Secret Agenda

She smiled. “I thought I was your employee.”

He returned her smile. “Eso, también, Vivienne.”

She froze. It was the first time Diego had initiated speaking Spanish to her. “Houseguest and employee,” she drawled. “Now, which one carries more clout?”

“I would have to say employee. My houseguests usually have to fend for themselves, while I take full responsibility for my employees.”

Vivienne met the dark gaze that seemingly bored into her. She'd attempted to conceal her own feelings behind a sometimes too-bright smile and witty repartee. She'd kept up a brave front for four years, and continued the deception when she was photographed as the grieving widow.

“Lucky me.” She wiggled her fingers. “¡Buenas noches!”

“Good night, Vivienne.”

Diego waited until he was certain Vivienne had made it up the staircase, then he followed the trailing scent of her perfume. The fragrance was like the woman herself—delicate and sexy.

But, it wasn't her face, perfume or body that nagged at him hours later when he found himself in bed tossing and turning restlessly. It was Jake's e-mail and the part about Vivienne's divorce action. If Sean Gregory hadn't been killed in a hit-and-run, then everyone would've known that he wasn't sleeping with his wife. And, the question was, if Congressman Sean Gregory wasn't sleeping with his wife, then who had he been sleeping with?

Diego peered at the clock on the bedside table at the same time as he punched the pillow under his head. It was two in the morning and he wasn't going to get much sleep this night—if any, and he knew the reason for his insomnia was a woman who slept in a suite next to his.

Tossing back the sheet, he moved off the bed. Walking on bare feet to the windows, Diego slid back the glass door and screen. The light from a nearly full moon cast an eerie silvery light on the beach. The damp ocean air swept over his naked body. His flesh pebbled, although the nighttime temperatures were in the seventies. The humidity was as thick and heavy as a wet blanket.

He went to the far end of the balcony and peered over the edge. Strategically placed lights surrounding the rear of the building and the moon provided enough illumination for him to see a couple sitting close to each other on the beach. He smiled. It was apparent he wasn't the only one unable to sleep.

Diego saw movement out the corner of his eye and turned to see Vivienne rise from a chair at the opposite end of the balcony. Time appeared to stand still; she was bathed in moonlight, the outline of her body visible through the lightweight fabric of her nightgown. Within seconds his body reacted violently, the flesh between his thighs stirring to life. Gritting his teeth, he swallowed a curse.

He couldn't remember the last time his body hadn't followed the dictates of his brain. Unable to move, and helpless to stop the blood rushing to his groin, Diego closed his eyes and waited, waited for the shadowy image of Vivienne's slender body to fade. When he opened his eyes he saw that he was alone. Vivienne had retreated to her bedroom, while he had to wait a little while longer before he could do the same.

Breathing heavily, Diego lay facedown on the bed. Shivers of self-doubt taunted him as he chided himself for not only hiring Vivienne Neal but also for mandating that a condition of her employment was that she had to be a live-in personal assistant.

He knew he hadn't made a mistake in hiring her, but in having her in the bedroom next to his. It was apparent Vivienne was more aware than he was of the proximity of their sleeping arrangement when she'd asked whether there were bedrooms on the first floor.

Cursing under his breath in English and Spanish, Diego punched a pillow with enough force to release the feathers from their casing. His plan to utilize his personal assistant's skills as his hostess had just backfired. He'd prided himself on his iron-willed self-control when it came to women. Yet he had found himself fully aroused when he'd glimpsed the outline of her body through a layer of fabric.

“I don't do bosses.” He could still hear Vivienne's taunting voice.

“And I don't sleep with female employees,” he whispered in the darkened room. He repeated it over and over until he fell asleep.

Chapter 4

Vivienne opened her eyes to find sunlight coming through the silken sheers at the windows. She'd slept fitfully, alternating sleeping on the cushioned lounger on the balcony and in her bed. It wasn't that the bed wasn't comfortable. It was her surroundings. She'd never been one to adjust easily to change, so she knew it would take her several days before she'd feel completely comfortable in the Palm Beach duplex. The fact that she would be alone most of the day would ease the transition from sharing Alicia's three-bedroom house for the past two months to living with a man.

And she was living with a man—albeit her boss. She knew when she called her mother to apprise her of the new change in her life she would have to endure Pamela Neal's tirade that she didn't raise her daughter to cohabitate with a man unless that man was her husband. However, she was prepared for her mother. What could Pamela say when she'd finally disclosed that she could count the number of times she and Sean slept together under the same roof and also how many times they'd made love during their short marriage.

Glancing at the clock, Vivienne noted the time. It was nearly five-thirty. She knew she had to get up, because she'd promised Diego that she would prepare breakfast. This was one morning where she'd wanted to linger in bed but knew it wasn't going to happen. Although she wasn't going into a traditional office, she still had to go to work.

Her motions were slow and mechanical as she got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. The night before she'd emptied all of the boxes and put away her clothes. Her wardrobe in the expansive closet reminded her of half-empty racks at department stores after a megasale. A shopping spree was definitely a priority if she was to accompany Diego to social events.

Twenty minutes later, she skipped down the stairs, making her way into the kitchen. The heat of the rising sun coming through the pocket doors warmed the marble floor under her bare feet. A group of seagulls had gathered along the beach, examining the remnants left on the sand with the incoming tide.

A smile parted her lips when a gull swooped down, dropping something from its beak. There was a loud commotion as the others rushed over in an attempt to claim it. Vivienne saw a large clamshell on the sand after they'd flown away. The gull had dropped the shell in order to open it, but his feathered friends had duped him out of his breakfast.

Shifting her attention from the scene beyond the glass, she examined the gourmet kitchen with granite-topped cabinetry in a pale paneled wood that gave the space a sleek but warm feeling. Most of the appliances, including the dishwasher and double refrigerators and freezer, were covered with the same light wood, while the backsplashes were covered in glass tiles.

Diego's claim that the refrigerator was well stocked was confirmed when she opened it to find everything she needed to put together breakfast, lunch and dinner. Working quickly with a minimum of effort, she set the table in the dining area, ground fresh coffee beans for the coffeemaker, cubed a mango, cantaloupe and honeydew melon, and then placed four strips of bacon on an unheated stovetop grill. She'd just begun dicing peppers and onions and cubes of smoked ham for an omelet when Diego walked into the kitchen.

She glanced up, and in the instant when their eyes met she felt the energy that made him so undeniably powerful. But she also felt the sexual magnetism that gave him a sense of self-confidence some men would spend a lifetime perfecting.

“Good morning.”

He smiled. “Buenos días.”

Diego wanted to tell Vivienne that it was more than a good morning. In fact, it was a glorious morning. He'd finally fallen asleep and when he woke it was to the resolve that nothing would ever come from his attraction to his personal assistant. This morning she looked much younger than thirty-one. Dressed in an oversize tee, jeans, bare feet and with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, she reminded him of his younger female cousins.

He placed a small square white object on the countertop. “This is a programmable remote device for your car. When you depress the right button, my name and security code will go directly to the gatehouse. You'll have to do it whether you're coming or leaving.”

“What's the left button for?”

Diego gave her a long, penetrating stare. “A GPS panic button.” He smiled when Vivienne's delicate jaw dropped. “If you break down anywhere along the road leading to the complex, or if you believe someone's following you, then press it and the security team will respond.”

A slight frown touched her smooth forehead as she concentrated on dicing ham in precise cubes. “I don't understand something, Diego.”

“What's that?”

“Why would you install a security system when you live in a complex with armed security?”

“The armed security protects us from outside intruders, the inside security from resident intruders or their unsavory guests.”

“Whatever happened to background checks?”

“If you have enough money and know the right people, you, too, will be able to fly under the radar.”

Placing a paring knife on the cutting board, Vivienne wiped her hands on a towel. “Come stand in the sunlight so I can check out your socks.”

As Diego came toward her she noticed things about him she hadn't before. He had a quick step for a man who stood several inches above six feet and the toe of his right foot was turned in slightly. He was impeccably dressed in a stark white shirt with a spread collar and French cuffs with silver cuff links bearing his monogram. The hem of his dark gray pleated-front trousers ended at the precise break above a pair of polished slip-ons. The silk pinstripe gray tie was knotted in a perfect Windsor. Her gaze came to rest on his cleanly shaven face. Although not classically handsome, she thought Diego extremely attractive. Fastidiously well-groomed, he not only looked good but also smelled good.

Vivienne met Diego's gaze and what she saw in the dark, deep-set orbs caused the muscles in her stomach to contract. Diego Cole-Thomas's expression could not disguise the curiosity lurking behind his enigmatic gaze. Her eyelids fluttered before she was able to bring her fragile emotions into some semblance of order. She'd met enough men to recognize that particular look, and at that moment she knew what her boss was thinking even if he wouldn't openly admit it—he was more than interested in her.

“What do you want to know, Diego?”

He blinked once. “Say what?”

“What is it you want to know about me?”

His eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about, Vivienne?”

She glared at him in what would've become a stare-down, but dropped her gaze. “Forget it.”

Reaching out, he caught her wrist. “No, I'm not going to forget it. Something's bothering you, or you would've never asked me that question.”