Читать книгу Six Hot Summer Nights - Leslie Kelly - Страница 8

Bronson’s breath caught. He knew his mouth had dropped open, but nothing could pull his gaze from the sight coming toward him.

He hadn’t thought it possible, but as Mia walked toward him in a Victoria Dane original, she looked even sexier than she had in just a towel.

Mia wore his sister’s design as if she’d been made to model the one-of-a-kind dress on a runway in Milan or Paris. Or as if she’d been made to torture unsuspecting men like him.

He’d been feeling guilty about not picking her up at her suite, and now he knew that was a wise decision because there were very few steps from the door to the bed.

“I have to say, it’s not often I’m speechless.” Bronson lifted Mia’s slender hand to his lips. “I’m glad you’re going in on my arm.”

Mia offered a sexy, confident smile. “Well, that makes two of us.”

If this were any woman other than his mother’s assistant, an assistant he still had serious doubts about, Bronson could’ve talked her out of that thin, flowy dress in a matter of seconds. And, who knows, he still could get her out of that dress. They were here for nearly a week, and this was only the first night. After all, he did need to spend some one-on-one time with her, didn’t he?

Damn if she wouldn’t be turning some heads tonight. Jealousy stabbed him in the chest. What did he care that men looked? So long as they didn’t touch. For now, she was his. Anthony’s loss made this seduction all the more enjoyable.

“Shall we?” he asked, slipping her arm through his.

She fit against him as they walked through the open lobby toward the glow of the sunset streaming in the etched-glass doors. Her heels clicked against the marble floor, the jasmine scent he’d associated with her wafting around him. Everything about her mocked him. He wanted her, but he didn’t trust her. His emotions were all jumbled because of this intriguing woman, and he didn’t like this lack of control. That in itself should make him dislike her, but she oozed sex appeal and confidence, and Bronson knew he would have her before the week’s end.

When they reached the door, he placed a hand on the small of her back to escort her out … and encountered bare skin. If he thought she was sexy from the front with that low cowl-neck design that enhanced her perfect breasts, she was sinful from the back with the chiffon draping as low as legally possible without being indecent.

A sexy back got him every time. Of course, he was beginning to think every physical attribute of this Italian beauty got to him. Great. Just what he needed, an out-of-control libido to hinder his judgment about this woman … as if he weren’t having enough issues with that. The fact she may have slept with his enemy should have been enough to turn him off. But damn if he wasn’t stubborn and all the more defiant when he saw something, or someone, he wanted.

He had to hand it to his sister. When she’d picked the dress, she’d nailed the style that accentuated Mia’s height, curves and sensual features. That’s why Victoria was so sought after by every star in America—and why men were sent reeling by the women who wore the designs.

“Victoria sure knows how to make a woman feel pretty,” Mia told him, seeming to read his mind as they walked beneath a canopy of lush palms and thick foliage beside the water’s edge that led toward the red carpet. “I have to admit, I tried on every single one of those dresses. They’re all my favorite.”

Bronson hadn’t removed his hand from her back and he didn’t intend to. She was too soft, too feminine, too … everything.

The perfect spy for Anthony.

“Victoria knows how to make beautiful women look even more breathtaking.”

Mia’s gaze shot to his. “Thank you.”

He stepped in front of her just before they reached the area with the camera flashes of the paparazzi and the red carpet. “I should be thanking you,” he told her, then bent to whisper in her ear, “Because of you, I’ll be the envy of every man here tonight.”

A soft, visible shudder produced a shaky smile. “I doubt that, but thank you again.”

She was serious. Most women in Hollywood loved showing off their bodies … God knows they’d paid enough for their enhancements. But as he studied Mia’s dark, sultry eyes, he realized she was the minority. She may have trembled at his words, but she didn’t believe him.

That was just fine, since he was still leery of her, as well. But he would uncover the true Mia soon enough. And if uncovering her from that wispy black dress was involved, well, that wouldn’t be a hardship.

Anything to stick close to the alluring Mia Spinelli.

Flashes of lights, clicks of cameras and shouts of Bronson’s name from every direction followed them as they made their way up the red carpet toward the steps leading into the Marché du Film Theater.

Mia couldn’t believe this. Simply couldn’t believe she was in Cannes, wearing a Victoria Dane design on the red carpet with Bronson’s strong hand on her bare back. She took mental images of every moment because she knew, once she got back to the real world of “assisting,” this would all be a wonderful, distant memory.

Though, she had a feeling the tingling from Bronson’s touch would linger long after tonight. And that was just fine with her. Mercy, the man was potent.

She allowed him to lead her from camera to camera, giving a subtle nudge to her back when he wanted to move on to the next one. Did celebrities ever tire of this attention? Did they enjoy being photographed at every twist and turn? Probably not, but this was all so new to her, she was loving every minute.

But she’d worked in the industry, albeit in the background, long enough to know the camera caught everything. Would viewers see the Cinderella-like euphoria she drifted in? Would it capture the smile on her face that said she was having the time of her life, even though she hadn’t been to a viewing, ceremony or post-party yet? She certainly hoped the sometimes unforgiving lens didn’t zero in on her nerves and shaky hands.

“They’re wondering why you’re here on my arm,” Bronson whispered in her ear as they turned to another camera. “Relax.”

“Easy for you to say,” she whispered.

His thumb stroked her back. “I’ve seen you wearing a scrap of terry cloth and water droplets, surely you can relax for a few cameras.”

Did he have to keep bringing up that mortifying experience? Or perhaps he brought it up because he wasn’t totally unaffected by her….

“You aren’t the one who’s been accused of having an affair with your boss.” A horrifying experience.

He laughed, flashing his signature charming smile, no doubt giving the greedy paparazzi the snapshot they’d been after. “That’s what makes you even more intriguing. They don’t know what to expect.”

They moved down the red carpet as more celebrities arrived, pleasing the rest of the media that awaited. Mia couldn’t believe all the stars standing so close to her looking glamorous and flawless. Everyone smiled, waving to various cameras and gave brief interviews to the press.

True, she didn’t like the limelight, but the recent rumors had given her no choice. The media ate up any type of scandal. And while Mia wasn’t thrilled with having her life in the news, she would sacrifice her privacy if it meant taking the heat off Anthony long enough for him to rebuild his marriage. The media would no doubt speculate about her being a bed hopper, but she knew the truth.

“Let them speculate,” she murmured. “I have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Let’s head on inside,” he told her and waved as a camera flashed in their faces. “I’m sure my mother is already wondering why we’re not in our seats. She’s always an hour early for these things so she can mingle.”

Mia held on to Bronson’s arm as she started up the red-carpeted steps. “And you don’t like to mingle?”

He shrugged. “I mingle plenty at the after parties.”

Mia laughed. “You’re a man of few words. Aren’t you?”

“When it’s time to talk, I talk. Time to work, I work.” He looked down at her, steely blue eyes darting to her lips. “Time to play, I definitely play.”

A shiver rippled up her spine, stemming straight from that powerful stare. Fantastic. Just one heavy-lidded bedroom gaze and she had zings shooting through her body into every nook and cranny, making her even more attracted to the playboy on her arm.

“Any more questions?” he whispered in her ear, so close his warm breath tickled her cheek.

He may be quiet, but perhaps that’s why he had a reputation as the master seducer. The subtle brush of his fingertips across her bare back, the whispers and those ocean-blue eyes—the man was charming seduction in stealth mode.

She turned, their mouths nearly touching. “I’ll take a rain check.”

Bronson leaned back just a hair and laughed. “And I’m sure you’ll redeem it soon.”

She smiled as they entered the grand foyer. “Count on it.”

“Vous êtes trop genre.”

Bronson jerked his head around at the flawless French that came from Mia’s glossy lips as she spoke to a popular French producer. She laughed, patted the elderly man’s beefy arm and turned back to Bronson.

“Sorry about that,” Mia told him, beautiful smile still in place. “On my way back from the chocolate fountain Mr. du Muir stopped me and we started chatting.”

Chatting? In French? First she shows up in the lobby looking like sin in stilettos, teasing him with upswept hair and a bare back that just begged his hands to explore more, and then she conducts a conversation in French that sounded as if she’d been living in France her whole life.

“I forgot you were fluent in French,” he told her, taking a champagne flute as a waiter walked by. He handed her the glass and an embossed napkin. “Mother told me you have an ear for languages.” Not to mention he’d seen it on her background reports.

“I speak French, Spanish and Italian.” She took a sip of champagne, leaving her plump pink lips moist, inviting.

“You even had the sexy accent down. You sure you’re not an actress?” He only half joked.

Not once at the Marché du Film opening night film earlier or since they’d entered the Icon Picture party had she acted shy or uncomfortable. She’d lit up the red carpet with her smile and sultry gaze into the cameras, and Bronson knew without a doubt that when he saw their pictures in a tabloid, his eyes would be glued to this Italian beauty. There wasn’t a man drawing breath who would blame him for being infatuated with her.

How many times over the past few years had she escorted Anthony Price to events? He’d never seen her, but then he hadn’t been looking and didn’t care who Anthony entertained. At least not at that point.

“Not an actress,” she assured him with a smile. “I just find speaking another language romantic and mysterious.”

“Romantic and mysterious?” Bronson leaned in so only she could hear. “The perfect description of my date tonight, wouldn’t you say? Makes me want to uncover more of you.”

Bronson leaned back, eager to see her eyes, even more eager to hear her response. But Mia’s dark gaze darted over his shoulder. Bronson turned to see what she was looking at, and the moment was gone.

“Oh, there’s your mother.” Mia waved, standing on her tiptoes.

“Darling!” Olivia closed the gap and kissed Mia’s cheek. “So sorry I’ve been scarce since the showing. I’ve been catching up with old friends. There’s quite a buzz about the beauty on my son’s arm. There’s not a man who can keep his eyes off you, my dear.”

Mia laughed. “Oh, please. Every woman here is stunning.”

Not like you. God, the words nearly came out of his mouth. But it was true. There wasn’t a woman in Cannes right this minute who compared to Mia.

Focus. He wasn’t here to get played by this woman—he was here to see what the hell she truly wanted from his family. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Anthony had some kind of agenda behind Mia’s career move. But he didn’t have to worry about his mother saying anything to her personal assistant about the script they’d been working on. It was just as important to her that nothing be revealed until they were both ready.

And, if Mia turned out to be as clean and innocent as her background check indicated, then he would let her be. But if he found out she was indeed working for Anthony, they both would rue the day they decided to cross the Danes.

Bronson kissed his mother’s cheek. “It’s a shame Victoria couldn’t join us this year.”

Olivia smiled. “Working hard on a big celebrity wedding trumps us, darling. That girl does work herself to death.”

Bronson laughed. “Says the pot about the kettle.”

Olivia wrapped an arm around Bronson’s waist in a half hug. “I’m proud of all my children for their hard work.”

Bronson was about to say something else, but his thought was lost as he looked to Mia. A flash of pain darted through her eyes.

“You’re all very lucky to have each other.” Mia took a sip of champagne. “Does Victoria usually attend, as well?”

“Almost always,” Olivia said. “She designed many of the dresses you see here tonight, and she loves nothing more than to admire her work up close.”

Bronson didn’t know about the other clients, but he was sure as hell happy with the dress she’d chosen for Mia. And he couldn’t help but wonder what other taunting designs would adorn Mia during their trip. What dress he would ultimately unwrap her from.

God help him. This was only night one.

“It’s getting late.” Olivia lifted her face, placing a kiss on Bronson’s cheek. “See you tomorrow. Mia, I’ll see you first thing in the morning.”

Mia smiled and nodded. “I’ll be at your suite by eight.”

As his mother disappeared beneath sparkling chandeliers into the sea of glitz, glamour and overflowing champagne fountains, Bronson turned back to Mia, who was placing her empty flute on the tray of a passing waiter.

Mia smothered a yawn. “I’m still a bit jet-lagged.”

He hated that the evening was drawing to a close, but it was late and he had an early meeting. “Then I’ll escort you to your room.”

With a warm smile that threatened to lure him in, Mia placed a slender hand on his arm. “No need to leave because I am, Bronson. I’m sure you have many more associates who’d love to chat with you.”

He shrugged. “It’s well after midnight as it is. You’re not the only one who needs to be well rested.”

Taking her soft hand, he laced her arm through his and escorted her through the party. He didn’t miss the fact that men seemed to keep their gaze on Mia a little longer than necessary … he knew the feeling of wanting to capture a mental picture of this beauty.

Mia, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to the attention.

“And here I thought all you Hollywood hotshots never slept,” she went on, smiling up at him.

Those dark-as-night eyes could make a man forget any scruples he had. The sweet floral scent radiating off all that bare skin made his mouth water. If the woman was this potent after one evening, how would he survive the rest of the trip?

Dammit. He hated being vulnerable, and Mia was working her way fast and hard under his skin.

“I won’t lie,” he told her. “We do burn the midnight oil quite often. Which is why we need to sleep when we can.”

As they stepped out into the warm night air, Bronson tasted the saltiness of the sea on his lips. He couldn’t help but wonder if Mia would taste the same.

Yachts lined the docks and bobbed gently with the subtle ripples of the Mediterranean. Thousands of twinkling lights glistened off the black water, setting a romantic ambiance seen in movies.

Obviously, a realistic effect.

“This place is amazing.” Mia snuggled closer to him as she looked out over the water. “I could live here and just stare at that gentle rolling tide all day.”

“We have coastline at home, as well.”

She looked back at him and tilted her head. “True, but there’s something romantic and glamorous about Cannes. I love Hollywood, but it’s all so … fake.”

Bronson laughed. “Fake? You’ve never faked anything?”

“No,” she said without hesitation. “What you see is what you get.”

His eyes roamed over her, then landed back on her flawless face. “The exterior is perfect without faking anything. But what about on the inside? You’ve never lied? That’s faking the truth. No?”

Mia looked back to the sea. “We all lie about something at some point, Bronson. It’s human nature not to reveal the truth when a lie can benefit us.”

Bronson stepped in front of her, keeping his hand on her arm. When she turned her gaze to face him, moonlight sparked off those deep, chocolate eyes. If he weren’t careful, he’d fall into them and lose the battle he was fighting with himself.

“What are you faking now, Mia?” he whispered.

A soft breeze from the water lifted a tendril of her hair and sent it dancing. He tucked the strand behind her ear, stroking a finger down the side of her face, down her neck until her breath caught.

“I told you.” She licked her lips, mocking Bronson because he wanted to be the one to lick that salty sea air off her parted mouth. “What you see is what you get.”

“What I get, huh?” he asked with a slight grin.

Bronson slid his hand up her bare arm, cupped the back of her neck and captured her lips beneath his.

Perfect. Absolutely … perfect.

God, he’d been so right in believing her lips would taste amazing. Soft, giving. Mia may be holding a secret, but if it had anything to do with her sexuality, he’d just uncovered it. There was a passion brewing beneath this confident, yet private woman.

She wrapped her fingers around his biceps, whether to push him away or hold on as he continued assaulting her mouth he didn’t know. But he wasn’t going to stop unless she made him because one taste, just one, had him pulling her against him. His hands roamed up that bare back that had mocked him all evening. Damn this dress. He wanted it off her. Now.

With their bodies only separated by his tux shirt and thin layers of chiffon over her breasts, Bronson could feel the effect he had on her.

A snap and flash had him pulling back just in time to see a paparazzo running in the other direction.

Damn.

“Oh, God, did he …”

“Yeah.” Bronson gritted his teeth, taking a step back to put some space between them. “He snapped our picture and now he’s probably running back to whatever rag he works for.”

Mia held a hand over her mouth, eyes wide as she stared back at him. “Oh, Bronson, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry because we kissed or sorry because we got caught?”

She smoothed that dangling strand of hair back. “Is that your way of finding out my feelings about what just happened? I’m not sorry we kissed. Surprised, but not sorry. I am sorry if what just happened ends up in the newspaper and causes more grief for your family in the press, especially with my recent scandal.”

Her concern seemed genuine—but so had her French accent.

Bronson shrugged. “My body blocked your face, so as far as the media’s concerned, you’re a nameless woman.”

But now that he’d had a sample, Bronson wanted the rest of what she had to offer.