The Fiancée Caper

That it had happened because Marie had let her guard down made it untenable.

“I didn’t steal the necklace, nor did my family,” Gianni pointed out and unplugged the teakettle when it began to shriek.

“I didn’t say you did,” she countered stiffly. “I know who the thief was anyway.”

“Is that right?” He poured the boiling water into the teapot, then replaced the lid and set the kettle back onto the counter. “Who?”

“Jean Luc Baptiste.”

Marie was watching him carefully so she didn’t miss his reaction. Distaste twisted his lips briefly before anger flashed in his eyes. Tugging the knot of his tie loose, he tossed the tie onto the counter, where it landed like a splash of blood against the white granite. Then he unbuttoned his collar and shrugged out of his suit jacket. “I know of him.”

Wow. Out of that jacket, his chest looked broad and muscular and way too good. It was easier to ignore the attraction she felt for him when he was all buttoned up and stiff in that beautiful suit. But as she watched him roll up the sleeves of his shirt, baring tanned forearms dusted with dark hair, she had to swallow hard past the knot in her throat.

“Jean Luc,” he said, “is sloppy, arrogant and usually finds a woman to dupe into helping him.”

At that, Marie had to clench her own jaw and she knew that Gianni enjoyed seeing her irritation.

“Anyway...” Marie said, shoving her unsettling thoughts to the back of her mind. “Jean Luc stayed at the Wainwright Hotel for a couple of weeks and he was...charming.”

And oh, how it humiliated her to admit that she had swallowed that charm hook, line and sinker. But was it so surprising? He had been handsome and smooth and so...French. He had romanced Marie, sweeping her off her feet, dancing attendance on her, and she had stupidly bought all of it. At least, she reminded herself, she hadn’t been idiot enough to sleep with the man. Though if he’d been there another week or two, she might have.

Gianni snorted. He carried the mugs to the table, reached back for the teapot and set it down as well before going to a cupboard and grabbing out a package of cookies. He didn’t speak until he was seated at a chair opposite her. “Jean Luc wouldn’t know real charm if it hit him over the head. And yet, he conned you.”

Marie flushed and hated that she could feel that stain of red heat sweeping over her face. If she felt it then he could see it. Even worse, she hated admitting that Gianni was right. Marie’s entire life had been spent around cops. Her own father had raised her to have a healthy cynicism and a low, as he called it, “B.S. meter.” That meter usually clanged and gonged whenever someone was trying to pull one over on her. But Jean Luc had slid beneath her radar and left her feeling as foolish as any other victim of a con man. “He did.”

“And is he as good a lover as he would have everyone believe?”

Her eyes went wide. “I wouldn’t know. That’s one mistake I didn’t make.”

Chuckling, Gianni mused, “Jean Luc must be losing his touch. And so,” he added before she could say anything to that, “he used you to gain information on your hotel and security measures. Then he helped himself to the Contessa and disappeared.”

She sighed. “Pretty much.”

Shaking his head, Gianni poured them each tea and asked, “Milk? Sugar?”

“No thanks.” She picked up her cup, took a grateful sip and asked, “Why are you being so nice? Tea? Cookies?”

“No reason we can’t be civilized, is there?”

“Oh, no,” she agreed wryly. “The cop and the thief sitting at the same table sharing cookies. It’s practically a fairy tale.”

“They’re good cookies,” Gianni said, taking one before pushing the package toward her.

After a bite, she had to agree. This was so strange. Not at all as she’d imagined her first meeting with Gianni Coretti going. “Anyway, back to the story.”

“Yes, I can’t wait to see how it ends.”

She frowned at him. In the bright overhead light, his dark brown eyes shone with what might have been humor, but she couldn’t be sure. “Abigail didn’t blame me for the theft,” she said, remembering the older woman’s kindness. “But the board of directors did. I was fired.”

“Not surprising. You let down your guard to a thief.” Gianni leaned back in the chair, then frowned and shifted uncomfortably. “And not, I should add, a very good thief.”

“That makes me feel so much better, thanks.” Not only had she been conned, but it had also been done by a thief even other thieves didn’t respect.

Marie cupped both hands around her mug and let the heat seep into her skin. While she stared across the table at Gianni, she forced herself to admit, “I made a mistake and Abigail paid for it. That’s unacceptable to me. I want to get her necklace back. No,” she amended, “I need to get her necklace back for her.”

He gave her a brief, slow nod, as if to acknowledge that he understood the sentiment driving her. But then he started speaking and the moment was lost. “I wish you luck with that.”

“I need more than luck,” she countered. “I need you.”

He laughed shortly, shook his head and then took a sip of his tea before plucking another cookie out of the bag. “And why should I care what you need?”

“Because of that photo.”

His features swiftly went blank. “Ah, yes. Your blackmail.”

“I prefer the word extortion.”

“Tomato, tomahto.”

Ignoring that, Marie took a breath. “I’ve done my research you know. I left New York right after the robbery. I cashed in my savings, bought a plane ticket to France and I’ve spent the last few months traveling all over Europe. First I looked for Jean Luc in Paris but didn’t find him, obviously—”

“He lives in Monaco.”

“See!” She poked a finger at him. “That’s one reason why I need you. You know things I don’t.”

“So very many,” he agreed, then frowned and shifted on his seat again.

“Anyway, when I couldn’t find Jean Luc, the rat, I realized that I was going to need help.” She slumped back against her seat, then straightened up again because the darn thing was so uncomfortable. “Europe’s a big place and finding one thief just seemed like an impossible task. But every cop in the world knows about the Corettis and none of you make where you live a secret....”

“Why should we?” He shrugged. “We’re not wanted for anything.”

She skipped right over that. “I wanted the best and the Coretti family is it.”

“And we’re all so flattered,” he drawled.

“I’ll bet.” She smiled in spite of his sarcasm because she knew she had his attention. Had had it since the moment he’d seen that picture of his father. “I went to Italy, called in some favors with the force back home and got enough information that I was able to find your father’s place.”

That muscle in his jaw started ticking again and she noticed that his grip on the mug was tight enough to make his knuckles as white as the rest of this awful apartment.

“Then I followed him.”

“You followed my father.” His jaw clenched even tighter.

She nodded. “For days. I stayed in a local hotel and learned his routines. He’s very sweet. He actually bought me a cup of coffee once in his favorite café. He told me I had a charming accent and wished me a happy vacation in Italy.”

Gianni sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Your father’s very handsome—he reminds me of someone....”

“George Clooney,” Gianni suggested with a tight groan. “My sister calls him an older, shorter, more Italian George Clooney.”

Marie smiled at the description. “That’s it exactly.” Then she studied him for a second. “You must take after your mother.”

Gianni smirked. “Very humorous. Does this story of yours have an end?”

“Yes.” Back to business, she thought, despite the fact that she was actually beginning to enjoy herself. But she wasn’t here to be attracted to or even make small talk with Gianni Coretti and it would be best if she could remember that. Of course, to keep her thoughts from drifting, she’d have to avoid looking into those dark chocolate eyes of his.

“The picture I took was mostly luck,” she admitted. “I followed Nick to a party at a nearby palazzo and sat there for an hour, watching the rich and famous coming and going. Finally, after an hour, I was so bored I was about to leave. That’s when I noticed your dad on the second-story roof, coming out of the window.”

Gianni bit into a cookie with enough force to send crumbs shooting across the table.

Marie smiled. She understood that frustration. She herself had uncles who could on occasion make her furious enough to bite through steel.

“He never saw me and he went straight home from the party.” Marie took another long drink of her tea. “I made copies of the picture, stashed the copies in different places and then I came looking for you.”

“Why me?” he asked. “Why not my father? Or Paulo?”

“Because you have the most to lose,” she said, her gaze locked with his. “I’ve been following you for the last week, and I think the London cops might be very interested to know just how much time you spend browsing high-end jewelry stores in the city.”

His brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed. “I didn’t steal anything, I was shopping. For a gift.”

“Oh, I don’t think your bimbos would know the difference between designer and discount. And as I said, I think the London police would be curious about your interest in the shops.”

She could actually see him grinding his teeth together.

“I think the cops have better things to do.”

“Possibly,” she agreed. “But there’s Interpol to think about, isn’t there? I know about your deal. You’ve retired from the business, but your family hasn’t. If this photograph gets noticed, your father will go to jail and it’s even possible that Interpol could tear up your immunity deal.”

“What makes you think so?”

She smiled. “This whole law-abiding thing is so shiny and new for you, Gianni, I don’t think it would take much to have the local authorities doubting your devotion to honesty.”

He scrubbed one hand across the back of his neck and sighed heavily before meeting her gaze again. “Think you’ve sewn me up nice and tight, don’t you? Fine. Tell me exactly what you want. Be specific.”

“I want you to help me find Jean Luc and get the Contessa back for Abigail Wainwright. I want to clear my reputation.” She folded her hands together on the clear tabletop. “Once I get that, I give you the photo of your father and disappear from your life.”

* * *

Gianni took a drink of his tea and wished it were scotch. He was trapped and he knew it. An edge of cold fury slid through his veins like ice water.

First, he didn’t like intruders. Second, he hated finding out she’d been following him—and hated even more that he hadn’t noticed. Third, his brain kept flashing back to her lying beneath him on his bed and the feel of that curvy body pressed up tightly to him. But mostly, he hated that she was right.

She had him exactly where she wanted him. His new law-abiding-citizen role was so new that London police and even Interpol might look at him with doubts if Marie O’Hara contacted them. He had spent a lot of time lately in the city’s more prestigious jewelry shops. It would look to the cops as if he were casing the buildings, plotting out their security systems, planning a heist. When in reality he had been trying to find a “new mother” present for his sister.

Gianni couldn’t see the police believing that story, though. Even as he sat across from her, distracted by the tumble of dark red curls and sharp green eyes, his mind raced to find a way out. Hell, any way out. There simply wasn’t one. If he didn’t go along with this woman, his father could end up in jail. Nick Coretti would never survive a prison sentence. He was a man used to life’s comforts, to the company of women, to the freedom to go when and where he chose. Being locked away would kill his soul and damned if Gianni would allow that to happen.

“I’ll take care of it,” he blurted out, shifting again and wondering just how the Plexiglass chair with rounded edges was managing to dig into his spine. “I’ll recover the Contessa and once I have it, I’ll contact you.”

“I don’t think so.” She shook her head and her wonderful hair seemed to dance around her face in a tangle of fiery curls. “I’m not letting you out of my sight until I have that necklace in my hands.”

“You come to me for help but you don’t trust me?” He snorted derisively.

“You expect me to trust you when I had to blackmail you into helping me?” She smiled, and took another sip of her tea as if she had all the time in the world to enjoy herself. “Used to be a cop, remember?”

He wasn’t likely to forget, Gianni thought as irritation clawed at the base of his throat.

“Look,” he said, trying to be reasonable and failing, “I have to attend a family gathering on Tesoro Island in a few days. I can’t go after Jean Luc until after that.”

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Fine. I’ll go with you.”

He sucked in a gulp of air and tried to force the bubble of anger rising inside back down into the pit of his stomach. It was one thing for her to extort his cooperation in a ridiculous theft recovery. It was another entirely for her to expect him to introduce her to his family as a lovely blackmailer.

“This is the baptism of my sister’s child. I can’t bring a stranger along with me.”

Not a flicker of emotion crossed her face. “You’ll have to find a way.”

His gaze shifted from her to the wall of windows at her back and the dark view of the city beyond the glass. In the distance, he saw the lights on the Millennium Wheel—better known as the London Eye. Any other night, he might have been distracted by the sight. Tonight, though, there were too many thoughts. Too many mental images flashing through his brain.

He couldn’t avoid going to Tesoro. Not only would his sister, Teresa, never forgive him for missing her infant son’s christening, but there was also going to be a big jewelry show on the island that week and Interpol wanted him there. Gianni smirked to himself at the irony of Interpol wanting a thief there to keep an eye out for other thieves—when Marie O’Hara wanted the same thing.

Taking another sip of the tea he no longer wanted, he silently toasted himself. Suddenly so very popular.

Accepting the inevitable, which was a trait that had kept him alive and out of jail too many times to count, Gianni looked at her. “As you wish. You’ll come to Tesoro with me and when we leave, we’ll fly to Monaco to retrieve your bloody necklace.”

“Sounds good to me.” She stood up, slipped the long, cross-body strap of her purse over her head and settled it into place. “When do we leave?”

Gianni stood up, too, scowling at having all choice snatched from him. He wasn’t used to being outmaneuvered, but damned if he hadn’t been this time. “We leave in three days.”

“Three days?” She chewed at her bottom lip and he knew what she was thinking. How could she keep an eye on him from her hotel, wherever that was, and prevent him from ditching her?

He’d thought the same and there really was only one solution to this entire situation. “You’ll stay here.”

“Excuse me?”

“We’ll need the three days to practice,” he told her, stepping away from the table and giving his chair one last frown.

“To practice what?”

His gaze flashed to hers. Finally, there was doubt, questions in her eyes. Somehow, that made him feel a bit better about all of this. “Why, to practice being a couple.”

“A couple of what?”

Her voice hitched higher and Gianni enjoyed her outrage.

“My family will never accept my bringing a stranger along to my new nephew’s christening—” He paused for effect and watching her reaction was entirely worth it when he added, “So for the next week or so, you’re going to be my loving fiancée.”

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