Romeo for Hire

by Jane Beckenham

  Fear raced up and down her spine and, as if in slow motion, she turned.

  Marco. Here. Her mind wouldn’t work. Damn brain cells—activate. Her gaze swallowed him whole. He looked the same—but different. Tired. The small creases at the corners of his eyes more pronounced, his pallor gray.

  “Marco?”

  “So it would seem.” Ice tinged his voice, mirroring the emotion in his eyes. He stepped into the room. “What are you doing here?”

  “I…” Carly stuttered and her cheeks burned.

  Chad Burns butted in. “Mr. Valente, this is Carly Mason of Mason Designs.”

  “Designs?” Marco’s brows rose a fraction while Carly struggled to pull herself together.

  She placed her design folder on the table. “CV Hotels requested my presentation.”

  “My company.”

  “CV Hotels is yours?” So that’s where his wealth had come from.

  “Si. Named after my father.”

  Oh, no, don’t say that. Don’t speak Italian, she pleaded silently. Just the sound of his voice sent shivers down her spine, doing wholly wanton things to her body. Not a good look when she was trying to be professional and get that darn contract.

  “Shall we begin?”

  “Begin?” Carly parroted, annoyed she was behaving like an idiot. But then, Marco Valente did that to her.

  “It’s what you’re here for, I presume. Nothing else?”

  Carly shot a look at the other man, but he didn’t seem to understand or have heard. She, however, knew exactly what Marco hinted at.

  The tips of her fingers brushed the side of her portfolio containing all her hard work, her hopes and dreams. She looked directly at Marco, meeting his cold, hard glare and pushed her shoulders back. She wouldn’t collapse in the heat of fire, and definitely not in front of the man who’d broken her heart without knowing it. “Right. If you would please be seated, gentlemen.”

  Carly waited for the men to sit while Marco, in true dictatorial style, sat at the head of the board table, hands resting in front of him. His long, tapered fingers caught her attention. She remembered their touch, the tantalizing and tortuous passion they roused in her.

  Choking for air, she drew on every ounce of professionalism she could muster. Crisply, without seeming to be in hurry although she wanted out as fast as her Chanel-shod feet would carry her, she laid out her presentation.

  Marco, much to her chagrin, said nothing, his expression immobile.

  Finally, she finished. She left the plans on the desk and folded her own shaking hands in front of her.

  Dour-faced, Marco turned to Chad. “Leave us.” It wasn’t a request, but an order.

  Burns looked to her and back to Marco. Clearly, he could see something else simmered in this room. Carly gave him a slight smile and nodded encouragingly as he left.

  “What’s going on between you two?” Marco demanded the minute the door shut. His chair scraped back and he stood, towering over her. Carly reeled backward. She’d forgotten how tall he was.

  No, she hadn’t. She hadn’t forgotten one single thing.

  “What on earth are you getting at, Marco?”

  “Smiling sweetly at Burns. The man’s a sucker for long legs and a skirt.”

  “Don’t be so disgusting.” She snatched up her bag and turned to go.

  “This interview isn’t over.”

  Carly halted, her fingers digging into her bag, jaw clenched so tightly she thought her teeth would break. She battled for a semblance of calm, aware her breathing staggered in her chest. She lifted her gaze to Marco. God, how could she have gotten it so wrong? “The hell it isn’t. Look, Marco, the fact that you are you and I’m here is merely a coincidence.”

  “Really?”

  “I had no idea you were the owner of CV Hotels.”

  But she should have. She should have checked out who headed the company, but she’d been so wound up in the details of the design, she’d let that tiny detail slip. Bad move. Damn it. Double damn!

  “I’ve worked long and hard on this project. You could at least give my work the time of day.”

  “I thought I had.”

  Carly sniffed. “You must be joking. All you did was stare at me.” She wasn’t about to add that it made her decidedly uncomfortable.

  “You’re a pretty sight.”

  “Oh, shut up. Just shut up.” She had to escape, but a sudden swell of queasiness forced her to halt in her tracks, and she doubled up, gagging.

  “Carly?” Concern tinged Marco’s voice, and he closed the gap between them. But his overwhelming masculinity and the familiar scent of him was more than Carly could handle. When his hand touched hers, it was as if her heart turned to stone.

  “Don’t touch me.” Oh, dear God, she wanted to be sick. She slammed her lips closed, fighting the pressing urge that threatened to overtake her any second.

  “Carly?” Marco wasn’t giving up. His soft and caring voice caressed her taut senses. It was the nail in the coffin. She could cope with harsh, cold, even indifferent, but not a caring Marco. Spinning on her heels, mindless that she’d left everything behind, she raced out of the boardroom. In the hallway, she came to an abrupt halt and looked left and right. She spied a sign for the ladies’ room. Carly shoved the door open and raced for the closest cubicle, dismayed when she heard Marco enter behind her.

  “Go away.” She tried to shut the door, but his towering frame stood in the doorway. “Leave me alone.”

  “You’re sick?”

  “What does it look like?”

  A flicker of emotion crossed his face before the mask slid back. Carly sighed. He had a right to know, but not now, not in a toilet while she vomited her heart out.

  Later.

  Maybe.

  She heard the tap running, and Marco passed her a damp towel, catching her wrist at the same time. Gently, he pulled her out of the cubicle and backed her into the chair in the corner. She tried to smile, but couldn’t. “Even in the ladies’ bathroom, there’s luxury.”

  “CV Hotels is renowned for its excellence and quality.”

  “That’s why my designs suit your hotels.”

  Marco laughed. “Even while you’re sick, you’re working,” he countered. “Why does this remind me of somewhere else?”

  “Don’t.”

  “Cara…” he began, but she couldn’t and wouldn’t listen. She flung the hand towel away.

  “Don’t you dare start that cara mia stuff on me. Once was enough, Marco. I’m not going down that track again.”

  “But…”

  “No buts,” she snapped. “President of CV Hotels. That’s some step up from the drifter you led me to believe you were.”

  “I never said what I did.”

  “No, you didn’t, and even when you had the chance, when we arrived back at the mainland, you kept the lie alive. As I said then and I’ll say now, you deceived me. I don’t like liars.” She wrenched the door open, raced back to the boardroom and grabbed her portfolio, ready to leave.

  “I’ve left copies of the design on the table. I’ll wait to hear from your company,” she said. She couldn’t say “hear from you”. That would be too much.

  Marco’s blue eyes darkened to deepest sapphire as he watched her. But he didn’t try to stop her.

  The lift doors closed with a soft hiss, shutting Marco from sight and, as it lowered to the ground floor, Carly shoved a clenched fist in her mouth to stifle the harsh wracking noises that choked her.

  “Oh, baby, what are we going to do?”

  Finally outside and free of the constraints of the building, she looked back up.

  Carry on. Keep going. No looking back, the soft voice in her head instructed.

  Chapter Nine

  “What the hell’s the matter with you?” Chad Burns railed at him as he marched into his office. He didn’t bother to close the door.

  Marco let out a heavy sigh and dropped the papers he’d been trying to read—without much success. He looke
d up at his off-sider. Chad Burns was good. They’d worked side by side for years, but that was as far as it went. Marco wasn’t about to parade his private life for anyone.

  “Let’s just say Ms. Mason and I are acquainted.”

  “Acquainted, hell. You just about ate the woman alive in there.”

  Marco snorted. “You exaggerate.”

  Chad was probably right. Unfortunately. From the moment he’d walked in the room, he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off Carly. How the hell had he stopped from pulling her into his arms and kissing her till she melted, which, if recollection served him, would be no more than a second? Oh, yeah, he remembered every single moment of it.

  “So I take it she’s why you’ve been like the proverbial bear with a sore tooth these last few months?”

  Marco refused to answer.

  “No. Don’t bother. I can read you a mile away, mate. You’ve got it bad.”

  “Don’t be melodramatic. You make it sound like I have a disease.”

  “It is. Remember Gloria, my ex-wife, and Lara, my other ex-wife? Drain you dry, Marco. Take my advice and keep well away. Besides, I thought you learned your lessons with Rosaria.”

  “Never fear, I’ll be a good boy and do as I’m told,” Marco said with good humor. All the while his insides ground as if under attack from a bulldozer. He was distinctly aware of tightness in his groin. It hadn’t stopped throbbing from the moment he’d seen Carly. But the mention of Rosaria only added to his woes. The woman was one she-devil he had no intention of reuniting with ever again. He was over Rosaria’s teasing, enticing, lying ways.

  “Right, I’m off for the weekend. Mary is taking me home to meet her parents.”

  Despite himself, Marco chuckled. “And you think I don’t learn. Have you looked at yourself lately?”

  “So I made a mistake.” Chad shrugged sheepishly.

  “Twice.”

  “Test runs before the real thing. See ya.” As the door slammed shut, Marco was left alone with the haunting memory of auburn hair and teasing green eyes.

  “Sh…”

  Three months, he cursed silently. Three months of hell, loneliness—and remorse.

  He swiveled in his chair and looked down at the world. It was home time, everyone rushing for Friday night and freedom. But he felt trapped. Ten floors up in his office, Marco felt as if he were confined to a gilded cage, strangled by emotions he didn’t know how to deal with or sure he wanted to.

  What was he going to do about it?

  He eyed the clock on the central shelf of his mahogany bookcase.

  Time was passing.

  Snatching up the phone, he punched in some numbers. The phone rang, and his breathing halted as he waited with anticipation.

  It kept ringing, and his gut churned.

  Marco realized he was very, very nervous. A new experience.

  Suddenly, an answer phone clicked in. It was Carly at her crispest and most professional. The office was shut. He tried her mobile and got another answer phone, the same voice, the same tone. It was driving him nuts. He didn’t want to speak to a machine; he wanted the real, live thing. He wanted Carly in person.

  There was only one other avenue. Marco dialed the phone service operator and quickly related his problem. The operator asked him to wait. He did. But it bugged the hell out of him. His fingers drummed on the desk and he fidgeted with the plans Carly had left behind. They were by far the best.

  “Sorry, sir, that number is confidential.”

  “What do you mean?” He had to have it. He couldn’t wait.

  “Sorry, sir,” the operator replied, obviously trained to be patient. Patience was something Marco was quickly running short of. “We can’t give the number out.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” he accused.

  “Can’t, sir, and won’t,” she reiterated, but there was a firm tone to her voice and Marco ungraciously realized she had him beat. The woman wasn’t about to budge one iota. Frustrated to hell, he slammed down the phone. Damn it. There had to be some way he could contact her.

  Family?

  Would they give out her number? Besides, he reasoned with renewed hope—how many Masons could there be in the phone book?

  He found out.

  One hundred and twenty-eight, to be exact.

  One after another after another.

  Bleary eyed, Marco dialed number seventy-four. He wanted to be positive, but was fast losing any hope after the last guy accused him of having an affair with his wife. He’d begun to wonder if phoning all the Masons in the phone directory in the hope of hitting pay dirt and finding someone, anyone, who knew Carly, was worth it.

  Unbidden, an image of her on the beach came to mind. Her aquamarine-colored bikini, the firm swell of her breasts, the feel of her skin under his fingers as he’d covered her with sun cream.

  He swallowed hard. Yes, she was worth it.

  “You’ve got to come, Carly, little Damian is so looking forward to it,” her sister Margaret whined down the phone line.

  “Okay,” she reluctantly agreed. Little Damian, she knew, wouldn’t care less whether she was there or not. He was only one year old. Whereas little Damian’s mother would, and it wasn’t particularly pleasing to realize her sister wanted her mainly for the present she would give Damian.

  Carly sighed. Three sisters whose husbands or boyfriends came and went with regularity and an assortment of nieces and nephews who kept her poor, but then she supposed she had more than they did.

  But she worked harder.

  Carly shrugged. It was true. Though now, with her own baby on the way, she wasn’t quite sure what to expect. One thing was certain however: she wasn’t prepared to let her business go. Somehow she would cope.

  “Carly. Please come.”

  Carly really wanted to say no and to go home and sleep. The thought of having to cope with her boisterous family felt daunting, especially after the upsetting day she’d had.

  But as always, family came first.

  At least the presentation was behind her. For what that was worth, she thought with increasing despondency. She’d set her heart on the contract, but finding Marco at the helm had seriously undermined her confidence that the contract would be hers.

  She couldn’t disappoint Damian, however. The small boy held a special place in her heart. His father was as scarce as hers had been.

  Instead of going back to the office, Carly spent the remainder of Friday afternoon toy shopping at a major children’s store. What normally would be a chore, she suddenly found riveting beyond all reason. She fingered the tiny, lemon-colored booties, so small they’d fit only two fingers at most. Would her baby be so small? Just thinking about it caused a warm flush to invade her body.

  Her baby. It sounded pretty darn good.

  “You came,” Margaret called as she stepped off the front porch, little Damian slung on one hip, his bib still grubby with the last meal.

  Carly grimaced and stifled the urge to tell her sister to clean up her act. “I said I would.”

  Margaret snatched at the large gift. “What did you get him?”

  “Some welcome,” Carly muttered as her sister left her standing alone.

  Inside was bedlam. When the Mason clan gathered, it usually meant chaos in the extreme, and today was no different. Carly gave her mother a kiss, but was barely acknowledged as the older woman succumbed to the throng of grandchildren at her feet.

  “Look after yourself, Carly, I can’t get up,” she prompted.

  “What’s new?” It was the story of her life. Everyone expected her to look after herself—and them. But for some reason, she kept coming back. Family was family, she supposed. Carly rested a hand on her stomach. Soon, she’d have her own family.

  “You lookin’ a bit peaky, Carly,” Laura yelled from across the room.

  Carly’s hand dropped from her stomach. “I’m fine,” she lied. “Just working too hard, that’s all.”

  “Hey, Auntie Carly, you wanna sausage roll?�
� Bryce shoved a loaded plate under her nose.

  Carly balked at the greasy offerings, averted her face and slapped a hand over her mouth. She wanted to be sick, her stomach roiling at the merest whiff of the pastry and fatty sausage concoction.

  Her sister’s eyes narrowed, a telltale hint of recognition fluttering across her face. “You never were a good liar, Carly. What’s up?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re pregnant.”

  The room went quiet. “Don’t be silly,” she denied hotly. She should never have come. Should have known she couldn’t hide anything from her family.

  “Silly, my foot. Come on, you can tell us. Heck, we’ve all been there, done that.”

  Carly’s gaze traveled around the room. Laura’s boyfriend now resided in prison, and Margaret’s husband wasn’t much better. He came and went, each time leaving Margaret pregnant. Her sisters stared back, interest blatantly piqued.

  “You’re just like the rest of us single mothers.” Laura chuckled, slapping her fat thigh. “Hey, Mum, Carly’s pregnant.”

  “Is she now? Well, who would have guessed.”

  Under this scrutiny, there was no way out. Her family would hound her until they unearthed the facts. “I’ve only just found out,” she finally admitted.

  “Hey, get a look at that car,” one of her nephews called out. He yanked down the slats of the venetian blinds and pressed his face to the window. “Cool. Bet it’s fast.”

  Carly didn’t really care what they were talking about and turned away as the boys raced outside. All she wanted to do was to control the urge to scream while her sisters interrogated her.

  With everyone gone from the office, Marco had spent hours phoning virtually every Mason in the book. He didn’t succumb to defeat easily and now, as he parked his car, his heart raced with expectation. This was it. He’d spoken briefly to someone and they’d confirmed that Carly was a family member and expected later that evening.

  From the safety of his car, he stared at the house in the gloom of the evening. It didn’t look much; in fact, it was pretty dilapidated. He checked the number on the piece of paper lying on the car seat beside him against the letterbox. They were one and the same. Just then, two scruffy boys raced out the front door. Marco sat up. One boy’s hair was an exact replica of Carly’s burnished copper. Hope soared in his chest. Perhaps he had found her.