Jennifer Probst - The Marriage Trap

Maggie’s delicious body and sharp mind already attracted him. He didn’t need any scenarios where they ended up in bed together and things got . . . awkward. Not while around his family pretending to be married. If she kept her belief he was in love with her best friend, there would be an extra barrier of defense between them. Of course, his own sacrifice was greater than he’d imagined. He’d lose a close friend who meant the world to him, and he may even hurt Alexa in the process.

His choice lay before him. He thought of not being able to hold Lily or to have her call him Uncle. And then he thought of Venezia and her hysterics and grief, her desire to start her own life. His responsibility lay with taking care of his family at all costs. He’d learned that lesson young, and he never intended to forget it. No, in a way, there really was no other choice.

Michael forced himself to utter the lie Maggie needed to hear. “I love Alexa as a friend. But I will agree to your terms if you will do this for me.”

She flinched, but her gaze remained steady as she nodded her acceptance. A strange flash of anguish lit her eyes, then vanished. His instincts told him her trust had been betrayed in an irreversible way no man had ever been able to fix. An old lover? An ex-fiancé? Fascinated, he longed to dig deeper, but she was back to her controlled self. “Fine. Give me your vow you’ll stay away from her when we return. No exceptions.”

“How do you suggest I neatly disappear without hurting her feelings?”

She shrugged. “We’ll be in Italy for the week, and then you’ll be busy. Pretend you’re dating someone new and caught up with her. After a while, Alexa will stop asking questions.”

He disagreed, but figured Maggie would help take care of that part. A sliver of grief pierced through him before he said the words aloud. “I accept your conditions.” Then he took a step forward. “Now, I will tell you mine.”

He enjoyed the slight widening of her eyes as he loomed over her. Awareness jumped between them. She refused to cower, though, and held her ground. “Wait. How do I know you won’t break your promise?”

He reached out and gripped her chin. Her question attacked the core of who he was, and an icy chill threaded through his tone. “Because I do not break my promises. Capisce?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

He released her chin, but not before sneaking a casual touch by running his finger down her cheek. Soft, silky skin tempted him to continue the caress. He cleared his throat and got back to the topic. “The rules are simple. I’ll call my mother tonight to break the news, but it will seem suspicious unless I’m prepared. I’ll need to agree to get married in Italy.”

“What? Hell, no. I’m not going to really marry you!”

He waved off her shocked protest. “Of course, we’re not really going to marry. But we need to pretend. Mama is quite sharp and will remain suspicious if we don’t seem willing to recite our marriage vows in front of her and a priest. I’ll tell her we legally married in the States, but will apply for a license in Italy so she can take part in a second wedding.”

“What happens when the priest shows up ready to marry us?”

Michael’s lips quirked at her sudden panic. “It takes a long time for a priest to agree to marry a couple when he does not know the bride, especially if she isn’t Catholic. It will never happen within our short visit. I’ll tell Mama we’re staying for two weeks, but we’ll leave after one and cite an emergency.”

She relaxed, back to her confident, sarcastic self. “You didn’t tell me why you suddenly need a wife. Can’t find your true Juliet, Romeo?”

Michael gave her a brief rundown on his family’s background and his sister’s desire to marry. He prepared himself for her ridicule of such an old-fashioned culture, but she nodded as if she completely understood—and managed to keep him off balance.

“I admire your mother,” she finally said. “It’s hard to keep your beliefs when others mock you. At least your family believes in something. Tradition. Promises kept. Responsibility.” Fascinated by her words, Michael watched the emotion flicker across her face before she shook off the memories. “I just hope your plan works the way you want it to.”

“What do you mean?”

Her elegant shoulders lifted. “Your family may not like me. I photograph underwear models for a living. And I’m not pretending to defer to you, either, so don’t get your hopes up.”

He grinned. “Didn’t I tell you wives obey in every way? Part of the bargain revolves around you treating me like royalty. You’ll cook my supper, serve my needs, and defer to my wishes. Don’t worry—it’s only for a week.”

Her sheer horror ruined his ruse. He chuckled, and her fist fell back to her side. He had a feeling he’d just missed a black eye. Did she bring all that fiery emotion to the bedroom? And if so, was there anything left of her men in the morning other than a brainless smile and a desire for more?

Her lips quirked. “Funny. Nice to see you have a sense of humor, Count. It’ll make the week go faster.”

“Glad you approve. I’ll make the arrangements and we’ll leave tomorrow evening. I’ll give you the rundown on my family during the trip, and you can tell me the important things about yours.”

She nodded and eased her way to the door. Her obvious discomfort at their close proximity soothed him. At least he wasn’t the only one experiencing sexual chemistry. She seemed dedicated to not being attracted to him, which made it easier to ignore the physical connection and get through the week.

Maggie Ryan may be an explosive woman, but he could handle seven days.

No problema.

Maggie glanced at her fake husband and tried hard not to panic.

The familiar shortening of breath and hammering heart alerted her to trouble. She swallowed, hid her face behind Italian Vogue, and prayed she’d keep it together. She hated the idea of anyone knowing about such a weakness, especially Michael. The whole crazy plan hit her full force as soon as his private plane shot into the air. Her finger itched with the snug band of platinum gold, and the two-carat round diamond sparkled like icicles catching the glint of the sun. The ruse seemed doable in Alexa’s house. A day later, though, with a ring, fake husband, and family to con, she realized she was a complete idiot.

What the hell had she agreed to?

And what was it about the Ryan family that necessitated fake marriages? She’d laughed her ass off when Nick told her he needed to marry in order to inherit their uncle’s company, Dreamscape Enterprises. Thank God, setting him up with Alexa proved to be the best decision, especially when they fell in love and made it real.

Of course, the only reason Alexa agreed to a marriage of convenience with her brother was to save her family. Maggie had no lofty reason to save a business or childhood home. But you have the opportunity to protect family, her inner voice whispered. Alexa and Nick had something real. Michael remained a constant threat: his sensual smile, lilting voice, and come-hither bedroom eyes wrapped her best friend in a false state of protection. Finally, her suspicions confirmed truth.

He admitted he loved her best friend.

When the words fell from his lips, a strange flare of grief pierced her heart. Ridiculous, of course, and she quickly buried the embarrassing emotion. Of course, he wrapped it up in the term friendship, but it was only his way to throw her off base. A powerful man like the count would not be content to wait on the sidelines for long—not if he believed he’d have a shot with the woman he loved. Maggie couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t use the available weapon to keep Michael away from her family.

But at what price? Meeting his sisters and mother. Sleeping in his bedroom. Pretending to be someone she wasn’t?

Her fingers tightened around the glossy pages, and she breathed in through her nose, and out through her mouth. The shrink she’d forced herself to visit prescribed yoga and stress-reducing exercises. She absolutely refused to be medicated and controlled by anxiety. Starting from one hundred and going backward, she forced away the crazed need to gulp for air and reigned herself in. Visualizing her heartbeat slowing, she breathed.

Ninety-eight.

Ninety-seven.

Ninety-six.

Ninety-five.

“Studying for your shoot?”

She waited a few beats until she was under control, then looked up. He leaned back in the seat, one ankle crossed over his knee, a relaxed smile on his face. Funny, she’d always had a thing for long hair on a man, enjoying the modern-day pirate image. His powerful frame was wrapped in a black sports jacket, jeans, and low black boots. His eyes filled with humor as he motioned to her fashion magazine.

A quick lash of irritation caused her to cock her head and adopt a southern drawl. “Sorry, darlin’, pictures are all I can handle. Too many words on a page makes me all aflutter.”

She’d always hated the easy assumption she couldn’t handle literature more challenging than a fashion magazine. Of course, she did nothing to convince anyone otherwise. She boasted no college education and made her own way in the photography world. She liked the control it gave her in a relationship to keep things hidden. Especially her addiction to crossword puzzles and Civil War literature. If only her dates knew she DVR’d the History Channel more than Project Runway.

He reached over to the minibar and poured himself a Scotch with ice. “Nothing wrong with Vogue. It was my sister’s bible.”

“I read, too. The articles in Playgirl are entertaining.”

He laughed, the sound coating her skin like the slow slide of creamy caramel. “Why don’t you tell me a little about your work? How did you end up being a photographer?”

The true answer skittered across her mind but she refused to say it aloud. Because the world was better viewed through a lens? Because photography gave her control to watch others—almost like legal voyeurism? She sipped at her glass of Chianti. “One Christmas I got a Nikon with all the trappings and was told to show up at photography camp for a week. The nanny had a vacation coming and they had no one to watch me, so off I went. The instructor was top rate and taught me a lot. I got hooked.”

His probing stare burned through barriers and demanded the truth. Fortunately, the mess of emotions had been steeped in deep freeze for so many years there was nothing left to show. “Sounds like you received money but no emotional support. The fashion industry is quite competitive, especially in Milan. You must be extremely talented and dedicated to be so much in demand.”

She shrugged. “I’ve always had an eye for fashion.” She gave a fake leer. “Especially ones including muscled, half-naked men.”

Maggie expected a laugh, but he kept quiet and studied her. “Have you ever tried to expand your focus?”

She stretched her legs out and settled back in the comfy seat. “Sure. I’ve done shoots for the Gap and Victoria’s Secret during a dry spell.”

“You don’t like to talk about yourself much, do you, cara?”

The intimate rumble ruffled her nerve endings and made her want things. Bad things. Like his tongue deep inside her mouth and those hands all over her naked body. Oh, this man was good. All charm and humor and sensuality wrapped up in a power package deadly to women. His sinful eyes practically forced confessions from a woman’s lips. “On the contrary. Ask me anything you want. Boxers or briefs? Mets or Yankees? Disco or hip-hop? Hit me with your best shot.”

“Tell me about your parents.”

She refused to hesitate. “My father is on his fourth wife. He loves money, hates work, and only sees me to rack up brownie points with his new wife. Seems she likes family closeness, and he’s trying to make her happy. For now. He’s handsome, charming, and completely empty. My mother envisions herself a celebrity and despises the fact she’s aging and has two grown children. She’s currently shacked up with an actor and begging for two-bit parts as an extra on various sets.”

“And your relationships?” His aura burned with a curiosity that made her uneasy. “What about them, la mia tigrotta? Have you given up on commitment because of your parents?”

Her breath caught at his directness, but she forged on. “I have many healthy relationships on my own terms.” She uttered the lie without a shred of guilt. “Do I believe finding real love in this lifetime is almost impossible? Hell, yes. It’s proven over and over again. Why bother? Why dive into obvious pain and heartache unless you find someone you’d die for? And personally, I don’t think he’s out there. But I have a damn good time finding Mr. Right Now.”