His Thirty-Day Fiancee (6 page)

The terry cloth was thick and long and covered her completely from Duarte’s eyes as he lounged in her suite. But deep in his gut, he knew. She wore nothing more.

He went utterly still in his chair by her fireplace. He’d waited for a half hour in her suite, a large room with a sitting area in the bay window, sleigh bed across the room. She stood in the doorway from her bathroom, her fluffy robe accenting the crisp blue-and-white decor. Her wet hair was gathered in a low ponytail draped over one shoulder.

It was longer than he’d expected. He also expected her to demand that he leave. But she simply tucked her feet into the complimentary slippers by the door and padded across the room toward him.

Unflinching, she stared back at him, her eyes sweeping down him as if taking in every detail of his tuxedo shirt open at the neck, dark pants sans cummerbund, feet propped on the ottoman. She stopped alongside him and sank smoothly into the blue checkered chair on the other side of the fireplace. She was fearless.

And magnificent.

She crossed her legs, baring a creamy calf. “What else do we need to cover before facing the world tomorrow?”

The fire crackled and warmed. He’d started the blaze to set a more intimate tone. Except now it tormented him by heating her pale leg to an even more tempting rosy pink. “Let’s discuss how we met. You spin mythical stories from a thread of truth. How about take a stab at it by creating our dating history?”

“Hmm…” Her foot swung slowly, slipper dangling from her toes, her yarn jewelry still circling her ankle. “After I broke the story about your family, you confronted me…at my apartment… You didn’t want to risk being seen at my office. You know where I live, right? Since you knew to send someone to take care of my cat.”

“You’re based out of Boston, but travel frequently,” he confirmed correctly. “So you just keep a studio apartment.”

“Your detectives have done their homework well.” Her smile went tight, her plump lips thinning. “Did you already know about Jennifer?”

“No, I only know your address and work history.”

Perhaps there he’d dropped the ball. He, above all people, should know how family concerns shaped a person’s perspective. Pieces of the Kate puzzle readjusted in his mind, and he resolved to get back to the issue of her sister.

Although Kate’s tight mouth let him know he would have to tread warily. “Tell me, Ms. Harper, how does someone who covered the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan end up working for the
Global Intruder?
”

“Downsizing in the newspaper industry.” She blinked fast as if working hard not to look away nervously.

“Taking care of your sister had nothing to do with your decisions?” He understood her protectiveness when it came to her sibling. The bond was admirable, but he wouldn’t let softer feelings blur his goal.

“Jennifer needs me.” Kate picked at the white piping along the club chair.

“There were plenty of people willing to roll out for an assignment at the drop of the hat.” Unanswered questions about her career descent now made perfect sense. “By the time you settled your sister, you’d lost out on assignments. Other reporters moved ahead of you. Have I got it right?”

Fire snapped in her eyes as hotly as the flames popping in the fireplace. “How does this pertain to fielding questions about our engagement? If the subject of Jennifer comes up, we’ll tell the media it’s none of their business.”

“Well, damn.” He thumped himself on the forehead. “Why didn’t my family and I come up with that idea ourselves? To think we hid out and changed our identity for nothing.”

“Are you sure we’ll be able to convince anyone we even like each other, much less that we’re in love?”

He tamped down the anger that would only serve to distract. This woman was too adept at crawling under his skin. “We’re only talking about your basic life story. Surely you can trust me with that.”

“Give me a good reason why I should trust you with anything. I don’t really know you.” She toyed with the tip of her damp ponytail, releasing a waft of shower-fresh
woman.
“Perhaps if you would tell me more about your past, I’ll feel more comfortable opening up in return.”

“Touché,” he said softly as a lighthouse horn wailed in the distance. “Instead, we’ll move back to creating our dating history.”

She dropped her ponytail and stared upward as if plucking the story from the air. “On the day we met, I was wearing khaki pants, a Bob Marley T-shirt, and Teva sandals. You remember it perfectly because you were entranced by my purple toenail polish.” Her gaze zipped and locked with his again. “You get bonus points if you remember the polish had glitter. We ended up talking for hours.”

“What was
I
wearing?”

“A scowl.” She grinned wickedly.

“You sound positively besotted.”

She flattened a hand to her chest dramatically, drawing his eyes to the sweet curves of her breasts. “I
swooned.
” Kate leaned forward, her robe gaping enough to tease him with a creamy swell but not enough to give him a clear view. “I took your picture because I found you darkly intriguing and the feeling increased when you came to confront me about exposing your identity. The attraction was instantaneous. Undeniable.”

“That part will be very easy to remember.” His groin tightened the longer he looked at the peekaboo flesh of her generous breasts.

“You wooed me. I resisted, of course.” Clasping the neck of her robe closed, she sat back. Had she tormented him on purpose? “But ultimately I fell for you.”

“Do tell what I did to convince you.” Any edge with Kate would be helpful.

Her grin turned mischievous. “You won me over with your love poem.”

He leaned back. “Afraid not.”

“I was joking.” She toe-tapped his feet, propped and crossed on the ottoman.

“Oh. Okay. I see that now. I’m not artistic.” His family also said he lacked a sense of humor, which had never bothered him before, but could prove problematic in dealing with this woman. He needed to turn the tables back in his favor. “I can be romantic without resorting to sappy sonnets.”

“Then let’s hear how you spin the story of our first date.” She waved with a flourish for him to take over. “How did it go?”

“I picked you up in my Jaguar.”

Kate crinkled her nose, shaking her head. “Nuh-uh. Too flashy to wow me.”

“It’s vintage.”

“That’s better,” she conceded.

“And red.”

“Even better yet.”

He searched his mental catalogue of information about her for the right detail… “I brought you catnip and
cat
viar, instead of flowers and candy.”

“You remembered I have a cat?” The delighted surprise in her voice rewarded his effort.

“I remembered everything you told me, although you neglected to mention her name and breed.”

“
He
is a gray tabby named Ansel.”

“As in Ansel Adams, the photographer. Nice.” He filed away another piece of information about the intriguing woman in front of him.

“No flowers and candy at all, though. I’m surprised. I would expect you to be the exotic bouquet and expensive truffle sort.”

“Too obvious. I can see you’re intrigued by my unusual choice, which makes my point.” That little strip of braided yarn she wore told him that Kate had a sentimental side. “Moving on. We ate a catered dinner on my private jet, so as not to attract attention in a restaurant.”

“Your airplane? Where were we going?”

“The Museum of Contemporary Photography in Chicago.”

“I haven’t been there before,” she said wistfully.

He vowed then and there to take her before the month was over. “We learned a lot about each other, such as food preferences—” He paused.

“Chili dogs with onions and a thick slice of wedding cake, extra frosting,” she answered, toying with the tassel on the tapestry wall hanging behind her. “What about you?”

“Paella for me, a Spanish rice dish.” Although he’d never been able to find a chef who could replicate the taste he remembered from San Rinaldo. “And your favorite color?”

“Red. And yours?”

“Don’t have one.” His world was a clear-cut image of black and white, right and wrong. Colors were irrelevant. “Coffee or tea drinker?”

“Coffee, thick and black served with New Orleans–style beignets.”

“We’re in agreement on the coffee, churros for me.” Now on to the important details. “Favorite place to be kissed?”

She gasped, fidgeting with the tie to her robe. “Not for public knowledge.”

“Just want to make sure I get it right when the cameras start. For the record, we kissed on the first date but you wouldn’t let me get to second base until—”

“I don’t intend for any interview to reach that point and neither will you.”

“But we did kiss on our first date.” He swung his feet to the floor and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. Closer to her.

“After your display in the ballroom, the whole world knows we’ve, uh, kissed.”

He clamped his fingers around her ankle, over the beaded yarn. “From what I’ve learned about you tonight, kissing you, touching you, I think you have very sensitive earlobes.”

Her pupils widened, her lips parting and for a moment he thought she would sway forward, against him, into him. The memory of her curves pressed to his chest earlier imprinted his memory. How much more mind-blowing the sensation would be bare flesh to flesh.

Kate drew in a shuddering breath. “I think we’ve learned quite enough about each other for one evening.” She crossed her arms just below her breasts. “You should go so I can get some sleep.”

The finality in her tone left no room for doubt. He’d pushed her as far as he could for one night. And while he would have preferred to end the evening revealing every inch of her body beneath that robe, he took consolation in knowing he had a month to win her over.

Easing back, he shoved to his feet. Was that regret in her eyes? Good. That would heighten things for them both when he won her over.

Everything fit perfectly, from the brown leather ankle boots—to her bra. Toying with the clasp between her breasts, she wondered how much he knew about the selections.

All had been brought to her by the resort staff, along with a note, beignets and black coffee. The aftertaste of her breakfast stirred something deeper inside her, a place already jittery at the notion of him envisioning her underwear. He’d listened to her preferences about food choices. He’d remembered.

He’d even come through on his promise to deliver a secured laptop for her to send her photos to Harold Hough, her editor at the
Global Intruder.
Duarte had kept his word on everything he’d promised.

She trailed her fingers over the two packed bags with her other new clothes neatly folded and organized, along with shoes and toiletries. She plucked out a brush and copper hair clamp. What a different world, having anything appear with the snap of his fingers.

Sweeping the brush through her hair, she shook it loose around her shoulders. Excitement twirled in her belly like the snowflakes sifting from the clouds. She scooped up the fur-lined trench and matching suede gloves, wondering where they would go after stopping by her place for her cameras.

How could she want to spend time with a man who, underneath the trappings, was all but blackmailing her? She churned the dichotomy around in her brain until finally resolving to look at this as a business deal. She’d agreed to that deal wholeheartedly out of desperation, and she would make the best of her choice.

Kate stepped into the hall and locked her door behind her. Duarte’s note with her breakfast had instructed her to meet him in his office after she ate and dressed.

Pivoting, she nearly slammed into a man who seemed to have materialized out of nowhere.

“Excuse me.” She jolted back a step, away from the guy in a dark suit with an even darker glower.

“Javier Cortez—I work for Duarte Medina,” he introduced himself, his accent thicker than his boss’s. “I am here to escort you to his office.” Javier was even more somber than his employer.

Duarte was intense. This guy was downright severe.

Something about his name tugged at her memory— and was that a gun strapped to his belt? “What exactly do you do here for Duarte?”

“I am head of security.”

That explained the gun, at least. “Thank you for the help. I don’t know my way around the resort yet.”

His footsteps thudded menacingly down the Persian runner. “You managed quite well last night.”

She winced. He must be the keeper of the video footage from her not-so-successful entrance. Which meant he also likely knew the engagement was a farce. She thumbed the ring and gauged her words.

“Last night was a memorable evening for many reasons, Mr. Cortez.”

Pausing outside a paneled wood door, Javier faced her down. Why did he look so familiar? The other two Medina brothers were named Antonio and Carlos, not Javier. Roughly the same age and bearing as Duarte, still Javier didn’t look like a relative.

And she couldn’t help but notice that while he was undoubtedly handsome, this guy didn’t entice her in the least.

“Is this his office?”

“The back entrance. Yes.” His arm stretched across it barred her from entering—and parted his jacket enough to put his gun in plain sight. “Betray my friend and you will regret it.”

She started to tell him to drop the B-grade-movie melodrama, then realized he was serious. She didn’t give ground. Bullies never respected a wimp anyway. “So he tells me.”

“This time,
I
am telling you. Know that I will be watching your every step. Duarte may trust you with your cameras and that secure laptop, but I’m not so easily fooled.”

Irritation itched through two dings of the elevator down the hall before she cleared her brain enough to realize what had bothered her about the man’s name and why he looked familiar. “You’re angry about your cousin getting booted out of royal favor for tipping me off.”

His jaw flexed with restraint, his eyes cold. “Alys is an adult. She chose wrong. My cousin was disloyal not only to our family and the Medinas, but she also betrayed our entire country. I’m angry with
her.
Alys must accept responsibility for her actions, and you can feel free to cite me on that in your gossip e-zine.”

“Thank you for the quote. I’ll be sure they spell your name correctly.” She hitched her hands on her hips. “I’m just curious about clarifying one point. If you’re only mad at her and realize I was just doing my job, why are you reading me the riot act about not hurting Duarte?”

“Because I do not trust you.” Javier stepped closer, his intent obviously to intimidate. “I understand you made your decision for practical reasons. Yes, you were doing your job. Understand, I am doing mine, and I am far more ruthless than you could ever hope to be.”

As much as she resented being towered over, she understood and respected the need to protect the people you cared about. Javier might be a bully, but he wasn’t just looking out for himself.

“You know what, Javier Cortez? Everybody should have a friend like you.”

“Compliments won’t work with me.” He stared down his sharp nose at her. “Remember, I’ll be watching you.”

The door swung open abruptly. The security guru jerked upright.

Duarte frowned, looking from one to the other. “Is something wrong here, Javier?”

“Not at all,” he answered. “I was only introducing myself to your fiancée.”

“Kate?” Duarte asked her, his gaze skeptical.

She stepped in front of Javier and a little too close to Duarte. His hair still damp, she caught a whiff of her faux fiancé’s aftershave and a hint of crisp air. Had he already been for a walk outside?

And ouch, how silly to wonder how he’d spent his morning.

A cleared throat behind her reminded Kate of the bodyguard. “Your buddy Javier was just giving me the lowdown on security around here.”

As much as she wanted to tell Javier to shove it, the guy had a point. She needed to watch her step.

She couldn’t allow herself to be swayed by Duarte’s charming images of jet-setting dates and catnip gifts. This was a man who lived with security cameras and ruthless armed guards. He was every bit as driven as she was. She needed to harden her resolve and shore up her defenses if she expected to survive this month unscathed.

Which meant keeping tempting touches to a minimum.