Living the Charade

Something must have alerted him to her presence because he stopped pushing the wooden spoon around the pan and turned towards her.

His eyes swept over her and she felt the thrill of his smoky, heavy-lidded gaze from across the room. She wished her senses weren’t so attuned to his every look and nuance because the tension she felt in his presence made it impossible for her to relax.

Miller sensed he was holding himself utterly still, almost taut, and she was definitely using someone else’s legs as she moved further into the kitchen.

‘The clothes fit, then?’

She remembered the dull feeling that had washed over her when she’d first seen them. ‘Yes. Whose are they?’

‘Yours.’

‘You bought me clothes?’

He shrugged carelessly at her stunned tone and added tinned tomatoes to the pan. ‘Technically Mickey bought them.’

‘Mickey?’

‘My Man Friday.’

He had a Man Friday? One who knew his way around women’s fashion? She hated to think how many other women Mickey had clothed at Valentino’s request.

‘Mickey runs interference between all the people vying for my attention and makes sure my life runs smoothly. Calling up a department store and organising a few items of clothing for a woman was a first.’

‘I didn’t say anything.’ She felt impossibly peeved that he’d read her so well.

‘You didn’t have to. You’re very easy to read.’

‘Not usually,’ she muttered.

His slow smile at her revelation made breathing a conscious exercise.

‘Why didn’t you just pack me something other than underwear and shoes?’ Realising she was still holding the empty soup bowl she set it down on the benchtop between them. ‘That would have made more sense.’

‘Probably,’ he said. ‘But I saw all that black in your wardrobe and panicked. And I have a soft spot for your lingerie and shoes. How was the soup?’

‘Divine.’ Miller felt flustered by his admission about her underwear. ‘I’m not keeping the clothes,’ she said stubbornly. ‘There’s enough there for ten women.’

He leaned against the lacquered cabinet beside the stove. ‘Mickey’s ex-army—a complete amateur when it comes to what women need.’

‘Whereas you’re an expert?’

His eyes studied her in such a way that goosebumps rose up on her arms. ‘So I’ve been told.’

Miller sighed deeply, searching around in her mind for some way to change the subject and lower the tension in the room to a manageable level. It would be too embarrassing if he guessed how disturbed she was in his presence.

‘I should probably get going. I’ve taken up enough of your time.’

‘I’m cooking dinner.’

‘I thought you had a chef?’ She tried to make her tone light but she wasn’t sure she’d pulled it off.

‘He provides the food. I cook it when I’m here.’

‘What is it?’

‘Not poison.’

He gave a short laugh, and she realised she’d screwed up her face.

‘Relax. If you want to go home after dinner I’ll arrange it.’

Just like that, she thought asininely. Did nothing faze this man?

Yes. Talking about his family. His father. The accident that had claimed the life of his friend. He had his demons, she knew, he just kept them close to his chest.

Miller nodded. She felt stiff and awkward, and when she wetted her painfully dry lips his eyes locked onto her mouth with the precision of a laser. She felt the start of a delicious burn deep inside.

So much about this man stimulated her to the point that she could think of little else. Which made staying for a meal a questionable decision. Wasn’t it playing with fire to spend any more time in his company?

A vague memory of him feeling her head and administering a drink of water to her some time during the day filtered into her mind. His gentleness and consideration of her needs was breaking down all of her defences against him. Something she really didn’t want. Lord only knew what would happen if he showed any indication that he wanted her half as much as she wanted him. She wasn’t sure she would say no. Wasn’t sure she could say no.

Spotting his phone on the far bench, her mind drifted to work.

‘Did you happen to bring my phone yesterday?’ she asked, wondering if she still had a job and if it was too late to call Dexter. She’d done nothing on TJ’s account all day, so chances were slim, but she’d rather know than not.