Hiring Cupid (2 page)

If the stranger noticed her scramble for sanity however, he said nothing. He crouched down and Carly heard the clanging sound as metal was wrenched from metal. A frown creased his brows and her gut churned. The nightmare wasn't easing.

He straightened and dusted his hands down leather trousers that molded his muscled thighs like a second skin, the moon in a cloudless sky striking a play of light against the shiny fabric. They hid absolutely nothing.

No. Don't do that, she pleaded silently, her gaze riveted to his long fingers grazing his even longer thighs. She choked back a cough and her brain switched to instant replay. It wasn't
his
legs, those beautiful fingers were caressing, but hers.

"I can change the tire, but I don't think it'll do much good if the brakes are acting up."

Carly's eyes closed and she bit back the urge to cry. “My foot went straight to the floor; there was no pressure at all."

"Be dangerous to drive then, you'd better ride with me."

Carly's eyes shot open. “Dangerous,” she repeated. “With you?"

"Yeah. I can promise you a smooth ride."

She bet he could. His voice had a faint undertone of an accent to it, most probably Italian, smoky and sinful. Just the sound of it sent a shiver racing down her spine, heat fusing every fiber of her body.

She shook her head. This shouldn't be happening. What was wrong with her? She was ... on fire.

So where is Ms. Boring now? Ms. Everything-is-about-business.

Who the heck knew?

From the scuff of his ebony boots with all those shiny silver buckles to the tip of his very beautiful, slightly rake-like jet black hair, this man fit the description of
her
Mr. Invisible perfectly.

Whoa. Forget it. Bad, bad idea.

What was she thinking? She tried to find her voice but came up blank.

"If you lock up your car, you can call the auto service when you get home."

"Ride with you?” Oh Lordy. Carly eyed the bike. A silvered chrome monster, seething with power and ... sex. Just like him.

"Unless you want to walk ten miles in those sex-kitten heels you're wearing."

"Sex-kitten? They're expensive..."

"Most likely, since they're Manolo's,” he interrupted, surprising Carly that he knew about shoes. “But with that peep toe you've got going on and heels that are no fatter than a noodle, they're definitely in the sex-kitten category."

Carly stared down at her feet, surprised to see that the beam from his bike highlighted her shoes. “What the heck do you know about shoes?"

"Not shoes exactly, but I've seen plenty of legs in killer heels in my time.” And he gave her a wink.

Lordy. How the heck did she reply to that? Carly snapped her mouth closed. Heaven help her.

"Ready?"

Was she? Suddenly, she felt as if she'd swallowed the Sahara desert and licked her lips. But the moment she lifted her gaze and saw Mr. Blue Eyes staring straight at her mouth, she slammed her lips firmly closed.

"Have you ridden on top before?"

"On top?” Oh, good God. Help! Someone! Why was everything he said, plus everything she thought, sounding like sex? Totally and utterly carnal. A furious heat burned behind Carly's eyes. “I ... I've never ridden a bike, unless you count a push bike and my sister's tricycle."

"Really?” One dark brow arched and his smile broadened. “Then it will be my pleasure to teach you."

Pleasure. Oh, boy.

The way he said the word—lilting, charming, and very sexy—set her body firing.

He held his hand out to her and for a fleeting second Carly thought to turn tail and run. But where to? Her car was knackered, in a ditch with a dud tire and brakes that wouldn't get her home in one piece. She had no choice. No car repair service would come out at this time of night.

"You prefer to walk?” he asked.

Her head shot up and she caught his amused expression coloring his smiling eyes.

"Don't panic. I can't read minds."

Thank God for that she reasoned and her shoulders sagged as she realized there was no way on earth she wanted him to read her wayward thoughts.

"But you're face tells the story,
cara mia
."

"
Cara ... ?"

"
Cara mia
is Italian and means
my heart
."

"I know what it means, but..."

"You wonder why I speak such intimate words?"

"To a stranger, yes."

"A beautiful stranger, nonetheless."

Carly stiffened, but he smiled again, tilting her off her axis of sanity.

Huh!

That had long gone, she reasoned silently, and unless she stayed on in this darkened road for the rest of the night, she knew she had no other option. Her cell phone battery had died, and besides, she was probably beyond coverage.

"I'm Marco,” he said as she took his hand. His fingers wrapped around hers. Large and—yes, almost a tender caress. She couldn't help wondering how they would feel against her bare skin.

Oh, dear Lord. What was she thinking—again? Stop, stop, stop!

"So now, we're not strangers,” he said. Then he smiled—slow and teasing. If it was meant to set her at ease, it completely failed.

She stepped closer to the bike and eyed the monster.

"It's like a woman,” he said. “Very smooth. Treat it right and you get a good ride."

Carly choked back a shocked gasp. Did he really say that?

With her hand still clasped in his, an action Carly told herself was so that she kept her balance—which she didn't believe one iota unless it was for her mental balance—she lifted her right leg over the seat. Her skirt hoisted up her thighs and catching Marco's blatant appraisal she shifted awkwardly trying to yank the fabric down.

"Skirts and bikes don't really mix,” he advised her with barely controlled humor.

"Don't I know it.” With her legs barely covered, Carly nearly fell off a second later as Marco joined her on the bike.

He was close. So close she could lean forward—if she wanted to—and rest her cheek against his leather-clad back

If she wanted too.

You don't.

Don't I?

"Hold on,” he laughed.

Hold? Him? The bike roared to life and Carly grabbed the first thing in front of her. Marco.

Muscles, hard, rigid and warm to touch slid beneath her fingers. Carly held on tight.

As he gunned the bike she tightened her hold.

"Ready to roll?"

His accented question shocked Carly from her pubescent meandering while his lop-sided grin sent her heart and stomach into tandem flip flops, again.

"Just remind me to follow my own rules next time."

"What are they?"

"Rule number one. Never travel this road again at night and rule number two, learn how to fix tires."

"And deny me your company? Not fair."

Carly never had the chance to answer him as the engine roared and he eased the bike back on to the road. With a death grip, she clutched him, while trying not to lean into his back and her thighs vibrated with the roar of the engine between her legs.

Oh heavens. How sexy could it be? A throbbing, vibration between her legs.

She shuddered and her eyes closed.

"Lean closer. You won't ache so much."

Wanna’ bet?
Nothing would take that particular ache away, she reasoned. Except ... well there was one thing.

Carly leaned forward, her cheek touching his leather-clad back, the brush of his ebony hair poking beneath his helmet tickling her nose. But it was his smell that teased her most. She licked her still dry lips. Temptation all wrapped up in leather.

Stop it. Right now
.

She shook her head. She was way out of her depth. And she knew it.

It was a sin that a man could look that good, Carly reflected the next day. But sexy men, or one in particular, wasn't the reason for her joy. Nope. That was down to her hard work paying off. If she played her cards right she would formalize the deal of a lifetime. CV Hotels were expanding their international base and she intended to land the contract for the interior design. It would be the culmination of everything she'd worked so hard for.

Buoyed by her good humor, she strode downtown as her phoned buzzed. Still in full stride, she flicked her mobile on, but didn't get the chance to speak.

"Carly, you have to come."

Her shoulders sagged and for a moment she held the phone away from her ear and gathered the strength to cope with the caller.

"Mum, slow down. What is it now?” As much as she loved her mother and sisters, they were trying at the best of times, relying on her for every petty factor of their chaotic lives. She was their rescuer, mothering her siblings, while their mother wallowed in self-pity.

"Martha's pregnant."

Carly should have been surprised, but wasn't. All her sisters had children, either in or out of wedlock. All depended on her when times were tough and things went haywire, which was often.

"What do you want me to do about it?"

For the next ten minutes her mother told her exactly what she wanted, pleading for her help. Carly wanted to tell her mother it was Martha's problem, but remained mute. Finally she flipped her phone off and decided a break from familial duty wouldn't go amiss and headed to her favorite coffee shop.

Sipping coffee, her gaze wandered down the cobbled lane. A mecca for designer stores, with the lunch trade out it was booming.

Then Carly saw him. His coal dark head towered above other pedestrians, his long, muscular stride shortening the distance between them with every step. Her breath caught in her throat.

She didn't know whether to stop him, or ignore him.

As he neared, every woman ogled the imposing male. No longer in his intimidating leathers, but casually dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, the sleeves rolled up to display biceps most men would give their eye-teeth for and woman would drool over, he headed her way. Before she had time to back out, she waved, feeling like an idiotic school kid. “Hello, Marco."

He came to a sudden stop and turned, blue eyes focusing on her. Heat flooded Carly's cheeks and her mouth opened and closed several times. Oh my God, he didn't remember her. How embarrassing was that?

"Hello.” Then there it was, the flicker of recognition in his eyes and his husky voice. It sent a shiver down her spine.

Just like last night.

Aware of her awakening body, Carly clamored for words—any would do. “Thanks again, for last night I mean.” Oh hell, that sounded even worse—like she was saying thanks for the time in bed. The heat in her cheeks upped several notches and she fiddled with her empty coffee cup trying to hide her embarrassment.

"Let me buy you a coffee, for payment,” she said fumbling for her purse.

Why not just shout ‘for services rendered'?

"There's no need."

"Please."

His lips twisted in an amused smile, the lopsided grin making Carly's toes curl. Suddenly it seemed really important she do this. Shrugging, he pulled the spare chair out from the table and sat down, stretching out his long legs. Carly gulped and looked away, quickly walking to the counter to order his coffee. As she shoved her purse back in her handbag, a slip of paper caught her attention. The invitation. Why on earth had she retrieved the blasted thing from the rubbish bin?

Shoving it out of sight, she took the coffee to the table. She eyed him. He was a perfect fit. A perfect ‘10'. Exactly as she had described. Tall, dark, and supremely handsome. Her mind whirred with possibilities, the same ones she'd tried to squash last night. Didn't they make movies about this sort of thing? Why couldn't it work?

You don't have a million dollars
.

Sitting opposite him, Carly coughed and his gaze lifted from his coffee and across the cup toward her. For a second there was the unmistakable flicker of danger and an indefinable strength in his eyes, a warning, but just as quickly it dissolved, shadowed by the thick veil of his ebony eyelashes. Carly shrugged. Her brain was acting way off kilter as a result of too little sleep and far too many fanciful musings. But when he took another sip of his cappuccino and a thin layer of milky white froth lined his top lip, instinctively the tip of her tongue wiped across her own, igniting a wave of heat that had been a gentle swell and whipping it into tidal wave proportions.

Carly shook her head. She didn't want to go there.

"You're watching me,” she said.

"A crime?” and he smiled again.

Blast the man. He's smooth. Too smooth. Carly tilted her head up a fraction. “It makes me nervous."

"You're a beautiful woman. But then,” he said as the blue of his eyes darkened to an intensely dark sapphire, “you know that."

Words failed Carly, but she couldn't help but enjoy his comment nevertheless. She swallowed hard and struggled to reclaim a vestige of calm. She held out her hand. “I don't think I've introduced myself. Carly Mason."

"Marco Valente,” he said formally. Just like the night before, his big hand encircled hers. Big and beautiful. And it felt just as wonderful as it had last night.

Wrong. It felt twice as good!

Carly frowned and willed her nerves to get lost. She chewed on her bottom lip. This was going to be harder than she thought, but if nothing, she was determined. “You're Italian?"

"
Si,"
he said nodding.

Hard wasn't the way to describe this monologue. It would be nothing short of a miracle if she succeeded. Steeling herself, she pasted on the brightest smile she could.

"I have a proposition for you."

"Is it legal?"

Carly spluttered at his comeback and quickly set her cup down. Her hands shook, but she took her time to wipe her lips with a napkin; aware every second Marco Valente watched and waited, following her every move. This was no time to be faint-hearted.

"Of course it is. The fact is Mr. Valente, I need a man."

And that's meant to sound legal!

"Really? Why would a woman with your looks need a man?"

A crimson stain colored Carly's cheeks in an instant, but she kept her gaze steadfastly on her prey. She wasn't about to give in.