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Living the Charade
Michelle Conder
Falling for the façade… Miller Jacobs knows that professional success doesn’t always come easy, and she’s not afraid of hard work. But her flair for business can’t help with her latest problem – finding a fake boyfriend for a weekend away with her boss!Valentino Ventura, maverick of the motor racing world, is Miller’s polar opposite. Yet helping buttoned-up Miller let her hair down – and whatever else she wants! – is an irresistible temptation…especially when Tino gets under her ice-cool demeanour and discovers a woman as hot as one of his cars!‘I love Michelle’s style of writing; she really puts you inside the head of the characters.’ – Karen, Accounts Administrator, Port Talbot



‘What are you doing?’ Miller demanded in a furious whisper.
Valentino stared down at her, watching the pulse-point in her neck pick up speed. His body hummed with sexual need and he wondered what it was about her he found just so damned tempting.
‘Why, Miller, I’m just doing what you asked. I’m going to make this farce of a relationship look more authentic.’
Before she could unload on him he took full advantage of her open mouth and planted his own firmly over the top of hers in a kiss.
All day he’d wondered if she’d taste as good as her summery scent promised and now he had his answer.
Better.
So much better.

About the Author
From as far back as she can remember MICHELLE CONDER has dreamed of being a writer. She penned the first chapter of a romance novel just out of high school, but it took much study, many (varied) jobs, one ultra-understanding husband and three very patient children before she finally sat down to turn that dream into reality.
Michelle lives in Australia, and when she isn’t busy plotting loves to read, ride horses, travel and practise yoga.
Recent titles by the same author:
HIS LAST CHANCE AT REDEMPTION
GIRL BEHIND THE SCANDALOUS REPUTATION
Did you know these are also available as eBooks?Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Living The
Charade
Michelle Conder





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To my fabulous editor, Flo,
for encouraging me to try new things,
and to Paul, for his endless love.
You both make all the difference!

CHAPTER ONE
IF the world was a fair place the perfect solution to Miller Jacobs’s unprecedented crisis would walk through the double-glazed doors of the hip Sydney watering hole she was in, wearing a nice suit and sporting an even nicer personality.
Unlike the self-important banker currently sitting at the small wooden table opposite her who probably should have stopped drinking at least two hours ago.
‘So, sexy lady, what is this favour you need from me?’
Miller tried not to cringe at the man’s inebriated state and turned to her close friend, Ruby Clarkson, with a smile that said, How could you possibly think this loser would be in any way suitable as my fake boyfriend this coming weekend?
Ruby arched a brow in apology and then did what only a truly beautiful woman could do—dazzled the banker with a megawatt smile and told him to take a hike. Not literally, of course. Chances were she’d have to work with him at some point in the future.
Miller breathed a sigh of relief as, without argument, he swaggered towards the packed, dimly lit bar and disappeared from view.
‘Don’t say it,’ Ruby warned. ‘On paper he seemed perfect.’
‘On paper most men seem perfect,’ Miller said glumly. ‘It’s only when you get to know them that the trouble starts.’
‘That’s morose. Even for you.’
Miller’s eyebrows shot up. She had good reason to be feeling morose. She had just wasted an hour she didn’t have, drinking white wine she wouldn’t even cook with, and was no further towards solving her problem than she’d been yesterday. A problem that had started when she’d lied to her boss about having a boyfriend who would love to come away for a business weekend and keep a very important and very arrogant potential client in check.
TJ Lyons was overweight, overbearing and obnoxious, and had taken her ‘not interested’ signs as some sort of personal challenge. Apparently he had told Dexter, her boss, that he believed Miller’s cool, professional image was hiding a hot-blooded woman just begging to be set free and he was determined to add her to his stable of ‘fillies’.
Miller shuddered as she recalled overhearing him use that particular phrase.
The man was a chauvinistic bore and wore an Akubra hat as if he was Australia’s answer to JR Ewing. But he had her rattled. And when TJ had challenged her to ‘bring your hubbie’ to his fiftieth birthday celebration, where she would also present her final business proposal, Miller had smiled sweetly and said that would be lovely.
Which meant she now needed a man by tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps she’d been a little hasty in giving Mr Inebriated the flick.
Ruby rested her chin in her hand. ‘There’s got to be someone else.’
‘Why don’t I just say he’s sick?’
‘Your boss is already suss on you. And even if he wasn’t, if you give your fake boyfriend a fake illness, you still have to deal with your amorous client all weekend.’
Miller pulled a face. ‘Don’t mistake TJ’s intentions as amorous. They’re more licentious in nature.’
‘Maybe so, but I’m sure Dexter’s are amorous.’
Ruby was convinced Miller’s boss was interested in her, but Miller didn’t see it.
‘Dexter’s married.’
‘Separated. And you know he’s keen on you. That’s one of the reasons you lied about having a boyfriend.’
Miller let her head fall back on her neck and made a tortured sound through her teeth.
‘I was coming off the back of a week of sixteen-hour days and I was exhausted. I might have had an emotional reaction to the whole thing.’
‘Emotional? You? Heaven forbid.’ Ruby shivered dramatically.
It was a standing joke between them that Ruby wore her heart on her sleeve and Miller kept hers stashed in one of the many shoeboxes in her closet.
‘I was after sympathy, not sarcasm,’ Miller grumped.
‘But Dexter did offer to go as your “protector”, did he not?’ Ruby probed.
Miller sighed. ‘A little weird, I grant you, but we knew each other at uni. I think he was just being nice, given TJ’s drunken pronouncements to him the week before.’
Ruby did her famous eye roll. ‘Regardless, you faked having a boyfriend and now you have to produce one.’
‘I’ll give him pneumonia.’
‘Miller, TJ Lyons is a business powerhouse with a shocking reputation and Dexter is an alpha male wannabe. And you’ve worked too hard to let either one of them decide your future. If you go away this weekend and TJ makes a move on you his wife will have a fit and you’ll be reading the unemployment pages for the next twelve months. I’ve seen it happen before. Men of TJ Lyons’s ilk are never pinned for sexual harassment the way they should be.’
Ruby took a breath and Miller thanked God that she needed air. She was one of the best discrimination lawyers in the country and when she ranted Miller took note. She had a point.
Miller had put in six hard years at the Oracle Consulting Group, which had become like a second home to her. Or maybe it was her home, given how much time she spent there! If she won TJ’s multi-million-dollar account she’d be sure to be made partner in the next sweep—the realisation of a long-held dream and one her mother had encouraged for a long time.
‘TJ hasn’t actually harassed me, Rubes,’ she reminded her friend.
‘At your last meeting he said he’d hire Oracle in a flash if you “played nice”.’
Miller blew out a breath. ‘Okay, okay. I have a plan.’
Ruby raised her eyebrows. ‘Let’s hear it.’
‘I’ll hire an escort. Look at this.’ The idea had come to her while Ruby had been ranting and she turned her smartphone so Ruby could see the screen. ‘Madame Chloe. She says she offers discreet, professional, sensitive gentlemen to meet the needs of the modern-day heterosexual woman.’
‘Let me see that.’ Ruby took the phone. ‘Oh, my God. That guy would seriously have sex with you.’
Miller looked over Ruby’s shoulder at the incredibly buffed male on the screen.
‘And they cater to fantasies!’ Ruby continued.
‘I don’t want him to have sex with me,’ Miller yelped, slightly exasperated. The last thing she needed was sex, or her hormones, to derail her from her goal at the eleventh hour. Her mother had let that happen and look where it had got her—broke and unhappy.
‘You can have a policeman, a pilot, an accountant—urgh, seen enough of them. Oh, and this one.’ Ruby giggled and lowered her voice. ‘Rough but clean tradesman. Or, wait—a sports jock.’
Miller shuddered. What intelligent woman would ever fantasise over a sports jock?
‘Ruby!’ Miller laughed as she took the phone back. ‘Be serious. This is my future we’re talking about. I need a decent guy who is polite and can follow my lead. Someone who blends in.’
‘Hmmm…’ Ruby grinned at one of the profile photos. ‘He looks like he would blend in at an all-night gay bar.’
Miller scowled. ‘Not helping.’ She clicked on a few more. ‘They all look the same,’ she said despairingly.
‘Tanned, buff and hot-to-trot,’ Ruby agreed. ‘Where do they get these guys?’
Miller shook her head at Ruby’s obvious enjoyment. Then she saw the price tag associated with one of the men. ‘Good God, I hope that’s for a month.’
‘Forget the escort,’ Ruby instructed. ‘Most of these guys probably can’t string a sentence together beyond “Is that it?” and “How hard do you want it?’” Not exactly convincing boyfriend material for an up-and-coming partner in the fastest growing management consultancy firm in Australia.’
‘Then I’m cooked.’
Ruby’s eyes scanned the meagre post-work crowd, and Miller thought about the sales report she still had to get through before bed that night; she was still unable to completely fathom the predicament she was in.
‘Bird flu?’ she suggested, smoothing her eyebrows into place as she racked her brain for a solution.
‘No one will believe he has bird flu.’
‘I meant me.’ She sighed.
‘Wait. What about him?’
‘Who?’ Miller glanced at her phone and saw only a blank screen.
‘Cute guy at the bar. Three o’clock.’
Miller rolled her eyes. ‘Five years of university, six years in a professional career and we’re still using hushed military terms when stalking guys.’
Ruby laughed. ‘It’s been ages since we stalked a guy.’
‘And, please God, let it be ages again,’ Miller pleaded, glancing ever so casually in the direction Ruby indicated.
She got an impression of a tall man leaning against the edge of the curved wooden bar, one foot raised on the polished foot pole, his knee protruding from the hole in his torn jeans. Her eyes travelled upwards over long, lean legs and an even leaner waist to a broad chest covered by a worn T-shirt with a provocative slogan plastered on the front in red block letters. Her lips curled in distaste at its message and she moved on to wide shoulders, a jaw that looked as if it could have used a shave three days ago, a strong blade of a nose, mussed over long chocolate-brown hair and—oh, Lord—deep-set light-coloured eyes that were staring right back at her.
His gaze was sleepy, almost indolent, and Miller’s heart took off. Her breath stalled in her lungs and her face felt bitingly hot. Flustered by her physical reaction, she instantly dropped her eyes as if she was a small child who had just been caught stealing a cookie. Her senses felt muddled and off-centre—and she’d only been looking at the man for five seconds. Maybe ten.
Ignoring the fact that she felt as if he was still watching her, she turned to Ruby. ‘He’s got holes in his jeans and a T-shirt that says “My pace or yours?” How many glasses of this crap wine have you had?’
Ruby paused, glancing briefly back at the bar. ‘Not him—although he does fill that T-shirt out like a god. I’m talking about the suit he’s talking to.’
Miller turned her gaze to the suit she hadn’t noticed. Similar-coloured hair, square, clean-shaven jaw, nice nose, great suit. Yes, thankfully he did look more her type.
‘Oh, I think I know him!’ Ruby exclaimed.
‘You know Ripped Jeans?’
‘No.’ Ruby shook her head, openly smiling in the direction Miller dared not turn back to. ‘The hotshot in the suit beside him. Sam someone. I’m pretty sure he’s a lawyer out of our L.A. office. And he’s just the type you need.’
Miller glanced back and noticed that tall, dark and dishevelled was no longer watching her, but still some inner instinct told her to run. Fast.
‘No!’ She dismissed the idea outright. ‘I draw the line at picking up a stranger in a bar—even if you do think you know him. Let me just go to the bathroom and then we can share a taxi home. And stop looking at those guys. They’ll think we want to be picked up.’
‘We do!’
Miller scowled. ‘Believe me, by the look of the one who needs to become reacquainted with a razor all it would take is a look and he’d have you horizontal in seconds.’
Ruby eyed her curiously. ‘That’s exactly what makes him so delicious.’
‘Not to me.’ Miller headed for the bathroom, feeling slightly better now that she had decided to call it a night. Her problem still hovered over her like a dark cloud, but she was too tired to give it any more brainpower tonight.
‘Would you stop looking at those women? We are not here to pick up,’ Tino Ventura growled at his brother.
‘Seems to me it might solve your problem about what to do with yourself this weekend.’
Tino snorted. ‘The day I need my baby brother to sort entertainment for me is the day you can put me in a body bag.’
Sam didn’t laugh, and Tino silently berated his choice of words.
‘So how’s the car shaping up?’ Sam asked.
Tino grunted. ‘The chassis still needs work and the balancing sucks.’
‘Will it be ready by Sunday?’
The concern in his brother’s voice set Tino’s teeth on edge. He was so over everyone worrying about this next race as if it was to be his last—and okay, there were a couple of nasty coincidences that made for entertaining journalism, but they weren’t signs, for God’s sake.
‘It’ll be ready.’
‘And the knee?’
Coming off the back of a long day studying engine data and time trials in his new car, Tino was too tired to humour his brother with shop-talk.
‘This catch-up drink was going a lot better before you started peppering me with work questions.’
He could do without the reminder of how his stellar racing year had started to fall apart lately. All he needed was to win this next race and he’d have the naysayers who politely suggested that he would never be as good as his father off his back.
Not that he dwelt on their opinion.
He didn’t.
But he’d still be happy to prove them wrong once and for all, and equalling his father’s number of championship titles in the very race that had taken his life seventeen years earlier ought to do just that.
‘If it were me I’d be nervous, that’s all,’ Sam persisted.
Maybe Tino would be too, if he stopped to think about how he felt. But emotions got you killed in his business, and he’d locked his away a long time ago. ‘Which is why you’re a cottonwool lawyer in a four-thousand-dollar suit.’
‘Five.’
Tino tilted his beer bottle to his lips. ‘You need to get your money back, junior.’
Sam snorted. ‘You ought to talk. I think you bought that T-shirt in high school.’
‘Hey, don’t knock the lucky shirt.’ Tino chuckled, much happier to be sparring with his little brother than dissecting his current career issues.
He knew his younger brother was spooked about all the problems he’d been having that so eerily echoed his father’s lead-up to a date with eternity. Everyone in his family was. Which was why he was staying the hell away from Melbourne until Monday, when the countdown towards race day began.
‘Excuse me, but do I know you?’
Tino glanced at the blonde who had been eyeballing them for the last ten minutes, pleasantly surprised to find her focus on his little brother instead of himself.
Well, hell, that was a first. He knew Sam would get mileage out of it for the next decade if he could.
He turned to see where her cute friend was but she seemed to have disappeared.
‘Not that I know of,’ Sam replied to the stunner beside him, barely managing to keep his tongue in his mouth. ‘I’m Sam Ventura and this is my brother Valentino.’
Tino stared at his brother. No one called him Valentino except their mother.
Switch your brain on, Samuel.
‘I do know you!’ she declared confidently. ‘You’re at Clayton Smythe—corporate litigation, L.A. office. Am I right?’
‘You are at that.’ Sam smiled.
‘Ruby Clarkson—discrimination law, Sydney office.’ She held out her hand. ‘Please tell me you’re in town this weekend and as free as a bird.’
Tino willed Sam not to blow his cool. The blonde had a sensational smile and a nice rack, but she was a little too bold for his tastes. His brother, however, he could see was already halfway to her bedroom.
Some sixth sense made him turn, and his eyes alighted on the friend in the black suit with the provocative red trim at the hem. She glanced at her empty table and her mouth fell open when she scanned the room and located her friend.
Then her eyes cut to his and her mouth snapped closed with frosty precision. Tino saw her spine straighten and grinned when she glanced at the door as if she was about to bolt through it. His eyes drifted over her again. If she’d bothered to smile, and he hadn’t just ended a short liaison with a woman who had lied about understanding the term ‘casual sex’, she was exactly his type. Polished, poised and pert—all over. Pert nose, pert breasts and a pert ass. And he liked the way she moved too. Graceful. Purposeful.
As she approached, he took in the ruler-straight chestnut-coloured hair that shone under the bar lights, and skin that was perhaps the creamiest he had ever seen. His eyes travelled over a heart-shaped mouth designed with recreational activities in mind and the bluest wide-spaced eyes he’d ever seen.
‘Ruby, I’m back. Let’s go.’
And a voice that could stop a bushfire in its tracks.
Tino felt amused at the dichotomy; she should be leaning in and whispering sweet nothings in his ear, not cutting her friend to the quick.
‘Hey, relax. Why don’t I get you a drink?’ he found himself offering.
‘I’m perfectly relaxed.’ Her eyes could have shredded concrete as she turned them on him, but still he felt the effect of that magnificent aquamarine gaze like a punch in the gut. ‘And if I wanted a drink I’d order one.’
Well, excuse the hell out of me.
‘Miller!’ Her friend instantly jumped in to try and ease the lash of her words. ‘This is Sam and his brother Valentino. And—good news—Sam is free for the weekend.’
The woman Miller didn’t move, but the skin at the outside of her mouth pulled tight. She seemed about to set her friend on fire, but then collected herself at the last minute.
‘Hello, Sam. Valentino.’
He noticed he barely rated a nod.
‘I’m very pleased to meet you. But unfortunately Ruby and I have to go.’
‘Miller,’ her friend chided. ‘This is a perfect solution for you.’
This last was said almost under her breath, and Tino directed an enquiring eyebrow at Sam.
‘It seems Miller needs a partner for the weekend,’ Sam provided.
Tino eased back onto the barstool. And what? They were recruiting Sam?
He cocked his head. ‘Come again?’
‘No need,’ the little ray of sunshine fumed politely. ‘We’re sorry to disturb you and now we have to go.’
‘It’s fine.’ Sam raised his hand in a placating gesture Tino had seen him use in court. ‘I’m more than pleased to offer my services.’
Services? Did he mean sexual?
Tino felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. ‘Would somebody like to fill me in here?’ He sounded abrupt, but clearly someone had to protect his little brother from these weird females.
‘Miller has to go away on a work weekend and she needs a partner to keep a nuisance client at bay,’ her friend Ruby explained helpfully.
Tino eyed Miller’s stiff countenance. ‘Tried telling him you’re not interested?’ he drawled.
She snapped her startling eyes to his and once again he found himself mesmerised by their colour and the way they kicked up slightly at the corners. ‘Now, why didn’t I think of that?’
‘Sometimes the things right in front of us are the hardest to see,’ he offered.
‘I was joking.’ She looked aghast that he might have taken her sarcastic quip seriously and it made him want to laugh. It wasn’t too difficult to see why she was in need of a fake partner, and he revised his earlier assessment of her.
She might be pert and blessed with an angel’s face, but she was also waspish, uptight and controlling. Definitely not his type after all.
‘Aren’t you taking a client out on Dante’s yacht this weekend?’ He reminded his brother of the expedition both he and Dante, their older brother, had been trying to drag him along to.
Sam groaned as if he’d just been told he needed a root canal. ‘Damn, I forgot.’
‘Oh, really?’ Ruby sounded as if she’d been given the same news.
‘Okay—well, time to go,’ Miller interjected baldly.
Tino wondered if she was truly thick, or just didn’t want to see what was clearly going on between her friend and his brother.
‘You do it.’
Tino’s eyes snapped to Sam’s.
‘You said you were looking for something different to do this weekend. It’s a great solution all round.’
Tino looked at his brother as if he had rocks in his head. His manager and the team owner had told him to take time out this weekend and do something that would get his mind off the coming race, but he was pretty sure posing as some uptight woman’s fake partner was not what they’d had in mind.
‘I don’t think so,’ Little Miss Sunshine scoffed, as if the very idea was ludicrous.
Which it was.
But her snooty dismissal of him rankled. ‘Have I done something to upset you?’ His gaze narrowed on her face and he almost reached out to grip her chin and hold her elusive eyes on his.
‘Not at all.’ But her tone was curt and her nose wrinkled slightly when her eyes dropped to his T-shirt.
‘Ah.’ He exhaled. ‘It’s just that I’m not good enough for you. Is that it, Sunshine?’
Her eyes flashed and he knew he’d hit the nail on the head. He wanted to laugh. Not only had this chit of a woman not recognised him—which, okay, wasn’t that strange in Australia, given that the sport he competed in was Europe based—but she was dismissing him out of hand because he looked a bit scruffy. That had never happened before, and the first real smile in months crossed his face.
‘It’s not that, I’m just not that desperate.’
She briefly closed her eyes when she realised her faux pas and Tino’s smile grew wider. He knew full well that if she had recognised him she’d be pouting that sweet mouth and slipping him her phone number instead of looking at him as if he was about to give her a fatal disease.
‘Yes, you are,’ her friend chimed in.
Tino casually sipped his beer while Miller glowered.
‘Ruby, please.’
‘I can vouch for my brother,’ Sam cut in. ‘He looks like he belongs on the bottom of a pond but he scrubs up all right.’
Now it was Tino’s turn to scowl. He was about to say no way in hell would he help her out when he caught her unwavering gaze and realised that was just what she expected—was actually hoping—he would say, and for some reason that stopped him. He wouldn’t do it, of course. Why enter into a fake relationship when he had zero interest in the real deal? But something about her uppity attitude rattled his chain.
Before he could respond Sam continued. ‘Go on, Valentino. Imagine Dee facing the same problem. Wouldn’t you like some decent guy to help her out?’
Tino’s glare deepened. Now, that was just underhand, reminding him of their baby sister all alone in New York City.
‘It’s fine,’ the fire-eater said. ‘This was a terrible idea. We’ll be on our way and you can forget this conversation ever happened.’ Her voice was authoritative. Calm. Decisive.
He took another swig of his beer and noticed how her eyes watched his throat as he swallowed. When they caught his again they were more indigo than aquamarine. Interesting. Or it was until he felt his own body stir in response.
‘You don’t think we’d make a cute couple?’ He caught the wild flash of her eyes and his voice deepened. ‘I do.’
Her tipsy friend was practically clapping with glee.
Miller held her gaze steady on his, almost in warning. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘So what will you do if I don’t help you out?’ Tino prodded. ‘Let the client have another crack at you?’
He ignored his brother’s curious gaze and focused on Miller’s pained expression at his crude terminology. Man, but she was wound tighter than his Ferrari at full speed, and damn if he didn’t have the strangest desire to unravel her.
He tried to figure out his unexpected reaction, but then decided not to waste time thinking about it.
Why bother? He was about to send her packing with four easy words.
He threw her his trademark smile as he anticipated her horrified response. ‘Okay, I’ll do it.’
Miller sucked in a deep breath and gave the man in front of her a scathing once-over. He was boorish, uncouth and dirty—and he had the most amazing bone structure she had ever seen. He also had the most amazing grey-blue eyes surrounded by thick ebony lashes, and sensual lips that seemed to be permanently tilted into a knowing smirk. A sexually knowing smirk.
But clearly he was crazy.
She might need someone to pose as her current boyfriend, but she’d rather pay an escort the equivalent of her annual salary than accept his help. His brother would have been a different story, but no way in the world could she pretend to be interested in this man. He looked as if all he had to do was crook his index finger and a woman would come running. If she didn’t swoon first.
Swoon?
Miller pulled in the ridiculous thought. The man had holes in his jeans and needed a shower, but all that aside he was far too big for her tastes. Too male.
The loud clink of a rack of freshly washed glasses brought her out of her headspace and Miller felt a flush creep up her neck as she realised she’d been staring at his mouth, and that both Ruby and Sam were waiting for her to respond.
Her eyes dropped to the man’s tasteless T-shirt. Ruby must have be more affected by alcohol than Miller had realised if she seriously thought Miller would go along with this.
‘Well, Sunshine? What’s it to be?’
She hated his deep, smug tone.
About to blow him out of the water, she was choosing her rejection carefully when it struck her that he wanted her to say no. That he was counting on it.
Miller exhaled slowly, her mind spinning. The sarcastic sod had never intended to help her at all this weekend. That momentary soft-eyed look he’d got when his brother had mentioned their sister was just a ruse. The man was a charlatan and clearly needed to be brought down a peg or two. And she was in the mood to do it.
Pausing for effect, Miller steeled herself to let her eyes run over him. She was so going to enjoy watching him squirm out of this one. ‘Do you happen to own a suit?’ she asked sweetly.

CHAPTER TWO
TAPPING her foot on the hot pavement outside her Neutral Bay apartment building, Miller again checked to see if she had any missed calls on her phone. She still couldn’t believe that rather than squirm out of her phony acceptance of his help last night that thug of a man had collapsed into a full belly laugh and said he’d be delighted to help.
Delighted, my foot.
It wouldn’t surprise her one bit if Valentino Ventura did a no-show on her today. He seemed the type.
Something about the way his full name rolled through her mind pinged a distant memory, but she couldn’t bring it up. Maybe it was just the way it sounded. Both decadent and dangerous. Or maybe it was just the sweltering afternoon sun soaking into her black long-sleeved T-shirt combined with a sense of trepidation about this situation she had inadvertently created for herself.
She’d spent years curbing the more impetuous side of her nature after her parents had divorced and her safe world had fallen apart, but it seemed she’d have to try harder. Especially if she wanted to create a life for herself that didn’t feel as precarious as the house of cards she’d grown up in.
Miller sighed. She was just tired. She’d averaged four hours’ sleep a night this week and woken this morning feeling as if she hadn’t slept at all.
A pair of slate-coloured eyes in a hard, impossibly handsome face had completely put her off her breakfast. As had the dream she’d woken up remembering. It had been about a man who looked horribly like the one she was waiting for, trapping her on her bed with his hands either side of her face. He’d looked at her as if she was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman and licked his beautifully carved lips before lowering his face to hers, his eyes on her mouth the whole time…
Miller’s lips suddenly felt fuller, dryer, and she shivered in the afternoon heat and scanned the street for some sign of him. It must have been all those images of escorts that had set off the erotic dream, because no way could it have been about someone as reckless as she felt this man could be.
Okay. Miller gave herself a mental shakedown. She wasn’t waiting around any longer for Mr Ripped Jeans to turn up. He’d had no intention of helping her out—perfectly understandable, given they were strangers and would likely never see each other again—but she couldn’t fathom the tiny prick of disappointment that settled in her chest at his no-show.
Feeling silly, she shook off the sensation, frowning when a growling silver sports car shot towards the kerb in front of her and nearly rear-ended her black sedan.
About to give the owner a piece of her mind for dangerous driving, she was shocked to see her nemesis peel himself out of the driver’s side of the car. She crossed her arms over her chest and puffed out a breath. He sauntered towards her, a slow grin lighting his face.
The man oozed sex and confidence, and moved with a loose limbed grace that said he owned the world. Exactly the type of man she detested.
Even though she was five foot seven, Miller wished she’d worn heels—because Valentino was nearly a foot taller and those broad shoulders just seemed to add another foot.
After her dream she had been determined to find him unattractive, but that was proving impossible; in a white pressed T-shirt and low-riding denims, he was so beautifully male it was almost painful to look at him.
And by the shape of his biceps the man clearly spent a serious amount of time in a gym.
Fighting an urge to push back the thick sable hair that had a tendency to fall forward over his forehead in staged disarray, Miller rallied her scrambled brain and tried to conjure up a polite greeting that would set the weekend off on the right foot. Polite, appreciative and unshakably professional.
Before she could come up with something he spoke first. ‘The suit’s in the back. Promise.’
His deep, mocking tone had her eyes snapping back to his and she forgot all about being polite or professional.
‘You’re late.’
His lips curved into an easy smile as if her snarky comment hadn’t even registered. ‘Sorry. Traffic’s a bitch at this time on a Friday.’
‘You’ll have to watch your language this weekend. I would never go out with a man who swore.’
His eyes sparkled in the sunlight. ‘That wasn’t in your little dossier.’
He was referring to the pre-prepared personal profile Ruby had insisted she hand over last night before she’d hightailed it out of the bar at the speed of light.
‘I didn’t think writing down that I had a preference for good manners would be necessary.’
‘Seems like we’ll have some things to iron out on the drive down.’
Miller bit her tongue.
Seems like?
Was he being deliberately thick-headed? His brother was a lawyer—a good one, according to Ruby—but perhaps nature had bestowed Valentino with extreme beauty and compensated by making him slow on the uptake.
‘Did you fill out the questionnaire attached to my personal profile?’ she asked, wishing she had checked what he did for a living.
‘I wouldn’t dare not.’
His humorous reply grated, and she flicked a glance at the shiny phallic symbol he was leaning against. Was it even his? ‘I want to be on the Princes Highway before every other weekender heading out of the city, so if you’d like to fetch your bag we’ll get going.’
‘Ever heard of the word please?’
The muscles in Miller’s neck tightened at his casual taunt. Of course she had, and she had no idea why this man made her lose her usual cool so completely. ‘Please.’ She forced a smile to her lips that grew rigid as he continued to regard her without moving.
‘Are you always this bossy?’
Yes, probably she was. ‘I prefer the term decisive.’
‘I’m sure you do.’ He pushed off the car and towered over her. ‘But here’s a newsflash for you, Sunshine. I’m driving.’
Miller stared at him, hating the fact that he made her feel so small and…out of her depth. ‘Is that a rental?’
‘Actually, yes.’ He seemed annoyingly amused by her question.
Closing her eyes briefly, Miller wondered how she had become stuck with the fake boyfriend from hell and how she was ever going to make this work.
‘We’re taking my car,’ she said, some instinct warning her that if she gave him an inch he’d take the proverbial country mile.
He crossed his arms over his chest and his biceps bulged beneath the short sleeves of his T-shirt. Alarmingly, a tingly sensation tightened Miller’s pelvic muscles, the unexpectedness of it making her feel light-headed.
‘Is this our first official argument as a couple?’ he asked innocently.
Okay, enough with the amusement already. ‘Look, Mr Ventura, this is a serious situation and I’d appreciate it if you could treat it as such.’ She could feel her heart thumping wildly in her chest and knew her face was heating up from all the animosity she couldn’t contain.
Valentino cocked an eyebrow and stepped back to open the passenger side door. ‘No problem, Miss Jacobs. Hop in.’
Miller didn’t move.
‘It would flay my masculinity to let a woman drive.’
Miller hated him. That was all there was to it.
Not wanting to play to his supersized ego, and feeling entirely out of her element as he regarded her through sleepy eyes, Miller made a quick decision. ‘Well, I’d hate to be accused of insulting your masculinity, Mr Ventura, so by all means take the wheel.’
His slow smile told her that he’d heard her silent shove it and found it amusing. Found her amusing. And it made her blood boil.
Hating that he thought he’d won that round, she kept her voice courteous. ‘As it turns out I don’t mind if you drive. It will give me a chance to work on the way down.’
‘But you’re not impressed?’
‘Not particularly.’
‘What does impress you?’
He folded his arms across his torso and Miller’s brain zeroed in on the shifting muscles and tendons under tanned skin. What had he just asked?
She cleared her throat. ‘The usual. Manners. Intellect. A sense of humour—’
‘You like your cars well-mannered and funny, Miss Jacobs? Interesting.’
Miller knew she must be bright red by now, and hate turned to loathing. ‘This isn’t funny.’ She caught and held his amused gaze. ‘Are you intending to sabotage my weekend?’
It gave her some satisfaction to see an annoyed look flash across his divine face.
‘Sunshine, if I was going to do that I wouldn’t have shown up.’
‘I don’t like you calling me Sunshine.’
‘All couples have nicknames. I’m sure you’ve thought up a few for me.’
More than a few, she mused silently, and none that could be repeated in polite company.
Desperate to break the tension between them, Miller moved to the back of her car and pulled out her overnight bag. Valentino met her halfway and stowed it in the sports car before holding the passenger door wide for her.
Miller raised an eyebrow and gripped the doorframe, steeling herself to stare into his eyes. This close, the colour was amazing: streaks of silver over blue, with a darker band of grey encircling each iris.
She sucked in a deep breath and ignored his earthy male scent. ‘You need to understand that I’m in charge this weekend.’ Her voice wasn’t very convincing even to her own ears but she continued on regardless. ‘On the drive down we’ll establish some ground rules, but basically all I need you to do is to follow my lead. Do you think you can do that?’
He smiled. That all-knowing grin that crinkled the outer edges of his amazing eyes. ‘I’ll give it my best shot. How does that sound?’
Terrible. It sounded terrible.
He leaned closer and Miller found herself sitting on butter-soft leather before she’d meant to. Her brain once again flashing a warning to run. Taking a deep breath, she ignored it and scanned the sleek interior of the car: dark and somehow predatory—like Valentino himself. It must have cost a fortune to rent, and again she wondered what he did for a living.
She couldn’t look away from the way his jeans hugged his muscular thighs as she watched as he slid into the driver’s seat. ‘You’re not a lawyer like your brother, are you?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Good God, no! Do I look like a lawyer?’
Not really. ‘No.’ She tried not to be too disappointed. ‘Do you have the questionnaire I gave you?’
‘No one could fault your excitement about wanting to get to know me.’
He reached into the back, his body leaning way too close to hers, and handed her the questionnaire.
Then he started the car, and Miller’s senses were on such high alert that the husky growl of the engine made her want to squirm in her seat.
‘You’ll notice I added to it as well,’ he informed her, merging into the building inner city traffic.
She glanced up, feeling completely discombobulated, and decided not to distract him by asking what he’d added. She concentrated on the questionnaire.
His favourite colour was blue, favourite food was Thai. He’d grown up in Melbourne. Hobbies: swimming, running and surfing—no wonder he looked so fit! No sign of any cerebral pursuits—no surprise there. Family: two sisters and two brothers.
‘You have a big family.’
He grunted something that sounded like yes.
‘Are you close?’ The impetuous question was too personal, and unnecessary, but as she’d spent much of her youth longing for siblings her curiosity got the better of her.
He glanced at her briefly. ‘Not particularly.’
That was a shame. Miller had always dreamed that large families were full of happy, supportive siblings who would do anything for each other.
‘What does “Lives: everywhere” mean?’ she asked, glancing at the questionnaire.
‘I travel a lot.’
‘Backpacking?’
That got a hoot of laughter. ‘Sunshine, I’m thirty-three—a bit old to be a backpacker.’
He threw her a smile and Miller found her eyes riveted to his beautiful even white teeth.
‘I travel for work.’
She blinked back the disturbing effect he had on her and once again scanned the questionnaire. ‘Driving?’ She couldn’t keep the scepticism out of her voice as she read out the answer under ‘Occupation’. ‘Driving what?’
He threw her a quick look. ‘Cars. What else?’
‘I don’t know. Buses? Trains?’ She tried not to let her annoyance show. ‘Trucks?’ God, don’t let him be a taxi driver; Dexter would never let her hear the end of it.
‘Don’t tell me you’re one of those stuck-up females who only go for rich guys with white collar jobs.’
Miller sniffed. She’d been so busy working and establishing her career the last time she’d gone for any man was back at university. Not that she would be telling him that. ‘Of course not.’
But she did like a man in a suit.
He snorted as if he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t elaborate on his answer.
Sensing he might be embarrassed about his job, she decided to let it drop for now. Maybe he wouldn’t mind pretending to be an introverted actuary for the weekend. No one really knew what they did except that it involved mathematics, and not even Dexter was likely to try and engage him in that topic of conversation.
She flipped the page in front of her and found her eyes drawn to his commanding scrawl near the bottom.
Her nose wrinkled. ‘I don’t need to know what type of underwear you wear.’ And she didn’t want to imagine him in sexy boxer briefs.
‘According to your little summary we’ve been dating for two months. I think you’d know what type of underwear I wear, wouldn’t you?’
‘Of course I would. But it’s not relevant because I’ll never need to use that information.’
He glanced at her again. ‘You don’t know that.’
‘I could have just made something up had the need arisen.’
‘Are you always this dishonest?’
Miller exhaled noisily. She was never dishonest. ‘No. I loathe dishonesty. And I hate this situation. And what’s more I’m sick of having men think that just because I’m single I’m available.’
‘It’s not just because of that?’
‘No,’ she agreed, thinking of TJ. ‘My client isn’t really attracted to me at all. He’s attracted to the word no.’
‘You think?’
‘I know. It’s what has made him his fortune. He’s bullish, arrogant and pompous.’
‘Not having met the man, I’ll have to trust your judgement. But if you want my opinion your client is probably more turned on by your glossy hair, killer mouth and hourglass figure than your negative response.’
‘Wha—? Hey!’ Miller braced her hands on the dashboard as the car swerved around a bus like a bullet, nearly fainting before Valentino swung back into the left-hand lane two seconds before hitting a mini-van.
‘Relax. I do this for a living.’
‘Kill your passengers?’ she said weakly.
He laughed. ‘Drive.’
Miller forgot all about the near miss with an oncoming vehicle as his comments about her looks replayed in her head.
Did he really think she had a killer mouth? And why was her heart beating like a tiny trapped bird?
‘I don’t think we can say we met at yoga,’ he said.
‘Why not?’ She didn’t believe for a minute that he could be interested in her, but if he thought he would be getting easy sex this weekend he had another thing coming.
His amused eyes connected with hers. ‘Because I don’t do yoga.’
Miller felt her lips pinch together as she realised he was toying with her. ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’
‘More than I thought I would,’ he agreed.
Miller released a frustrated breath. No one was going to believe she was serious about this guy. Her mother had always warned her not to lie, and she mostly lived by that creed. Yesterday, she’d let blind ambition get in the way of sound judgement.
Okay, maybe not blind ambition. Possibly she was a little peeved that she’d felt so professionally hamstrung in telling TJ Lyons what she thought of his lack of business ethics.
‘Maybe we just shouldn’t talk,’ she muttered, half to herself. ‘I know enough.’ And she was afraid if he said any more she’d ask him to pull over so she could get out and run away as fast as she could.
‘I don’t.’
She looked at him warily. ‘Everything you need to know is in my dossier. Presuming you read it?’
‘Oh, it was riveting. You enjoy running, Mexican cuisine, strawberry ice cream, and cross-stitching. Tell me, is that anything like cross-dressing?’
Miller willed herself not to blow up at him. ‘No.’
‘That’s a relief. You also like reading and visiting art galleries. No mention of what type of underwear you prefer, though.’
Miller channelled the monks of wherever. ‘Because it’s irrelevant.’
‘You know mine.’
‘Not by choice.’ And she was trying very hard not to think about those sexy boxers under his snug-fitting jeans.
‘So what do you prefer?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Are you a plain cotton or more of a lace girl?’
Miller stifled a cough. ‘That’s none of your business.’
‘Believe me, it is. I’m not getting caught up in a conversation with your client not knowing my G-strings from my boy-legs.’
‘Potential client. And I thought all men talked about was sport?’
‘We’ve been known to deviate on occasion.’ He threw her a mischievous grin. ‘Since you won’t tell me, I’ll have to use my imagination.’
‘Imagine away,’ she said blithely, and then wished she hadn’t when his eyes settled on her breasts.
‘Now, there’s an invitation a man doesn’t get every day.’
Miller shot him a fulminating glare, alarmed to feel her nipples tightening inside her lace bra.
Striving to steady her nerves, she made the mistake of reading out the next item he’d added to the questionnaire. ‘“Favourite sexual position.’”
‘I haven’t finished imagining your lingerie,’ he complained. ‘Though I’m heading towards sheer little lacy numbers over cotton. Am I right?’
Miller faked a yawn, wondering how on earth he had guessed her little secret and determined that he wouldn’t know that he was getting to her. ‘You’ve written down “all”.’
He threw her a wolfish grin. ‘I might have exaggerated slightly. It was getting late when I wrote that. Probably if I had to name one…Nope. I pretty much like them all equally.’
‘I wasn’t asking.’
‘Although on top is always fun,’ he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘And there’s something wicked about taking a woman from behind.’
His voice had dropped and the throaty purr slid over Miller’s skin like a silken caress.
‘Don’t you think?’
Miller released a pent-up breath. She’d had one sexual partner so far and it hadn’t been nearly exciting enough for them to try variations on the missionary theme. She hated that now all she could visualise was her on top of the sublime male next to her and how it would feel to have him behind her. Inside her.
Her heart thudded heavily in her chest and she suddenly found her attention riveted by the way his long fingers flexed around the steering wheel. Imagining them on her body.
‘What I think is that you should concentrate on driving this beast of a car so we don’t run into one of those semis you’re so determined to fly past.’
‘Nervous, Miller?’
He said her name as if he was tasting it and Miller’s stomach clenched. Oh, this man was a master at sexual repartee, and she’d do well to remember that.
Miller shook her head. ‘Are you ever serious about anything?’
He threw her a bemused look. ‘Plenty. Are you ever not serious about anything?’
‘Plenty.’ Which was so blatantly untrue she half expected her nose to start growing.
He passed another car and Miller absently noted that after her earlier panicked response he was driving marginally less like a racing car driver. That thought triggered something in her mind and her brow furrowed.
Determined to ignore him for the rest of the trip, she pulled her laptop out of her computer bag.
‘What happened to the getting-to-know-you part of our trip?’
He threw her a sexy smile that shot the hazy memory she’d been trying to grab on to out of her head and replaced it with an image of the way he had insolently leant against the bar last night.
‘I know you run, swim, work out, and that you take your coffee black. Your favourite colour is blue and you have four siblings—’
‘I also don’t mind a cuddle after sex.’
‘And you don’t have a serious bone in your body. I, on the other hand, take my life very seriously and I am not interested in whether you like sex straight up or hanging from a chandelier. It’s not relevant. What I’m looking for this weekend is someone to melt into the background and say very little. Starting right now.’
Tino smiled as he revved the engine and manoeuvred the Aston Martin around a tourist bus. He hadn’t enjoyed himself this much in…he couldn’t remember.
He was in a hot car, driving down a wide country highway on a warm spring afternoon, completely free from having to answer questions about his recent spate of accidents, his car or the coming race. The experience was almost blissful.
With any luck his anonymity would hold and he’d forget the pressure of being the world’s number one racing driver on an unlucky streak. Because, as he’d told Sam, it was all media hoopla and coincidence anyway, and he’d prove it Sunday week.
He glanced at the stiff woman beside him and involuntarily adjusted his jeans. He hadn’t expected her to give him a hard-on but she had. Which was surprising, given that her black linen trousers and matching shirt were about as provocative as a nun’s habit.
His eyes drifted over the blade-straight hair that curtained her delicate profile from his view down over her elegant neck to the gentle swell of her breasts. Was she wearing lace underneath? By the blush that had crept into her face before he’d guess yes. The thought made him smile, and his gaze lingered on her hands as they poised over her computer keys.
She had an effortless sensuality that drew him, and whenever she glared at him hot sparks of sexual arousal threatened to burn him up.
They’d be good together. He knew it. It was just a pity he had no intention of using the weekend to test his theory.
He wasn’t looking for a relationship right now, sexual or otherwise, and he had very strict guidelines about how women fitted into his life. The last thing he wanted was a woman getting into his headspace and worrying about whether or not he was going to buy it on the track every time he raced. He’d seen it too many times before, and no way would anyone land him with that kind of guilty pressure.
He still remembered the day he had watched his father clip the rear wheel of another car, flip over and slam into a concrete barrier. It had been one of those races that had reinvigorated race safety procedures and it had changed Tino’s life for ever. He’d still known that he would follow in his father’s footsteps, but after feeling helpless in the face of his beloved mother’s grief, and fighting his own pain at losing his father, he’d locked his emotions away so tight he wasn’t sure he’d recognise them any more.
Which was a bonus in a sport where emotions were considered dangerous, and his cool, roguish demeanour scared the hell out of most of his rivals.
His approach was so different from his father’s attitude to the sport he’d loved. His father had tried to have it all, but what he should have done was choose family or racing. Emotional attachments and their job didn’t mix. Any fool knew that.

CHAPTER THREE
‘THIS it?’ Valentino pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road and Miller glanced up from following the GPS navigator on her smartphone.
‘Yes.’ Miller read the plaque on the massive brick pillar that housed a set of enormous iron gates: ‘Sunset Boulevard.’ So typical of TJ’s delusions of grandeur, Miller thought tetchily.
Valentino announced them through the security speakers, and the sports car crunched over loose gravel as he pulled around the circular driveway and stopped between an imposing front portico and a burbling fountain filled with frolicking cherubs holding gilded bows and arrows.
‘Who’s your client?’
Miller didn’t answer. She was too busy staring at the enormous pink-tinged stone mansion that looked as if it had been airlifted directly from the Amalfi Coast in Italy and set down in the middle of this arid Australian beach scrub—lime-green lawns and all.
Her car door opened and she automatically accepted Valentino’s extended hand. And regretted it. A sensation not unlike an electric shock bolted up her arm and shot sparks all the way down her legs.
Her eyes flew to his in surprise, but his expression was so blank she felt slightly stupid. At least that answered her earlier unasked question. No, he didn’t find her attractive; he’d just been enjoying himself at her expense.
She registered the opening of a high white front door in her peripheral vision and felt her world right itself when Valentino dropped her hand.
‘Miller. You made good time.’
She glanced towards her boss.
‘And I can see why.’ Dexter stared at Valentino and then cast his appreciative eyes over the silver bullet they’d driven down in.
A bulky figure followed Dexter down the stone steps and she pasted a confident smile on her face when TJ Lyons ambled forward like a cattle tycoon straight off the station.
‘Well, now, isn’t this a surprise?’ he boomed.
Suddenly conscious of Valentino behind her, Miller nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt his large hand settle on her hip. Both men looked at him, eyes agog, as if he was the Dalai Lama come to pay homage.
‘Dexter, TJ—this is—’
‘We know who he is, Miller.’ Dexter almost blustered, sticking his hand out towards Valentino. ‘Tino Ventura. It’s a pleasure. Dexter Caruthers—partner at OCG. Oracle Consultancy Group.’
Valentino took his hand in a firm handshake and a cog shifted in Miller’s brain.
Tino?
‘Maverick,’ TJ said, addressing Valentino.
Maverick?
Had TJ and Dexter mistaken Valentino for someone they knew?
Valentino smiled and accepted their greetings like an old friend.
No! He couldn’t possibly know her client!
‘Miller, you dark horse,’ TJ guffawed, slapping Valentino on the back. ‘You certainly play your cards close to your chest. I’m impressed.’
Impressed? Miller looked up at Valentino, and just as her boss started asking him about the injury he’d incurred in a motor race in Germany last August his name slotted into place inside Miller’s head.
Tino Ventura—international racing car legend.
She would have stumbled if Valentino hadn’t tightened his hand on her hip to steady her.
She swore under her breath. Valentino must have heard it because he immediately took charge. ‘It’s been a long drive, gents. We’ll save this conversation for dinner.’
Miller smiled through clenched teeth as he took their bags from the car and handed them to a waiting butler.
‘Roger, please show our esteemed guests to their room,’ TJ said, turning to the formally dressed man.
‘Certainly. Sir? Madam?’
Miller refused to meet Dexter’s eyes even though he was burning a hole right through her with his open curiosity.
She deliberately moved out of Valentino’s reach as he went to place his hand at the small of her back. Her skin was still tingling from his earlier unexpected hold on her.
Ignoring his piercing gaze, Miller concentrated on keeping her legs steady as she preceded him up the stone steps.
Tino Ventura!
How had she not put two and two together? It was true that she didn’t follow sport in any capacity, but as the only Australian driver in the most prestigious motor race in the world she should have recognised him. It was being introduced to him as Valentino that had thrown her, but even then, she conceded with an audible sigh, she’d been so stressed and distracted she might not have made the connection.
None of that, however, changed the fact that he should have told her who he was. That thought fired her temper all the way up the ornate rosewood staircase, ruining any appreciation she might have had of the priceless artworks lining the vast hallways of TJ’s house.
Not that she cared about TJ’s house. Right now she didn’t care about anything but giving Valentino Ventura a piece of her mind for deceiving her.
‘Stop thinking, Miller.’
Valentino’s deep voice behind her sent a shiver skittering down her spine.
‘You’re starting to hurt my head.’
‘This is your room, madam. Sir.’
The butler pushed open a door and Miller followed him inside. The room was spacious, and a tasteful combination of modern and old-world. At the far end was a large bay window with sweeping ocean views encompassing paper-white sand and an ocean that shifted from the brightest turquoise to a deep navy.
‘Mr Lyons and his guests are about to adjourn to the rear terrace for cocktails. Dinner is to be served in half an hour.’
‘Thank you.’ Valentino closed the door after the departing butler. ‘Okay, out with it,’ he prompted, mimicking her wide-legged stance with his arms folded across his chest.
Miller stared at him for a minute but said nothing, her mind suddenly taken up by the size of the four-poster bed that dominated the large room. She glanced around for a sofa and found an antique settee, an armchair and a curved wooden bench seat inlaid into the bay window.
She heard Valentino move and her eyes followed his easy gait as he perched on the edge of the bed, testing the mattress. ‘Comfy.’
He smiled, and she fumed even more because she knew he was laughing at her discomfort. ‘I’m not sleeping with you in that,’ she informed him shortly.
‘Oh, come on, Miller. It’s big enough for six people.’
Six people her size, maybe…Why hadn’t she thought of the sleeping arrangements before now?
Probably because her mind had been too concerned with finishing her proposal and she hadn’t wanted to dwell on the fact she was even in this predicament. But she was in it, and it was time to face it and work out how she was going to make this farce work with her fake and very famous boyfriend.
‘It would have been nice if you had thought to let me know who you are,’ she said waspishly.
‘I did tell you my name. And my job.’
Miller pressed her lips together as she took in his cavalier tone and relaxed demeanour. That was true—up to a point. ‘You must have known that I didn’t recognise you.’ She paced away from him, unable to stand still under his disturbing grey-blue gaze.
Valentino shrugged. ‘If I’d thought it was going to be an issue I would have mentioned it.’
‘How could you think it wouldn’t be?’ she fumed, stopping mid-pace to stare at him. ‘Everyone in the country knows who you are.’
‘You didn’t.’
‘That’s because I don’t follow sport, but…Oh, never mind. I need to use the bathroom and think.’
After splashing cold water on her face Miller glanced at her pale reflection and thought about what she knew about her fake boyfriend other than the garbage he’d thrown at her in the car. Taxi driver…How he would laugh if he knew she had entertained that thought for a while.
Okay, no need to rehash that embarrassing notion. It was time to think. Strategise.
She knew he was a world-class athlete and a world-class womaniser with a penchant for blonde model-types—although she couldn’t recall where she’d read that, or how long ago. Regardless, it still made it highly improbable that they would be seeing each other. And she knew everyone who saw them together would be thinking the same thing—including Dexter, who would not be backward in asking the question.
Of course she’d refuse to answer it—she never mixed business with her personal life—but Dexter was shrewd. And he’d be too curious about her “relationship” to take it lying down. Anyone who knew her would. Serious, ambitious Miller Jacobs and international playboy Valentino Ventura a couple?
God, what a mess. They had as much in common as a grasshopper with an elephant.
‘You planning to hide out in there for the rest of the weekend?’
His amused voice brought her head around to stare at the closed door. Wrenching it open, she found herself momentarily breathless when she found him filling the space, one arm raised to rest across the top of the doorjamb, making him seem impossibly tall.
She pushed past him and tried to ignore the skitters of sensation that raced through her as her body brushed his. Anger. It was only anger firing her blood.
Taking a couple of calming breaths, she turned to face him. ‘No one is going to believe we’re a couple.’
‘Why not?’
Miller rolled her eyes. ‘For one, I don’t exactly mix in your circles. And for two, I’m not your type and you’re not mine.’
‘You’re a woman. I’m a man. We share a mutual attraction we can’t ignore. Happens all the time.’
To him, maybe.
Miller smoothed her brows, her mind filled with an endless list of problems. ‘You’re right. We can’t say we met at yoga…’
‘Listen, you’re blowing this out of proportion. Let’s keep it as close to the truth as we can. We met at a bar. Liked each other. End of story. That way you’ll feel more comfortable and it’s highly probable—not to mention true.’
Except for the liking part. Right now Miller couldn’t recall liking anyone less.
Valentino opened his bag on the bed.
‘Why are you here?’ she asked softly.
His eyes met hers. Held. ‘You know why I’m here,’ he said, just as softly. ‘You challenged me to be here.’
Miller arched an eyebrow. ‘I thought you said you were thirty-three, not thirteen.’
A crooked grin kicked up the corners of his mouth and he pulled his shirt up over his rippling chest. Lord, did men really look that good unairbrushed?
Last night’s dream flashed before her eyes and she was relieved when he turned his back on her. Only then she got to view his impressive back, and her eyes automatically followed the line of his spine indented between lean, hard muscle. ‘What exactly are you doing?’
He dropped his T-shirt on the bed and turned to face her. ‘Changing my shirt for dinner. I don’t want to embarrass you by coming across too casual to meet your friends.’
Ha! Now that she knew who he was she knew he’d impress everyone downstairs even in a clown suit.
Tino shrugged into his shirt and tiny pinpricks of heat glanced across his back as he felt Miller’s eyes on him. A powerful surge of lust and the desire to press her up against the nearest wall and explore the attraction simmering between them completely astounded him. He’d been trying to keep things light and breezy between them—his usual modus operandi—but his libido was insistently arguing the toss.
‘Next time I’d prefer you to use the bathroom,’ she said stiffly. ‘And these people aren’t my friends. They’re business colleagues—although as to that I doubt I’ll know many of the other people in attendance.’
‘How many are staying here?’
‘I think six others tonight. Tomorrow night at TJ’s fiftieth party I have no idea.’
‘I thought this was a business weekend?’
‘TJ likes to multi-task.’
Tino rolled his silk shirt sleeves and noticed her frowning at his forearms. ‘Problem?’
His question galvanised her into action and she crossed to her small suitcase and started rifling through it.
‘I’ll be ten minutes.’
Five minutes later she reappeared in the doorway and padded over to the wardrobe. She barely looked different from the way she had when she’d gone in. Black tailored pants, a black beaded top, and a thin pink belt bissecting the two. She perched on the armchair and secured a fancy pair of stilettos on her dainty feet. The silence between them was deafening.
‘Am I getting the silent treatment?’
She exhaled slowly and he noticed the way the beads on her top swayed from side to side. ‘I hope you’re not currently in a relationship.’
‘Would I be here with you if I was?’
‘I don’t know. Would you?’
Her chin had come up and he was surprised he had to control irritation at her deliberate slur. She didn’t know him, and he supposed, given his reputation—which wasn’t half as extensive as the press made out—it was a valid question.
‘Okay, I’m going to humour that question with an answer—because we don’t know each other and I understand you feel compromised by the fact that I’m a known personality. I don’t date more than one woman at a time and I never cheat.’
‘Fine. I just…’ Her hand fluttered between them. ‘If we really were going out you’d know I hate surprises.’
‘Why is that?’
She glanced away. ‘I just do.’
Her answer was clipped and he knew there was a story behind her flat tone.
‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance you can just fade into the background and not draw attention to yourself, is there?’
Tino nearly laughed. So much for coming on to him once she found out who he was. He shook his head at his own arrogance. But, hell, most women he met simpered and preened and asked stupid questions about how many cars he owned and how fast he drove. This gorgeous female was still treating him like a disease. And she was gorgeous. She’d dusted her sexy mouth with a peach-coloured gloss that made him want to lick it right off.
‘We need to go downstairs.’ She sounded as if she was about to face a firing squad.
She grabbed a black wrap from the back of the cream chair and stopped suddenly, nearly colliding with him. He felt a shaft of heat spear south as he touched her elbow to steady her, and knew she felt the same buzz by the way she pulled back and went all wide-eyed with shock, just as she had by the car.
A shock he himself still felt. He hadn’t anticipated being this physically attracted to her. He reminded himself of his ironclad rule of not getting involved with a woman this close to the end of the season—particularly this season, which had started going pear-shaped three months ago.
So why couldn’t he stop imagining how she would taste if he kissed her?
He stepped back from her, out of the danger zone. ‘You might want to think about not jumping six feet in the air every time I touch you.’ He sounded annoyed because he was.
‘And you might want to think about not touching me.’
Large aquamarine eyes, alight with slivers of the purest gold, stared up at him, and the ability to think flew out of his head. Her eyes reminded him of a rare jewel.
Then she blinked, breaking the spell.
Get a grip, Ventura. Since when did you start comparing eyes to jewels?
‘You really have the most extraordinary eyes,’ he found himself saying appreciatively. ‘A little glacial right now, but extraordinary nonetheless.’
‘I don’t care what you think of my eyes. This isn’t real so I don’t need your empty compliments.’
How about the back of my hand across your tidy tush? The thought brought a low hum of pleasure winging through his body. He did his best to ignore it. ‘Are you usually this rude or do I just bring out the best in you?’
Her shoulders slumped and she stepped back to put more space between them. ‘I’m sorry. I’m…uncomfortable. This weekend is important to me. I wish I’d just given you chicken pox and handled everything myself. I let Ruby convince me this would be a good idea.’
Tino felt contrite at her obvious distress. ‘Everything will be fine. Just think of us as two people going away for a weekend to have some fun. You’ve done that in the past, surely.’
‘Of course,’ she said, her reply a little too quick and a little too defensive. ‘It’s just that I would never choose to come away for a weekend with a man like you.’
He stiffened even though he knew by her tone that she was being honest rather than deliberately insulting, but, hell, he had his limits. ‘What exactly is it about me that you don’t like, Sunshine?’ he queried, as if her answer didn’t matter. Which, in the scheme of things, it didn’t.
Her lips pursed at the mocking moniker, but he didn’t care.
‘We really need to go down.’
Tino crossed his arms. ‘I’m waiting.’
‘Look, I didn’t mean to offend you. But I’m hardly your type either.’
‘You’re female, aren’t you?’ He couldn’t help the comment. The desire to get under her skin was riding him.
‘That’s all it takes?’
Her incredulous tone drew a tight smile to his lips. ‘What else is there?’
She shook her head. ‘See, that’s why you’re not my type. I like someone a little more discerning, a little more…’ She stopped as if she’d realised she was about to insult him.
‘Don’t stop now. It’s just getting interesting.’
‘Okay—fine. You’re arrogant, condescending, and you treat everything like it’s a joke.’
Tino deliberately kept his chuckle light. ‘For a minute there I thought you were going to list my faults.’
She threw up her hands and stalked away from him. ‘You’re impossible to talk to!’
‘True, but I make up for it where it counts.’
Her sexy mouth flattened and he just managed not to laugh. ‘Sunshine, you are so easy to rile.’
She huffed out a breath and eyed him with utter disdain. ‘Please remember that we are playing by my rules this weekend, not yours. When we’re in company just…’ She smoothed her brows. ‘Just follow my lead.’
She pinned a frozen smile on her face and sailed through the door, leaving a faint trace of summertime in her wake.
Tino breathed deep. He didn’t understand how a woman so intent on behaving like a man could smell so sweet. Then he wondered if she had sex like a man as well: enjoyed herself and moved on easily.
The unexpected thought made him snort as he followed her down the hall.
He might not know the answer to that, but he was damn sure they were bound to have another argument when she learned he played by no one else’s rules but his own.
And as for following her lead…

CHAPTER FOUR
‘SO, HOW did you two meet?’
Miller swallowed the piece of succulent fish she’d been chewing for five minutes on a rush and felt it stick in her throat. It was the question of the night, it seemed, as TJ’s guests tried to work out how an uptight management consultant could possibly ensnare the infamous Tino Ventura.
She grabbed her water glass and stiffened as she felt Valentino’s strong fingers grip the back of her chair. He’d done that constantly throughout the meal, sometimes playing with the beads on her top, and she’d felt the heat of his touch sear through her clothing and all the way into her bones. The man was like a furnace.
Fortunately he took control of the conversation, having already warned her to say very little, but she could see he was as tired of the interest as she was.
Tuning out, she wondered if she shouldn’t stage a massive fight right here and end the charade before they slipped up. Or before she slipped up—because he seemed to be doing just fine. And maybe she would feel better if Dexter didn’t keep throwing her curious glances that told her in more than words that he didn’t buy the whole international-racing-driver-boyfriend thing one bit.
When they had arrived for dinner the men had immediately enclosed Valentino in a circle as if he were an old friend, and the women had raked their eyes appreciatively over his muscular frame. Most of them had looked at him as if they wouldn’t say no to being another notch on his well-scarred bedpost. Something that didn’t interest Miller in the slightest.
Oh, she found him just as sexy as they did, but she had a ten-year plan that she had nearly accomplished, and she wasn’t about to get involved with a man and let him distract her. Especially a man who treated women like sex bunnies.
Pushing back her chair, Miller politely extricated herself to the powder room. After locking the bathroom door she leant against it, closed her eyes and felt her heartbeat start to normalise now that she was out from under Valentino’s mesmeric spell.
It didn’t help that he kept touching her, and she really needed to talk to him about his ability to follow her lead. He hadn’t taken any of her subtle hints all night. And every time he touched her—whether it was a fleeting brush of his fingers across the back of her hand at the dinner table or a more encompassing arm around her waist while sipping champagne—it made her feel as if she’d been branded.
When she had envisaged having a fake boyfriend she’d imagined someone dutifully trailing in her wake and playing a low-key, almost invisible role. But there was nothing invisible about Valentino Ventura, and it annoyed her that her own eyes were constantly drawn to him, as if he really was some god who had deigned to grace them with his presence.
Deciding she couldn’t hide out in the powder room any longer, Miller exited to find Dexter lounging against the opposite wall, waiting for her.
She didn’t want to think about Ruby’s suspicions that Dexter was interested in her as more than just a work colleague, but there was no doubt he was behaving differently towards her all of a sudden.
‘So…’ Dexter drawled, a beer bottle swinging back and forth between his fingers. ‘Tino Ventura?’
Miller smiled enigmatically in answer.
‘You do know he’s got a reputation for being the biggest playboy in Europe?’
She knew he had a reputation—but the biggest playboy? ‘You shouldn’t believe everything you read,’ she said, though by the way he’d charmed everyone at dinner she could well believe it. Women were always falling for bad boy types they hoped to reform, and even clean-shaven he looked like a fallen angel.

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