every physical attribute of this Italian beauty got to him. Great. Just what he needed, an out-of-control libido to hinder his judgment about this woman … as if he weren’t having enough issues with that. The fact she may have slept with his enemy should have been enough to turn him off. But damn if he wasn’t stubborn and all the more defiant when he saw something, or someone, he wanted.
He had to hand it to his sister. When she’d picked the dress, she’d nailed the style that accentuated Mia’s height, curves and sensual features. That’s why Victoria was so sought after by every star in America—and why men were sent reeling by the women who wore the designs.
“Victoria sure knows how to make a woman feel pretty,” Mia told him, seeming to read his mind as they walked beneath a canopy of lush palms and thick foliage beside the water’s edge that led toward the red carpet. “I have to admit, I tried on every single one of those dresses. They’re all my favorite.”
Bronson hadn’t removed his hand from her back and he didn’t intend to. She was too soft, too feminine, too … everything.
The perfect spy for Anthony.
“Victoria knows how to make beautiful women look even more breathtaking.”
Mia’s gaze shot to his. “Thank you.”
He stepped in front of her just before they reached the area with the camera flashes of the paparazzi and the red carpet. “I should be thanking you,” he told her, then bent to whisper in her ear, “Because of you, I’ll be the envy of every man here tonight.”
A soft, visible shudder produced a shaky smile. “I doubt that, but thank you again.”
She was serious. Most women in Hollywood loved showing off their bodies … God knows they’d paid enough for their enhancements. But as he studied Mia’s dark, sultry eyes, he realized she was the minority. She may have trembled at his words, but she didn’t believe him.
That was just fine, since he was still leery of her, as well. But he would uncover the true Mia soon enough. And if uncovering her from that wispy black dress was involved, well, that wouldn’t be a hardship.
Anything to stick close to the alluring Mia Spinelli.
Flashes of lights, clicks of cameras and shouts of Bronson’s name from every direction followed them as they made their way up the red carpet toward the steps leading into the Marché du Film Theater.
Mia couldn’t believe this. Simply couldn’t believe she was in Cannes, wearing a Victoria Dane design on the red carpet with Bronson’s strong hand on her bare back. She took mental images of every moment because she knew, once she got back to the real world of “assisting,” this would all be a wonderful, distant memory.
Though, she had a feeling the tingling from Bronson’s touch would linger long after tonight. And that was just fine with her. Mercy, the man was potent.
She allowed him to lead her from camera to camera, giving a subtle nudge to her back when he wanted to move on to the next one. Did celebrities ever tire of this attention? Did they enjoy being photographed at every twist and turn? Probably not, but this was all so new to her, she was loving every minute.
But she’d worked in the industry, albeit in the background, long enough to know the camera caught everything. Would viewers see the Cinderella-like euphoria she drifted in? Would it capture the smile on her face that said she was having the time of her life, even though she hadn’t been to a viewing, ceremony or post-party yet? She certainly hoped the sometimes unforgiving lens didn’t zero in on her nerves and shaky hands.
“They’re wondering why you’re here on my arm,” Bronson whispered in her ear as they turned to another camera. “Relax.”
“Easy for you to say,” she whispered.
His thumb stroked her back. “I’ve seen you wearing a scrap of terry cloth and water droplets, surely you can relax for a few cameras.”
Did he have to keep bringing up that mortifying experience? Or perhaps he brought it up because he wasn’t totally unaffected by her….
“You aren’t the one who’s been accused of having an affair with your boss.” A horrifying experience.
He laughed, flashing his signature charming smile, no doubt giving the greedy paparazzi the snapshot they’d been after. “That’s what makes you even more intriguing. They don’t know what to expect.”
They moved down the red carpet as more celebrities arrived, pleasing the rest of the media that awaited. Mia couldn’t believe all the stars standing so close to her looking glamorous and flawless. Everyone smiled, waving to various cameras and gave brief interviews to the press.
True, she didn’t like the limelight, but the recent rumors had given her no choice. The media ate up any type of scandal. And while Mia wasn’t thrilled with having her life in the news, she would sacrifice her privacy if it meant taking the heat off Anthony long enough for him to rebuild his marriage. The media would no doubt speculate about her being a bed hopper, but she knew the truth.
“Let them speculate,” she murmured. “I have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Let’s head on inside,” he told her and waved as a camera flashed in their faces. “I’m sure my mother is already wondering why we’re not in our seats. She’s always an hour early for these things so she can mingle.”
Mia held on to Bronson’s arm as she started up the red-carpeted steps. “And you don’t like to mingle?”
He shrugged. “I mingle plenty at the after parties.”
Mia laughed. “You’re a man of few words. Aren’t you?”
“When it’s time to talk, I talk. Time to work, I work.” He looked down at her, steely blue eyes darting to her lips. “Time to play, I definitely play.”
A shiver rippled up her spine, stemming straight from that powerful stare. Fantastic. Just one heavy-lidded bedroom gaze and she had zings shooting through her body into every nook and cranny, making her even more attracted to the playboy on her arm.
“Any more questions?” he whispered in her ear, so close his warm breath tickled her cheek.
He may be quiet, but perhaps that’s why he had a reputation as the master seducer. The subtle brush of his fingertips across her bare back, the whispers and those ocean-blue eyes—the man was charming seduction in stealth mode.
She turned, their mouths nearly touching. “I’ll take a rain check.”
Bronson leaned back just a hair and laughed. “And I’m sure you’ll redeem it soon.”
She smiled as they entered the grand foyer. “Count on it.”
“Vous êtes trop genre.”
Bronson jerked his head around at the flawless French that came from Mia’s glossy lips as she spoke to a popular French producer. She laughed, patted the elderly man’s beefy arm and turned back to Bronson.
“Sorry about that,” Mia told him, beautiful smile still in place. “On my way back from the chocolate fountain Mr. du Muir stopped me and we started chatting.”
Chatting?
