car door opened and she automatically accepted Valentino’s extended hand. And regretted it. A sensation not unlike an electric shock bolted up her arm and shot sparks all the way down her legs.
Her eyes flew to his in surprise, but his expression was so blank she felt slightly stupid. At least that answered her earlier unasked question. No, he didn’t find her attractive; he’d just been enjoying himself at her expense.
She registered the opening of a high white front door in her peripheral vision and felt her world right itself when Valentino dropped her hand.
‘Miller. You made good time.’
She glanced towards her boss.
‘And I can see why.’ Dexter stared at Valentino and then cast his appreciative eyes over the silver bullet they’d driven down in.
A bulky figure followed Dexter down the stone steps and she pasted a confident smile on her face when TJ Lyons ambled forward like a cattle tycoon straight off the station.
‘Well, now, isn’t this a surprise?’ he boomed.
Suddenly conscious of Valentino behind her, Miller nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt his large hand settle on her hip. Both men looked at him, eyes agog, as if he was the Dalai Lama come to pay homage.
‘Dexter, TJ—this is—’
‘We know who he is, Miller.’ Dexter almost blustered, sticking his hand out towards Valentino. ‘Tino Ventura. It’s a pleasure. Dexter Caruthers—partner at OCG. Oracle Consultancy Group.’
Valentino took his hand in a firm handshake and a cog shifted in Miller’s brain.
Tino?
‘Maverick,’ TJ said, addressing Valentino.
Maverick?
Had TJ and Dexter mistaken Valentino for someone they knew?
Valentino smiled and accepted their greetings like an old friend.
No! He couldn’t possibly know her client!
‘Miller, you dark horse,’ TJ guffawed, slapping Valentino on the back. ‘You certainly play your cards close to your chest. I’m impressed.’
Impressed? Miller looked up at Valentino, and just as her boss started asking him about the injury he’d incurred in a motor race in Germany last August his name slotted into place inside Miller’s head.
Tino Ventura—international racing car legend.
She would have stumbled if Valentino hadn’t tightened his hand on her hip to steady her.
She swore under her breath. Valentino must have heard it because he immediately took charge. ‘It’s been a long drive, gents. We’ll save this conversation for dinner.’
Miller smiled through clenched teeth as he took their bags from the car and handed them to a waiting butler.
‘Roger, please show our esteemed guests to their room,’ TJ said, turning to the formally dressed man.
‘Certainly. Sir? Madam?’
Miller refused to meet Dexter’s eyes even though he was burning a hole right through her with his open curiosity.
She deliberately moved out of Valentino’s reach as he went to place his hand at the small of her back. Her skin was still tingling from his earlier unexpected hold on her.
Ignoring his piercing gaze, Miller concentrated on keeping her legs steady as she preceded him up the stone steps.
Tino Ventura!
How had she not put two and two together? It was true that she didn’t follow sport in any capacity, but as the only Australian driver in the most prestigious motor race in the world she should have recognised him. It was being introduced to him as Valentino that had thrown her, but even then, she conceded with an audible sigh, she’d been so stressed and distracted she might not have made the connection.
None of that, however, changed the fact that he should have told her who he was. That thought fired her temper all the way up the ornate rosewood staircase, ruining any appreciation she might have had of the priceless artworks lining the vast hallways of TJ’s house.
Not that she cared about TJ’s house. Right now she didn’t care about anything but giving Valentino Ventura a piece of her mind for deceiving her.
‘Stop thinking, Miller.’
Valentino’s deep voice behind her sent a shiver skittering down her spine.
‘You’re starting to hurt my head.’
‘This is your room, madam. Sir.’
The butler pushed open a door and Miller followed him inside. The room was spacious, and a tasteful combination of modern and old-world. At the far end was a large bay window with sweeping ocean views encompassing paper-white sand and an ocean that shifted from the brightest turquoise to a deep navy.
‘Mr Lyons and his guests are about to adjourn to the rear terrace for cocktails. Dinner is to be served in half an hour.’
‘Thank you.’ Valentino closed the door after the departing butler. ‘Okay, out with it,’ he prompted, mimicking her wide-legged stance with his arms folded across his chest.
Miller stared at him for a minute but said nothing, her mind suddenly taken up by the size of the four-poster bed that dominated the large room. She glanced around for a sofa and found an antique settee, an armchair and a curved wooden bench seat inlaid into the bay window.
She heard Valentino move and her eyes followed his easy gait as he perched on the edge of the bed, testing the mattress. ‘Comfy.’
He smiled, and she fumed even more because she knew he was laughing at her discomfort. ‘I’m not sleeping with you in that,’ she informed him shortly.
‘Oh, come on, Miller. It’s big enough for six people.’
Six people her size, maybe... Why hadn’t she thought of the sleeping arrangements before now?
Probably because her mind had been too concerned with finishing her proposal and she hadn’t wanted to dwell on the fact she was even in this predicament. But she was in it, and it was time to face it and work out how she was going to make this farce work with her fake and very famous boyfriend.
‘It would have been nice if you had thought to let me know who you are,’ she said waspishly.
‘I did tell you my name. And my job.’
Miller pressed her lips together as she took in his cavalier tone and relaxed demeanour. That was true—up to a point. ‘You must have known that I didn’t recognise you.’ She paced away from him, unable to stand still under his disturbing grey-blue gaze.
Valentino shrugged. ‘If I’d thought it was going to be an issue I would have mentioned it.’
‘How
