Buoyed by her good humor, she strode downtown as her phoned buzzed. Still in full stride, she flicked on her mobile, 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.
As she sipped coffee, her gaze wandered down the cobbled lane. A mecca for designer stores and, 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 women 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 her 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 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 curved into a lopsided grin that made Carly’s toes curl. Suddenly it seemed really important she do this. He shrugged and pulled the spare chair out from the table and sat, stretching out his long legs. Carly gulped and looked away then walked 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 “ten”. 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. 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?” He smiled again.
Blast the man. He was smooth. Too smooth. She 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 the deepest of sapphires, “you know that.”
She held out her hand. “I don’t think I’ve introduced myself properly. Carly Mason.”
“Marco Valente.” 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.
“You’re Italian?”
“Si.”
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 set down her cup. Her hands shook, but she took her time to wipe her lips with a napkin, aware Marco Valente followed her every move.
“Of course it is. The fact is, Mr. Valente, I need a man.”
“Really? Why would a woman as beautiful as you need a man?”
“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?”
Heat stole across her cheeks. “I do not.”
“Then what for, may I ask?”
“You have a right to know,” she admitted, knowing how embarrassing the whole scenario sounded.
“I do.”
Disquiet interrupted her confidence. Maybe this was a mistake. “My friends are expecting me.”
“On this island?”
Inwardly, she groaned. “Yes.”
He nodded. “Go on.”
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.
“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.
Carly swallowed her pride. “No. I don’t. It started out as a joke,” she said, trying to lighten her voice. “My friends have partners. I don’t, but I sort of made one up.”
“Sort of? What kind?” he asked.
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. “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 and 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.
“You want me to be your paramour for four days, be attentive?” he asked.
Even to her ears the idea sounded perverse. She wished for the umpteenth time she hadn’t l
et 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 sexy 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 businesslike. 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 rested on her, Carly hurriedly stood, 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. What else could a man want?” The corner of his very kissable mouth flickered, 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. After 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 incredible, 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 groin reacting as if he was a schoolboy experiencing his first crush. He found himself imagining what lay beneath that dress. Visions of frothy bits of lace and silk teased his mind, and despite the midday 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. 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.
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 would be a plus.
Besides, he had another reason. Four days escape would provide respite from his mother’s constant marriage prattle which had increased ten-fold in recent months. As much as he loved his mother, he was beginning to believe she was a serial bride, constantly on the lookout 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 Three
“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. She whipped around. “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.” 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.
They were great eyes.
“Shi—”
“Pardon?”
She exhaled in a whoosh, and her shoulders sagged. “This is a fiasco.”
“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 weird situation.”
“You asked me. Do you want to back out?”
“Too late,” she admitted ruefully. “They know we’re coming.” Yeah, another dumb move. “I phoned my friends and told them.” And she had enthused about him. Talk about a web of deceit. Now she’d have to play schoolmarm, ensuring he would remember everything she’d made up about him.
For the next few minutes, she proceeded to tell him just who exactly her Mr. Perfect was, every last gory detail.
“Do you think you can remember all that?”
“Not a problem. It is a fantasy, correct? Then we will fantasize.” Marco closed the space between them. “There’s no need to be afraid of me.”
Carly’s foolish musings disintegrated on the spot. Only inches away from her, he caressed her cheek. She swallowed. His almost sensual touch lit a fire in her belly, a desire, a…
Oh, heaven help me. Give me sanity. Where’s my computer?
“I’m not a villain, Carly Mason. I may not have a magic carpet, but since you’ve hired me for a few days, I can be your genie from the lamp.”
“And I’m Aladdin?”
“Si. Your wish is my command. I will be the attentive boyfriend. Your friends will accept our love is true and passionate.”
“They will?” she croaked.
“Sure. You and I will fool the world. Four days of sun, sand and—”
“Then it’s back to work,” she interrupted.
“Work? Is it so important?”
“It is to me,” she asserted. Leading the way, she strode toward the waiting helicopter pilot and passed him her bag. Sidestepping Marco, she entered and seated herself.
One thing troubled her, though.
If Marco was the genie and she was Aladdin, she sure as heck wasn’t about to ask which part she was to rub.
Within seconds the helicopter roared into life.
“Hold on, we’re about to take off,” her partner in de
ceit said.
How could he look so calm? Wasn’t he the least bit worried? She was terrified. What on earth had she done? He was a stranger. He was…oh, hell.
Carly knew her reaction to Marco teetered way off beam. She was out of her depth.
She had to remember the job was temporary.
The helicopter lifted off, darting away from the mainland and over the frothing green waters of Auckland’s Hauraki Gulf. The city was noted for its many volcanoes, most of which, thankfully, were extinct, but then that was New Zealand. Volcanoes, mountains and rivers. A clean, green playground.
They were traveling at over one hundred and twenty kilometers an hour, though the perception seemed quite different—slower, as if gliding over the blue green waters below.
With Marco sitting beside her, Carly dissected her fanciful scheme. That he had agreed to it had taken her by surprise. But then, the last few days had been utter chaos, and no one in their right mind would believe she would hire a gigolo. She cast a quick glance in his direction.
Marco Valente was far too good-looking and devilishly sexy.
She smiled. He was exactly right for the job.
He wore a black T-shirt that stretched across his broad chest blatantly delineating a muscular torso and biceps, while his long jean-clad legs struggled to be contained in the small seating area. His slightly longer than fashionable hair with its smattering of gray tingeing his temples gave him a distinguished aura—though the unruly curl that constantly fell forward made Carly want to reach up and flick it—and of course let her fingers run through his hair at the same time.
Hold that thought.
And she did, and held his hand—as if her life depended on it. Well, it did—sort of. At least it did if she wasn’t to look a fool in front of her friends. She’d already resigned herself to going through with the charade. She would grit her teeth and smile sweetly if it meant once and for all she would get them off her back.
Romeo for Hire Page 2
