Out of Hours...Boardroom Seductions: One-Night Mistress...Convenient Wife / Innocent in the Italian's Possession / Hot Boss, Wicked Nights. Anne Oliver
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harsh and he jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
Then she did stare. “What?”
“I’m not expecting you to sleep with me. This is not that kind of trip.”
“Don’t get any ideas, you mean?” Natalie raised a brow.
He shrugged. “You don’t have any, do you? Of course you don’t. You proved it. That’s why I can ask you.”
Hoist on her own petard.
“For a week, Nat. That’s all. I’ll pay you.”
Her jaw snapped shut. “You will not pay me!”
“Well, it’s business. But, fine. I won’t. I just…please. You’ll make an old—”
“If you say, I’ll make an old woman happy, I’ll stuff a sock down your throat!”
A corner of his mouth twitched. But he shrugged. “Okay, I won’t say it. How about, you’ll make me happy?”
“Oh, and I desperately want to make you happy, don’t I?” she retorted sarcastically.
He didn’t answer, just waited her out. And there wasn’t enough time in the world for her to muster enough common sense and self-preservation to say no.
She drew a sharp breath, knowing herself to be a fool. Nothing had changed after all. “Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll do it. But only because Sophy keeps telling me to take a vacation.”
“We leave on Tuesday.” Christo grinned, triumphant. But in his eyes Natalie could still see the haunted, worried look beneath it.
He gave her a ring.
They were standing at the airport, waiting to board the plane and all of a sudden he fished in his pocket and took out a small black velvet box.
Natalie stared at it as if it were a rattler about to strike. “What’s that?” she demanded, sure it was exactly what she hoped it was not.
Christo flipped open the box. It was. A perfect diamond solitaire. Very spare and elegant. Not a rock, but not minuscule either. Exactly the sort of ring Christo would give a woman he was going to marry—if Christo were going to marry anyone. Which he wasn’t.
“You said we weren’t going to lie!”
“It’s not a lie.”
“What? It’s a prop?”
He shrugged. “If you will, yes.” He looked exasperated. “Look. Just wear it, will you? Consider it part of the uniform.”
He held it out to put on her finger, and she scowled, but finally stuck her hand out. “It probably won’t fit anyway,” she muttered. She had big hands, not the delicate ones men always seemed to expect.
“It will,” Christo said confidently.
And damn it, he was right. It slid on and fit perfectly. Natalie stared at the ring glittering on her finger and felt a sinking desperation somewhere deep inside. She started to tremble.
“How did you—?” she began, but couldn’t even finish.
“I asked your mother your ring size.”
Her gaze jerked up and she stared at him, horrified. “You asked my mother? What size ring I wear? Are you crazy? What on earth will she think?” Oh, God. It didn’t even bear thinking about!
“What will she think? The truth. She asked, and I told her the truth.”
“That you were hiring me to be your…fiancée?”
He shrugged. “She knows about my grandmother. She’s met her. She understood.”
She did? And what had she thought about Natalie being his choice for fake fiancée? Had she wondered why? If so, she hadn’t asked.
She hadn’t called her daughter, either, though Natalie couldn’t quite imagine her mother being as sanguine as Christo thought she was. But then, she had to have known since at least yesterday for him to have bought a ring. And Laura hadn’t called and tried to talk her out of it.
Was her mother expecting something to come of it? Dear God, what a mess.
“This is going to be a disaster,” Natalie said with quiet certainty.
“No, it won’t,” Christo said. “It will be fine. It has to be fine,” he added fiercely.
The line was moving now. They were edging toward the plane, and as they moved, Natalie twisted the ring on her finger and was excruciatingly aware of Christo’s hand lightly touching her back.
It was easy to spot Lucia Azevedo when they’d reached the baggage-claim area. She was the small, birdlike woman whose pale face simply lit up at the sight of Christo. She crossed the space that separated them in seconds and wrapped Christo in a fierce hug, then stepped back to regard Natalie with an intent gaze.
“So you are my Christo’s lady?” Her voice was a bit reserved as she offered her hand, which Natalie took. Her fingers were thin and bony, but warm, and Natalie felt determined strength in them as they pressed hers.
“I’m so happy to meet you, Senhora Azevedo,” Natalie said, and though she felt a twinge of guilt at the way she was doing it, she meant every word. Ever since she’d heard the stories Christo had told Jamii, she had wanted to meet this woman who meant so much to him.
“Call me Lucia,” his grandmother said.
“Lucia,” Natalie repeated dutifully. “Thank you for inviting me. And thank you, Senhor Azevedo,” she said to the man who stood fidgeting in the background.
He had stayed back until his mother had finished greeting Christo and Natalie, as if he knew who really mattered to Christo. But now he embraced his son and clapped him on the back, then kissed Natalie on both cheeks.
“Xanti,” he corrected her. “Senhor Azevedo makes me sound like my father. Dead.”
“Beloved,” his mother corrected firmly, slapping his arm lightly. “And deeply missed.”
“Sim. And not replaceable. So I am Xanti,” her son said just as firmly, taking her hand in his.
Xantiago Azevedo was in his mid fifties now, but unlike many men his age he had retained the lithe, lean, soccer player’s build he must have had in his prime. He wasn’t as broad-shouldered as Christo, nor as handsome in Natalie’s estimation, but she could see instantly that Xanti’s quicksilver grin would always have appealed to the ladies. And there was a twinkle in his green eyes, which were much more devilish than his serious son’s.
“Where’s Katia?” Christo asked his father now.
Katia was the bride. But more than that Natalie hadn’t discovered.
“I’ve met her once or twice,” Christo had said. “She’s young. Beautiful. The sort Xanti always goes for. Not much older than me.” There was a mixture of doubt and censure in his tone. He looked around now, but apparently didn’t see her. He looked quizzically at his father.
Xanti laughed and shrugged. “Running around like a chicken,” he said, shaking his head as he hoisted one of the suitcases Christo had taken off the luggage turntable and led the way out the door. “She has so much to do before the wedding. Me, I don’t know what is so important.”
“I know,” his mother said imperiously. “The wedding is important. She wants it to be perfect.”
Christo rolled his eyes at that comment, but fortunately his grandmother didn’t see him. She was focused on walking as they went out of the terminal. Her gait was slow and not terribly steady. Natalie slowed her pace to match and offered Christo’s grandmother her arm for support.
“Maybe your father could bring the car and meet your grandmother and me here?” she called to Christo who, laden with two