Living the Charade (9 page)

CHAPTER NINE

M
ILLER
smiled and gazed around TJ’s large living room. It held twice as many guests as it was intended to house, and absently she thought she felt as if she had just stepped into the pages of
The Great Gatsby
.

TJ’s fiftieth birthday celebrations were in full swing and seemingly a roaring success: elegant women and debonair men were conversing and laughing with unbridled joy as if their lives were truly as beautiful as the party they were now attending. Some were already dancing to TJ’s eighties-inspired music, while others had taken their beverages outside and were soaking up the balmy night, absently batting at the annoying insects that darted around as if they were trying to zap someone.

It was a crowd Valentino fitted right in with—especially dressed as he was now, in an ice-blue shirt that hugged his wide shoulders and showcased his amazing eyes, and tailored pants that hung perfectly from his lean hips.

‘You look like you’re at a funeral,’ the man of the moment murmured wryly, his breath warm against her temple.

Miller sniffed in acknowledgement of his comment. She
felt
as if she was at a funeral. Ever since they’d returned from the park she had felt edgy and stressed at her sudden attack of blabbermouth. Trying to turn the tables on him had been a dismal failure. As soon as she’d asked about him he’d sprung up from the table as if an ant had crawled into his jeans.

‘I’m boring,’ he’d said, which loosely translated to
conversation closed
.

It had almost been a race to see who made it back to the car first. But he must have sensed her childish hurt at his rebuff because he’d glanced at her when they were in the car.

‘Everything you could possibly want to know about me is on the internet.’

She’d scoffed. ‘The internet tells me superficial stuff, like how many races you’ve won and how many hearts you’ve broken.’

He’d seemed to get annoyed at that. ‘As I told Caruthers, if I had slept with as many women as the media proclaim I’d have hardly had enough time to enter a race let alone win one. In fact, I rarely take up with a woman during racing season, and if I do it’s very short lived.’

Take up
? Could he have used a more dissociative term?

‘Why? Because you bore easily?’

‘There is that. But, no, I usually don’t allow a woman to hang around long enough to bore me. Basically women want more attention than I’m prepared to give them, so if I indulge it’s usually only for a night or two.’

‘That’s pretty shallow.’

He’d shrugged. ‘Not if the woman is after the same thing.’

‘And how many are?’

‘Not enough, it’s true. Most want more—hence my moratorium on limiting those intimacies during the season.’

‘To make sure you don’t have to contend with any broken hearts that might wreck your concentration?’ she’d said churlishly.

He’d smiled as if he hadn’t heard her censure. ‘Not much can wreck my concentration, Sunshine, but a whiny woman can certainly do damage to a man’s eardrums.’

‘No more than your whiny cars,’ she’d shot back pithily. But then she’d grown curious. ‘Don’t you ever want more?’

‘Racing gives me everything I need,’ he’d said.

His unwavering confidence had pushed her to probe further. ‘So have you ever been in love?’

‘Sure.’ He’d glanced over at her and Miller remembered holding her breath. ‘My first love was a bright red 1975 Maserati Bora.’

‘Be serious,’ she’d said, and that had made his eyes become hooded, his expression blank.

‘The love you’re talking about isn’t on my radar, Miller.’

‘Ever?’

‘Let’s just say I’ll never marry while I’m racing, and I’ve yet to meet a woman who excites me enough to make me give it up.’ His flat tone had turned grim. ‘Love is painful. When you lose someone...’ He’d stopped, collected himself. ‘I won’t do that to another person.’

Another person or himself? Miller wondered now, sensing that part of his emotional aloofness was just a way of protecting himself from pain. His words hovered heavily in her mind, almost like a warning.

Determined the best thing she could do for herself was to forget the whole afternoon, Miller sipped at TJ’s finest vintage champagne and focused on the tiny bubbles of heaven that spilled across her tongue.

‘What did you say?’ Valentino’s low voice caused the champagne bubbles to disperse to other parts of her body and she opened her eyes to find him staring at her mouth.

‘I didn’t say anything.’

‘You...’ His gaze lifted to her eyes. ‘You murmured something.’

Miller’s mouth went dry and she was more determined than ever to crush the physical effect he had on her. ‘Just remember that tonight I need you to be totally circumspect and professional. Discreet.’

What she was really saying was that she didn’t want him to touch her, and he knew it.

‘Like the other patsies you date?’

‘I do not date patsies,’ she said, wondering how it was that he managed to push all her buttons so easily.

‘Sure you do. You date men who are learned, PC at all times, and...
controllable
.’

His assessment annoyed her all the more because she knew if she
did
date she’d look for someone just like that—except for the controllable bit. You didn’t have to control
nice
men.

‘While
you
hunt out blondes with big breasts and an IQ that wouldn’t challenge a glowworm,’ she replied sweetly.

He paused, and Miller was just congratulating herself on getting the last word in when he said, ‘She doesn’t have to be blonde.’

His slow smile was a signal for her to back off before she got sucked under again.

‘And anything more—’

‘Don’t say it,’ she admonished peevishly. ‘I’ll only be disappointed.’

His soft laugh confirmed that he knew he had the upper hand, and Miller determinedly faced the crowded room, searching for any distraction. She heard Valentino let out a long, slow breath and wondered if he was annoyed with her.

‘How about we call a truce, Miller?’

‘A truce?’

‘Yeah. And I don’t mean the kind of pact the settlers made with the aborigines before marching them off the edge of a cliff. I mean a proper one. Friends?’

Friends?
He wanted to be friends and she couldn’t stop thinking about sex. Great.

She took another fortifying gulp of champagne and could have been drinking his motor oil for all the pleasure it now gave her. ‘Sure.’

‘Good.’

God, this was awful, and he hadn’t called her
Sunshine
in hours. What was
wrong
with her?

Miller was saved from the tumultuous nature of her thoughts when TJ, his barrel chest bedecked in a white tuxedo jacket, approached.

‘Miller. You look lovely tonight.’

Miller’s smile was tight. She didn’t look lovely at all. She looked boring in her long sleeved black blouse and matching suit pants. She hadn’t brought a single provocative item of clothing this weekend because she had no wish to encourage TJ’s attention. And possibly because she didn’t actually own anything remotely provocative. It had been a long time since she had spent money on clothing for anything other than work or exercise.

‘Thank you.’ She responded to the comment as she was expected to and, with civilities attended to, TJ turned to Valentino—the latest object of his fickle affections.

‘Maverick. I have someone who’s been dying to meet you.’

Miller tried to smile as the famous supermodel Janelle, clothed in a clinging nude-coloured chiffon creation, stepped out from behind TJ and extended her elegant hand.

A sort of mini-dramatic entrance, Miller thought sourly. Which was a little unfair, because by all accounts the model was not only considered the most beautiful woman on the planet, but the nicest as well. And she looked sweetly nervous as Valentino’s large hand engulfed hers.

‘Mr Ventura...’

Janelle’s awed exhalation promised sexual antics in the bedroom Miller had only ever fantasised about—and with the man now staring at the supermodel no less.

‘This is Janelle,’ TJ continued. ‘Latest sensation to hit the New York runways. But I don’t have to tell
you
that. You probably have her photo up on your garage wall.’ He guffawed at his own tasteless humour and then seemed to remember his audience. ‘No disrespect, Miller.’

‘None taken,’ Miller lied smoothly. Because what she really wanted to say would jeopardise everything she had worked so hard for.

She felt Valentino tense beside her and wondered if he wasn’t experiencing some sort of extreme physical reaction to the beautiful blonde. Every other man in the room seemed to be.

‘Janelle.’ Valentino smiled and slowly released her hand.

God, they looked perfect together
. Her blonde to his dark.

Feeling like a poor cousin next to the stunning model Miller excused herself and left the men to ogle Janelle alone. No need to be a glutton for punishment.

She’d veered off from her decoy destination of the bathroom and made it to the glass bi-fold doors leading outside when Dexter appeared at her side.

‘You know, Dexter, I don’t know if I can go another round with you,’ Miller said with bald honesty.

It was another balmy, star-filled night and she just wanted fresh air and peace.

He had the grace to look uncomfortable. ‘I read some of the ideas you put down this afternoon. They’re good.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘The only thing bothering me with that comment is that you seem to have expected something less.’

He tugged at the collar on his shirt. ‘Can we talk?’

Resignation settled like a brick in her stomach and she extended her hand towards the deck. Might as well fulfil the fresh air component of her plan at least.

‘By all means.’

Dexter walked ahead of her, but when he made to continue down the steps towards the more secluded Japanese garden Miller stayed him. ‘Here’s fine.’

She had no wish to recall the heady kiss she had shared with Valentino the night before any more than she already had. Not with Dexter around anyway.

Winding around various partygoers, Miller found a quiet part of the deck and turned to face him. ‘What did you want to say?’

‘Firstly, I wanted to apologise for being such an a-hole in the meeting earlier today. My intention was only to stop you from getting hurt.’

Miller felt a sense of unease prickle the skin along her cheekbones. ‘I’ve noticed that you haven’t seemed yourself lately,’ she ventured. ‘Is something going on with Carly again?’

‘No, no. That’s well and truly over.’ He gripped the wooden railing and seemed absorbed by the whiteness of his knuckles.

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Even though she had never met Dexter’s wife, Miller hated to hear of the end of any marriage.

Dexter jerked back and flexed his hands before catching her eye. ‘Come on, Miller. Surely you know what this is about?’

Miller stared at him. Shook her head. ‘No.’ But she did know, didn’t she? Ruby and Valentino had already warned her...

‘Okay, if you want me to spell it out I will.’ He seemed slightly nervous. ‘Us.’

‘Us?’ Miller knew her voice had become shrill with alarm.

He nodded, clearly warming to his subject. ‘Or more specifically the chemistry between us.’

‘Chemistry?’

‘I want you, Miller. There’s been something between us since the moment we met.’

He held his hand up and silenced her attempt to save them both any further embarrassment.

‘I know you don’t want to acknowledge it because we work together, but you know I’ve felt like this since university. My coming to work for Oracle six months ago has just made those feelings deepen. And, yes, I know what you’re going to say.’ He stopped her again. ‘I’m your superior and office affairs don’t work. But I know of plenty that have and I’m willing to risk it.’

Miller was speechless, and barely noticed when he took her hand in his. ‘I’ve been behaving like an idiot this weekend because I haven’t wanted to accept that you’re really dating that pretty boy inside. Okay, I can see the appeal. But we both know it won’t last, and I’m not prepared to hold my breath and wait around for it to fizzle out.’

‘That’s too bad, Caruthers. I would have enjoyed seeing you atrophy.’

Miller jumped at the sound of Valentino’s deep, modulated voice and so did Dexter. She glanced up and was once again taken aback by the cold glint in his eyes—a stormy-grey under the soft external lights.

He looked relaxed as he regarded Dexter:
preternaturally
relaxed. In this mode she could easily see why he was going for his eighth world championship. The shock was in the fact that other drivers had dared go up against him in the first place.

Miller saw Dexter’s chest puff out in a classic testosterone-fuelled gesture and was horrified that he might cause a scene. Because right now Valentino looked as if he wanted to chew Dexter up and spit him out sideways.

‘You don’t have ownership rights here, Ventura.’

Ownership rights?
Miller’s gaze swung back to Dexter. What was she? A car?

‘Let her go,’ Valentino ordered quietly, his eyes never straying from Dexter’s.

Miller realised Dexter was still holding her hand and tugged it free, wondering why it was that only French champagne and Valentino’s touch seemed to make her insides fizz with excitement.

‘Miller is her own boss,’ Dexter opined.

Now,
that
was more like it.

‘Miller is mine.’ Valentino’s soft growl was full of menace.

The immediate warmth that stole through her system at his possessive words threw Miller off-balance. How many times had she imagined her father riding in on a white charger and restoring her torn world to rights again? To have Valentino stand up for her was...disconcerting. Unnerving.
Exhilarating.

Dexter was the first to break eye contact in the stag competition going on, and Miller couldn’t blame him. Even though he was cleanly shaven, Valentino, at least in this mood, was not a man you would cross. He was like a lethal warrior of old who would not only win, but would take no prisoners either.