His Thirty-Day Fiancée

“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 catviar, 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.

Five

The next morning, Kate pulled on her borrowed clothes, made of fabric so fine it felt like she wore nothing at all.

The silk lined linen pants were both warm and whispery. A turtleneck, cool against her skin, still insulated her from the crisp nip in the winter air leaching into her suite. They’d gotten everything right from the size of the clothes to her favored cinnamon-apple fragrance. Had he noticed even that detail about her?

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.