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Chiara definitely wasn’t jealous. The irony wasn’t lost on her, though. Usually her dates were the ones having to contend with overeager male admirers. Now the shoe was on the other foot—sort of.
“Possessive?” Rick asked, lips quirking, as if he’d read her mind.
“Don’t be silly,” Chiara retorted.
“It’s not like you to get territorial, but I like it.”
“So what is the connection between you and Isabel Lanier?” she tried again.
Rick regarded her for a moment. “Isabel made a play for me in front of some photographers. Unfortunately her boyfriend at the time was also a good friend of mine. End of friendship.”
“Why would she do that?”
Rick gave her a penetrating look. “Fame, public image, to make Hal jealous. You know, all the likely ulterior motives.”
She didn’t want to dwell on their own ulterior motives right now.
“Shall we sit down?” Rick asked.
She felt compelled to go on. “If you were more high profile, the organizers here would have made sure your path didn’t cross Isabel’s, and that you were seated on opposite sides of the ballroom.”
“Fortunately I’m not. High profile, that is.”
“But I am.” Chiara made a mental note to put the word out that she and Isabel should be kept apart—at least until her “relationship” with Rick came to an end.
Rick pulled out a chair for her, and she sat down. As Rick turned to acknowledge a waiter, Isabel fished the cell phone out of her clutch and typed a quick text to Odele. No time like the present to make sure a viper stayed in her tank, she thought, her mind traveling back to Isabel.
After that, the evening passed quickly and painlessly. The master of ceremonies was a well-known comedian, and he drew regular laughs from the crowd, who dined on butterfly salmon pâté with caviar and peppered chateaubriand with port wine glacé.
Before long, Chiara found herself heading home with Rick. She’d never had a live-in significant other, and in the past, it had been easy enough to say goodbye at the end of a date. Not this time, however. Awkward.
When they entered the hushed silence of her foyer, she faced Rick. She reminded herself that she held the cards here. She was the celebrity. This was her house. And he, for all intents and purposes, was her employee, thanks to Odele.
Still, it was of little help when faced with Rick’s overwhelming masculinity.
He was tall and broad, and all evening she’d been ignoring how he filled out his tux. Should she be surprised he even owned one?
Rick quirked his lips. “I guess this is the part where I kiss you good-night—” he glanced past her to the stairs “—except I’m staying here.” His gaze came back to hers, and he looked at her with a slow deliberateness.
All of a sudden, she was searching for air. They hadn’t been this close since their encounter in the exercise room, and she’d vowed it was an experience that would never, ever be repeated.
But the memory of how easily he’d aroused her—her body tightening and then finding blessed release—played havoc with her senses and scruples right now.
He bent his head, and said in a low voice, “It would aid in believability.”
There was no need for him to elaborate. If he kissed her...if he excited her...if they became lovers...
Yes...no. She mentally shook her head.
He looked down at her gown, and she felt his gaze everywhere—on her breasts, her hips and lower...
“Do you need help with that dress?” he muttered, his eyes half-lidded. “There’s no Odele here, no designer’s assistant or fashion stylist.”
Didn’t she know it. They were alone, and the quiet of the night and the empty house surrounded them. The only illumination was the dim light that she’d left on in the foyer.
Chiara cleared her throat. “You did well tonight for an agoraphobic stuntman.”
“Isn’t this the time in the movie for a love scene?” he teased.
