Living the Charade

He stopped stirring the sauce on the stove. ‘It wasn’t in your handbag?’

‘No.’

‘You can borrow mine. But if you’re calling work don’t bother. They know you’re with me.’

‘Sorry?’ She forced her eyes away from the muscled slopes of his arms. ‘What did you tell them?’

‘That you were sick.’

Miller barely suppressed a groan. ‘Why did you do that?’

‘I presumed you’d want your workplace to know where you were and you weren’t capable of telling them.’

Miller knew he was right, but it didn’t change the fact that she was irritated. ‘I have to finish TJ’s proposal, and I’m still not sure Dexter isn’t planning to put me under a formal performance review. Now he’ll just think I’m skiving in order to spend time with you and definitely do it.’

‘After his own behaviour over the weekend he’d be crazy to question yours. I’m sure your job is perfectly safe. And everyone’s entitled to a sick day. I bet you have almost a year’s worth accumulated by now.’

Miller blushed. He made her feel like a goody-two-shoes. But his championing of her gave her a warm glow that was hard to shake.

Something she could never rely on long term, she reminded herself. Especially with a man like him.

‘You have a point.’ Hopefully one Dexter recognised. ‘But still, I can take care of myself.’ She tried to hide her irritation but it wasn’t easy. Everything about her response to him—and his lack of one to her—was just debilitating.

He flicked a knob on the stove and put a lid on the saucepan, his gaze never shifting from hers as he prowled towards her. He rounded the island bench and Miller felt her breathing become choppy. She knew it wasn’t just because of her rush of irritation.

He stopped just shy of touching her, his blue-grey eyes piercing, his arms folded across his chest. ‘Thank you, Tino, for helping me out Sunday night when I felt like something the cat had dragged in,’ he said mockingly.

Miller felt ashamed of her stroppy behaviour. What was wrong with her? ‘Thank you, Tino, for helping me out Sunday night when I felt like something the cat had dragged in.’ And probably looked it...

‘That’s better.’

His smile could have melted a glacier. Then his eyes locked onto her hair and she suddenly remembered that it wasn’t straight, as usual, and probably looked terrible.

She raised a self-conscious hand. ‘Wavy.’

He reached out and looped a semi-dry curl around a finger. ‘Pretty.’

She shook her head and his finger snagged on the curl, pulling it tight. She shivered. ‘I prefer it straight.’

His hand drifted to the side of her face, his fingers following the curve of her jaw. ‘That’s because it gives you a sense of control. I like it either way.’

Miller’s breath stalled in her lungs at the way he was looking at her. She could read desire in his eyes. Want. Intent, even. She was shocked by it because previously she had assumed his interest in her wasn’t real. But now she suspected he had just been resisting the chemistry between them on Saturday night—as she had done for most of the weekend. As she should still be doing...

Only she felt powerless to look away from the banked heat in his gaze and a thrill of remembered pleasure raced through her body. A thousand reasons as to why this wasn’t a good idea pinged into her mind, but overwhelming her logical thinking was a wicked, sinful sensation that refused to go away.

All her life she’d done the right thing. The proper thing. Working hard to get good grades and make her mother proud, building a reputation at work that would ensure her future was secure, shelving the more risqué side of her nature. Until now that had been enough. Satisfying, even.

But Valentino brought out a delicious craving in her that was impossible to ignore.

CHAPTER TWELVE

TINO saw the sharp rise and fall of Miller’s chest as his finger lingered on the side of her jaw, felt her tremble as he deepened the caress. He hadn’t intended to touch her, seduce her, but now he could think of nothing else.

Some part of him hesitated. Really, if he had any integrity he’d stop. She’d been sick. She was a guest in his house. But none of that registered with her standing in front of him looking gorgeous and tousled, her cheeks pink, her lips softly parted. God, he wanted to kiss her. He wanted—