Living the Charade

‘You made chicken noodle soup?’

His lips twitched. ‘My chef did.’

‘You have a chef?’

‘Team chef, to be precise.’

‘Well...’ Miller stood up, not sure what to say. ‘That’s very nice of you but I feel fine. Great, in fact. I did tell you I wasn’t sick.’

‘You should feel great. You’ve slept for nearly twenty-four hours.’

‘Twenty-four hours! Are you kidding?’

‘No. The doctor checked your vital signs this morning but he wasn’t overly concerned. He said you might have picked up a bug and if you didn’t wake properly by tonight to call him again. You spoke to him while he was here. You don’t remember?’

‘I have a vague recollection but...I thought I was dreaming. I know I’ve been pushing myself lately, but—wow. I feel fine now.’

Valentino stuck his hands into his jeans pocket. ‘I’ll leave you to have your soup and a shower.’

‘Thanks.’ Miller’s mind was still reeling from the fact that she’d slept for so long. ‘Oh, wait. I don’t have anything to change into. You only packed...underwear and— What is that noise?’

He stopped at the door. ‘The ocean. A cold front came through this morning so the swell is up.’

‘You live on the ocean?’

‘Phillip Island.’

‘We’re not even in Melbourne?’

‘Take a shower, Miller, and join me in the kitchen. Down the hall, left and then right. There are clothes in the wardrobe. They should fit.’

Curious, Miller went to the wardrobe door and gasped when she opened it to find an array of beautifully crafted women’s clothes filling the cupboard—half of them black! Wondering who they belonged to, she fingered the beautiful fabrics of the shirts and dresses, the soft wool pants and denim jeans.

But whose were they? And why did Valentino have a closet full of—she checked a few of the labels—size ten clothes?

Her size.

The thought of wearing another woman’s clothing wasn’t exactly comforting and her stomach tightened. T-shirts, jeans and shorts lined the shelves, and there was a grey tracksuit.

Feeling as if she was stealing the pretty girl’s clothing from a school locker, Miller gingerly pulled out the tracksuit pants and a T-shirt. Thank God she had her own underwear—because there was no way she was wearing somebody else’s. In fact, she’d put on her own clothes again if she hadn’t slept in them for so long. The thought that she’d actually been ill was still something of a shock.

Going through to the marble bathroom, Miller quickly showered under the hot spray and opened the vanity and found the basics. Deodorant, toothpaste and a new brush, a comb and moisturiser. Brushing the tangles from her hair, Miller hunted in the cupboard for a hairdryer and came up empty.

Damn.

Without a hairdryer her hair would dry wavy and look a mess. She felt vulnerable and exposed without her things, but there was nothing she could do about it. Valentino had swooped down, got her at a weak moment, and she’d just have to brave it out. It was only clothes and hair anyway. He probably wouldn’t even notice.

She walked back into the bedroom and her stomach growled as the smell of cooling soup filled her nostrils. Salivating, she perched on the bed and demolished the fantastic broth in seconds, her body feeling both clean and nourished.

But, knowing she couldn’t hide out in this room any longer, she picked up the empty bowl and followed Valentino’s directions to the kitchen.

His home was modern and spacious, with lots of exposed wood and a raw-cut stone fireplace that dominated a living area that was furnished with large pieces of furniture built to be used as well as to look good.

When she stepped into the modern cream and steel kitchen she was assailed with the smell of sautéed garlic and her eyes became riveted to the man facing the stove. She drank in his athletic physique in a fitted red T-shirt and worn, low-riding denims that cupped his rear end to perfection.

He was without a doubt the sexiest man she had ever seen, and he made her forget all about being self-conscious or cautious. But she wasn’t here because he was attracted to her. He’d made it perfectly clear Saturday night he didn’t want her in that way, so it was time to stop thinking about the way he made her feel.

There was nothing else going on here but his over-developed sense of responsibility, and if she didn’t pull herself together she’d likely make a huge fool of herself again.