Fiancée For The Cameras (Mills & Boon Modern)

CHAPTER TEN

W HEN A NDREA WOKE from the likes of a deep sleep he hadn’t known in years, the light in the room was so bright that he had to blink a few times. One glance at his watch told him it was past ten-thirty in the morning.

With a groan, he fell back against the bedsheets, a strange lethargy stealing over his body and his head. With a languorous laziness he rarely indulged in, he reached out with his arm before he turned to his side, only to find the bed empty and cold. Which meant she had been up for hours.

He’d appreciated that in his assistant, but not so much in his lover. He also could just imagine those feathery brows of hers tying into a tiny frown, while she hesitated to ask him how she would know which role she was playing on a given morning. A silly grin stole over his face.

Whatever dissonance he had expected didn’t come, and Andrea decided not to overthink it. If last night was anything to go by, their chemistry was off the charts and he knew very well it was the kind one didn’t come by often.

What was wrong with enjoying it? With exploring the undeniable heat between them? Who said they couldn’t part as he did with his other lovers? Yes, Monica was different, but she had gotten over her engagement with that rascal, hadn’t she? Even better, she’d openly admitted to wanting Andrea, to dreaming of him.

It wasn’t like she didn’t know the ways of the world. More important was the fact that she knew him . Better than most women, better than even his family maybe.

And yet, there was something that had niggled at the back of his mind last night when his body had been sated. The surfeit of pleasure had numbed his thinking cells for a while. But it was something he’d wanted to ask her at the peak of his explosive climax.

Two minutes after he’d untangled himself from her so that he didn’t crush her and inquired if she was okay, she’d disappeared into the bathroom, claiming she needed it. Laughing, he’d put it down to her shyness and then wondered at when he’d last laughed after sex. Usually, he was angry with himself for giving in to the temptation of sex when he had nothing else to offer, even though he made it clear up front to his partners, and then he itched to leave to avoid awkwardness.

It wasn’t the way he’d been once. He’d had more than his share of lovers and girlfriends as a handsome, vibrant race-car driver with the world at his feet, but he had liked companionship, too. He had liked spending time with his then current girlfriend, or Chiara later, liked the connection and laughter it brought into his life.

Having grown up with parents who kissed each other at the drop of a hat and danced in the kitchen at the slightest chance and expressed their affection in that easy, simple way, had made Romeo and him grow up with the same need to form deep connections.

After the accident, everything had changed. Or rather, he’d forced himself to change, to survive. But now, for the first time in years, he found himself wanting more than just a quick screw as some kind of stress relief. He wanted lazy mornings and long, glorious nights with Monica, and he decided he would enjoy every bit of it, as long as it lasted. He would treat her well, that was a given, but he would also indulge himself.

Once they had to break the engagement, which would be many months down the line, he would go back to his usual punishingly rigorous schedule at work again. With his body satiated and his mind resolved to the plan, thick sleep had claimed him. He had no idea how long she’d been gone because he had drifted off into sleep soon, still wearing a smile on his face.

He’d woken up in the hours of dawn to use the bathroom and found her at the edge of the bed, dressed in his shirt again, scrunched into a tight ball with her knees tucked into her chest, as if she meant to occupy the smallest space possible on the bed.

What she had shared with him struck him hard enough that Andrea found himself sitting at the foot of the bed, watching her sleep. She’d grown up in an orphanage first and then foster homes, had fended off wandering eyes and arms, had always dressed to minimize her looks and not to draw unwanted attention... Something he didn’t want to feel or examine cracked open in his chest.

All the softer emotions that he had turned off, like tenderness and caring about anyone other than Mama and Romeo, cauterized for so long that he simply didn’t feel them anymore, now pushed through like tiny new buds. He refused to let them send him into any kind of panic, though. At heart and by nurture, he had always been a man who cared about the people who revolved around his life, especially the ones who had less security, less privilege, in their lives. This...concern was that, that was all. As much as he chastised her for that sense of obligation she was forever mentioning, he felt it toward her, too.

How could he not, for the woman who had saved his mother’s life? He and Romeo had nearly shattered at Papa’s loss, so he could not even imagine their state if Mama had been hurt.

So yes, he would always “care” a little about this particular woman. Maybe even after they burnt out this chemistry.

When he had gotten back to bed, he had dragged her to the middle of it, to find her toes and fingers icy cold. The moment he turned her to face him, she came awake with a start and instantly stiffened, her arm coming up to block him. His heart had twisted in his chest, and his throat had felt thick with raw anger. Startled yellow eyes met his, fear slipping through the deep flush of sleep. “It’s me, bella . You’re safe,” he’d said, running his hands through her long hair, kissing her temple.

In the next blink, she whispered something he couldn’t catch, her body softened and with a tentativeness that tugged at his heart, she burrowed into him all the way. Her trust was a gift more precious than any he’d ever wanted or received.

With her face pushed up into his throat, her feet tucked between his legs and her curves tightly pressed against his hard muscles, all her stretching and wriggling had turned him rock hard. Hands stroking her back, Andrea had kissed her, urging her to wake up. It took all of five seconds for their kiss to turn voracious, their hands seeking and stroking, and when he touched her folds, she’d almost flinched. When he’d inquired, she’d admitted she was sore and two seconds later, drifted off into sleep again.

With that niggle narrowed down to a crystal-clear realization, Andrea shot out of the bed now. Pulling on sweatpants, he marched into the lounge to find her on the open terrace, her black agenda open in front of her on the table along with a cup of coffee and a bowl of fruit.

Dressed in a peach-colored sleeveless blouse with a V-neck and dark skinny jeans that looked like they’d been made to showcase her long legs, and her hair in a French braid, she looked like the prim and proper assistant she’d been for nearly three years. But he knew what lay underneath that simplicity and shyness, and he liked it way too much that he alone knew that.

“How long have you been awake?”

Monica startled so badly at that voice that she almost spilled the coffee on herself. At the last second, she let the cup slide onto the table and take the brunt of it. Only after she’d wiped the stickiness off her fingers and her heart resumed a relatively normal pace—she needed new normals around this man—did she turn her head.

Andrea was standing at the entrance to the terrace, dressed in loose sweatpants that hung low on his hips. His hair was a mess, his mouth was still swollen and there were deep, crescent-shaped marks right below his shoulder, thanks to her nails.

She flushed at the sight of him—with mortification but also with a visceral kind of satisfaction. Who knew she could be so possessive? Had all her instincts been lying dormant just waiting for the right man? What else would he unearth and unleash within her?

“Good morning,” she finally managed, getting up from her seat. “You’re out of the coffee beans you like but I ordered a different brand. I know you don’t like change but you’ll love this blend. I’ll have a cup of coffee and your omelet ready, if you want to wash up and get dressed.” With each word she uttered, he straightened from his relaxed pose and something she couldn’t decipher dawned in his eyes. “I have also had the contracts sent over here from the legal department so that I can take a look at this new round of changes Mr. Brunetti’s company is insisting on. I moved your appointment with Mr. Makiko to Tuesday, since you’re visiting the manufacturing plant on Monday,” she said, reading out the bullet points she’d marked on the agenda. “All the funds from yesterday’s gala have been cleared and routed to the charity foundation’s accountant. I have also had all your calls rerouted to me since I’ll be taking over as your assistant again. Your temp is returning to the accounts department.”

“Is that all?”

She shrugged and went to move past him. His fingers locked around her wrist, arresting her.

Monica shivered at the scent of his sun-warmed skin and the warmth from his bare chest and God, did he have to look so delicious first thing in the morning? Selfish wanton she was, she wished he would tug her closer so that she could soak in all of that heat from his body and kiss her senseless.

But he didn’t do any of it. Instead, he released her once she stopped moving, his black-as-night gaze examining her face with an intensity she wasn’t sure she could withstand without betraying herself.

Already, just the sight of him, disheveled and rough, had her body remembering the achy soreness she’d felt when she’d woken up, tangled around him. For long moments she’d stayed like that, her breath crashing through her as if she were a thief, intent on stealing something that didn’t belong to her. He had been in such deep sleep that even when she’d untangled herself from him, he hadn’t shaken.

Pushing herself up on her elbow, Monica had stared at him to her heart’s content, tracing the scar on his face, the deep, jagged patchwork of scars she’d missed on his hip last night. In the end, her desperate need as she lay there for close to half an hour, watching him like some sort of lovesick fool, had made the decision for her. She wasn’t going to cling to him or make any demands or even act like they’d done all the intimate things they’d done together. She would give him no reason for complaint, nor behave with even a whiff of lover-like expectations.

That was the only way this could work, the only way she could have him. So she’d done what she’d always done, put her head down and gone back to work, creating minimum ripples from him. She’d have even left the penthouse and given him space, if she could be sure her face wouldn’t betray her night’s activities to Romeo and Flora as if it were a high-def plasma television.

“Where did you get the clothes?” Andrea asked, startling her out of her reverie.

“I called the villa hoping to get Shania, Romeo’s physio. Instead, I got Flora,” she said, flushing.

His mouth twitched. “And?”

Monica sighed. “She made me give her a list of things I needed, packed all the things she made me buy at that boutique when she learned of our plans and told me she’d order two sets of toiletries, for here—” she moved her hand to indicate the penthouse “—and the villa because you don’t know your own schedule and I want to be wherever you are, right?” By the time she had finished the retelling, his grin had deepened and Monica wanted to thump him for laughing at her embarrassment. “You know how Flora gets when she decides on something. I barely got in two words.”

“Mama knowing about us bothers you. Why?”

“I don’t want her to think I’m taking advantage of the situation, of you.”

He laughed then, throwing his head back, drawing her attention to the column of his throat and his bobbing Adam’s apple and his lean chest. Mortification swirling through her, Monica let out a filthy curse and instantly felt wrong for doing it.

Andrea’s laughter doubled, and he had to bend down with his hands on his knees to balance himself. This time, when she went to pass him, muttering to herself, he not only stopped her again, but also lifted her in his arms, ignoring her rabbit-like squeal, walked into the lounge and sat down with her in his lap.

One arm wound around his neck, Monica drew in sharp breaths. An intense ribbon of longing held her in a chokehold as she stared at the deep grooves around his mouth. His eyes danced with mirth and she thought he had never looked more heartbreakingly gorgeous.

“I’m glad to provide entertainment for you. Maybe I should also add clown to all the roles I perform for you.”

“Don’t tempt me about performing for me, bella ,” he said, nuzzling under her jaw and drawing a straight line to her earlobe with his teeth. She shivered anew. “I might throw a list of bullet points for your agenda. Especially since I’m feeling deprived after waking up alone. You should have stayed in bed.”

Monica arched into his touch, her nipples peaking painfully as his mouth drifted lower, tugging the V-neck of the blouse as far as it would allow. She hummed at the back of her throat, an action she didn’t know she was capable of, begging him wordlessly to do more. His scruff was rougher than the previous night, and pleasure jolted down to her sex when he pushed her blouse and bra roughly down and rubbed it against her nipple.

It was decadent, wanton and felt so filthily divine that she thought she might come apart at the seams.

Moaning, writhing on his lap, she sank her fingers into his hair, keeping him there. He licked at the needy knot before drawing it into his mouth. Monica jerked at the swift pool of dampness that one action caused and God, if he continued, she would come just like that and... He stopped.

Then he was tugging her bra and blouse back into place while she trembled with unmet need. “You’re dangerous, bella . That wasn’t what I had in mind for this morning.”

“Then why did you start it?” she asked, unable to keep her peevishness out of her tone. “You...you...”

Brow risen, Andrea watched her with a keen interest, the earlier amusement returning to his eyes.

She struggled to get off his lap but his arms were steel bands around her. “I’m beginning to think you find this all hilarious,” she said, anger and something more beating at her. “Me, I mean.”

“I find you...sweet and naive, bella ,” he said, the humor vanishing from his eyes. “But it doesn’t mean I’m laughing at you.”

The tenderness in his voice could undo her so easily. Monica nodded without looking at him. This time when she tried to stand, he let her go, and she wished she hadn’t.

God, she was a contrary fool.

Instead of running away or clinging to him, she chose the middle ground and settled on the coffee table in front of him, her legs on the outside of his, pathetic enough to want that little bit of closeness.

Hand under her chin, Andrea lifted her head. His dark eyes searched hers, challenging her to hold his gaze. “Now, tell me what this morning is all about.”

She wished she could lie or fob him off with some flirty remark, or have the guts to grab him and kiss the hell out of him like she wanted to. But she was who she was and Andrea wasn’t someone she could deter when he set his mind to something. “I...didn’t want to be a nuisance to you. And I didn’t want you to think I was expecting anything. Work had piled up anyway so I thought I should just...make myself useful.”

He nodded, looking thoughtful. “This doesn’t have to be awkward, Monica. We’re consenting adults who trust each other, si ?”

“I just... I panicked because I didn’t know how to behave in this context and—”

“Because you’ve never done this before?” he cut in.

“No,” she said, this time managing the fake flirty smile. “I haven’t had a red-hot affair with my boss before.”

“No, you’ve never had sex before.”

Her gaze met his and her silence offered its own answer without her permission. Suddenly, she understood the intent behind his frown before. If he called her pathetic again...she might get actually mad and stomp out of there. “I think that’s my business.”

He leaned forward, trapping her between his thighs before she could pull away again. “I agree, bella . I only wish you’d told me so—”

“So you could find another reason to put me off? I don’t know about you but I truly enjoyed what happened last night, Andrea. And I have zero regrets. Maybe this is about you and your—”

He caught her mouth in a devastating kiss that would have taken her out at the knees if she hadn’t been sitting. There was none of the gentleness from last night, no exploration, no building to something more. Only rough, hard possession, making her words a lie, making her tingle from head to toe, telling her in no uncertain terms that this was a two-way obsession. At least for now.

His tongue plundered her mouth; his teeth nipped her lips as if in punishment for her doubts and God, his hands stroked over her hips and her back and sank into her hair and tugged her neat little braid until she tilted her head up in complete surrender. “I have plans for this braid and you.” His words sent pulses of damp desire arrowing down to her core. Like a bow, he pulled her body taut and tight under his hold, ready to splinter at one tug. And she didn’t mind one bit.

All her life, she’d hidden in the margins, making safe, defensive choices, always toeing the line of security but now, she was more than willing to let it all unravel at his hands.

His mouth left a wet, hot trail down her blouse, and then he bit the curve of her breast. “Still believe I didn’t enjoy last night?”

Hands splayed on his thighs, she scooted closer and closer until somehow, she was on his lap and his erection was notched right where she needed it. She cursed herself for wearing skin-tight jeans. “Let’s leave it at that, then.”

Slowly, he released his hold and pulled back. This time, Monica couldn’t help it, she ran her thumb over his lower lip and farther down until she could trace the marks she’d left on his skin. God, she loved touching him like this, loved knowing what he liked, just...knowing him at this intimate level.

“You were engaged to that scoundrel, cara mia . I’m trying to understand what was going on and if I need to find him and thrash him.”

“I know how...it looks and I want to share some things with you. But what if it makes you laugh at me?”

His mouth flattened with quick anger and she felt stupid for projecting her own insecurities at him. “I’m not him, bella .”

“I know that. I didn’t mean to...”

“It’s okay,” Andrea said, covering her mouth with one finger. “You’re from such a different background than me. And so young and...” He shook his head as if he couldn’t be that honest with her. “I would never laugh at anything you’ve done to survive in this world, ever. In fact, I think you are a marvel, bella , to retain that spirit of yours after such a start in life.”

Every word of his took down some unknown brick wall she’d built around herself, made her feel seen. And until now, she hadn’t known how much she needed someone to see it, someone to tell her that she had survived it all without losing parts of herself. And that it was this man who had her trust, filled her with a giddy kind of joy, with a rightness that she felt down to her marrow.

Monica leaned into his chest and wrapped her arms around him, tears beckoning at the backs of her eyes again. And then while she hid her face in his throat, she talked, because she’d always wanted to talk to someone about it all and who better than this man who somehow made her brave enough and bold enough to reach for her deepest desires.

“When I was growing up, I... My body developed too soon,” she said, the past swirling through her mind like a movie. “By fourteen, I was as tall as I am now and I had this face and these breasts and these legs but no one to help me understand why I seemed to draw the worst kind of attention from boys and men. Maybe if I had continued to live with Father D’Souza, he would have explained it to me, but he wasn’t allowed to have children older than eleven.”

Andrea was stiff beneath her, his fingers cradling her scalp, his other hand stroking down her body as if he meant to make the telling easier. “Father D’Souza?”

“I was left as an infant on the steps of his church. He’s like a...father to me, the only family I’ve known. When I was old enough, I decided I would take his last name.”

“That is the man you visit every year in New York.”

She smiled, remembering how cranky Andrea had been last year when she’d been gone for three weeks. “Yes. He worries about me and I worry about him. He’s seventy-three now and I like to see him at least once a year. My aptitude for languages... He recognized it first, encouraged me to take courses at the community college. He was also the one who urged me to go on a vacation the first time I came here, helped me with the funds even. Now he keeps asking me if I’ll ever move back.”

“What do you say to that?”

Monica hid her grin. She didn’t miss the stiffness of Andrea’s tone when he asked that. “I tell him that I’m building a good life here, that I have friends and a grumpy boss who will probably hound me across the pond if I take off for too long. He was worried that first year, after the accident.” She instantly regretted going there as Andrea’s hand stilled, but pushed on. “But now he knows about all of you. Romeo and he have an ongoing online chess game, even.”

“Send a donation to the orphanage in Papa’s name,” he said, that ring of command back in his voice.

Monica hid her smile in his chest. As his personal assistant, and sometimes Flora’s companion at these events, she knew how many charities Valentini Luxury Goods supported. But this particular donation...meant a lot to her. Even bracing herself for him to laugh at her, she kissed his cheek and whispered her thanks.

“I’m sorry for interrupting you. Tell me more about...you.”

She refused to examine why it was so easy to pick up where she had left off, why it felt so good to tell him things she’d never admitted to anyone, even Romeo, who had become a true friend.

Was it the protectiveness that Andrea gave off? Or just simple, abiding trust in him? Or was it the fact that he was the man who had helped her push through the armor she’d built around her own sexuality? Or was it all of it?

“It didn’t take me long to realize that my looks, my own body, was a curse. I shied away from anything that remotely touched on my femininity or my sexuality. There was another guy when I was eighteen. He wasn’t unkind, but I couldn’t get out of my head. When push came to shove, I...backed out. I realized I wasn’t really into it. With Francesco, we...kissed and did other stuff. I tried so hard but I just couldn’t go all the way. He was frustrated and I was frustrated. I wanted him and me to work so much. I had this perfect life in my head and he suited it to a tee. He said we had all our lives and it was another reason why I fell for him. I thought he was so sweet to wait, ready to try again. When I reached him after he dumped me—” Andrea’s arms tightened around her waist “—he said I was a shiny package but the contents were useless or something like that. That I was like a cold, hollow sculpture, useful only for showing off.”

“He needs to be taught a lesson,” Andrea bit out.

“He’s taught me one thing, though, and I’m grateful for that.”

“Forgive me if I don’t ask you what that is, bella . You’re far too forgiving and generous to attribute any good thing to him.”

Monica clasped his cheek, feeling the most insane urge to hug him, which was definitely not a sexual urge. A part of her marveled that she could touch him freely like this, could talk to him so openly, while the other part of her was wary to flex her newfound role.

She settled for a soft kiss on his lips, pouring out all these new sensations fluttering through her as if a thousand butterflies had been released. Gratitude and more fluttered on her lips but she didn’t dare try to put it into words. She wasn’t sure what would come out.

“What was that for?” he asked, raising his brows.

For a man who rarely showed emotion or liked it in others, he was very good at reading her and her kisses. She shrugged and before it could get awkward—or was it her own wariness at this kind of intimacy?—she stood up and checked her watch. “We do have a few matters to get through today.”

“What a strict assistant you are, bella . It is Saturday.”

“And you have worked every Saturday since I joined the company.”

“Today I feel like goofing off. I will spend the day in bed with my fake fiancée and explore her very real passion. There are a few things I didn’t get to try last night. So, if you can see yourself out for the weekend and call her in, por favor . I’m eager to get started.”

How had Monica not known that it was possible to blush and smile at the same time? Where had he hidden this flirty, roguish side of him?

He was already larger than life but to see this real side of him... What woman could stand a chance against him? She was beginning to feel like she was on a ride that only went up and around, making her dizzy. Biting her lower lip, she took a step away from the sitting lounge. “Your fake fiancée is busy today.”

“Busy with what?” he said, standing up, every inch the arrogant CEO who wanted the world arranged just so at his command.

“She’s going to a pizza-and gelato-making class.”

“With whom?” he prompted, coming unerringly to the point.

Monica considered evading for one moment, and then sighed. “Romeo. We made the date weeks ago. I can’t cancel it because you’ve decided you want to...stay in bed. The chef is like a genius and his classes take months to get in and the gelato is to die for. After the last few weeks...it’s the one fun thing I’ve been looking forward to.”

“I would never want to stand in the way of your fun, Monica,” he said, taking a step in her direction. “Only, you will go with me instead of my brother. He hogs too much of your time anyway.”

“I like spending time with him. And I’m not ditching him just so...” Her words fell away as he began stalking her across the open layout, a wicked twinkle in his eyes.

“Just so I can indulge us both, so I can taste you again? Just so I can give you a bullet-pointed agenda for the day’s activities and see how fast we can get through them all? Your efficiency does drive me wild, bella .”

She blushed and he was laughing and Monica thought she might burst apart at the seams. Desire and anticipation, yes, but this easy joy... God, it was like magic, vibrating through her every cell. “You really want to take the Saturday off and make gelato with me?” she asked, disbelief punctuating her words.

“With you, yes,” he said, catching her. And then his mouth was on hers and Monica forgot about mergers and charity funds and gelato, and maybe even the reason for breathing.