A Secret Worth Keeping?: Living the Charade / Her Shameful Secret / Island of Secrets

She might need someone to pose as her current boyfriend, but she’d rather pay an escort the equivalent of her annual salary than accept his help. His brother would have been a different story, but no way in the world could she pretend to be interested in this man. He looked as if all he had to do was crook his index finger and a woman would come running. If she didn’t swoon first.

Swoon?

Miller pulled in the ridiculous thought. The man had holes in his jeans and needed a shower, but all that aside he was far too big for her tastes. Too male.

The loud clink of a rack of freshly washed glasses brought her out of her headspace and Miller felt a flush creep up her neck as she realised she’d been staring at his mouth, and that both Ruby and Sam were waiting for her to respond.

Her eyes dropped to the man’s tasteless T-shirt. Ruby must have be more affected by alcohol than Miller had realised if she seriously thought Miller would go along with this.

‘Well, Sunshine? What’s it to be?’

She hated his deep, smug tone.

About to blow him out of the water, she was choosing her rejection carefully when it struck her that he wanted her to say no. That he was counting on it.

Miller exhaled slowly, her mind spinning. The sarcastic sod had never intended to help her at all this weekend. That momentary soft-eyed look he’d got when his brother had mentioned their sister was just a ruse. The man was a charlatan and clearly needed to be brought down a peg or two. And she was in the mood to do it.

Pausing for effect, Miller steeled herself to let her eyes run over him. She was so going to enjoy watching him squirm out of this one. ‘Do you happen to own a suit?’ she asked sweetly.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_6a22aabd-7004-5ffb-bb8c-8cd2681e27c0)

TAPPING her foot on the hot pavement outside her Neutral Bay apartment building, Miller again checked to see if she had any missed calls on her phone. She still couldn’t believe that rather than squirm out of her phony acceptance of his help last night that thug of a man had collapsed into a full belly laugh and said he’d be delighted to help.

Delighted, my foot.

It wouldn’t surprise her one bit if Valentino Ventura did a no-show on her today. He seemed the type.

Something about the way his full name rolled through her mind pinged a distant memory, but she couldn’t bring it up. Maybe it was just the way it sounded. Both decadent and dangerous. Or maybe it was just the sweltering afternoon sun soaking into her black long-sleeved T-shirt combined with a sense of trepidation about this situation she had inadvertently created for herself.

She’d spent years curbing the more impetuous side of her nature after her parents had divorced and her safe world had fallen apart, but it seemed she’d have to try harder. Especially if she wanted to create a life for herself that didn’t feel as precarious as the house of cards she’d grown up in.

Miller sighed. She was just tired. She’d averaged four hours’ sleep a night this week and woken this morning feeling as if she hadn’t slept at all.

A pair of slate-coloured eyes in a hard, impossibly handsome face had completely put her off her breakfast. As had the dream she’d woken up remembering. It had been about a man who looked horribly like the one she was waiting for, trapping her on her bed with his hands either side of her face. He’d looked at her as if she was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman and licked his beautifully carved lips before lowering his face to hers, his eyes on her mouth the whole time...

Miller’s lips suddenly felt fuller, dryer, and she shivered in the afternoon heat and scanned the street for some sign of him. It must have been all those images of escorts that had set off the erotic dream, because no way could it have been about someone as reckless as she felt this man could be.

Okay. Miller gave herself a mental shakedown. She wasn’t waiting around any longer for Mr Ripped Jeans to turn up. He’d had no intention of helping her out—perfectly understandable, given they were strangers and would likely never see each other again—but she couldn’t fathom the tiny prick of disappointment that settled in her chest at his no-show.

Feeling silly, she shook off the sensation, frowning when a growling silver sports car shot towards the kerb in front of her and nearly rear-ended her black sedan.

About to give the owner a piece of her mind for dangerous driving, she was shocked to see her nemesis peel himself out of the driver’s side of the car. She crossed her arms over her chest and puffed out a breath. He sauntered towards her, a slow grin lighting his face.

The man oozed sex and confidence, and moved with a loose limbed grace that said he owned the world. Exactly the type of man she detested.

Even though she was five foot seven, Miller wished she’d worn heels—because Valentino was nearly a foot taller and those broad shoulders just seemed to add another foot.

After her dream she had been determined to find him unattractive, but that was proving impossible; in a white pressed T-shirt and low-riding denims, he was so beautifully male it was almost painful to look at him.

And by the shape of his biceps the man clearly spent a serious amount of time in a gym.

Fighting an urge to push back the thick sable hair that had a tendency to fall forward over his forehead in staged disarray, Miller rallied her scrambled brain and tried to conjure up a polite greeting that would set the weekend off on the right foot. Polite, appreciative and unshakably professional.

Before she could come up with something he spoke first. ‘The suit’s in the back. Promise.’

His deep, mocking tone had her eyes snapping back to his and she forgot all about being polite or professional.

‘You’re late.’

His lips curved into an easy smile as if her snarky comment hadn’t even registered. ‘Sorry. Traffic’s a bitch at this time on a Friday.’

‘You’ll have to watch your language this weekend. I would never go out with a man who swore.’

His eyes sparkled in the sunlight. ‘That wasn’t in your little dossier.’

He was referring to the pre-prepared personal profile Ruby had insisted she hand over last night before she’d hightailed it out of the bar at the speed of light.

‘I didn’t think writing down that I had a preference for good manners would be necessary.’

‘Seems like we’ll have some things to iron out on the drive down.’

Miller bit her tongue.

Seems like?

Was he being deliberately thick-headed? His brother was a lawyer—a good one, according to Ruby—but perhaps nature had bestowed Valentino with extreme beauty and compensated by making him slow on the uptake.

‘Did you fill out the questionnaire attached to my personal profile?’ she asked, wishing she had checked what he did for a living.

‘I wouldn’t dare not.’

His humorous reply grated, and she flicked a glance at the shiny phallic symbol he was leaning against. Was it even his? ‘I want to be on the Princes Highway before every other weekender heading out of the city, so if you’d like to fetch your bag we’ll get going.’

‘Ever heard of the word please?’

The muscles in Miller’s neck tightened at his casual taunt. Of course she had, and she had no idea why this man made her lose her usual cool so completely. ‘Please.’ She forced a smile to her lips that grew rigid as he continued to regard her without moving.

‘Are you always this bossy?’

Yes, probably she was. ‘I prefer the term decisive.’

‘I’m sure you do.’ He pushed off the car and towered over her. ‘But here’s a newsflash for you, Sunshine. I’m driving.’

Miller stared at him, hating the fact that he made her feel so small and...out of her depth. ‘Is that a rental?’

‘Actually, yes.’ He seemed annoyingly amused by her question.

Closing her eyes briefly, Miller wondered how she had become stuck with the fake boyfriend from hell and how she was ever going to make this work.