"Skirts and bikes don't really mix,” he advised her with barely controlled humor.
"Don't I know it.” With her legs barely covered, Carly nearly fell off a second later as Marco joined her on the bike.
He was close. So close she could lean forward—if she wanted to—and rest her cheek against his leather-clad back
If she wanted too.
You don't.
Don't I?
"Hold on,” he laughed.
Hold? Him? The bike roared to life and Carly grabbed the first thing in front of her. Marco.
Muscles, hard, rigid and warm to touch slid beneath her fingers. Carly held on tight.
As he gunned the bike she tightened her hold.
"Ready to roll?"
His accented question shocked Carly from her pubescent meandering while his lop-sided grin sent her heart and stomach into tandem flip flops, again.
"Just remind me to follow my own rules next time."
"What are they?"
"Rule number one. Never travel this road again at night and rule number two, learn how to fix tires."
"And deny me your company? Not fair."
Carly never had the chance to answer him as the engine roared and he eased the bike back on to the road. With a death grip, she clutched him, while trying not to lean into his back and her thighs vibrated with the roar of the engine between her legs.
Oh heavens. How sexy could it be? A throbbing, vibration between her legs.
She shuddered and her eyes closed.
"Lean closer. You won't ache so much."
Wanna’ bet? Nothing would take that particular ache away, she reasoned. Except ... well there was one thing.
Carly leaned forward, her cheek touching his leather-clad back, the brush of his ebony hair poking beneath his helmet tickling her nose. But it was his smell that teased her most. She licked her still dry lips. Temptation all wrapped up in leather.
Stop it. Right now.
She shook her head. She was way out of her depth. And she knew it.
Chapter 2
It was a sin that a man could look that good, Carly reflected the next day. But sexy men, or one in particular, wasn't the reason for her joy. Nope. That was down to her hard work paying off. If she played her cards right she would formalize the deal of a lifetime. CV Hotels were expanding their international base and she intended to land the contract for the interior design. It would be the culmination of everything she'd worked so hard for.
Buoyed by her good humor, she strode downtown as her phoned buzzed. Still in full stride, she flicked her mobile on, but didn't get the chance to speak.
"Carly, you have to come."
Her shoulders sagged and for a moment she held the phone away from her ear and gathered the strength to cope with the caller.
"Mum, slow down. What is it now?” As much as she loved her mother and sisters, they were trying at the best of times, relying on her for every petty factor of their chaotic lives. She was their rescuer, mothering her siblings, while their mother wallowed in self-pity.
"Martha's pregnant."
Carly should have been surprised, but wasn't. All her sisters had children, either in or out of wedlock. All depended on her when times were tough and things went haywire, which was often.
"What do you want me to do about it?"
For the next ten minutes her mother told her exactly what she wanted, pleading for her help. Carly wanted to tell her mother it was Martha's problem, but remained mute. Finally she flipped her phone off and decided a break from familial duty wouldn't go amiss and headed to her favorite coffee shop.
Sipping coffee, her gaze wandered down the cobbled lane. A mecca for designer stores, with the lunch trade out it was booming.
Then Carly saw him. His coal dark head towered above other pedestrians, his long, muscular stride shortening the distance between them with every step. Her breath caught in her throat.
She didn't know whether to stop him, or ignore him.
As he neared, every woman ogled the imposing male. No longer in his intimidating leathers, but casually dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, the sleeves rolled up to display biceps most men would give their eye-teeth for and woman would drool over, he headed her way. Before she had time to back out, she waved, feeling like an idiotic school kid. “Hello, Marco."
He came to a sudden stop and turned, blue eyes focusing on her. Heat flooded Carly's cheeks and her mouth opened and closed several times. Oh my God, he didn't remember her. How embarrassing was that?
"Hello.” Then there it was, the flicker of recognition in his eyes and his husky voice. It sent a shiver down her spine.
Just like last night.
Aware of her awakening body, Carly clamored for words—any would do. “Thanks again, for last night I mean.” Oh hell, that sounded even worse—like she was saying thanks for the time in bed. The heat in her cheeks upped several notches and she fiddled with her empty coffee cup trying to hide her embarrassment.
"Let me buy you a coffee, for payment,” she said fumbling for her purse.
Why not just shout ‘for services rendered'?
"There's no need."
"Please."
His lips twisted in an amused smile, the lopsided grin making Carly's toes curl. Suddenly it seemed really important she do this. Shrugging, he pulled the spare chair out from the table and sat down, stretching out his long legs. Carly gulped and looked away, quickly walking to the counter to order his coffee. As she shoved her purse back in her handbag, a slip of paper caught her attention. The invitation. Why on earth had she retrieved the blasted thing from the rubbish bin?
Shoving it out of sight, she took the coffee to the table. She eyed him. He was a perfect fit. A perfect ‘10'. Exactly as she had described. Tall, dark, and supremely handsome. Her mind whirred with possibilities, the same ones she'd tried to squash last night. Didn't they make movies about this sort of thing? Why couldn't it work?
You don't have a million dollars.
Sitting opposite him, Carly coughed and his gaze lifted from his coffee and across the cup toward her. For a second there was the unmistakable flicker of danger and an indefinable strength in his eyes, a warning, but just as quickly it dissolved, shadowed by the thick veil of his ebony eyelashes. Carly shrugged. Her brain was acting way off kilter as a result of too little sleep and far too many fanciful musings. But when he took another sip of his cappuccino and a thin layer of milky white froth lined his top lip, instinctively the tip of her tongue wiped across her own, igniting a wave of heat that had been a gentle swell and whipping it into tidal wave proportions.
Carly shook her head. She didn't want to go there.
"You're watching me,” she said.
"A crime?” and he smiled again.
Blast the man. He's smooth. Too smooth. Carly tilted her head up a fraction. “It makes me nervous."
"You're a beautiful woman. But then,” he said as the blue of his eyes darkened to an intensely dark sapphire, “you know that."
Words failed Carly, but she couldn't help but enjoy his comment nevertheless. She swallowed hard and struggled to reclaim a vestige of calm. She held out her hand. “I don't think I've introduced myself. Carly Mason."
"Marco Valente,” he said formally. Just like the night before, his big hand encircled hers. Big and beautiful. And it felt just as wonderful as it had last night.
Wrong. It felt twice as good!
Carly frowned and willed her nerves to get lost. She chewed on her bottom lip. This was going to be harder than she thought, but if nothing, she was determined. “You're Italian?"
"Si," he said nodding.
Hard wasn't the way to describe this monologue. It would be nothing short of a miracle if she succeeded. Steeling herself, she pasted on the brightest smile she could.
"I have a proposition for you."
"Is it legal?"
Carly spluttered at his comeback and quickly set her cup down. Her hands shook, but she took her time to wipe he
r lips with a napkin; aware every second Marco Valente watched and waited, following her every move. This was no time to be faint-hearted.
"Of course it is. The fact is Mr. Valente, I need a man."
And that's meant to sound legal!
"Really? Why would a woman with your looks need a man?"
A crimson stain colored Carly's cheeks in an instant, but she kept her gaze steadfastly on her prey. She wasn't about to give in.
"I need someone to accompany me to an island. Four days. That's all. I'll pay you of course. You don't have to do anything, just be there."
"You want a gigolo?"
"I do not!"
"Then, what for may I ask?"
She wished he hadn't. “You have a right to know,” she admitted grudgingly, knowing how embarrassing the whole scenario sounded, even before she uttered a word.
He nodded, but remained silent, eyes narrowed, assessing. His forthright appraisal sent a shiver of alarm chasing up and down her spine.
Steel yourself, Carly.
She sat back and picked up her coffee as a spasm of disquiet interrupted her confidence. Maybe this was a mistake. Finally, she spoke. “My friends are expecting me."
"To this island?"
Inwardly, she groaned. This was like pulling teeth, without pain killers. “Yes."
"Go on,” he nodded.
But Carly didn't want to go on; she wanted to disappear, to run away and forget the whole, completely absurd idea. Talk about wishful thinking. Suddenly the idea was just too way out there to be good.
Was she nuts?
Two days in a row she'd been thinking weird thoughts, acting totally out of character and all because of this man.
You're desperate.
How true. She was. So gathering her courage she carried on. “My friends and I were to take a holiday with our boyfriends, but ah ... um,” she halted and her gaze lowered.
"You don't have one,” he filled in for her.
Oh how pathetic did that sound. But she wouldn't go down without a fight. “No. I don't. It started out as a joke. My friends have partners. I don't, but I sort of made one up."
Oh, dear heaven. And Marco's understanding only made her more embarrassed. Resolutely she stared at the sugar bowl, the scattered granules drawing her attention with something akin to fascination. Far better than the reality of staring at a stranger, who had beautiful, soul searching eyes. Bedroom eyes.
"Sort of?” he queried softly.
"Mm.” She gave him a fleeting grimace. “The usual kind, tall, dark, and handsome. Unfortunately, it got out of hand. Now they're expecting me to present my mystery man. We're to spend four days on a private island. There are cabins. Everything is provided. You won't need a thing. I'd pay you of course.” Carly snapped her mouth closed. Darn it. She was babbling.
"Clothes are required I presume."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You said I wouldn't need a thing. I presume this isn't a nudist colony and I'll need clothes."
"You're teasing me, right?"
"Of course,” he assented, allowing her to see that way too sexy grin once more. “That way I get to see the pretty pink blush on your cheeks."
"Oh...” Carly's jaw dropped and she did exactly what he wanted and felt a warmth creep up her neck, pervading her cheeks. “You're toying with me."
"Si.” He shrugged. “And it's working."
Her lips pursed. Damn it. She was falling for his smooth lines. She wasn't experienced with men—except in business. Business she could handle, but this...? Smooth, sexy, and with eyes that made her want to shout yes and jump onto his lap. That was way off the scale as far as she was concerned.
Carly stiffened. Blast the man. This wasn't what she wanted. She needed to be in control here and not let this man have power over her. She leveled her gaze with his once more.
"You want me to be your paramour for four days, be attentive?” he queried.
Even to her ears the idea sounded perverse and she wished for the umpteenth time she hadn't let it get so out of hand. She nodded.
"Not a problem."
"It's not?"
"Si. It's perfect. What would be more so? Days spent isolated with a beautiful woman."
Oh heavens. With the velvety rich resonance of his accent sending goose bumps down her spine, he made it sound so decadent. She struggled to restrain her wanton thoughts and keep her tone business-like. It was the hardest thing she'd ever done. She had to get away from him, from temptation, get back to reality, and control. Quickly she told him the details, offered him a set sum that he agreed to, and they arranged to meet at the heliport on Thursday, ten a.m. sharp.
"I have an appointment. I must go. See you Thursday.” Flustered, knowing his narrowed gaze was on her, Carly hurriedly stood up, but just as she was about to leave a worrying thought caught her off-guard and she stalled. “This island, there are cabins, but to put your mind at ease, there are two bedrooms in each. You'll have your own room."
"Grazie. I am relieved. Two bedrooms, cara mia, what else could a man want with a beautiful woman as his companion?” The corner of his mouth flickered, expansive and very kissable and once again Carly's control slipped more than a few notches.
She snatched up her bag, desperate to douse her raging nerves and ignore her niggling conscience. She'd never done something so off track, so spontaneous. Spontaneity wasn't on her to do list. Her world was order, systems, and goals. Finally she found her voice. “Right. I'll see you."
"Thirty-six hours and counting, cara mia."
* * * *
Marco leveled his gaze on Carly Mason's long legs as she strode over the cobbled street, racing as if the devil was after her. He grinned. He may not be the devil, but he was after her—in a sense.
She was some woman. All woman, and unknowingly, the woman who had kept him awake all night, something that had never happened to him before. Marco smiled. Their chance meeting was a blessing from on high. Ordering another coffee, he eased his large frame back into the chair and let out a heavy sigh, frowning as he spied a wedding magazine in the free-to-read pile in the cafe. He dragged a hand through his tousled hair. Sleep deprivation was not good for his mood and meeting Carly had turned his emotions upside down. Hell, her proposal was incredulous, but that he'd accepted without a second thought socked him a punch he found inexplicable.
She had taken him by surprise, but one look at her long legs, spiky high heels, and a dress which clung to every delicious curve set his blood pumping and his nether regions reacting as if he was a schoolboy on fire. He found himself imagining what lay beneath that dress. Visions of frothy bits of lace and silk teased his senses, and despite the mid-day activity in the café, his eyes closed for a moment as his imagination ran wild.
It didn't last. A sharp cackle of laughter nearby dragged him back to reality and his eyes snapped open. What the hell was he doing, mentally undressing a woman he barely knew? But, he smiled, nevertheless. Four days on an island, albeit surrounded by her friends, would give him ample opportunity to get to know Carly Mason.
Oh, yeah.
It was a good opportunity and Marco always took opportunities. Opportunities had taken him to the top. But then, there was no need to tell Carly exactly who he was.
Nope, for now, he'd enjoy the freedom. That his public profile wasn't so widespread was more due to his diligence rather than the ineptitude of the paparazzi.
However, that sadly was about to change along with the status of his business with its global expansion. CV Hotels had taken up his every waking hour for months and as the project heated up, the noose tightened, choking him, dragging him through a mire of minutiae that needed sorting. This was his dream. Something he'd worked long and hard to achieve. Even so, he needed time out and four days with a long legged woman with hair the color of autumn was a plus.
Besides, there was another reason. Four days escape would provide respite from his mother's constant marriage prattle which had increased ten-fold in recent mo
nths. As much as he loved his mother, he was beginning to believe she was a serial bride, constantly on the look out for a husband. Such escapades while he was growing up had absolutely put Marco off marriage forever.
Nope. Playing lover, not husband, was the order of the day, and if Carly Mason wanted a gigolo to play Romeo to her Juliet, then she would get one, as long as he didn't have to die like the bard's hero.
Chapter 3
"Where the heck is he?” Carly paced the heliport's forecourt and for the umpteenth time glanced at her watch.
He was late.
Okay, so it was only two minutes, but late was late. She scanned the distance. There was no motorbike in sight. Her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. If there was one thing she hated most in the world, it was tardiness. She liked order, control, and certainly for people to be on time.
"You waiting for me?"
Marco's thickly sensual drawl stung like a bee and she whipped round. “You're late,” she accused.
His dark brows arched. “Sorry, Miss. Did you think I wouldn't come?"
"Of course not."
"Liar."
Carly reddened. Okay so she had, but only a fleeting, teensy bit.
Marco folded strong arms across his chest and she couldn't help but admire his rippling muscles. The pulse in her throat throbbed, and suddenly there didn't seem to be enough oxygen. She struggled to find her voice, not something she normally had problems with.
"The pilot's ready to take off. Let's go."
"Yes ma'am.” And he saluted.
Carly halted. She took a deep, steadying breath. Several actually. One just wouldn't cut it. Not with Mr. Adonis’ teasing remarks. With slow deliberation she faced him, holding herself rigid. She looked him eye to eye.
Admit it, they are great eyes!
"Sh..."
"Pardon?"
She exhaled in a whoosh and her shoulders sagged. “This is a fiasco."
Yeah, and you're right in it.
"Look, I'm sorry, put it down to nerves,” she said.
"Are you afraid of me?"
Her lips twisted into a grimace. This man was very perspicacious. “Sort of. You've got to admit this is a weirdo situation."
Hiring Cupid Page 2
