Jennifer Probst - The Marriage Trap

Carina gasped. “Dios! Are you kidding me? For real, I can go?”

Michael put up his hand. “There are rules. You text me and let me know where you are at all times. Sierra will be in charge and will take you home. And before you go, I have a talk with them.” He stabbed his finger at the models, now donning T-shirts and jeans and combing their designer haircuts. “Capisce?”

Carina nodded frantically. “Si, grazie, Michael.”

His heart bloomed at her happy, open expression.

“They have the photos ready,” Maggie said.

They joined her at the small computer, which flashed a bunch of photos in a rapid stream. He listened as Maggie went through them, pointing out problems and deficiencies, what she liked and didn’t. Her opinions were bold, bossy, and turned him on big-time. Nothing like a strong woman in business—he’d always craved that in his mate. Unfortunately, many of the women he dated loved the idea of him taking care of them, and though he may come from a traditional household, he yearned for something more in his wife. Someone with a little brass.

The screen clicked on an image and everyone stopped. Michael sucked in his breath.

“That’s it,” Maggie whispered. “I got it.”

Michael stared at the photo. Carina leaned against a fake wall, staring out into space. Cast in half shadow, her figure was blurred, luminous. The features of her face were hidden by a wave of thick, curly hair, and her lips were pursed in longing for something . . . out there.

The three men were carefully positioned behind her to show off the product, but it didn’t seem posed. As if they had spotted an angel, they seemed rooted to the floor, entranced by her, expressions of need flickering across their strong features. The physical aspect of the picture paled in relation to the unexpressed emotions in each body, compelling the onlooker to stop and look deeper.

A whoot sounded from the production guy and he high-fived Maggie. She tilted her head and looked at him. “Can I use it, Michael?”

Carina shook her head, still gazing as if in a trance. “How did you do that, Maggie?” She breathed in awe. “It’s so beautiful.”

Maggie chuckled. “Part of my job. You’re the star, though. You’re the one who’s beautiful.”

Michael watched his sister blush and squirm in delight. His body shook slightly, as if preparing for a lockdown. How was she able to see exactly what his sister needed? Yes, she was a woman, but she’d always touted herself as disconnected from the usual woman stuff. Cooking, gossipy chatter, kids, domestic scenes. Yet, she offered his sibling a compliment that simply came from her soul, with no thought to sugarcoat or be fake.

Michael leaned down and pressed a kiss to Carina’s head. Then he looked into the eyes of a girl who was no longer a girl. “She’s right, you know. You are beautiful. And yes, Maggie, you can use it.”

The sudden emotion choked at his throat until he made himself turn abruptly and disappear down the hallway. Damned if he didn’t need a moment to get himself together.

She was approved to be married in a civil ceremony right now. Today. This moment.

Maggie sank down in the luxurious bubbles and blew out a breath. A spray of foam shot up and sprinkled the air with tiny pockets that caught the last rays of light and shimmered. She wiggled her feet, propped up her legs on the sides, and soaked.

Their visit to the court office in Milan terrorized her. Talking about a fake marriage was one thing; actually filing papers was another. After obtaining the Atto Notorio with two witnesses, they obtained their Nulla Osta—the final declaration of their intent to marry—after stacks of paperwork were approved, notarized, and filed.

Maggie groaned. Because of Michael’s high-ranking and well-known contacts, his mother had eased the paperwork chain so they were able to take care of everything in one busy afternoon. Maggie lifted up her hand and looked again at the cheery sparkle of the diamond ring encircling her finger. Michael’s plan seemed foolproof. He’d string his mother along for the next few months until Venezia was safely married, then advise them of a terrible fallout and their breakup.

Messy, but necessary. Maggie gave a deep sigh as the delicious scent of sandalwood calmed her senses. It was truly amazing the lengths Michael was going through just to help his sister, and his actions bespoke a respect for his mother that touched her. Instead of waving off her crazy demands that he marry and allowing his sister to take the brunt, he’d composed a plan to make everyone happy.

Except himself.

Her skin tingled and she rested a hand on the swell of her breast, stroking gently. What type of woman would make Michael happy? Someone sweet and undemanding? Or would he get terribly bored within the month? And why did she care so much?

Because she wanted him.

The truth slammed into her like a rear-end jolt. Yes, she’d always known they had sexual chemistry. But sleeping in the same bed, seeing him in his element, was doing terrible things to her. She craved to finally sate her appetite and be done with it. After all, if her track record was any indication, she’d be happily satisfied by morning and could move on. Nothing was worse than that empty, gnawing feeling in her stomach when she rolled over and realized the man next to her was not The One. Would never be The One. Surely, a good bout of healthy, satisfying sex would finally quiet her hormones.

But what about Alexa?

She nibbled on her lower lip at the thought. He may want to deny it, but he loved her best friend. Of course, after this trip, he’d finally stay far away from Alexa and her family, and Maggie wouldn’t need to worry he’d muck things up.

It was just sex. They played at being married anyway, so it might give their ruse a bit of punch. Nobody would ever need to know. They were adults and could handle a strictly physical relationship.

She wanted to have sex with Michael Conte. Excitement slithered down her spine. Her nipples pebbled under the slap of water. She wouldn’t be settling for second best because, once again, the bargain was on her terms. Her rules.

Oh, yeah.

Her fantasy exploded in front of her when the door opened.

A girlish yelp escaped her lips. She slithered farther down underneath the bubbles and hastily pulled back her leg from the edge. Michael strode in, a glass of white wine in one hand, a plate with a luscious crème puff in the other, and a full, wicked grin curving his lips.

“Buon giorno, cara. Are you enjoying your bath?”

She spluttered and tried hard not to blush like a schoolgirl. “Are you kidding me? What are you doing here? As most married women would state, I have a headache.”

He had the audacity to chuckle. “Ah, I have heard that expression before. We just uncorked one of our best bottles of pinot grigio, and I thought you’d enjoy a sip while you soak.”

She frowned. “Well, okay. Thanks.” Maggie grabbed the half-filled glass and breathed in the scent of lemony citrus and tangy oak. “You can put the plate over there.”

He set it on the small ledge at the end of the tub and stared at her. Refusing to squirm under his open, hot stare, she glared right back, sticking her lip out to blow some stray wet strands of hair out of her eyes. “You can go now.”

He sat down on the small lip a few inches away. He’d changed out of his suit and looked crisp and casual in worn jeans and a white button-down shirt. His feet were bare and his hair fell loose to his shoulders, which somehow made him even sexier. His presence squeezed out all the breath in the room and left none for her. Already that familiar zing tried to stab her like some sort of Sex Superhero. What was with that?

She waited him out but since she was the naked one, he didn’t seem to feel the need to make conversation. “What are you still doing here?”

“I thought we’d chat.”

“Fine. Strip off your clothes and let’s talk.”

He didn’t move, but his features shifted and suddenly, he was all hot male predator. “Sure about that request?”

Damn, her usual snarky comments were having the wrong effect. Why wasn’t he walking away? A light of challenge gleamed within his eyes, and in horror, her body lit to life. The water swished between her open thighs. Her nipples hardened beneath the bubbles. She caught her breath as his gaze deliberately dropped and caressed her hidden, naked form. What the hell was going on?

She changed tactics. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Our deal.”

Maggie shrugged. “Thought we were on course. Papers are filed so your mom knows we’re legit. Did you see how she asked a zillion questions to make sure everything was in order? She’s a crafty one.”

“Always was.”

“My shoot is over. Dress shopping is behind me.”

“Good.”

“Another family dinner is Friday night, oh, and Julietta wants me to visit the bakery with you tomorrow.”

“Fine.”

She frowned. “Why are you still here?”

“Because I want something.”

“What?”

“You, cara.”

Her tummy plummeted. She worked her jaw up and down but nothing came out, just weird squeaks because she had no air left in her lungs. Michael never moved, just remained poised on the edge of the tub. His easy posture contradicted the heat and demand in his eyes as he stared at her like a hungry cat ready to pounce on his evening meal. Oh, and just the thought of him biting her somewhere made her limbs go loose and liquid. What had he said?

“What did you say?”

His lip quirked. “You heard me. Here, try a bite of this.”

“I don’t want a frickin’—”

He reached out and pushed the crème puff slowly between her lips. She opened on reflex, then bit down. The flaky, buttery taste of the pastry exploded in her mouth. Rich crème coated her tongue in sheer pleasure. He watched her chew, and his thumb ran across her lower lip to catch the last bit of crème lingering. With deliberate motions, he put his finger in his mouth and sucked.

Her thighs tensed. Wetness seeped from between her legs and she knew it had nothing to do with the water. Her eyes widened as he tipped the glass to her lips. One precious drop fell on her tongue, and the icy sting of liquid slid down her throat and seduced a moan. He set the wine on the ledge and leaned in.

“Good?” he murmured.

Maggie blinked.

His gaze held her spellbound. Rough stubble covered his jaw and matched the image of a civilized man gone bad. The intoxicating scent of musk and soap filled her nostrils.

“Uh. Yeah.”

His hands skimmed her shoulders, teasing a line through the bubbles and leaving a trail of peppered gooseflesh. “What scent is this?”

“Huh?” Oh, dear God, she’d become a mute. She struggled to surface from the physical torture of his touch right above her breasts. “Sandalwood.”

“It’s been driving me crazy. When I finally taste you, will you remind me of earthy musk, sweet against my tongue?”

She realized then he was the master. He’d pretended she was in charge the whole time. No wonder she amused him! Her limbs hung limply, her center ached, and her skin burned even underwater. The man had bided his time and got her when she was the most vulnerable. Why did he suddenly want to change the rules of the game? Maggie forced her brain to work through the sensual haze.

“Why are you doing this now?” She hung fiercely to the thread of irritation, knowing if she lost it she’d throw herself at him and beg him to take her. “Are you playing some sick game with me?”

His face tightened with determination. “You’re the one playing games, la mia tigrotta,” he growled. “I’ve wanted you from day one, and I never denied it. I’m tired of fighting with you when we can be doing other things. More pleasurable things . . . for both of us.”

The fact he’d come to the exact realization she had pissed her off. She was supposed to proposition him. Michael was mad if he thought she’d meekly sit by and let him seduce her and stay in charge. It was her idea to finally have sex and get him out of her system. Damned if she’d allow him to win this round.

“I need time to think.”

He rose from the tub and nodded politely.

“Please hand me a towel.”

He glanced back at her. The struggle on his face, whether or not to push, finally settled. Maggie realized a layer of trust had begun to build, and knowing that as angry as he would get, he’d always remain in control softened a fear deep inside that had been buried for way too long. He grabbed the pink fluffy bath towel off the hook and handed it to her, then discreetly turned around.