Hiring Cupid (12 page)

Oh, God. What was she to do?

Marco Valente was one sexy man. He was also the man she had, in four short days, come to love—totally and utterly, with a pure intent that shocked her to the core. This wasn't part of her life plan, part of
her
reality, but had snuck up on her, taking her unaware.

"Carly?"

She didn't move, but her body registered Marco's presence as a heat pervaded her heart and she relived in a fraction of a second every moment of their four days.

"What are you doing outside? Come back to bed.” His hands warm and reassuring reached out to her shoulders and pulled her back gently so she leaned against his hard frame. He was aroused. Again. She couldn't help but smile. This man was so very blatant.

"We have time.” His breath fanned her cheek and she let her head drop back, wallowing in the scent of him. His tongue caressed her exposed neck eliciting a shiver from her. Her nipples were hard and sensitive, wanting and needing him. She turned and his arms enveloped her, crushing her to his length. Cradling her to his chest Marco carried her back to bed.

Carly didn't utter a sound. She wanted this—with a vengeance. Her time may be almost up, but she determined she would enjoy it to the absolute last second. She would ignore the warring words in her brain and the increasing fear rising in a wave of panic in her gut. A fear that reminded her of her past, one she never, ever wanted to recreate.

Why?

Because reality would catch up. Eventually.

And it did. Just as she knew it would.

Carly lifted her gaze skyward, the whirring sound in the distance catching her attention and forcing her to face up to the present. She so desperately wanted to ignore the sound, believe it wasn't happening, but it was. It had to—in the end. The sound became louder until she had to admit the helicopter was about to arrive.

Paradise was dissolving.

"
Cara.
” Marco cradled her to him.

She would never get tired of his touch. Struggling to contain her grief, Carly mustered every last crumb of tangible strength and turned to him, pasting a smile on her face. “The helicopter is here.” Her voice was but a whisper as she stated the obvious. She filled her lungs with a deep, steadying breath. “It's time."

It was over. The words twisted and churned with tumultuous viciousness in her heart and her hands shook and knees began to buckle beneath her. Marco reached out to support her, but she flinched and jerked bodily away from him. She couldn't bare him to touch her. Not now that it was over.

His hands fell away and his expression turned frosty. Carly wanted to cry,
no please, hold me, don't leave me
. But she couldn't, wouldn't. Her mouth opened and closed several times before she could utter a sound.

"So, this is it then?” she whispered, struggling to sound cheery while inside she cried silent tears, her words awkward and trite.

"It's been a pleasure."

"Pleasure,” she repeated parrot fashion. Her moist eyes caught his, drinking in as much as she could in the few minutes they had left. They were the bluest eyes she had ever seen and lightened and darkened with his mood. The hard planes of his bronzed cheeks and his killer smile sent a heady anticipation spiraling down her spine and made her hunger for his touch. The touch she had to deny.

She dragged her gaze away, suddenly taking intense interest in the sand splattered patio. “Yes, it was. Thank you."

Thank you! All she says is
thank you.
Marco stiffened, forcing himself to retain an air of detachment. Without speaking, he escorted her to the waiting helicopter.

It was the same pilot who ferried them four days earlier. “Good holiday was it?"

Carly nodded, but Marco couldn't trust himself to speak and so remained mute. The pilot eyed them both and shrugged. Holding herself stiff, arms hugging her waist, Carly ignored him and seated herself and buckled in. The pilot went through procedures and within minutes they were off, leaving paradise behind.

For twelve, long drawn out minutes Carly refused to acknowledge he was even at her side and for the first time in his life, Marco found himself stymied. Damn it. He had his pride. He wouldn't beg.

Where was his control, his renowned ability to tackle the most difficult business acquisition?

She's not an acquisition.

No, but he wanted her. A lot.

"Would you care to have dinner with me tonight?"

"Dinner?"

"Yes, the meal in the evening,” he teased.

For a moment Marco thought she would say yes. Wanted her very much to, which surprised him. He hadn't realized how four days could change a man's thinking. But it had. He'd entered this deal with Carly for fun, a chance respite from his own hectic world of responsibilities and his mother's constant marriage prattle.

And now? Now ... well it was just dinner. That's all. Wasn't it?

"I don't think so,” she finally replied.

"No?"

"No,” she reiterated, her refusal curt. Marco wasn't used to begging, but as the helicopter began to land, he was filled with a sense of urgency, of unrequited need. “Another time then?"

"No. I can't.” Carly scrambled from her seat, but he grabbed her wrist just as she made for the exit.

"Can't or won't?"

"Take your pick. But the answer is still the same."

"Yet you shared many hours in my arms."

"That was then, Mr. Valente,” she said with a stiffness in her voice he hadn't heard for four days. “And this is now. Now, we go back to our lives. I go to work and you go ... wherever you want to."

As she shook him off, Marco realized with a jolt that even now, after days and nights together, neither of them really knew anything about the other, or had even offered that information.

Paradise Island had truly been a fantasy.

Grabbing her bag she delved into its depths. She turned to him and held out an envelope to him.

"What's that?"

"Payment."

"
Porca miseria
,” Marco swore. He closed the space between them. He easily towered over her. She tilted her head back, squinting as the sun shone in her eyes and raised a hand to shade her face, but he grabbed her wrist and she gasped. Did she feel the heat between them as he did?

"You think I want your money?"

"That's not what you said before we went. You agreed."

"Ah, but all that changed didn't it,
cara
. Your friends didn't come. We had time for ourselves, and ... sex. You hired me to play your gigolo, and now you toss me aside."

"But, the job ... the terms."

"Damn the job and its terms. This is about us."

"There
is
no us, Mr. Valente. It's over. Get it? You were merely an employee."

Anger boiled inside Marco. Not at Carly, for she obviously knew what she wanted, and had gotten it. He was angry with himself. His gut churned and he fisted his hands at his side. He'd been a fool even to agree in the first place. Had thought that perhaps, maybe...

Fool!

"We were meant to be on the island with my friends, and since neither of us had come with a phone, we had to stay. Simple as that. Nothing more,” she said taking several steps back. “The contract ended the moment the plane flew off and my friends didn't turn up."

"Yet you were happy to
play
, sweetheart,” Marco drawled.

Carly's face bleached of color.

Just then, he felt the buzz of his mobile hidden in his jacket pocket. A slow smile spread across his face.

Revenge is often sweet, so they say. Pulling it from his pocket, he flicked it open.

"I'm here,” he said.

Carly stared at him. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. He searched her face, waiting, keeping his stance rigid, knowing she would attack.

She didn't disappoint him. “You had a phone all along,” she accused jabbing an index finger at his chest. “I asked you the day we arrived, Marco Valente, if you had one. You said no."

Marco looked away, aware of a definite stain of heat beneath his skin.

"At least you have the decency to look guilty,” she chastised.

He snorted, uncomfortable with her accurate barb. “Do you think a phone would have improved the situation?"

"Of course."

"How? We would have gotten off the island and you could have worked your butt off, instead of enjoying four days. I made a decision. You said you wanted to escape to paradise with your friends."

"My friends weren't there, remember?"

"Was it so bad? Didn't you enjoy yourself?"

Carly's lips pursed into a thin disapproving line.

"Okay,” he shrugged, refusing to acknowledge the hint of guilt assuaging him. “So I lied. I'm not sorry."

Yes you are. That's why you feel guilty.

"Tell me one thing, Marco, since I didn't hear it ring while we were on the island, I presume you deliberately kept it on silent. Did you?” she challenged.

Marco nodded and Carly's breath escaped in one long hiss. “If there is one thing I hate, it's a liar and a cheat,” she accused.

"What are you complaining about,
cara
?"

"Don't you
cara
me, buster."

"You got what you wanted. Don't complain."

Carly shivered. “Wanted? How the heck do you know what I wanted?"

A slow smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Oh,
cara mia
, I know. Your body told me."

"Trust you to bring it down to sex."

"It wasn't just sex. It was desire. Blatant, scorching, and flagrantly hot sex,” he said watching with triumph as a blush traveled the curve of her delicious neck. “It was more than good, you can't deny it."

Carly's eyes widened.

"See, you can't, can you?” he reiterated. He sure couldn't. It had been pure heat. Sizzling, mind numbing, and unforgettable. But despite the ring of truth, Marco felt a sadness and disappointment that everything had come down to this.

A play of emotions crossed Carly's sweet face and she let out a world-weary sigh. “You lied to me, Marco. Now you reduce it to sex."

"No,
cara.
You do that by handing me money."

"I always keep my promises."

"All very admirable, but I don't need your money. I have my own, plenty of it."

Just then a white stretch limousine rounded the corner and pulled up beside them. A black-suited driver with a crisp white shirt and dark tie exited and held open one of the rear doors. He nodded toward Marco. Now the truth would be out.

For the second time in as few a minutes, Carly's mouth gaped in astonishment. “What does that man want?"

"He wants me,” Marco stated tonelessly.

"You?” Carly looked from the driver and back to Marco, an unspoken question in her eyes.

"
Si
, he is my driver."

"But you ride a bike. That rattle trap Moto Guzzi or whatever it's called."

"I do. For a hobby, to relax and unwind."

"What are you talking about? This doesn't make any sense. You wear black leather."

Marco couldn't hold back a smile. “You judge a book by its cover, isn't that what they say in English? I ride a bike. I wear leathers.” He shrugged. “The car is also mine."

"It is?"

Marco watched Carly with the intensity of a hawk.

"Don't,” she demanded.

"Don't what?"

"Look at me like that. You make me feel as if you're dissecting me."

"I'm sorry, but it's very difficult not to admire a beautiful woman."

"Enough, Marco. Forget it. The car? What about it? Another lie?"

"No,
cara
. The truth. I'm a wealthy man.” Then without another word, he spun on his heels, and headed for the limousine.

"Where are you going?"

Half in the car, Marco halted and faced her. Once again the mask was back in place. Carly's fingers itched to slap it right off.

"I have a meeting. You have your car?"

She nodded, then felt panic at the thought of him walking out of her life. “Wait! So, um, this is it then?"

Marco shrugged. “That's life,
cara
. We've had our fun."

Anger at his callous and casual attitude made her voice sharper than she intended. “How dare you!"

"Oh, but I do dare, Carly Mason."

"Don't use that come hither bedroom voice of yours.” But if she thought she could deflect him, she was mistaken as his gaze traveled in a slow and deliberate fashion, raking her from head to foot, stripping her naked in broad daylight.

"You got what you wanted. You didn't want me when you thought me penniless, now you ask me to wait,
cara
, when you see me differently?” he derided. “Forget it. I'm not for sale."

"And I'm not buying,” she shot back, standing her ground as prickles of sweat beaded between her breasts. She stared directly at him. She wouldn't look away, wouldn't kowtow to this man. “I didn't ask for a liar or a cheat, Mr. Valente. My father was one of those. I don't need another in my life."

Marco's tongue made a clicking sound, the corners of his mouth turning downwards, lips in a thin sneer. “So, our deal is done. You got your four days of play."

For a moment silence hung between them and Carly struggled, and failed, to douse the longing she felt for him, or find a suitable response.

Marco burst into a deep-throated laugh. “I see."

"What's so funny?” she bristled.

"Now you see I am not just a poor motorcyclist, you want marriage. You think to tempt me. The temptation is strong
cara
,” he said, letting his gaze linger on her, “but not for marriage."

Carly's jaw dropped. “Marriage to you? You must be joking.” How wrong could he be? Money wasn't her elixir, but lust was. Marco Valente was.

It's only dinner, Mason. How difficult is that?

"I...” She wanted to tell him to wait, to explain. She never got the chance.

"
Si
. It's a joke,” he agreed interrupting her silent internal argument. “Marriage is definitely not on offer."

Thank God, she had said nothing. Hadn't pleaded. Carly crossed her arms across her chest as tangled fingers of humiliation clawed at her heart and soul. She lifted her chin and gave Marco what she hoped was a chilling stare. “Good, because I'm not interested. Marriage to you Mr. Valente would be hell on earth and hell is not on my To Do list."