Hiring Cupid (7 page)

Her head whipped up and she stared at him wide eyed, lips parted. It set his body into overload once more.

"You're lips are for kissing and your body made for loving."

A strangulated choke escaped her lips. She looked—frightened. “You know the deal, Mr. Valente,” she said, her tone thick with a concoction of fear and formality. “I'm not sleeping with you, Marco. There are separate rooms. I expect you to be honorable."

"Deals can be broken,” he suggested.

"You are joking—aren't you?"

He wished he were, but he realized as soon as he'd said the words, he meant them. Totally. His body told him. Heat coursed through his veins as the more than fleeting thought of sleeping with Carly lit his brain like fireworks on bon fire night.

"For forty-eight hours I've wondered what it would be like to make love with you. Feel your body under mine, touching, tasting. Filling you..."

"Enough,” Carly screeched and jumped up. Her cup toppled to the sand and at the same time the wail of an owl fluttering overhead brought Marco crashing to his senses. He shouldn't tease her. He wasn't some uncouth youth unable to control himself. He choked back an oath and sucked in a steadying breath.

"Carly?"

But it was too late. He'd scared her off; she'd scuttled to her own bedroom, leaving him alone and his body on fire for what he couldn't have.

So much for bedtime! Sleep eluded Marco as it had the previous night and the reason was exactly the same.

Carly.

Carly with eyes so somber and so sad at times he wanted to hold her and tell her everything would be all right. His reaction was an anomaly he couldn't understand. He wasn't acting like the Marco Valente he knew himself to be. That Marco was business first and pleasure second, with no room for relationships.

The fact that she lay on the other side of his bedroom wall was in no way soothing. He was wired and every microscopic sound reverberated in his ears ten-fold. Playing Romeo was a lot harder than he expected. Groaning he turned onto his side and tossed aside the coverlet. His skin prickled from the soft ocean breeze wafting through the window.

Good.

Perhaps a little chill would tame his libido. But as the crescendo of the crashing waves with their age old rhythm drifted up from the foreshore he cursed, mouthing the worst Italian could he think of. He rolled onto his stomach and shoved the pillow over his head and tried to drown out all sound.

Minutes ticked passed and he rolled over again. It wasn't working. Besides, who was he trying to kid? It had nothing to do with the beach, the waves, or even the constant chorus of cicadas as they rubbed their back legs. It was Carly. Carly with the lustrous hair that tantalized him so relentlessly; he wanted to wind his fingers through it and let it drape across his bare skin. Carly with the long, sleek legs that were every man's fantasy—especially his.

"Sh...” he cursed into the darkness. It was no good. Sleep was impossible. Giving up, he hauled himself out of bed. Perhaps a swim would knock some sense into him.

Some hope. But he'd try anything to expunge the vision of auburn tresses and legs from heaven from his brain.

He hadn't gone more than a few metres when a whispered breath caught him unawares. “Who's there?"

"It's me,” he answered. “What are you doing out here?” Marco stepped up close and froze. Carly was wearing the skimpiest of nightdresses. A baby doll number that was enticing and yet innocent all at once.

He gulped. Under the shards of the silvery night sky, her attire was as sexy as hell and outlined every curve, every nuance, molding to the crest of her breasts. Who needed lace and silk, when white cotton and Carly were combined? The vision was as alluring as anything he'd ever seen.

A shy smile lit her face. “I couldn't sleep."

"Must be the sea air. Too much of a good thing."

"Mm.” Her gaze returned to the ocean, while his was held captive by the siren in front of him.

Moonbeams swept across the sky and over the peak of the waves making them glitter while the stars appeared like icy diamonds in the inky blackness. Every few minutes the beacon from the lighthouse scanned the horizon, then disappeared. As it vanished from view Carly shivered.

"Here, let me.” Marco pulled her to him, exhaling as she leaned into his chest. He wrapped her in the circle of his arms and held her close. His body tightened as the tangle of her glorious amber locks scraped across his bare chest and lit a fire so deep and so raw within him, he thought he might explode.

"That better?” he finally managed to ask.

She nodded.

He was thankful she wasn't in one of her bantering moods because he didn't think he could string more than two syllables together, let alone a sentence.

Dipping his head, his lips trailed across the soft strands of her hair and he inhaled the heady scent he had come to recognize as hers. Lavender and roses, a combination as old fashioned as it was intoxicating.

Time stood still. Lost in his own world, he could only feel. And it felt damn good. The rise and fall of her breasts swelling against the cotton drugged him, catching him in a web of need. His body was on fire, hungry for hers.

"I should get some sleep.” Carly's soft voice interrupted Marco's wild dreams and thrust him back to reality. He dropped his hands and she stepped from him. The emptiness swallowed him whole.

"Sleep would be good,” he agreed. It was an outright lie. Sleep was impossible. What he really wanted was to keep her here at his side. To touch her, taste, feel. Blood surged in his veins. His body was awake with an urgent, burning and absolute desire he'd never felt before.

But without a backward glance Carly walked away and he could only stand and watch, mesmerized by the sensual sway of her buttocks beneath the filmy nightdress. His groin swelled in protest and he bit back a groan. Right now any sort of oblivion would be better than the war his body waged.

Marco desperately wanted to follow her.

He didn't.

Instead, he turned and stared numbly out across the ocean with his brain cells in a go-slow mood. It suited him just fine. That way he didn't have to feel, or think.

Huh! Who was he kidding? Carly was so very much under his skin—and it itched like hell.

She'd survived day one.

Carly snuggled beneath the bed covers as daylight filtered through the lace panel undulating in the breeze at the open window. She wondered what would day two bring. And day three, and four?

More of the same?

She hoped—for what?

Hoped not?

A light tap at her door interrupted her musings and when Marco entered her heartbeat upped a notch and her senses came suddenly alive.

"Breakfast madam.” He held a tray; a bud of hibiscus lay to one side beside a cup of steaming hot coffee and plate of toast and jam. The rich and intoxicating fertile aroma of the toasted coffee beans yanked Carly instantly awake, the pungency making her nostrils flare. She sat up, aware at the same time of where she was and hauled the bed cover up under her chin.

"You didn't have to do this,” she said, annoyed her cheeks heated automatically.

Marco acknowledged her blush with a slight upward flick at the corner of his mouth, an action that sent the blood surging through her veins and made her bones melt. Her own lips were as parched as the desert and it wasn't because she was thirsty—well, at least not for water.

"Perhaps not, but as your genie, it is my honor to serve you."

"Honor, now that's a word you don't hear too often these days.

"Honor is a lost commodity."

"Is honor important to you?” she questioned

"Honor in life, in business. Family. These are important things."

"You've never mentioned your family,” she intervened, hoping he might hint at his past. So far she knew absolutely zilch.

"My family is a confused affair,” he said, not offering anything more. “Eat your breakfast,
cara mia
, we have a busy day."

"Sounds promising."

Framed by the door, he turned to her. “Was yesterday so terrible? Do you need to bury yourself in the sand with your laptop?"

"No ... I,” she stuttered. “Once I'd gotten over the shock of being alone with a virtual stranger—correction complete stranger,” she said, giving him a tentative smile only to have her pulse lurch when his brows rose in tandem and he winked at her. She coughed and cleared her throat. “Actually, it turned out to be a rather nice day,” she agreed.

"Nice?"

"Yes, nice. Is there something wrong with nice?"

Marco laughed and gave her a teasing smile. “We fly on my magic carpet to an island paradise, I indulge your fantasies, and you call it
nice
."

Fantasy
—
if only he knew.

"Once I decided to give in, rather than fight it, I did begin to enjoy myself."

"That's a relief to this genie's ears. To think it was only
nice
, would destroy the myth of this genie,” he chuckled, slapping a hand across his heart in mock horror.

"Well we can't have that.” Carly tossed the bed covers back, forgetting her barely there nightdress until it was too late, but when she caught the momentary flicker of boldly assessing awareness in his gaze before he looked away, she faltered, then decided to brazen it out. “So what have you planned?"

"Eat, put some clothes on,” he instructed. “Then see what the day holds."

"Great.” She shot him a smile. “Now get out of here. Can't have a genie in the boudoir too long. I need to dress."

Placing her palms firmly on his shoulders she turned him around and gave him a playful pat on the derrière.

He left pronto, and her gaze followed him out of her bedroom, focusing on that way too cute butt of his.

Oh boy, big mistake.

Heat scalded every inch of Carly's body and when she glanced down to her open hand, she was surprised there wasn't a burn mark on it where her fingers had touched his taut jean-clad derrière.

"Don't touch what you can't afford,” she muttered to herself.

This was bad. Very bad.

She slammed the bedroom door shut and retreated to dress. She had better get her head around this before day two began.

"Pure bliss,” Carly drooled as she took the last step onto the patio.

"You deserved a good day."

And it had been. Her genie had seen to that. Relaxing by the shore, swimming. Marco peeling the exotic fruit, feeding her. All the things a genie should do. The weather had been perfect, the day perfect. Which surprised her. Carly hadn't expected to enjoy her time here. She was focused. Centered. But somehow, Marco had wiped the slate clean and she hadn't thought about work all day.

She turned to face her genie. “It has been a lovely day. Thank you."

Marco bowed low. “My pleasure."

Pleasure. Pure pleasure. Suddenly, her tongue thickened and she struggled to speak. “You're good company,” she finally managed to say.

He leaned against the railing, eyes narrowed, shading from the glaring late afternoon sun. “You sound as if you're surprised."

"No. It's just...” Carly sucked in a lung full of air, exhaling with a loud sigh. “Let's face it, we didn't exactly know each other before this, um..."

"Experiment,” he suggested.

Embarrassed, she looked away.

"The trouble is no one is going to know about it, and more importantly, your friends won't even know the mystery man turned up."

"No. I was thinking about that. I thought maybe I could say Mr. Invisible and I had a row."

"A row?"

"We'll have a blazing argument and I'll tell my friends Mr. Invisible was really a big jerk and I tossed him."

"A jerk? You're going to dump me?” Marco's voice held a hint of astonishment.

Surprised at his reaction, Carly took a sideways glance at his inscrutable face and her heart did a gigantic flip. She wished she knew what he was thinking, but one look at the ever-changing color of Marco's eyes only served to augment her mounting urge to bolt. With every passing hour she was increasingly out of her depth.

But something, whatever it was, held her back. Besides, swimming to the mainland wasn't an option in paradise.

"Not you exactly,” she corrected, “but my so called mystery man."

"That is me. A man has his pride,
cara mia
,” he said, placing his hand over his heart. “You're going to dump me?” he reiterated.

Carly's head tilted sideways, biting her bottom lip “Well It's not really you. I mean, you came, but it could have been a thousand other men."

"A thousand. That's rather unique. I didn't know you'd interviewed a thousand."

"I didn't."

"Good, I'm glad to hear it."

"You are?"

"Competition is good, but a thousand other men. Even I know the odds,” he chuckled.

Wordless, Carly stared at her hired Romeo. Even if there were a hundred thousand other men, she reasoned, Marco would have won hands down. That particular thought shocked Carly and she began to tremble, overtaken by a light-headedness.

"You all right?” Marco reached for her hand, holding it in his. Touch to touch, skin on skin, his thumb stroking a path across her palm. He laced his fingers through hers and gently massaged her hand.

Once again words hung in her throat as she stared down at her own pale hand dotted with the sun's kisses, resting in the broad expanse of his. His touch was surprisingly soft, a caress, slow and languorous, a hypnotizing motion that teased and soundlessly promised more.

Carly blinked several times and pulled herself roughly out of Marco's grasp.
That was enough of those wayward thoughts, Ms. Mason
, she chided silently. This was getting ridiculous.

Vainly, she tried to steady her shaking hands and shoved them behind her back as if it would hide the heat Marco's touch ignited. “I'm fine,” she lied, keeping her face averted. Marco had a way of seeing into her thoughts, her soul, and she wasn't going to fall into that trap. “I need some time alone, that's all."

"You want to run away again,
cara mia
."

"Don't be ridiculous."