Page 51 of Afraid to Hope

Bane dismissed those thoughts. However, questions about Natasha’s friends resurfaced as he searched the kitchen for a tray, cups, plates, and utensils. He added napkins, cream, loose tea, sugar, jam, and the croissants. The coffee signaled it was done, and he added the carafe and teapot to the loaded tray and made his way outside, bracing himself for the onslaught of Viviane and intending to further study Gia.

“Hello!” Simon said, his eyes scanning the group eating and having coffee. “Apparently I’m late. I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in. No one answered my knock and the door was unlocked. I left my luggage in thesetwan.”

Bane rose and shook Simon’s hand, welcoming him and not missing a beat as he joined in with the improv. “Hey, man! Great to see you!”

“Hello, Simon. Welcome to our home.” Natasha pushed her chair back to stand and motioned him over. “Come sit down and help yourself,” she said, handing him a plate. “I’ll put on more coffee.”

“If it isn’t too much trouble.”

“Not at all. Gianna, Viviane, this is Simon, an old friend of Bane’s,” she explained as Simon, roughly the same height as Natasha, stood next to her and smiled in greeting.

Viviane popped out of her chair, holding out her hand and smiling broadly. Her eyes shone with appreciation. “Viviane. Lovely to meet you, Simon,” she purred, practically drooling, her fingers grazing his as he released her hand.

“Call me Gia, Simon.” Gianna waved at him, not bothering to rise, a friendly smile on her face.

Bane clapped him on the back. “How was the drive in?”

“Without hiccups. I parked in front. I hope that’s all right.”

“Of course,” Natasha said, patting him on the arm. “Now sit. I’ll be back shortly.”

Keeping up the ruse was effortless, especially when Simon had transformed himself like a chameleon. He was totally believable eye candy—at ease, dressed casually in jeans, a leather belt, and a blue-and-white-striped button-down open at the throat with the sleeves rolled up, exposing sinewy forearms. The sun glinted off the tactical watch on his left wrist. Broken-in leather sandals covered his feet. His blue eyes, always alert, were hidden by dark sunglasses, and a day’s worth of stubble added to his sex appeal. Simon’s earth-brown hair, slicked down to the point of looking lacquered to his head on the occasions Natasha had seen him, was wavy, bordering on unruly, giving him a dangerously alluring appearance. The director must have gotten hold of Simon before his usual morning grooming.

The french door opened behind Natasha, drawing her attention over her shoulder. Bane slipped in behind her. Holding up his hands in a defensive posture, he said, “Before you ask, I left the front door unlocked after the hens came in. I felt it would be more believable if Simon entered as a friend.”

“Good idea. Are you always so quick on your feet?”

“You have no idea. We’re just getting started.”

Natasha kept her back to him and remained silent, focused on her task of making coffee, but Bane saw it when she turned her head to pour more water—the way her lips tweaked, not quite a smile, and how her breath stuttered and then rippled through her willowy frame. He sidled closer.

Natasha stilled and rested her hands on the countertop. Her pulse went into overdrive as he traced the nape of her neck with his fingertip. He inhaled deeply, then scented her, his lips ghosting over the delicate skin, raising a wake of delicious tingling that trailed down her neck and bared arms. Bane nipped Natasha’s neck where her pulse hammered, and she shuddered.

“I’ll get back to our guests,” he murmured in her ear.

“Tease.”

“You know it.” Bane chuckled before he shut the french door behind him.

Simon and Bane kept the conversation going with Viviane and Gia, who listened with rapt attention. The men concocted a simple and plausible story. Simon was a professional freelance writer. The men met at the beginning of their careers, when Bane was hired on as the photographer for a feature article Simon was writing. Since then, they had worked together on multiple projects all over the world.

He knew that Bane and Natasha were in Morocco for her job, so he reached out. They invited him to stay at theirriadwhile he was working, and he offered to house-sit while they were traveling the country.

Viviane’s interest in Simon was evident as she addressed him. “Do you know?”

“Know?”

“Natasha and Bane are married.”

“Bane told me when we talked a few days ago, when I mentioned I was going to be working in Morocco. Said he’d be here too. With his wife,” he said, emphasizing the last words. He set his cup down and pushed back into his chair, shaking his head slowly from side to side, a smile spreading across his face. “Bane Rua commits. Wow. I can see why.” Simon sat forward and clapped Bane on the shoulder and laughed. “Congratulations, man!”

Bane nodded, smiling from ear to ear. “Thanks.”

“Are you married, Simon?” Viviane asked.

“No,” he answered. “Hey, while I’m here, can I use your office?” Simon asked Bane, helping himself to a pastry.

“It’s yours for the duration. Our home is your home.”

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