Authors: Jennifer Probst
Maggie stiffened and he cursed his mention of Alexa. Did she honestly think he lusted after her married friend? “Hm, convenient. Get her on your home turf with the lure of poetry. Just remember our deal, Count.”
He had no time to answer. They reached the Taverna del Colleoni & Dell’Angelo and after a brief chat with the waiter were led inside. The medieval-looking decor with the high vaulted ceilings elicited a murmur of approval from Maggie, and then they were seated in a cozy corner while Michael made the introductions.
Signore
Ballini emitted the old-fashioned demeanor of an Italian gentleman. He enjoyed culture, travel, good food and wine, and beautiful women. He’d aged well, with a stylish salt-and-pepper cut, and he couldn’t resist flirting a bit with Maggie, who seemed to not only accept his compliments but genuinely enjoy them.
Michael’s breath loosened a bit as he straightened the knot on his royal-blue tie. Perhaps the evening would play out smoothly after all. They chatted about nonsensical items as the waiter discreetly served platters of food with an explosive array of textures and tastes. Grilled radicchio with earthy Gorgonzola, firm noodles flavored with porcini and blueberries, and shrimp sitting on a bed of polenta with saffron. The Valcalepio Rosso was a local wine rich and blunt on the tongue, and two bottles were quickly consumed over conversation.
“
Signora
,
since you are from America, I am sure you have a career. Tell me what you do besides make Michael a happy man?”
The square-cut bodice of the rose dress slipped an inch and showed off just a hint of firm, high breasts. Her hair glimmered red under the play of light as the silky strands brushed her shoulders. “I’m a photographer,” she answered. “I’ve loved being behind the camera since I was young.”
The older man nodded with approval. “Do you shoot landscapes? Babies? Weddings?”
“Underwear for Calvin Klein, Cavalli, and many other well-known stylists. I fly to Milan often on business, so it was a wonderful opportunity to combine both business and pleasure on this trip.”
Michael held his breath, but
Signore
Ballini laughed in delight. “How refreshing. It is good to make your husband a bit jealous, no?”
She laughed with him and redirected the conversation back to business as she lustily groaned over the food. Neatly led into the dessert menu, she mentioned La Dolce Famiglia and its raging success, and like she planned it that way, Michael was able to go smoothly into his pitch.
Before long, espresso steamed hot and rich from tiny cups and he’d secured another meeting, in Milan. He was about to end the evening on a strong note when the careful building blocks shook in their foundation.
“I am trying to arrange a skiing trip in Aspen and having a terrible time with a villa,”
Signore
Ballini commented. “That awful American actress who owns a home there won’t return my calls. I read she will rent out her home to only the best. I guess an Italian is not good enough for her.”
Maggie razored in on the conversation. “Are you talking about Shelly Rikers?” she asked.
Surprise flitted across the older man’s features. “Yes. I refuse to watch any more of her movies. She is quite rude.”
“Actually, I know Shelly and she’s very personable.”
Michael clenched his wineglass as an awkward silence descended.
Signore
Ballini stiffened his spine and a new chill crept into his voice. “I would not know this,
signora
,
since obviously she only deigns to speak with Americans.”
Michael opened his mouth to cut the dinner short, haul Maggie out the door, and hope to God the man didn’t cancel their meeting. “Maybe we should—”
“Don’t be silly,
signore.
Let me fix this for you.” She whipped out her flashy leopard cell, punched in numbers, and spoke briefly to someone on the other line. With a stunning efficiency, Michael watched while she spoke with three more people, firing orders and chatting nonstop. She paused and slid the phone away from her ear. “
Signore,
is the first week in September acceptable?”
The older man beamed. “
Perfecto
.”
“Yes, that is fine. Give Shelly my love and tell her I’ll call her when I arrive home. Thank you.”
She slid the phone back in her bag and smiled. “You are all set. I will make sure to give the information to Michael so you can set things up. I think it was all a misunderstanding. She is looking forward to seeing you.”
“
Grazie
. Not only beautiful, but efficient.”
Half in shock, Michael followed them out of the restaurant and said his good-byes. With a casual grace, his fake wife hooked her arm through his in an effort not to trip on the cobblestones and took a deep breath of the mild evening air. They walked in silence for a moment as he tried to wrap his brain around the reality of the situation.
“I thought you were going to screw that up for me,” he admitted.
Her tinkling laugh stroked his ears and other places. Places that hardened instantly and ached to be buried inside her. “I know. I thought I’d make you sweat first. It was fun watching your face while you tried to keep the conversation neutral. Did you really think I couldn’t handle myself in business situations, Count?”
The raw truth hit him full force. Yes. Because the alternate reality scared the crap out of him. If she wasn’t what she appeared, she was much more. A woman with soul and grit and passion. A woman of such charm and intellect she’d never bore a man. A woman worth more than one night.
A woman worth everything.
His heart hammered and her scent swarmed around him. She led him toward a gelato stand and ordered two chocolates, quickly paying and handing him the cup before he could protest. The center of the square fluttered with activity and couples hand in hand, and he let his worried thoughts slide away as he sank into the moment.
“See that fountain over there?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“My friend Max and I came into the square one night and dared each other to go skinny-dipping.”
She quirked one brow. “No way. Did you do it?”
“Max did. I bribed him to first. Bare-ass naked he stepped into the fountain and one of our neighbors was out with his dog and caught us. He chased us out of the square, but Max had to leave his clothes behind.”
“What was the whole point of this male escapade?”
“To see who had bigger balls, of course.”
She laughed out loud, the sound spilling into the night, and he gazed down at her. A spot of chocolate rested at the corner of her mouth. Her face was open and soft in a way he’d never caught before. And without thinking, he lowered his head and kissed her.
Michael didn’t linger. Just captured her lips with his for one brief moment. Tasted rich chocolate, red wine, and warm female. She kissed him back and relaxed, giving herself to him on borrowed time. When they broke away, something had changed between them, but neither was ready to explore. She tossed her cup of gelato in the trash and they walked home the rest of the way in silence.
But Michael wondered if it was already too late to deny what was between them. Too late to believe this was still a no-strings, no-emotion
fake
marriage.
Chapter Seven
“O
kay, Decklan. Drop ’em.”
His pants hit the floor. The harsh light accented the carved muscles under his oiled skin. The briefs hugged the critical parts and left the rest of his flesh proud and bare. Already Maggie’s mind clicked relentlessly about the best way to get the shot she needed, picking and discarding as she warmed up. These were a crop of new male models she worked with by invitation from the Italian designer, and they were a bit green around the edges.
Comfortable in her role, she let the pull of the camera take over. For a while, all thoughts shut off and she was captivated by the moment. She’d always been happier behind the lens than in front of it, as if the voyeur inside of her burst free and got permission to invade another person’s privacy while remaining safely distant. She liked to push barriers and comfort zones in order to get the perfect shot, and she never quit until she hit pay dirt.
Sweating under the hot lights, she called for a break and guzzled a bottle of water. Her makeup artist had whisked Carina away to transform her. Maggie still laughed at the expression on the young girl’s face when she got a glimpse of the half-naked men onstage—like a female set loose on a designer clearance sale. Hopefully, she’d gain a bit of confidence, have some fun, and Maggie could safely return her to Michael in a better mood.
The image of Michael pushing her against the wall, ripping open her top, and sucking on her breasts shuddered through her. Heat rushed and settled between her legs. What was going on with her? She’d never had such a strong reaction to a man. Attraction, yes. Raw, naked, crazy lust to jump his bones? No.
She’d been stupid, though. Hadn’t seen that move coming. The man distracted her with his comforting embrace. Men believed she hated cuddling, which she normally did, but when had a man even tried to hold her without sex getting in the picture?
The kiss last night was worse. Sweet, tender, and full of promise.
Maybe if she slept with him, this wanting would go away. It always did. Maybe one hot, sweaty night would flush him out of her system, and she could go on with the rest of the week without teenage hormones.
She finished her water and studied the lineup of three models. All bodily perfect. Oiled up. Ready to go. What was she missing?
The underwear was edgy and screamed
designer
. But if she didn’t do her job, it would look just like Calvin Klein and the rest of them and wouldn’t stand out. Damned if she’d have her work rated second class. Frustrated, she nibbled at her lower lip.
The expression on all three men’s faces suddenly changed. Maggie paused, then peeked behind her shoulder.
Wowza.
Carina stood before her. The makeup artist preened and Maggie took in the vision of a girl turned into a young woman. Her skin glowed as if lit from beneath, with light foundation and a hint of peach in her cheeks, and she had a touch of a smoky eye. Her pouty lips held a glossy sheen, both virginal and tempting. Her once frizzy hair now lay in neat, shiny ringlets surrounding her face, giving her a pop that forced people to pay attention. She still wore her jeans, but had traded her plain T-shirt for a red camisole over a gauzy shirt that emphasized the ripe swell of her breasts but still kept her modesty.
Sheer pleasure rushed through her as Carina walked over with confidence. And by the reaction of all three men on the stage, well, she’d hit her mark perfectly.
“You look gorgeous,” Maggie said. She touched the girl’s springy black curls. “Do you like it?”
Carina nodded furiously. “I can’t believe I look like this.”
Maggie smiled. “I do. And I think my men agree.”
Carina blushed and shifted her feet, then snuck a glance at the models. The men looked suddenly enchanted with the girl who had practically been ignored before her transformation. Maggie suspected the look of lusty innocence was a rare combination, and her confidence being ratcheted up was like a siren call to men. Nothing more attractive than a woman who liked herself. But something else in their current expression pulled at her, an emotion she rarely caught on a male’s face, and—
Lightbulb.
Maggie ignored her galloping heart as a rush of adrenaline took hold. The perfect shot. Right there in front of her. “Come with me.” She grabbed Carina’s hand and dragged her up to the set. With quick movements, she rearranged the set, moved her camera, and adjusted the lighting. “Decklan, Roberto, Paolo, this is Carina. She’s now in the shoot with you.”
“What?” Carina squeaked.
She positioned Carina to the edge of the stage and cast her in shadow. “Cross your arms like this.” Maggie adjusted Carina’s pose to lean against the wall in a casual stance. “Now, look out the window as if you’re dreaming of something. Something that makes you happy. Don’t worry, your features will be blurred and your figure in shadow. Okay?”
“But I can’t—”
“Please?”
Carina shook a bit, then slowly nodded. Her features tense, she tried to give Maggie what she wanted. Maggie whirled back to the models and lined them up in a jagged line. The slight bulges in their underwear didn’t embarrass her—in fact, it was exactly what had been missing in the shot. “Listen up. Your target is her.” She pointed to Carina, who looked stiff and uncomfortable. “Imagine what it would be like to approach her, to give her her first kiss, to make her feel like a woman. That’s what I want. Now.”
She grabbed her camera and pressed the shutter release. Calling out instructions, she moved like a madwoman to capture the element of the elusive . . . of innocence . . . wanting . . . temptation. It was more than a shot about pretty-looking underwear. This was about buying an emotion.
As the time ticked, her surroundings faded away. Finally, something flickered across Carina’s face. A small smile rested on her face. The men shifted, studied her, and then—
Click.
Got it.
Satisfaction surged and her body loosened with relief. “We’re done. That’s a wrap.”
A combined shout of approval rose from the models and staff. Maggie grinned with pleasure, turned on her heel, and came face-to-face with her husband.
Uh-oh.
He stood before her in a black Armani suit, a crisp royal-blue shirt, and bright red tie. His perfectly controlled posture contradicted the seething emotions in those dark eyes. His gaze deliberately raked over her, then swept back to the stage. Carina’s chuckle drifted in the air and Maggie didn’t have to turn to know she was probably talking and flirting with Decklan. A supermodel in tiny briefs.
She was so screwed.
Fear rushed through her and caused her back to straighten in pure rebellion of the messy emotion. “I can explain.”
His voice came out whisper-soft and rattled her nerve endings. “I’m sure you can.”
Why did he seem rough around the edges? As if he called for a woman to dive beneath the polish and discover all that primitive maleness beneath? He grew up with money, a good family, and relatively few problems. She didn’t resent it, but most men she met with staid backgrounds left her cold and a bit flat. Not Michael. It would take ages to discover all his layers, and she’d bet he’d still keep surprising her. Fortunately, she had no intention of getting to know anything about his Italian temper.
Her mouth worked to spit the words out. “Well, I decided to treat Carina to a makeover while I worked so she wouldn’t have to see the models in their underwear, because I knew you wouldn’t be too happy about that.”
He snapped his voice like a whip. “And that is why I saw her on the stage with the same naked models. Because of your
protection
.”
She winced. This wasn’t coming out the way she’d planned. “You didn’t let me finish. And they’re not naked. So I was having a terrible time getting the shot I needed. Then Carina came out, and she was so happy about her appearance, and so much more confident . . . the men got this look on their faces, it was quite incredible, really—I’ve never seen anything so pure in this business, and I knew I had to capture the expression in order to get something fresh.”
“Pure?” His brow hiked up and fury sparked from his eyes. “You put my baby sister in your shot to be gawked at by strange naked men in order to capture purity? Is this your defense, Maggie? Would you sacrifice anything just to sell a few ads?”
Whoa. Her fear melted away. How dare he? She sneered and threw her head back. “They. Are. Not. Naked. You’re twisting my words, Count. As for sacrifice, it seems I’m willing to do a lot of that in the name of true love. Even have a fake marriage with you.”
He pushed his face toward hers and hissed under his breath. “You didn’t do it for true love,
cara.
Don’t ever forget you got your pound of flesh for this bargain.”
“Oh, yeah, so sorry I won’t let you pant all over my sister-in-law and make moony eyes at her from across the room.”
His mouth fell open. “You are crazy. I told you over and over I am not in love with Alexa. It is your delusions and need to control everything around you. And what does this have to do with Carina and your bit of exhibitionism?”
“I cast her in shadow; no one will really see her face. I would never expose her to anything inappropriate.”
His body shook with hot male frustration. “You already did!”
“Michael?” Carina flew between them and gave her brother a big hug. The affection and worry in his gaze clearly showed Maggie he did not know how to deal with his youngest sister growing up. “Did you see me up there, Michael?” she squealed. “I was a real model.”
“You were wonderful,
cara
.” His hand gently touched her springy curls. “Who did this?”
“I got a makeover. You should have seen Maggie work, I’ve never been at a shoot before and it was ultracool. Now I may be in the real ad, and the models are supernice. Decklan invited me to dinner with some of the other models and—”
“Absolutely not.” His brows came together in a fierce frown. “I’m glad you had fun, but the shoot is now over. You will not be going out with some strange men you don’t know. Besides, you’re babysitting for Uncle Brian tonight.”
Maggie opened her mouth to say something, then quickly shut it. Hell, no, she would not get involved. This wasn’t her real sister-in-law. She was not in Michael’s family. She was not really his wife.
Carina glared. “I babysit for Uncle Brian almost every Saturday night while other people date.”
Michael rubbed a hand over his face. “I will not argue with you on this point. Now be a good girl and wash your face, get back to normal, and let’s go. We have an appointment at the consulate soon.”
Silence.
Maggie winced. Oh, this was bad. Very bad. Like an oncoming train wreck, she watched Carina’s face fall at his comment. Carina pressed a trembling hand to her mouth in order to stop herself from crying, but her voice came out broken and wispy. “Why can’t you see I’m not a baby and respect me? I wish you’d never come back to Italy!”
She walked out of the studio and a door slammed in the distance.
Maggie closed her eyes.
Ah, crap.
Michael shook his head and let out a litany of creative phrases in Italian. He paced and muttered, and Maggie gave him wide berth, because she didn’t know at the mo
ment whether to hug him since he looked so frickin’ lost, or slap him in the hope he gained some sense.
She decided to compromise.
She jumped in front of his quickly moving feet and he almost barreled into her. “Michael—”
“What did I do now? Huh? Is it so wrong to deny her to go off on a drunken fest with a bunch of naked male models to be lost forever? We are one of the richest families in Italy. She’s too young! She could be kidnapped and ransomed. And why did she look so different? She always babysits for Brian and said she loved doing it. Suddenly, she wants to change her routine and prowl the town so someone can kidnap her? Absolutely not.”
Maggie mashed her lips together. The absurdity of his comments struck her hard, and she tamped down on her instinct to burst out laughing. Her powerful count was really a crabby Papa Bear, not wanting to deal with the reality of his sister flying the coop. At twenty-one she’d been running her own life, and no one had cared whom she went out with and if she came home at night. She coughed into her hand and concentrated on trying to look serious. “Well, I agree, I wouldn’t let her go on a drunken fest either.”
He narrowed his eyes as if daring her to mock him.
She threw up her hands in defense. “Hey, it sounds like babysitting four rambunctious nephews would be a blast, but the girl got invited to dinner with a nice, handsome man and wants to go. You can’t blame her for asking.”
He practically gasped. “You would let her go?”
“I would let her go with provisions,” she corrected. “I don’t know the group well enough to let her go alone, either. But I do have a close friend who could join them. She has a daughter Carina’s age, whom I think Carina would get along with. I usually visit Sierra when I’m in Milan, and she’s someone I trust. I don’t know if she’s free today, but I can make the call. She can chaperone, and drive her home after dinner. If not, then I agree with you completely—she shouldn’t go alone. But at least it looks as if you are trying to compromise.”
He practically moaned. “How does Mama handle her temper? Carina is usually so calm and reserved. What’s happening to her? Why won’t she listen?”
Maggie gentled her voice. “Why are you trying so hard to keep her from growing up?”
He lifted his head. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of grief and fear in the blue-black depths of his eyes. She touched his hard cheek, needing the contact of skin on skin.
“I made a promise not to fail.”
His words rose to her ears in a whisper of sound. Her heart squeezed but she pressed further, needing to delve deeper. “Who did you make a promise to, Michael?”
“My father. Before he died.” The normal confidence he carried faltered. “I’m responsible for them all.”
The realization of the weight he carried on those broad shoulders hit her full force. She’d never imagined someone could take the words so literally, but it seemed Michael believed every success and failure of his family rested on him. The sheer stress and pressure of making decisions for them all blew her mind.