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He was the epitome of rough manliness—cool, tough and exuding sex appeal. His green eyes were fascinatingly multihued, and even the hard, sculpted plains of his face invited detailed study by touch and, yes, taste.
A woman could feel safe and sheltered in his arms.
And there was the problem. She’d learned a long time ago not to rely on any man. Starting with her father, who’d disappeared from her life at a young age, and had become a gambling addict and reprobate.
She didn’t hear a sound from Rick’s room, so she tiptoed downstairs with script in hand.
When she reached the kitchen, she was taken aback to spot him sitting outside on the veranda, gazing at the sunrise, dressed in black denim jeans and a maroon tee. He looked peaceful and relaxed, so far from the constant motion and barely leashed energy that she was used to from him.
As if sensing her presence, he turned and met her gaze. Rising, he gave a jaunty salute with the mug in his hand and said, “Good morning.”
“I didn’t hear you,” she blurted as he entered through the French doors.
“We stuntmen can be stealthy.”
She lowered her lashes and swept him with a surreptitious look. His jeans hugged lean hips and outlined muscular legs. The tee covered a flat chest and biceps that were defined but not brawny. He had the physique and face for a movie screen, except there was nothing manicured about him. Rick had a rough male aura instead of polish.
She looked at the cup in his hands. “I didn’t even smell the brew.”
“It’s not coffee. It’s a vitamin power drink.”
Ugh. “For your superhero strength.”
“Of course.” He gave her a wicked smile. “Helps with the stamina. Sleep well?”
“For sure. And you?” She refused to give an inch, treating him with cool civility, even if that smile made her body tighten.
“Naturally.”
The truth was she’d lain awake and tossed around for close to two hours. She wondered how she was going to maintain this charade...especially since Rick was adept at provoking her. And she refused...refused...to dwell on his kiss.
“Nice story about your father in the news. I had time to catch up on the headlines while I waited for you to come down, Sleeping Beauty.”
Damn it. She should have gotten up even earlier. “My father?”
“Yeah, you know, the guy who shares a last name with you.”
“That’s all we have in common,” she muttered.
“Nice story about the card counting recently.”
“Maybe he’ll stay out of trouble now that he’s been barred from his favorite haunts.” Casinos were Michael Feran’s drug of choice.
“Is that what you’re hoping?”
“Why are we discussing this?”
He shrugged. “I figured we should talk about the reason we’re together.” A smile teased his lips. “It seems logical.”
So he wanted an extension of yesterday’s get-to-know-you? No, thanks. Not that last night’s question had haunted her sleep or anything. “We’re not together.”
“It’s what the tabloids think that matters.”
Argh.
“So Michael Feran is a sensitive topic.”
Chiara walked to the kitchen cabinets. “Only in as much as he’s a liar, gambler and cheat.”
