Page 10 of Fiancée for the Cameras

After tense moments of silence, she shifted a little on the bed, clutching onto the sheet as if it were a lifejacket, and hissed out a pained breath before she faced him.

Her eyelids were swollen, and the tip of her nose was flushed pink. Sweat made silky tendrils of hair stick to her forehead and she dug her teeth into her lower lip, making it glisten a dark pink.

But it was the expression in her eyes that caught him. There was so much there, too much that he didn’t want to see. She released her lip and sighed. “That’s for the best. Although—” a small smile blossomed “—you might have to tone it down a bit if you want to keep an assistant. Not everyone is as...”

“Brave as you are?” He raised a brow.

“I was going to sayefficient.”

“So you’re not upset about it,” he said, wanting to poke and prod a little.Dio mio, why was he being so contrary?

She shrugged and the sheet slipped a bit to reveal the curve of a plump breast. Andrea had to look away, though he couldn’t ignore the jolt of lust tightening through him. “You’ve never hidden how much you loathe the personal crossing over into the professional. Flora’s...fondness for me would have put us at odds sooner or later. This way, at least I haven’t...” She trailed off.

“Haven’t what, Monica?” he said, insulted and injured, like a young cub trying to prove himself. Apparently, working for him had less hold for her than her attachment to his mother.

“Made a fool of myself.”

“What do you...” His curiosity disappeared when his gaze landed on the scar that was the length of his hand span on her waist. The scar she’d acquired when she’d saved his mother.

Andrea felt as if he was suddenly drenched in a cold bucket of water. He could have lost his mother if not for this foolish, brave woman’s rash actions.Cristo,she hadn’t even been a woman but a mere girl of nineteen, jumping to a stranger’s rescue. And in return, she’d gotten a blade to her belly, nearly cleaving her waist in two.

A rush of shame swamped him. How had he not made it a point to learn how badly she had been hurt? How had he just shrugged off her injury as if it was a minor inconvenience, a small price to pay for his mother’s safety? How had he thought her unwillingness to accept cash in return an irritability?

“Turn to the side,” he said, unable to even modulate his tone toward a request.

“What? Is it the sheets? I will wash them and make sure—”

“Forget about the damned sheets. Turn to the side, Monica,” he repeated, his strides eating up the distance to the bed.

Slowly, looking like a frightened rabbit, tugging the sheet higher between her breasts, she followed his command.

He couldn’t help it, even if he tried. And he didn’t try that hard to stop himself.

He rubbed a finger over the scar that inched from front to back on her right side, at the tight, tiny juncture of her waist, as wide as the span of three of his fingers together and reaching back.

The gash must have been deep to leave such a scar, despite the fact that Mama had had her transferred to the best doctors immediately. All he had cared about was that his mother was unharmed.

“I didn’t realize you were hurt this badly,” he said, in a thin voice that shivered with anger and fear that felt as fresh as it hadwhen he’d first learned of the mugging incident. And yet, the source was different. The source of those thorny emotions was new.

“I don’t even remember that it’s there anymore,” she replied in a muffled voice, and he realized the painkillers had finally kicked in. “Sometimes, though, when I leave work after dark, and you know that street behind the bus depot, I get a flash of like...fear. And you know the weirdest thing? The scar burns then. I know it sounds ridiculous because as you can see, it’s all healed but—”

“Just because the burn is not real doesn’t mean you don’t feel it.”

She sighed, her body trembling and then settling. “Francesco said I was being a scaredy-cat.”

“Do me a favor, Ms. D’ Souza. Stop telling me about all the foolish, idiotic things that man led you to believe.”

“I think that’s a fair ask,” she said.

“If you would like, I’ll take you to see a specialist. We can get rid of the scar,” he said, running his finger again over the thick pink-white scar tissue. “It mars your beauty.”

She laughed into the pillow, the sound half-muffled and half-airy, as if she couldn’t get enough breath into her lungs. “My so-called beauty has never done me any favors. And honestly, I don’t care about the scar. I’m only glad Flora remained unhurt that awful day.”

Andrea ran his hand one last time over the scar, knowing that he was crossing a line she and he had both clearly demarcated between them. But the damned thing was that he wanted to touch the scar again. He wanted to press his mouth to it, lick it, take away whatever phantom pain it had left behind and make it mean something else for her. Make it a source of pleasure.

He wanted to lie down beside her and turn her to face him, until her breathtaking features lit upon him. Until she baredherself to him willingly, until she stretched into his touch. Until she begged him to explore this...prickly heat between them. Until she of the generous smiles and the gushing compliments and brave little heart was all his to do with as he wanted.

Oh, how he would play with her and tease her and taunt her until that shyness faded and she came to him, ready and brave, willing putty in his hands.

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