His Thirty-Day Fiancée

by Catherine Mann

  Making peace with the old man was more pressing than ever with Enrique’s failing health.

  Javier set aside his plate with a clink of the fork. “No disrespect, my friend, but are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  Most wouldn’t risk asking him such a personal question, but Javier’s past wasn’t that different from Duarte’s. Javier’s family had escaped San Rinaldo along with the king. Enrique had set up a compound in Argentina as a red herring. The press had believed the deposed king and his family had settled there.

  However, the highly secured estate in South America had housed the close circle who’d been forced out of San Rinaldo with the Medinas—including the Reyes de la Cortez family. Javier understood fully the importance of security as well as the burning need to break free of smothering seclusion.

  Duarte tapped a screen displaying an image of Kate at the antique dinner cart, plucking the long-stem red rose from the bud vase. “I know exactly what I was doing. I was introducing my fiancée to the world.”

  “Oh, really?” Javier leaned closer, pulling his tie from over his shoulder, where he must have draped it when he started his dinner. “Less than two hours ago she was scaling the side of the building to get a photo of you.”

  His eyes cruised back to the screen. Kate stroked the rose under her nose as she settled in the chair. Her brown hair tousled, her feet bare, she had the look of a woman who’d been thoroughly kissed and seduced.

  Thinking of the way she’d made her entrance on the balcony earlier… He couldn’t help but smile at her audacity. “Quite an entrance she makes.”

  “Now you’ve invited her into your inner sanctum?” Javier shook his head. “Why not simply hand over a journal with your life story?”

  “What better way to watch your enemy than keeping her close?” In his room. Where she waited for him now, savoring the beef tenderloin with the gusto of a woman who appreciated pleasures of the senses. “She will only see what I want her to see. The world will only know what I want it to know.”

  “And if she goes to the press later with the whole fake engagement?” Javier’s eyes followed his to the screen, to Kate.

  Duarte clicked off the image and the monitor went blank. “By then, people will label anything she says as the ramblings of a scorned woman. And if a handful of people believe her, what does that matter to me?”

  “You really don’t care.” Javier tapped the now-dark screen, a skeptical look on his face.

  “She will have served her purpose.”

  “You’re a cold one.”

  “And you are not very deferential to the man who signs your extremely generous paychecks,” he retorted, not at all irritated since he knew his friend was right. And a man needed people like that in his inner circle, individuals unafraid to declare when the emperor wore no clothes. “I assume you want to continue working for me?”

  “You keep me on because I don’t kowtow to you.” Javier picked up his cake plate again. “You’ve never thought much of brownnosers. Perhaps that’s why she intrigues you.”

  “I told you already—”

  “Yeah, yeah, inner sanctum, blah-blah-blah.” He shoveled a bite of the chocolate rum cake, smearing basket-weave frosting into the fork tines.

  “Perhaps I am not as cold as you say. Revenge is sweet.” So why wasn’t he seeking this sort of “revenge” with Javier’s cousin? Alys was attractive. They’d even dated briefly in the past.

  “If you wanted revenge you could have gotten Kate Harper fired or arrested. She’s snagged your interest.”

  Javier was too astute, part of what made him excel at his job as head of security. But then what was wrong with sleeping with Kate? In fact, an affair made perfect sense, lending credibility to their engagement.

  “Kate is…entertaining. I’ll grant her that.” And his life was so damn boring of late.

  Work did not provide a challenge. How many millions did a man need to make? He was a warrior without an army.

  If he’d grown up in San Rinaldo, he would have served in her military. But with his history, he’d never had the option of signing on for service in his new home.

  How ironic to be a thirty-five-year-old billionaire suffering from a career crisis? “She’s also helping take heat off me with my father. The old man is in a frenzy to ensure the next generation of Medinas before he dies.”

  “Whatever you say, my friend.” Javier tipped back a bottled water.

  Ah, hell. He couldn’t hide the truth from himself any more than from his friend. Duarte was off balance, tied up in knots over his father because he’d promised his mother he would watch Enrique’s back. But how did a person defend someone against a failing liver?

  He sometimes wondered why Beatriz had asked him when Carlos had been older, when Carlos had been the one to come through for her. She’d reminded him then he had always been the family’s little soldier. He’d done his best to protect his family, a drive he saw equaled in Kate’s eyes when she spoke of her sister. How ironic that their similar goals of protecting family put them so at odds.

  Standing, Duarte returned the rolling chair under the console of monitors and tapped the blank screen that had held an image of Kate relishing her dinner. “Make sure you leave that one off. I’ll take care of security in Kate’s suite.”

  Four

  Thank goodness no one was looking, because she’d tossed out table manners halfway through the lobster tail. Kate washed down the bite of chocolate rum cake with sparkling water. She was hungrier than she’d realized, having skipped supper due to nerves over crashing the Medina party.

  Sipping from her crystal goblet, she opted for the Fuiggi water rather than the red wine. She needed to keep her mind clear around Duarte, especially after that kiss.

  A promise of temporary pleasures that could lead to a host of regrets.

  Footsteps sounded in the hall, a near-silent tread she was beginning to recognize as his. Would he go to his suite or stop by her room? He’d said he wanted to talk through details about their supposed dating past before they faced the world.

  He stopped outside her door. Her toes curled. She licked her fork clean quickly and pushed away from the small table. Her shoes? Where had she ditched them before digging into her meal?

  The door swung open.

  Time had run out so she stayed seated, tucking her bare feet underneath the chair. Duarte filled the open frame to her room, blocking out the world behind him, reminding her that they were completely alone with each other and the memory of one unforgettable kiss. She straightened with as much nonchalance as she could, given her heart pumped as fast as a rapid-shot camera.

  “Supper is to your liking?” He draped his tuxedo coat over the back of a carved mahogany chair.

  “It’s amazing and you know it.” She wished she could take a slice of the cake to Jennifer.

  “You were hungry.” He loosened his tie.

  Her heart stuttered. “How about you keep your pants on this time, cowboy.”

  “Whatever makes you happy, my dear.”

  Smiling, he slid the tie from his collar slowly, a sleigh bed with a fluffy comforter warm and inviting behind him. Then he stopped across from her at the intimate table for two, complete with silver and roses. Thank heaven he was still clothed—for the most part.

  She placed her fork precisely along the top of her dessert china, the gold-rimmed pattern gleaming in the candlelight. “My compliments to your chef.”

  “I’ll let him know.” He scooped up her cut crystal glass of untasted wine and swirled the red vintage along the sides. “I have to confess, it’s refreshing to hear a woman admit to appreciating a full dinner rather than models who starve themselves.” He eyed her over the top of the Waterford goblet. “Eating can be a sensual experience.”

  Just the way he lingered over the word sensual with the slightest hint of an exotic accent made her mouth go moist. She swallowed hard and reminded herself to gather as much information as possible for future articles.
While her primary job focused on taking the photos, an inside scoop could only help sell those shots.

  This time with Duarte wasn’t about her. She was here for her job, for her sister. “You don’t strike me as the sort to overindulge when the dinner bell clangs. You seem very self-disciplined.”

  “How so?” He tipped back the glass.

  She watched his throat work with a long swallow, his every move precise. “I would peg you as a health-food nut, a workout fiend.”

  “Do you have a problem with a sweaty round in the gym?”

  “I don’t love it, but I adore food more than I dislike exercise. So I log a few miles on a stationary bike when I can.” Wait, how had this suddenly become about her when she was determined to learn more about him?

  “You need to stay in shape for scaling ledges.” He tapped the rim of his glass to her water goblet, right over the spot where her mouth had rested. The ting of crystal against crystal resonated through her. “You said you saw me on security footage before I ever entered your room. What if those tapes of me crawling around outside somehow leak to the media? Won’t that shoot a hole in our engagement story? And what about the part I played in exposing your half sister?”

  “About the balcony incident, we’ll blame it on the paparazzi chasing you out of your room. As for Alys, we can always say you let it slip at work.” He dropped into the chair across from her, lean and long, his power harnessed but humming.

  “What’s to stop me from claiming any of that if you decide to use the video feed against me?”

  “Do you think I’ve revealed all the ammunition in my arsenal?” He turned the glass on the table, the thin stem so fragile in his hand.

  “Are you trying to worry me?” She refused to be intimidated.

  His breathing stayed even, but his eyes narrowed. “Only letting you know I play at an entirely different level than anyone you’ve ever come up against. I have to. The stakes are higher.”

  “I don’t know about that.” An image of Jennifer’s smile when she’d passed over the braided anklet filled Kate’s mind. “My stakes feel pretty high to me.”

  He set aside his drink and reached back into his tux jacket. His hand came back with a computer disc in a case. He slid it across the table toward her. “Copies of the photos from your camera and from my own press team for you to share with the Intruder.”

  “All of my photos?” she asked with surprise—and skepticism.

  “Most of your photos.” The hard angles of his face creased into a half smile. “You can pass these along to your editor. If he questions why you’re still speaking to him when you have a rich fiancé, tell him that we want to control the release of information and as long as he plays nice, the flow will continue. I’ll have a laptop computer sent up for you. I keep my word.”

  She traced an intricate M scrolled on a label, the gilded letter taking on the shape of a crown. Her brain spun headlines… Medina Men. Medina Monarchs.

  Medina Money, because without question pure gold rested under her fingertips. And he’d promised her so much more in four weeks. “I need to stop by my apartment tomorrow before we leave.”

  “Cat or dog?”

  “What?” She glanced up quickly.

  “Do you have a cat or a dog? What kind?” He cradled his iPhone in his broad palm. “I’ll pass along the details to my assistant and your animal will be boarded.”

  His arrogance almost managed to overshadow his thoughtfulness. Almost, but not quite. “I didn’t know that ninjas read minds. And it’s a cat. I’m away from home too much to have a dog. My neighbor usually watches him for me.”

  “No need to bother your neighbor. My people will see to everything, like with your sister’s security.” He began tapping in instructions.

  How easy it would be to let him take charge, especially when what he offered was actually helpful…even thoughtful. “That’s nice of you. Thanks.”

  He waved aside her gratitude and continued texting. “Before you mention packing clothes, forget it. I’m already ordering everything you’ll need. You’ll have some of the new wardrobe by morning.”

  She glanced down at her green Gabbana knockoff. “Cinderella makeover time?”

  “Believe me, you don’t need a makeover. Even wearing a, uh—” He stumbled over his words for the first time, his brow furrowing….

  “A secondhand-store bargain, you mean?” She found his hesitation, this first sign of human emotion, unsettling…and a little charming. “You don’t have to worry about offending me. I’m not embarrassed by the fact my bank balance is smaller than yours. That’s just a fact.”

  “Very good that you’re not going to waste our time with ridiculous arguments. What’s your dress size?”

  “Eight for dresses, pants, shirts.”

  “Got it.” He input the information. “Shoe size.”

  “Seven. Narrow.”

  “Bra?”

  She gasped. “Excuse me?”

  “What is your bra size?” He quirked an eyebrow, without raising his onyx gaze. “Some of the evening gowns will have a fitted bodice and special cut. Last-minute alterations in person can be made, but it’s helpful to have a ballpark number to start with.”

  Resisting the urge to flatten her hands to her breasts required a Herculean effort. “Thirty-four C.”

  He didn’t look away from his iPhone, but a slow sexy smile creased his face. The air between them crackled and her nipples ached inside her strapless pushup. This man was entirely too audacious. And enticing. Finally, he put away his phone and returned his focus to her.

  “A new ‘princess’ wardrobe will be waiting in the morning with enough garments to see you through our first few days of travel. The rest of your clothing for the month will arrive before the end of the week.” He thumbed the engagement ring on her finger, nudging the ruby back to the center again.

  His simple touch stirred her as much now as his kiss had earlier, and this time they were alone rather than in a ballroom full of onlookers. His gaze fell to her mouth, brown eyes turning lava-dark with desire.

  He’d told her the engagement was mutually beneficial for practical reasons, but at the moment she wondered if he had a different agenda. Could he really be so interested in getting her into his bed that he would expose himself to press coverage? That he would want her so much after one meeting was mind-blowing. Who wouldn’t be complimented?

  Except it also felt so far out of the realm of possibility that she felt conceited for considering it. Revenge seemed a far more logical reason for the seductive gleam he directed at her.

  Either way, she needed to keep her guard up at all times. “Thank you. I will be certain the reporter who pens the stories accompanying my photos notes that you have impeccable, princely manners.”

  “No thanks or credit needed. I won’t even notice the expense of a few dresses and 34C bras.”

  Her fingers curved into a fist under his touch. “I was referring to your consideration in looking after my cat before we leave.”

  “Again, that has nothing to do with being nice.” He enfolded her curled hand in his until it disappeared. “I’m only taking care of loose ends so we can move for ward.”

  This man was such a strong presence he could eclipse a person as fully as his palm covered her hand. “Of course I’ll also have to make note in the article that you’re bossy.”

  “I prefer to think I’m a take-charge sort of man.”

  “You would have made a great general.”

  He traced from her ring finger around to the vein leading to the pulse in her wrist. “Why do I feel like you’re not complimenting me?”

  “Don’t you worry about how I’ll present you in stories once this is over? Photography may be my main focus, but I do write articles on occasion.”

  The warmth of his clasp seared her skin. They were just linking fingers, for crying out loud, something as innocent as two teens in a movie theater. But they weren’t in some public locale.

  They were a
lone, and she questioned the wisdom of letting him touch her in private. The heated look in his eyes was most definitely anything but innocent.

  “You’ll be the ex-fiancée. It’ll all sound like sour grapes.” He released her fist and stood before she could pull away. “Regardless, I don’t give a flying f—”

  “Right. Got it.” She raised both hands. “You don’t care what people think of you.”

  “I only cared about privacy, and now that’s a moot point.” He walked around the table, stopping beside her and tipping her chin with a knuckle. “So let’s get back to talking about how smoking-hot you look regardless of what you wear, and how much better you must look in nothing at all.”

  She saw this for what it was, a gauntlet moment where she could either back down—or let him know she wasn’t a pushover. No dancing around the subject or pretending to ignore his seductive moves to keep some kind of peace. She’d always met life head-on and now wouldn’t be any different.

  “Stop trying to throw me off balance.” She stared at him without flinching or pulling away. “I’ve kept a steady hand taking pictures through bomb blasts in a war zone and during aftershocks in earthquake rubble. I think I can handle a come-on from you.”

  A flicker of approval mingled with the desire in his dark eyes at her moxie. And how silly to be excited because she’d impressed him with something other than her cup size. She wasn’t interested in the man beyond what he had to offer in a photo op.

  Okay, not totally true. Truth be told, just looking at him turned her on. Hearing his light Spanish accent stoked that a notch. He was a handsome man, and a big-time winner in the genetic gene pool when it came to charisma.

  But that didn’t mean she intended to act on the attraction.

  “I can handle you,” she repeated, just as much to reassure herself as to convince him.

  “Good, an easy victory isn’t nearly as much fun.” He reached behind her, his hand coming back with a thick white robe. He passed the folded terry cloth bearing the resort logo to her. “Enjoy your shower.”