want us to look like an authentic couple, to my staff and everyone else in my life,’ Dante admitted calmly. ‘That we are only pretending has to remain our secret.’
‘Charlie’s authentic,’ Belle pointed out helplessly. ‘I am moving in my dog.’
Dante lounged back in his chair to study her. In silk that accentuated the swell of her breasts and somehow enhanced the satiny softness of her pale skin, she looked incredibly sensual and very touchable. He watched as she tucked a stray strand of bright hair behind one small ear and nibbled at her lower lip and reminded himself that seducing her would be cruel, because he was never going to offer her the serious relationship she wanted. He breathed in deep, recognising the erotic pulse gaining strength at his groin, and he shifted position in outright denial of her libidinous effect on him. ‘Charlie’s not enough on his own. We need to buy you some artworks and some presentable pieces of furniture.’
Her smooth brow furrowed. ‘Art? Why would I need artworks?’
‘Part of your new image. You’re an art lover like me,’ Dante told her.
‘Yes, I do like some art,’ Belle conceded thoughtfully. ‘But not on the sort of level you would admire. I agreed to do this, Dante, but I didn’t agree to pretend to be someone I’m not.’
An ebony brow lifted enquiringly. ‘Meaning?’
‘The relationship may be fake but, while I’m in it, I’m going to be me,’ Belle informed him stiffly. ‘I’m not going to fake being something I’m not, so I don’t want fancy artworks or furniture. I’m an ordinary working woman and I wouldn’t know where to begin acting as if I was someone much fancier and richer.’
‘That’s quite a speech and I appreciate the sentiments you express but I don’t see what difference it makes in our circumstances.’
‘Well, then, you’re not listening,’ Belle interrupted more sharply. ‘I’m me and I’m staying me because that way I’m less likely to make mistakes. I’ve been a housekeeper, a carer and a waitress, and I won’t pretend otherwise.’
‘And if you’re not part of my world, how am I supposed to have met the real you?’ Dante asked very drily.
‘Make it a funny story. I served you in a bar one night? You met me when you visited someone I was looking after or working for... You picked me up when I was hitchhiking? Use your imagination. Maybe you’re moving in with me because I’m different from the other women you’ve had in your life. Don’t try to make me hide the real me, as if that is something to be ashamed of,’ Belle urged ruefully.
‘You’re very stubborn.’
‘And so are you.’
‘Consequently, no artworks?’ Dante checked with a censorious shake of his arrogant dark head. ‘But there has to be some furniture, so that you can turn some room in my house into your room... Isn’t that what women do when they move in with a man?’
Belle shrugged. ‘How would I know? And it’s an awful lot of fuss and expense to go to simply to put on an act for one weekend,’ she reasoned, searching his lean bronzed features with curiosity sparkling in her dark blue eyes. ‘Presumably you think getting this business deal is worth any amount of trouble.’
‘Pretty much,’ Dante agreed.
‘Well, then, if it’s just one room I could choose a comfortable chair, a small table, bookshelves...oh, and books,’ she added reflectively, her eyes warming at the prospect. ‘But brand-new furniture won’t look very convincing—’
‘We’ll buy antiques,’ Dante incised in a tone of finality.
‘But you’re not going to expect me to pretend to be something I’m not?’ Belle pressed, seeking reassurance.
‘No,’ Dante conceded, marvelling that he was giving way on that point for in truth he had planned to set her up with an entire false identity, which would have protected his privacy and her anonymity. ‘You appreciate that the media will take a much stronger interest in me hooking up with a waitress?’
‘I’ll be out of your life again before anyone has even identified me,’ Belle parried confidently, lifting her head, vibrant waves of copper-red hair shifting across her shoulders and glinting fierily in the light.
‘It goes against the grain to admit it, but I liked your hair better before the beauty consultants in the spa got their hands on you. Curly hair suits you,’ Dante framed, already questioning what he was saying and frowning at that unplanned dive into personal comment as he sprang lithely upright to greet the older man with a large leather case and his accompanying security guard being shown into the room. ‘Monsieur Duchamp, you are very welcome.’
Belle tugged her fingers down from the hair she had involuntarily been touching. He liked her hair better when it was au naturel. Well, what did you know? She was astonished but decidedly flattered.
An hour later, she was sporting a designer watch and bracelet, sapphire-and-diamond earrings and a sapphire-and-diamond pendant, the absolute basics without which Dante had insisted she could not perform her role.
The limousine dropped them on the Carré Rive Gauche, which was full of antiques dealers and the kind of esoteric shops haunted by interior designers. Belle found herself much more interested in what was on offer there than she had expected to be because the sheer quirkiness of some of the items intrigued her.
‘You’re seeing stuff that interests you,’ Dante noted.
‘I like finding out the history behind them... I like that seat,’ she said, pointing at an elaborately upholstered and very comfortable-looking low-slung armchair.
The proprietor, quick to recognise Dante for the rich buyer that he was, hastened over to talk about the chair and demonstrated the weird way part of the arms swivelled back at a touch. Their exchange of French was too fast for her to follow and Belle stared up at Dante in surprise as he began to laugh. Poised there with his dark eyes gleaming with intense amusement, his lean, darkly handsome features relaxed, he was so breathtakingly beautiful and male that she couldn’t take her eyes off him.
‘What’s so funny?’ Belle whispered.
‘I’ll tell you later. We’re taking the chair... Come on, keep looking,’ Dante urged, one long-fingered hand pressing against her taut spine as he walked her along with him. ‘You have a whole room to fill and none of the rooms in my home are small.’
A fat sofa, an Indian carved bookcase, a small inlaid table, a beautiful mirror and an eccentric art deco drinks cabinet followed in quick succession.
‘And as an ordinary girl, how am I supposed to have acquired all these valuable items?’ Belle enquired with reluctant amusement.
‘They are all gifts from me,’ Dante teased with a smile. ‘I’ve also ordered a selection of English classics and contemporary novels for you from a bookseller.’
In the limo on the way back to the hotel, he told her that he was taking her out for dinner again and then on to a club. Belle was lazily contemplating the options in her new wardrobe when Dante appeared in the doorway.
‘Rain check, I’m afraid,’ he murmured quietly. ‘There’s been a fatal accident on
