had never seen marriage or relationships in her future, but that didn’t matter. Antonio wasn’t offering her either. But there was something that scared her a little about being cut loose from her role as his assistant. And that, Emma realised, was the true price of what he was asking—her job. She had always meant to use this position as a stepping stone to other things. And maybe this was the not so gentle nudge that she needed.
Perhaps she could find work in Hong Kong? For a man she didn’t find so frustratingly attractive. The trip to Argentina would be exciting too, and posing as his fiancée would be a way to help give her parents something too. Marcus Greenfeld would be removed and someone infinitely better, would replace him.
So, yes. Emma was prepared to cut her ties to Antonio once this was done.
‘All I want is an appropriate reference.’
‘Naturally,’ he stated, as if they hadn’t just bartered over the rules of their engagement.
Perhaps as his fiancée she would be able to tick off a few more things from her Living List. But she couldn’t bring herself to ask for anything specifically for herself. After what she had faced, everything was a bonus. She didn’t need anything more. Not really. The only thing she had ever wanted—could ever want—was for her body to feel like hers again. But not even the all-powerful Antonio Arcuri could do that.
‘You have yourself a fiancée, Mr Arcuri.’
* * *
Finally, for the first time since Antonio had discovered that his father was after an investment in Bartlett’s business, he felt the first taste of success on his tongue. Now all he had to do was get Bartlett to agree to a sit-down in Argentina.
His quick mind had already calculated the steps needed to accomplish that. But first he needed to reveal his new fiancée to the world.
He would, he realised, have to find a new PA. And, of course, ensure that Emma would have her pick when it came to choosing her next position. It was a thought that registered merely as an irritation alongside the satisfaction that Emma would be his. No, not his, he hastily affirmed. His pretend fiancée. For a business deal. Nothing more. He wouldn’t risk anything interfering with his ultimate goal.
Another cool breeze brushed past them on the balcony and Emma shivered. He shrugged out of his jacket and placed it around her delicate shoulders. She accepted it without a word, clearly focused on her sudden and surprising ‘promotion’.
Knowing they had to return to the gala, Antonio guided her through the balcony doors to the reception room. Even the dim event lighting was harsh on his eyes as they adjusted from the dark starlit night.
At the end of the room the doors were open and the gala guests were beginning to wander back through to the bar to continue with the night’s agenda, hopefully having lined their stomachs in order to allow them to further enjoy themselves.
He judged that nearly thirty people were now filling the bar area, and decided that it would be enough.
‘We should get ready to leave,’ he said to Emma.
‘The gala isn’t set to finish for another two hours yet. I—’
‘You can let the foundation’s staff handle the rest. From what I’ve heard you’ve handled quite enough already. Besides, I have a feeling you’re going to want to make a quick exit.’
‘Why?’
He didn’t give her time to think about it. He didn’t give himself time to think about it. He had already decided his course of action should she say yes out on the balcony. He was about to ensure that the world knew about his new fiancée—in the quickest, most expedient way.
Antonio pulled her towards him, slipping his arms through the space between his jacket and her body. His hands met the curves he’d imagined to be there—the dip of her small waist, the arch of her back. They had a mind of their own as they swept across the silken material of her dress, sparking little bursts of electricity across his skin from the gentle friction. And his lips...
* * *
Emma felt the swift, determined crush of Antonio’s mouth against hers. The shock of his hands against her waist, her back, startled a gasp from her. His tongue made swift work of the opportunity and plunged between her slightly parted lips.
Fire. Everything he did, every move he made, conjured up only that one word and that one sensation. It felt as if flames were licking across her skin, burning her from the outside in. For a shocking moment she thought her knees might buckle, and thrust out her hands to clutch the material of his shirt in her fists, anchoring them together even further.
As his tongue plunged more deeply into her mouth she felt as if her skin was a barrier—to him, to it, to what she wanted...
And then she heard the whistles. The cheers and the shouts grew louder, until she pulled back from Antonio’s embrace and discovered they had a rather interested audience.
If Antonio had still been wearing his jacket she would have tried to hide in its lapels. She wanted the ground to swallow her up.
Until she realised that this public display was exactly what Antonio had wanted.
The stinging blush of embarrassment and shame painting her cheeks prickled and hurt. Of course he hadn’t got carried away in the moment like she had. He had intended this. Was experienced in this. Antonio needed this and he needed her to play the part of doting fiancée—not naïve, out-of-her-depth PA.
She saw Dimitri come to the front of the crowd and watched as a brief look of surprise was replaced with a surprisingly boyish grin.
‘Permit me to be the first to congratulate you on your now public engagement,’ Dimitri announced loudly, encouraging the already jubilant crowd into more cries of excitement and congratulation.
Within seconds mobile phone flashes were dusting them as if in strobe lighting. Antonio anchored her in place, pressed against his chest, smiling for all the world as if he were a newly engaged happy man, and Emma did her best to follow his lead.
After a minute Dimitri stepped forward to shake hands with Antonio, whispering that he hoped they both knew what they were doing through a fixed smile.
‘Antonio is a very lucky man, Emma. But he is also a handful. So if you find yourself in need, you just call me.’
Dimitri pressed a kiss to Emma’s cheek, and she couldn’t help but smile back.
‘Thank you, Mr Kyriakou.’
‘Dimitri. Please,’ he said, dipping his head low and studying her intently.
He didn’t look at her in the way oth
er men had once, but in a way that conveyed sincerity. And something slightly darker than his apparent good humour.
‘I mean it, Emma. Anything. Just call.’
‘Okay—that’s enough. I don’t need you putting off my fiancée at the very first step, thank you,’ Antonio interrupted, with the kind of patience and affection only borne out of a long friendship.
‘So,’ Dimitri said, stepping back and rubbing his hands together. ‘Would you like an impromptu engagement party? Or a highly skilful distraction so you can make a quick getaway?’
‘A distraction, please, Dimitri. But nothing—’
‘Nothing scandalous. Yeah, I got the memo,’ he said with an eye-roll, disappearing into the crowd, calling for champagne and a dance with the most beautiful woman present in the room—aside from Emma, of course!
* * *
Antonio guided his assistant to the elevators, hoping that the kiss hadn’t dulled her unflappable nature in the same way it had his. Dio, had he known that beneath that buttoned-up conservatively dressed professional there was a siren waiting to be unleashed, he might have given a second thought to making Emma his. His fake fiancée, an internal voice shouted in his mind.
He would have to keep such displays of public affection to a minimum if he were going to have a hope in hell of containing this situation. So he clung to the next step. Clung to what he knew needed to happen.
‘Your passport. Is it still in the office?’
For a moment he thought she might not have heard, but then understanding dawned across her features.
‘Yes.’
‘And the change of clothes you usually keep there?’
‘Yes,’ she said, and her efficient swift nod did nothing to dislodge her perfectly placed hair, pinned at the base of her neck. His fingers wanted to reach out and pull that hair apart, feel it against his skin.
He forced himself to focus. ‘Given the likely content of tomorrow’s newspapers, and the public reaction to our announcement, it might be better if you do not return home this evening.’
Emma frowned, thinking through the suggestion. ‘You think they know where I live? But I’m no one. How would they—?’
‘You are not no one, Emma. You are now the soon-to-be Mrs Arcuri, and I don’t think I need to remind you of the interest my considerable wealth brings.’
‘And you wouldn’t want a camp of reporters outside a tiny one-bed apartment in the deepest depths of Brooklyn?’ she asked, with a trace of that British wry humour dancing across her words.
‘I am not a snob, Emma.’ He swung round to look at her, shocked that she might even think so until he saw the smile painting her pretty features as she turned her head up to his.
‘Not going for the Prince and the Pauper angle?’
‘I couldn’t if I wanted to, Emma. I’m no prince, and I pay you considerably more than what a pauper has.’
Emma let out a huff of laughter as the lift doors opened onto the exquisite chequered foyer of The Langsford. She followed in Antonio’s wake as they approached the reception desk. The words penthouse suite and charge to my personal account drifted through her mind as she watched the interaction, feeling oddly displaced.
It took her a moment to realise that he was organising for her to stay here, in this hotel. She was his assistant, the booking of hotels was usually her domain, and yet it felt... She couldn’t find a word for what it felt like to see Antonio in action, catering to her needs.
As he led her away from the hustle of the concierge’s desk towards a private elevator and presented her with a gold key card, he asked if there was anything she might need from her apartment. Anything that couldn’t be purchased for her between now and Buenos Aires. There was no way he would let her go back to her apartment and deal with the gang of wolves that would be sure to be camped out on her doorstep, waiting for an interview.
Assuring him that there wasn’t anything, Emma stepped into the elevator and stopped. Antonio was staying in the foyer. He would either be going home or back to the office, she realised. She felt that she should say something, that there should be some conclusion to the events that had just happened, but oddly she couldn’t.
‘I’ll need you in the office tomorrow morning, to pick up your laptop and passport and amend our travel details before we fly to Argentina.’
She agreed just before the elevator doors closed and she was taken upwards through the building. The smooth, swift motion seeming to increase the swirling in her stomach. What on earth had she just agreed to?
* * *
ARCURI OFF THE MARKET FOR GOOD?
BY ROANNA KING
Shock engagement of international
tycoon breaks hearts!
Female socialites around the world woke to breaking hearts this morning at the news that international investment tycoon Antonio Arcuri of Arcuri Enterprises is officially off the market.
The notorious and now presumably ex-playboy, often seen wining and dining a bevy of beauties from models to heiresses, has been stolen from our clutches by...his secretary!
Little is known of the Englishwoman Emma Guilham, other than that she has been in his employ for eighteen months and that she has been unavailable for comment.
Such a surprising turn of events must surely form a suspicion that there will be another shock announcement in just nine months’ time. But, whatever the future holds for the happy couple, this intrepid reporter is very much looking forward to what is sure to be the future Mrs Arcuri’s grand unveiling in Buenos Aires!
Antonio had known the press fall-out would be big, but Roanna King and her regular exposés on the private lives of the rich and famous had made his engagement sound torrid. That she had put the word secretary in italics was bad enough, but the presumption that Emma might be pregnant?
Antonio threw the newspaper across the small table before him in disgust.
He checked his watch. His private jet had taken off from a New York airport less than forty-five minutes ago. Glancing across the narrow cabin now, he observed Emma taking in the lavish decor of the Arcuri jet, and hoped that it hadn’t turned her head. She needed to be ready for the call with Bartlett.
A thought which reminded him of the last phone call he’d received on his almost constantly vibrating mobile since the news of his engagement had broken.
No, he’d assured his mother, his PA was not pregnant. Yes, he was sorry that he hadn’t called to tell her himself. Dio, he cursed himself, he hadn’t even thought to warn her, to tell her. He’d been so focused on Bartlett and his father that he hadn’t realised how his engagement would look to his mother and sister.
As to his mother’s question about when she might meet her future daughter-in-law, he’d only been able to put her off. Would they meet? he asked himself. He had no doubt that the two women would get along fine. More than fine, if he thought about it. His mother would appreciate the smooth efficiency and dry humour of the small brunette. But it sat awkwardly with him, and he couldn’t stop the words that Emma had said earlier that day about her own parents from ringing in his mind. “I won’t lie to them.”
She had been forced by the newspapers to contact her mother and father and explain the situation. He didn’t like it—he didn’t want anything jeopardising this deal—but he hadn’t been able to refuse her request.
His own mother was a sentimental woman, who believed that love and happiness were a vital part of life and should be a vital part of her son’s life. But he couldn’t bring himself tell her that he had no room for such things. So, he’d lied to his mother and ignored the clenching in his gut. It was a sacrifice worth making, he assured himself, as finally Benjamin Bartlett had agreed to a phone call.
He had twenty minutes. Twenty minutes to convince Bartlett to come for a sit-down in Buenos Aires. Or all this would have been for nothing. Rather than allowing doubts to enter his mind, he shoul
d be using that driving force to push him forward. He would succeed. He had to.
* * *
Emma could feel impatience and expectation pouring from Antonio in waves. She tried to block it out and instead focus on the very strange and really quite wonderful experience of travelling in the company’s private jet.
The limousine had taken them to the airport where, instead of queueing to get through Customs and Security, they had simply been looked over and then led up a set of stairs beside the plane.
Emma feared she might have been spoiled for ever.
She had ignored the way that the air stewardess had cast a disparaging look her way, seeming to take in her appearance and discard it as beneath her notice. It wasn’t exactly Emma’s fault that she was wearing yesterday’s office clothes, having been unable to get back to her apartment and not yet having had the opportunity to buy new ones.
Still, she’d accepted the glass of chilled Prosecco the unnervingly beautiful woman had placed on the table in front of her.
The stewardess was clearly reserving her blood-red lipstick smiles for Antonio. Perhaps it was because of the article. She could hardly have missed the headline screaming about Emma and Antonio’s shocking engagement on the newspaper beside the man in question. Not that it seemed to prevent the woman’s bright gaze lingering on him as if she would like to consume him whole. Nor had it prevented the way her hand rested on his shoulder just a little bit too long to be appropriate.
Emma cursed the way her stomach dropped as she wondered whether they had perhaps enjoyed each other’s company before. Jealousy wasn’t part of their bargain and she wouldn’t let it dim the fizz of excitement that was building as she adjusted to the realisation that they were actually going to Argentina.
Her Living List might be full of hopes and dreams, but they had been practically based on her income, on her finances. This deal with Antonio took her possibilities to a whole new level. As his PA she had only ever borrowed a taste of that elegance, but now she could experience it for herself. Perhaps for these six months she could enjoy all that Antonio had to offer. Well. Almost all. She knew she wouldn’t have the one thing that her body refused to realise she couldn’t have.
