His Thirty-Day Fiancée

“I heard two sisters who are very close to each other,” he said simply, striding toward the stack of jewelry boxes he’d set on a table beside the safe, his shirttails flapping. He creaked open the one on top to reveal shirt studs and cuff links, monogrammed, and no doubt platinum. “You said there’s nobody else to call. What happened to the rest of your family?”

She watched his hands at work fastening his shirt and cuffs, struck again by the strange intimacy of watching a stranger dress. “Our mother died giving birth to Jennifer.”

Glancing over at her, the first signs of some kind of genuine emotion flickered through his eyes. A hint of compassion turned his coal-dark eyes to more of a chocolate brown. “I am sorry to hear that.”

The compassion lingered just for a second, but long enough to soften her stiff spine. “I wish I remembered more about her so I could tell Jennifer. I was seven when our mother died.” Jennifer was twenty now. Kate had taken care of her since their father walked out once his youngest daughter turned eighteen. “We have a few photos and home videos of Mom.”

“That is good.” He nodded curtly, securing his cummerbund. “Did your mother’s death have something to do with your sister’s disability?”

She didn’t like discussing this, and frankly considered it none of people’s business, but if she would even consider being around this man for a full month, he needed to understand. Jennifer came first for her. “Our mother had an aneurysm during the delivery. The doctors delivered Jennifer as soon as possible, but she was deprived of oxygen for a long time. She’s physically healthy, but suffered brain damage.”

He looped his tie with an efficiency that could only come from frequent repetition. “How old is your sister?”

Now wasn’t that a heartbreaking question? “She’s an eight-year-old in a twenty-year-old’s body.”

“Where’s your father?”

Sadly, not in hell yet. “He isn’t in the picture.”

“Not in the picture how?”

“As in, he’s not a part of our lives now.” Or ever again, if she had anything to say about contact with the self-centered jackass. Anger spiked through her so hot and furious she feared it might show in her eyes and reveal a major chink in her armor. “He skipped the country once Jennifer turned eighteen. If you want to know more, hire a private investigator.”

“You chose to be Jennifer’s legal guardian.” He slid his tuxedo coat off the hanger. “No law says you had to assume responsibility.”

“Don’t make it sound like she’s a burden,” she responded defensively. “She’s my sister and I love her. Your family may not be close, but I am very close to Jennifer. If you do anything at all to hurt her, I will annihilate you in the press—”

“Hold on.” He paused shrugging on his jacket. “No one said anything about hurting your sister. I will see to it that she’s protected 24/7. Nobody will get near her.”

How surprising that he would commit such resources to her family. She relaxed her guard partway, if not fully. She couldn’t imagine ever being completely at ease around this man. “And you won’t let your guards scare her?”

“They take into account the personality of whomever they’re protecting. Your sister will be treated with sensitivity and professionalism.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, lacing her hands and resisting the urge to smooth his satiny lapels. She hadn’t expected such quick and unreserved understanding from him.

“Turn around,” he commanded softly, hypnotically, and without thinking she pivoted.

His hand grazed the back of her neck. Delicious awareness tingled along her skin. What was he doing? Hell, what was she doing?

Something chilly slithered over her heated skin, cold and metallic. Her fingers slid up to his fingers…

Jewels. Big ones. She gasped.

He cupped her shoulders and walked her toward the full-length mirror inside the armoire door. “It’s not bad for having to make do with what I had in the safe.”

His eyes held hers as they had earlier when he’d been changing. Diamonds glinted around her neck in a platinum setting, enough jewels to take care of Jennifer for years.

“Stand still and I’ll put on the matching earrings.” They dangled from between his fingertips in much the same way her purloined camera earrings had earlier. Except these were worth a mint.

What if she lost one in a punch bowl?

“Can’t I just have my own back?”

“I think not.” He looped the earrings through effortlessly until a cascade of smaller diamonds shimmered from her ears almost to her shoulders. “I’ll send a guard to retrieve your shoes, and then we can go.”

“Go where?” she asked, her breath catching at his easy familiarity in dressing her. He sure knew his way around a woman’s body.

Duarte offered his elbow. “Time to introduce my fiancée to the world.”

Three

In a million years, he never would have guessed that tonight he would introduce a fiancée to Martha’s Vineyard movers and shakers. Even though the engaged couple had left the rehearsal, the band, food and schmoozing would continue long into the night.

Duarte had expected to spend the bulk of his evening working out until he decided how to approach his father’s request for a month of his time. He needed to simplify his life and instead he’d added a curvaceous complication.

No looking back, he reminded himself. And by introducing Kate to a ballroom full of people he ensured she couldn’t fade away. Once in the Medina spotlight, always in the spotlight.

Kate stood at his side in the elevator—more private than the two flights of stairs. As the button for the ground level lit up, he slid his iPhone back into his pocket. He’d just sent a text to his head of security, ordering protection for Jennifer Harper, securing all the identification information for Kate. He would follow up on those instructions after the announcement.

The parting doors revealed the back hall, muffled sounds swelling inside. Clinking glasses and laughter mingled as guests downed crate after crate of Dom Perignon. A dance band finished a set and announced their break. His event planners oversaw these sorts of gigs, but he spot-checked details, especially for a seven-figure event.

Offering his arm to Kate, he gestured through the open elevator doors into the hall. This part of the resort was original to the hundred-year-old building, connecting to the newly constructed ballroom he’d added to accommodate larger events. He’d started his chain of resorts as a way to build a cash base of his own, independent of the Medina fortune.

While he spent most of his time in Martha’s Vineyard, scooping up properties around the U.S. allowed him to move frequently, a key to staying undetected. There was no chain name for his acquisitions. Each establishment stood on its own as an exclusive getaway for hosting private events. He didn’t have any interest in owning a home—his had been taken away long ago—so moving from hotel to hotel throughout the year posed no problem for him.

Kate’s hand on his arm seared through his tuxedo, making him ache to feel her touch on his bare skin. His body was still on edge from the glide of her eyes on him as he changed.

Yet, listening to her on the phone with her sister, he’d been intrigued on a deeper level than just sex and revenge. Suddenly Kate’s anklet of yarn and plastic beads made sense. There were layers to this woman that intrigued him, made him want her even more.

And he intended to make sure she wanted him every bit as much before he took her to bed.

Duarte stopped in front of the side door that would open into the ballroom reception area. He reached for the knob.

Her feet stumbled, ensconced in her retrieved black high heels. “You’re really going to go through with this.”

“The ring did not come out of a gum-ball machine.”

“No kidding.” She held it up, the light refracting off the ruby and diamonds. “Looks more like an heirloom, actually.”

“It is, Katie.”

“I’m Kate,” she snapped. “Only Jennifer calls me Katie.”

Jennifer, the sister who’d wanted to call him Artie. If his brothers heard, they would never let him live that one down.

“All right then, Kate, time to announce our arrival.” He wondered what Kate thought of his other name, the one he’d called himself after leaving the island at eighteen. An assumed name he could no longer use thanks to her internet exposé. Now people would always think of him as Duarte Medina instead of Duarte Moreno, the name he’d assumed after leaving his father’s island.

Sweeping the ballroom doors open, he scanned the tables and dance floor illuminated by crystal chandeliers, searching for the father of the groom. He spotted Ramon with his wife a few feet away.