He stopped outside her door. Her toes curled. She licked her fork clean quickly and pushed away from the small table. Her shoes? Where had she ditched them before digging into her meal?
The door swung open.
Time had run out so she stayed seated, tucking her bare feet underneath the chair. Duarte filled the open frame to her room, blocking out the world behind him, reminding her that they were completely alone with each other and the memory of one unforgettable kiss. She straightened with as much nonchalance as she could, given her heart pumped as fast as a rapid-shot camera.
“Supper is to your liking?” He draped his tuxedo coat over the back of a carved mahogany chair.
“It’s amazing and you know it.” She wished she could take a slice of the cake to Jennifer.
“You were hungry.” He loosened his tie.
Her heart stuttered. “How about you keep your pants on this time, cowboy.”
“Whatever makes you happy, my dear.”
Smiling, he slid the tie from his collar slowly, a sleigh bed with a fluffy comforter warm and inviting behind him. Then he stopped across from her at the intimate table for two, complete with silver and roses. Thank heaven he was still clothed—for the most part.
She placed her fork precisely along the top of her dessert china, the gold-rimmed pattern gleaming in the candlelight. “My compliments to your chef.”
“I’ll let him know.” He scooped up her cut crystal glass of untasted wine and swirled the red vintage along the sides. “I have to confess, it’s refreshing to hear a woman admit to appreciating a full dinner rather than models who starve themselves.” He eyed her over the top of the Waterford goblet. “Eating can be a sensual experience.”
Just the way he lingered over the word sensual with the slightest hint of an exotic accent made her mouth go moist. She swallowed hard and reminded herself to gather as much information as possible for future articles. While her primary job focused on taking the photos, an inside scoop could only help sell those shots.
This time with Duarte wasn’t about her. She was here for her job, for her sister. “You don’t strike me as the sort to overindulge when the dinner bell clangs. You seem very self-disciplined.”
“How so?” He tipped back the glass.
She watched his throat work with a long swallow, his every move precise. “I would peg you as a health-food nut, a workout fiend.”
“Do you have a problem with a sweaty round in the gym?”
“I don’t love it, but I adore food more than I dislike exercise. So I log a few miles on a stationary bike when I can.” Wait, how had this suddenly become about her when she was determined to learn more about him?
“You need to stay in shape for scaling ledges.” He tapped the rim of his glass to her water goblet, right over the spot where her mouth had rested. The ting of crystal against crystal resonated through her. “You said you saw me on security footage before I ever entered your room. What if those tapes of me crawling around outside somehow leak to the media? Won’t that shoot a hole in our engagement story? And what about the part I played in exposing your half sister?”
“About the balcony incident, we’ll blame it on the paparazzi chasing you out of your room. As for Alys, we can always say you let it slip at work.” He dropped into the chair across from her, lean and long, his power harnessed but humming.
“What’s to stop me from claiming any of that if you decide to use the video feed against me?”
“Do you think I’ve revealed all the ammunition in my arsenal?” He turned the glass on the table, the thin stem so fragile in his hand.
“Are you trying to worry me?” She refused to be intimidated.
His breathing stayed even, but his eyes narrowed. “Only letting you know I play at an entirely different level than anyone you’ve ever come up against. I have to. The stakes are higher.”
“I don’t know about that.” An image of Jennifer’s smile when she’d passed over the braided anklet filled Kate’s mind. “My stakes feel pretty high to me.”
He set aside his drink and reached back into his tux jacket. His hand came back with a computer disc in a case. He slid it across the table toward her. “Copies of the photos from your camera and from my own press team for you to share with the Intruder.”
“All of my photos?” she asked with surprise—and skepticism.
“Most of your photos.” The hard angles of his face creased into a half smile. “You can pass these along to your editor. If he questions why you’re still speaking to him when you have a rich fiancé, tell him that we want to control the release of information and as long as he plays nice, the flow will continue. I’ll have a laptop computer sent up for you. I keep my word.”
She traced an intricate M scrolled on a label, the gilded letter taking on the shape of a crown. Her brain spun headlines… Medina Men. Medina Monarchs.
Medina Money, because without question pure gold rested under her fingertips. And he’d promised her so much more in four weeks. “I need to stop by my apartment tomorrow before we leave.”
“Cat or dog?”
“What?” She glanced up quickly.
“Do you have a cat or a dog? What kind?” He cradled his iPhone in his broad palm. “I’ll pass along the details to my assistant and your animal will be boarded.”
His arrogance almost managed to overshadow his thoughtfulness. Almost, but not quite. “I didn’t know that ninjas read minds. And it’s a cat. I’m away from home too much to have a dog. My neighbor usually watches him for me.”
“No need to bother your neighbor. My people will see to everything, like with your sister’s security.” He began tapping in instructions.
How easy it would be to let him take charge, especially when what he offered was actually helpful…even thoughtful. “That’s nice of you. Thanks.”
He waved aside her gratitude and continued texting. “Before you mention packing clothes, forget it. I’m already ordering everything you’ll need. You’ll have some of the new wardrobe by morning.”
She glanced down at her green Gabbana knockoff. “Cinderella makeover time?”
“Believe me, you don’t need a makeover. Even wearing a, uh—” He stumbled over his words for the first time, his brow furrowing….
“A secondhand-store bargain, you mean?” She found his hesitation, this first sign of human emotion, unsettling…and a little charming. “You don’t have to worry about offending me. I’m not embarrassed by the fact my bank balance is smaller than yours. That’s just a fact.”
“Very good that you’re not going to waste our time with ridiculous arguments. What’s your dress size?”
“Eight for dresses, pants, shirts.”
“Got it.” He input the information. “Shoe size.”
“Seven. Narrow.”
“Bra?”
She gasped. “Excuse me?”
“What is your bra size?” He quirked an eyebrow, without raising his onyx gaze. “Some of the evening gowns will have a fitted bodice and special cut. Last-minute alterations in person can be made, but it’s helpful to have a ballpark number to start with.”
Resisting the urge to flatten her hands to her breasts required a Herculean effort. “Thirty-four C.”
He didn’t look away from his iPhone, but a slow sexy smile creased his face. The air between them crackled and her nipples ached inside her strapless pushup. This man was entirely too audacious. And enticing. Finally, he put away his phone and returned his focus to her.
“A new ‘princess’ wardrobe will be waiting in the morning with enough garments to see you through our first few days of travel. The rest of your clothing for the month will arrive before the end of the week.” He thumbed the engagement ring on her finger, nudging the ruby back to the center again.
His simple touch stirred her as much now as his kiss had earlier, and this time they were alone rather than in a ballroom full of onlookers. His gaze fell to her mouth, brown eyes turning lava-dark with desire.
He’d told her the engagement was mutually beneficial for practical reasons, but at the moment she wondered if he had a different agenda. Could he really be so interested in getting her into his bed that he would expose himself to press coverage? That he would want her so much after one meeting was mind-blowing. Who wouldn’t be complimented?
Except it also felt so far out of the realm of possibility that she felt conceited for considering it. Revenge seemed a far more logical reason for the seductive gleam he directed at her.
Either way, she needed to keep her guard up at all times. “Thank you. I will be certain the reporter who pens the stories accompanying my photos notes that you have impeccable, princely manners.”
“No thanks or credit needed. I won’t even notice the expense of a few dresses and 34C bras.”
Her fingers curved into a fist under his touch. “I was referring to your consideration in looking after my cat before we leave.”
“Again, that has nothing to do with being nice.” He enfolded her curled hand in his until it disappeared. “I’m only taking care of loose ends so we can move for ward.”