And that served the jerk right.
She checked her watch. Where was he, anyway? Of all nights to keep her waiting. She was already on edge, the anger inside her building to a raging inferno. Why was he so damn secretive about Tara Shaw? Why wouldn't he admit if their relationship had been real or not?
Gina stood and pushed back her hair. She'd whipped her curly mane into a long, tousled mass, scrunching it with a mega-hold hair spray.
Tara Shaw had nothing on her.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and she turned to see Rita descending.
"Wow." Her sister stopped to stare. "What a transformation. You're as slinky as a black cat on Halloween."
And just as dangerous, Gina hoped. "Thanks. I intend to make him suffer."
"So I see."
Rita moved forward. And then she flashed a coy, feminine smile. She had a caring, loving nature, but her smile was often laced with mischief. Gina supposed it came with the territory. Rita was a serious woman, dedicated to her career, but the nurse, like many others in her profession, possessed a wry, sometimes playful sense of humor.
Rita went into the kitchen and started a pot of tea. Gina followed her, her high heels clicking on the tiled floor.
"Are you any closer to figuring out who your secret admirer is?" Gina asked.
Rita shook her head and sighed. "No."
On Valentine's Day, her sister had received a small white box tied with a gold ribbon. Inside, she'd found a pin—a small pewter heart with a gold-toned Band-Aid wrapped around it. The gift had been left at the hospital, which led her to believe her secret admirer was affiliated with Boston General.
"I wear the pin on my uniform every day," Rita said. "I keep hoping whoever gave it to me will notice and come forward and identify himself."
He could be an orderly, Gina thought. Or a male nurse. Or maybe even a patient who'd been released by now. "You may never find out."
"I can't imagine someone giving me a gift, then just disappearing."
"Men are hard to fathom," Gina said, thinking about Flint. And they were darn good at keeping secrets. Flint hadn't revealed a thing about himself, particularly his mysterious so-called fling with that Hollywood bombshell.
Maybe he really did have an affair with Tara. Or maybe he'd been in love with her.
Then again, he didn't seem capable of deep emotion. After a cup of tea, Rita went to her apartment, leaving Gina waiting for Flint.
Where was he?
Finally, the buzzer sounded, announcing his late arrival. She let him into the building and gauged his reaction while he simply stared at her.
For the longest time he didn't speak, but his Adam's apple bobbed with each rough, masculine swallow.
Was he having trouble breathing?
Gina sent him an innocent smile. "Is something wrong?"
"What? No. Everything's just fine. I'm just peachy keen." He loosened the tie around his neck.
"You don't look fine." He looked flushed. And aroused. And gorgeous as ever. He wore an impeccably tailored suit and a shirt that matched the gold flecks in his eyes.
Her dress was gold, too, with just a hint of shimmer. For once she refused to let him intimidate her. He deserved to drool over her. This evening she would tease him into a sexual frenzy, then punish him by making him sleep alone.
He held out his hand.
Confused, she gazed at his palm.
"Give me the keys," he said. "I told you on the phone to have them ready."
"Oh, of course. It nearly slipped my mind." She opened her purse and removed an extra set of keys to the brownstone. He snatched them and jammed them into his pocket. And then he stared at her again, like a man craving the forbidden. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and his chest heaved with a laden breath.
No doubt, he wanted to shove her against the wall and take what he wanted. But he wouldn't, of course. Stealing a kiss wasn't the same as stealing a woman's entire body.
Revenge was sweet, she thought, feeling like the femme fatale he'd claimed he could turn her into. Only she'd done it without his help. "We're going dancing, right?"
"That's right. To a hot spot downtown."
"That's perfect. Because I'm in the mood to party." She intended to get downright tipsy. How else could she parade around in public with her dress hiked to her rear and her breasts pushed up to her chin? Staying sober was out of the question.
"Let's go," she said, grabbing her jacket. Tonight she wasn't in the mood to worry about what the alcohol would do to her ulcer.
Tonight she would throw caution to the wind and drive Flint Kingman half mad.
* * *
Gina was driving him crazy. The hair, the dress, the cleavage he couldn't stop staring at. And if one more guy approached her to dance, Flint was going to kick some serious ass.
Nobody, but nobody put moves on his woman.
Okay, so maybe she didn't exactly belong to him. But they'd been linked together in the society pages, and the tabloids had already picked up on their affair, even though those sexy pictures hadn't surfaced yet.
As far as the world knew, Gina Barone was his.
She sat across from him at the trendy club, sucking on a maraschino cherry.
"I think I'd like to try a pink lady next," she said.
He watched her mouth form a pretty little O around the cherry. He'd like to try a pink lady, too. But not the kind she referred to.
She'd been sipping one fruity concoction after the other, crunching ice cubes and toying with swizzle sticks and tiny umbrellas. She'd started off with a Midori sour, switched to a blue Hawaii, then went for a tequila sunrise.
"You're not supposed to mix drinks, Gina."
"I'm experimenting tonight."
Yeah, with his hormones. "You're half drunk already."
She tossed her head and sent that wild hair flying. "We're supposed to be out on the town, causing a scene, aren't we?"
I created a monster, he thought. A tall, slim, high-heeled monster. "Maybe you should eat something." He pushed a plate toward her.
She dropped the cherry in her glass and picked up a potato skin. After she tasted it, she made a surprised face. "It's spicy."
He shifted in his seat and watched her eat. The potato skins were flavored with cheddar cheese, sour cream and jalapeño peppers. Apparently she hadn't realized he'd ordered an array of spicy appetizers.
She swallowed the bite in her mouth, took a drink and then came to her feet.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I'm going to show you how hot it was."
Within a heartbeat, she stood in front of him, wedged herself between his legs and flung her arms around his neck. They were face to face but not quite mouth to luscious mouth.
The air in his lungs shot out. His blood sizzled. The muscles in his stomach flexed in anticipation.
She ran her tongue over her lips, sending his entire body into overdrive.
"Are you going to kiss me or not?" he asked, cursing his weakness, his desperate, all-consuming need for her.
She brushed his mouth in a gentle tease. He suspected half the people in the club were watching. And that aroused him even more. He wanted everyone to know the ice princess was his lady.
His pink lady.
"First you have to tell me your deepest, darkest fantasy," she said.
He caught his breath. Would she be this naughty in bed? "I have a honey fetish."
"Oh, my." She lowered her chin and gave him a sultry stare. "What else?"
He ran his hands along her waist, then down her hips, mesmerized by each rounded curve. "Women in short skirts." He raised her dress just a little. "With no panties."
"Do you want me to take my panties off for you, Flint?"
Yes. Oh, yes. He did. "Right now? Right here?"
She laughed and nipped his ear. "Only if you unzip your trousers for me."
This was insane. This incredible, heart-stopping, thrill-seeking attraction. They were good together. So damn good.
And peppers. He could taste the jalapeños.
She pulled back. "Hot, isn't it?"
Like a fever, he thought. "Will you get on your knees for me again, Gina?"
She raised her eyebrows. "Here? Now?"
No. When they were alone. When the public wasn't watching. When he could have her all to himself.
Struck by a jolt of fear, Flint gazed into Gina's eyes.
Heaven help him, he wanted her all to himself. But not just for mindless sex. Suddenly he craved something deeper, something substantial, something to fill the ache. And that scared the hell out of him.
She wasn't just stirring his libido; she was tapping into his need for emotional security.
"So, do you want me on my knees?" she asked.
"Why not?" He tried to sound casual, to keep his voice even, his breathing steady. "I'll bet it would make the papers."
She tossed a flirtatious smile at him. "I think we'd get arrested instead."
"Yeah, but being hauled off to jail would get us some extra publicity." He hugged her a little closer, not quite able to let go.
"This is fun," she said.
"What? Messing around in public?"
"No. Torturing you."
The ache came back. Tenfold. Damn her, anyway.
He should have known. The little witch only wanted to make him suffer. She'd turned their attraction into a heartless game. Maybe she really did have ice flowing through her veins.
She wrestled out of his arms. "I think I'm ready for that pink lady now."
Fine. He'd let her get drunk. What the hell did he care? This phony affair would be over soon. And then he could find another woman to replace her. Someone sincere. Someone kind. Someone to get Gina Barone out of his system.
* * *
On Thursday afternoon, the telephone jangled in Gina's ear. She moaned and reached for the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Why aren't you at work today?"
She recognized Flint's hard-edged voice. "Because I'm sick."
"You've been sick for days. You're blowing our scandal. Get out of bed and get yourself together. I'm taking you out."
"Leave me alone." She drew her knees to her chest. Her stomach burned like a furnace.
"No one has a hangover for that long."
"I do."
"Bull. You're just too chicken to face the press."
"I am not." She squinted at the tabloids on her nightstand. At her request, her secretary had brought them by. Those racy pictures had come out yesterday, and they were causing quite a stir. Her reputation would never be the same. "I just need some recovery time. I told you. I'm sick."
"And I told you to get your butt out of bed."
Gina glared at the phone. Flint had been calling her every day, making her illness worse. His constant badgering only heightened the stress.
She had enough to worry about. When those photos had hit the newsstand, she'd heard from everyone in her family, everyone but her dad. Of course, her mother had relayed a message. Her father wasn't pleased. He thought she'd gone too far.
Never mind that she'd done it for Baronessa Gelati. That she'd sacrificed her personal reputation to save the company. Her dad never awarded her with professional credit. He never treated her like a business equal.
"Are you still there?" Flint asked.
"Yes."
"Then get up and get ready. We need to be seen, Gina. To make a public appearance."
"Back off, Flint."
"Damn it, woman."
She snarled at the receiver again. "I'm hanging up on you."
"You better not—"
Making good on her threat, she pushed the Talk button and cut him off. And when the phone rang again, she refused to answer it.
Exhausted, she rolled over and went back to sleep. An hour later she awakened in a stupor. Peering through hazy vision, she squinted.
Flint stood over her bed like the grim reaper. He wore a long black raincoat, and his features hardened around a snarl. His cheekbones were as sharp as knives, his hair ravaged by the wind.
Dear God. A nightmare. She closed her eyes again until his voice jumped out at her.
"You look like hell, Gina."
She sat up and grabbed her pillow. He was real. Much too real. "What are you doing here?"
"I have a key, remember?"
"That doesn't give you the right to invade my privacy."
"I have the right to check up on you. To make sure you're all right."
Trust a spin doctor to act as if he cared, to put a spin on his actions. "That's all fine and dandy, but I can't deal with you right now."
He sat on the edge of the bed and gave her a level stare. She pushed the covers away, wishing she had the strength to push him away. Why couldn't he let her suffer in peace?
He raised an eyebrow at her. "Charming outfit. It's so slinky. So seductive. So perfect for your new image."
She glanced at her baggy sweats. "I told you, I'm sick."
"What exactly is the nature of your illness? And don't toss that hangover crap at me. You can hold your liquor better than that."
Wanna bet? she thought. "I have a stomachache."
He made a face. "Why? Is it your moon time?"
Her moon—? Good grief. "Are you asking about my period?"
He made another face. "Women get cramps, don't they? And PMS and all that."
She rolled her eyes. "If I told you that was my problem, would you go away?"
"No. But a more conventional man would, I suppose. So, is that your problem?"
Hell's bells. She knew he wouldn't let the subject go until she admitted why she'd been holed up in bed for half the week.
"I have an ulcer, Flint. But keep your mouth shut about it. I don't want my family to know."
His eyebrows furrowed. "Is it bleeding?"
"No. I'm just suffering from the aftereffects of all that alcohol. And the spicy food." Jalapeño potato skins, Cajun chicken wings, curry-seasoned rice balls.
He removed his coat and tossed it over the back of a chair. "How long have you had this condition?"
"For years. But it tends to heal and then recur when I'm under stress. Or when I eat or drink something that doesn't agree with me."
Flint shook his head. "Where does it hurt?"
"Here." She placed her hand under her breastbone.
"I wish you would have told me earlier. I never would have let you eat all that stuff. Or get drunk."
"I don't need a nursemaid."
"The hell you don't." He stood and blew a frustrated breath. "I'm going to get you some milk. That helps, doesn't it?"
"Yes." She almost smiled. The big, gorgeous oaf was acting as if this was his fault. Of course, in a way, it was. He was a major stress factor.
"Should I warm it?"
"Sure." That sounded cozy. And deep down, she liked the idea of Flint waiting on her.
"I'll be right back."
She curled up again, and he returned with a coffee mug filled with warm milk. She accepted the drink and sipped gratefully.
He scooted into bed next to her. "Have you seen a doctor?"
"Yes, and I already took my medicine."
They sat in silence for a while. Her stomach still hurt, but the milk managed to coat the burn. Finally she finished the last of the soothing liquid and handed him the empty cup.
He put it on her nightstand. "You can go back to sleep if you want."
"That's okay. Maybe later." She turned to study his windblown appearance, his tousled hair and rumpled shirt. "Why do you look so beat?"
"I had to fight my way into the building. The vultures are hanging out at your front door."
She tried not to groan. "The press?"
"Yep." He smoothed a curl from her cheek. "We should probably spend our free time at my house in t
he future. All that ruckus isn't fair to your sisters."
"Will going to your house really make a difference?"
"Sure. If the reporters follow us to my place after a date, they won't be hanging out here."
"That makes sense." She grimaced. "So, what do you think of our photo debut?"
He reached for one of the tabloids. "I think we look pretty damn sexy."
To say the least. The picture on the cover portrayed them as they'd felt that day. Consumed with lust. Gina was on her knees, tugging at his pants. His fly was partially open, revealing rock-hard abs, a masculine navel and a slight shadow of hair that led to a part of him that wasn't visible but was still apparent through his jeans.
Gina leaned forward to assess her printed image. The red nightgown revealed the outline of her breasts and the blatant peaks of her nipples. Desire, she noticed, still studying the photo, burst onto the page, like a ravenous, powerfully winged raptor.
"If they could see us now," she said, nudging his arm.
"Yeah." He grinned, and they both laughed. When their laughter faded, he said, "We're going to have to carry on this affair a bit longer than we'd originally planned. But I'm not pushing you. Take as much time as you need to feel better."
"Promise not to tell my family?"
"They must know you're sick. And besides, isn't your sister a nurse?"
"My family thinks I have the flu." Whenever her ulcer flared to this degree, she did her best to fool everyone, particularly Rita. It wasn't easy, but she'd gotten away with it so far. "Promise me, Flint."
He frowned at her.
"Please," she implored.
"Okay. I promise."
"Thank you." She closed her eyes and snuggled against him. He felt big and strong. And for now she needed him. "Will you stay for a while?"
He nuzzled the top of her head. "If that's what you want."
"It is."
Within no time Gina dozed off, content to be in her rival's protective arms.
* * *
Flint awakened later that evening, realizing he'd fallen asleep on Gina's bed. He flipped on a night-light and blinked to clear his vision.
Gina lay beside him, her eyes closed and her hair tangled around her face. She looked so vulnerable, so pale, so different from the woman who'd teased him at the dance club.
SLEEPING WITH HER RIVAL Page 7
