His Thirty-Day Fiancée

“Thank you.” She felt so confused. He’d given her nothing more than himself this week, making his body delectably available to her increasing demands, but never letting her have a glimpse of the heart within.

How long could they play this sensual teasing game before they hurt too many people to count?

“You miss it,” he said. “The travel with your old job, before Intruder days of star chasing.”

Ah. The least of her troubles right now. But then, Duarte had no idea he’d touched her heart in a way she could never seem to penetrate his.

Wary of being overheard, she checked on the rest of their party and found they’d moved away from the blanket, involved in setting up an elaborate new sunshade tent for Kolby’s lunch. She looked back at Duarte quickly.

“My sister needs continuity,” she responded and evaded his question. “This is the only way I can earn a living that provides for her.”

“Perhaps there are different ways to find continuity than living in one particular place.”

Did the man learn nothing? There he went again, presuming to handle Jennifer’s life for her. Frustration from the past week boiled to life again. “Spoken like a man who lives in hotels, a man scared of having a real home.”

A real connection, damn it.

They stared at each other in a standoff that had become all too common over the past seven days. Except with her heart aching she wondered how she could simply indulge in heated, no-strings sex with him tonight when they had failed to find common ground in every other arena of their lives.

Swallowing back a lump in her throat, she stood. “I should go and upload these photos. My editor’s expecting an update and I would hate to miss a deadline.”

Duarte clasped her arm, his eyes broadcasting his intent to press her for more…when a Jeep roared in the distance, rumbling across the sandy beach toward them. As the vehicle drove closer, Javier Cortez came into sight behind the wheel. The four-wheel drive skidded to a stop, spewing sand from the tires.

The head of security grabbed the roll bar and swung to the ground. “Duarte, I wanted to tell you in person.”

Shannon shot to her feet, gasping. “Is it their father? Is he…?”

Tony rushed up the shore, his board under one arm, his other hand holding tight to little Kolby. “Javier?”

Cortez held a hand up. “Calm down, everyone. It’s good news that I thought you should hear face-to-face. The king has recovered enough to be released from the hospital. He will be home by the end of the day.”

The weight on Kate’s shoulders increased as she thought of fooling yet another person with the fake engagement. This time, they added an old man in frail health to the list of people who would be hurt. And right now, she worried less about how she would be able to forgive Duarte and more about how she would ever forgive herself.

Eleven

His father was home.

Duarte had been as stunned as everyone else by Enrique’s surge of energy. But the old man made it clear. He wanted to meet Kate.

Guiding her down the hall toward the wing housing his father’s quarters, Duarte kept his hand on her back to steer her through the winding corridors. He barely registered the familiar antique wooden benches tucked here, a strategic table and guard posted there, too preoccupied with the introduction to come.

What the hell was up with the edginess? He’d planned this from the start, to bring her along to appease the old man. They’d made a business proposition. So why did the whole thing suddenly feel off?

Because they’d clearly gone from business to personal in the past week and that rocked him to the core. He wanted more. Over the past weeks, she’d surprised him in ways he never could have foreseen. Like how she’d left her camera behind for this meeting with the king.

She’d told him that she planned to limit her photos of the king to the old man’s appearance at Tony’s wedding. For that matter, Duarte had been surprised at how few pictures she opted to send to the Intruder overall. Since the world was getting a steady flow of photos, news outlets ran those and weren’t searching as hard for others. The interest hadn’t gone away, but Javier’s security team back home wasn’t peeling as many reporters off the fences.

Now, entering the monarch’s private suites, Duarte tried to focus on the present. While the mansion sported a small fortune in works of art by Spanish masters, Enrique saved his Salvador Dali collection for himself, a trio of the surrealist’s “soft watches” melting over landscapes.

The old guy had become more obsessed with history after his had been stolen from him.

Cradling his antique Breguet pocket watch, Enrique waited in his bed, sitting on top of the cover, wearing a heavy blue robe and years of worries. His father’s two Rhodesian Ridgebacks lounged on the floor at the foot of the bed. Brown, leggy and large, the dogs provided protection as well as companionship. Kate leaned down to pet Benito, the dogs accepting her because she was with Duarte.

Frail and pasty, Enrique appeared to be sleeping. Then his eyes snapped open with a sharp gleam in his gaze.

“Father.” Duarte kept his hand planted on the small of her back. “This is Kate.”

Enrique tucked his watch into his robe pocket and stayed silent, his coal-dark eyes assessing Kate. Duarte slid his arm farther around her, bringing her closer to his side. “Father?”

Kate rested a hand on his softly and stepped forward, facing the old man head-on and bold as always. “I’m glad you’re well enough to return home, sir.”

Still, his father didn’t speak and Duarte began to wonder if Enrique had taken a turn for the worse. Was his once-sharp mind now failing, as well?

Kate stepped closer, magnificent in her unfailing confidence. “Do you mind if I sit?”

Still staring intently, Enrique motioned to the leather armchair beside his bed.

Sinking onto the seat, Kate perched a bit more formally than normal, her legs tucked demurely to the side. But other than that, she showed no sign of nerves in meeting the deposed king.

She pointed toward the framed painting closest to his bed. “I’ve always been a fan of Dali’s melting watch works.”

“You’ve studied the Masters?”

“I took art history classes in college along with my journalism degree. I can’t paint or draw to save my soul, but I like to think I capture natural art and tell a story with my lens.”

“I’ve seen some of your earlier photographs in our security file on you. You have an artist’s eye.”

She didn’t even wince over the background check, some thing his father appeared to have noticed, too.

Pushing against the mattress, Enrique sat up straighter. “You’re not upset that I had you investigated?”

“I investigated your family. It only seems fair you should have the same freedom.”

Enrique laughed, rumbly but genuine. “I like the way you think, Kate Harper.” He lifted her hand and eyed the ring, thumbing the top of the ruby once before nodding. “A good fit.”

With that succinct endorsement, his father leaned back on the pillow, his eyes sliding closed again.

That was it? Duarte had expected…something more. Digs for specifics on a wedding date. Hints for grandchildren. Even a crack at her profession, and that made him wonder if perhaps there’d been something to Javier’s accusation that he’d chosen Kate to jab back at the old man, after all.

If so, the joke was soundly on Duarte, because seeing Kate reach out to his father stirred a deeper sense of family than Duarte had ever felt before. Watching her in this setting finally pounded home what had been going on for weeks without him even noticing. Kate was more a part of his world than he was. She was a seamless fit in a high-stress environment, a strong but calming influence on the people around her, an intelligent and quick-witted woman who knew her mind and took care of her own.

What a kick in the ass to realize Kate was right about his lack of commitment to even a house, much less a relationship. He’d always prided himself on being a man of decisive action, yet when it had come to Kate, he’d been living in limbo—granted, a sex-saturated limbo—but limbo all the same.

Time to take action. He had about two weeks until his brother’s wedding and he needed to utilize every second to persuade Kate to stay in his life after the thirty-day dead line.

Whatever the cost.

Gasping, Kate bolted upright in her bed. Alone.

Her heart pounding out of her chest, she searched the room for him…but no luck. She’d fallen asleep in his arms, slipping into a nightmare where she’d melted away like a Dali watch, sliding from the ledge of Duarte’s resort on Martha’s Vineyard.

Sliding away from him.

She scraped her hair back from her face, the sheets slithering over her bare skin. The scent of his aftershave clung to the linens as surely as he lingered in her memories. He’d been so intense, so thorough tonight.

Stretching, her arm bumped something on the pillow. She jolted back and switched on the Tiffany lamp. A wrapped present waited in the cradle left by the imprint of his head. She clamped a hand to her mouth at the flat twelve-by-twelve package, a maroon box with a gold bow and no card. Not that she needed a card to know. Receiving a gift was different from the jewels and clothes he’d given her as part of the public charade. This was a private moment.