A Secret Worth Keeping?: Living the Charade / Her Shameful Secret / Island of Secrets. Robyn Donald

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      ‘You’ll win TJ’s business and save the day. You’ll be a hero.’

      ‘Thanks for the pep talk.’ She rubbed her forehead and grimaced as she thought of pulling her computer out of its bag. Still, it had to be done. She had ‘squeezed the fear’ and stood up to TJ this morning—which she didn’t regret—but she didn’t want to lose her job over it, and she knew she had major sucking up to do if she wanted to get her goals back on track.

      ‘TJ and Dexter will expect to see you at my mother’s charity event next weekend.’

      Miller had heard of the Melbourne gala charity night, of course, but she’d had no idea it was Valentino’s mother’s event. ‘I don’t care.’

      ‘If you need to attend I can arrange it.’

      Miller glanced at him and winced as the sun reflected off the circular speakers on the dashboard. Was he kidding? She couldn’t wait for this weekend to be over. The thought of seeing him again was just...horrifying. ‘It’ll be fine.’

      He sped up and passed two cars at once. Miller tensed.

      ‘Surely you’re not still nervous about my driving?’

      ‘This isn’t a racetrack. It’s a national highway.’

      ‘With lots of room to pass. How are you going to explain your absence next weekend?’

      ‘I’ll have a headache.’ Something she could easily envisage right now. Then she realised why she hadn’t connected the event with him. ‘Why does your mother have a different surname from yours?’

      ‘She remarried.’

      His response to the personal question was typically abrupt, and it stupidly hurt. Her brain slow to accept that her feelings were as one-sided as Dexter’s.

      Reaching down, she unzipped her computer satchel and opened her laptop. Squeeze the fear? What had she been thinking?

      * * *

      Tino knew the conversation was at an end the minute Miller pulled her computer out and, really, short of hurling the thing out of the window, there was nothing he could do about it. Certainly she wouldn’t be pleased if he told her she looked as pale as a snowflake and should just close her eyes and rest.

      And what did he care? He was a man who had never found it necessary to encourage female conversation, and right now, with the sound of four hundred and forty-three pound-feet of torque eating up the heated tar of the Pacific Highway he was in his element. If she wanted to work her life away that was her choice.

      A little voice in his head piped up, asking if that wasn’t also his choice, but he sent it packing. The difference between him and Miller was that he loved his work. He didn’t want to do anything else. Whereas, while she was clearly good at her job, it wasn’t her first love.

      And what did love have to do with anything?

      Shaking his head, he shifted his thoughts into neutral and the car into top gear and just enjoyed the peace of the open highway and Miller tapping on her keyboard.

      More than once he found himself distracted by those killer legs encased in black cotton leggings when she shifted in her seat, but as soon as that happened he forced his eyes to the road and his mind to think about the important round of meetings he had lined up for tomorrow.

      Thankfully she fell asleep soon after that and he reclined her seat and tried to ignore the way her soft scent filled the car. The way her hair glinted golden-brown in the sun. The way her deep, even breaths pulled her shirt tight across her breasts. He merged onto the Harbour Bridge and pulled into the left lane, jerking the steering wheel sharply right when a car he nearly cut off blared behind him.

      What’s your day job again, Ventura?

      Thank God it wasn’t standard procedure to drive around a racing track with a raging hard-on. He’d be dead at the first corner.

      The sharp movement jolted Miller’s head against the car door and she woke up and rubbed her scalp. ‘What happened?’

      ‘Lousy driving. Do I go left or right off the bridge?’

      He skilfully navigated the rest of the way through the posh backstreets of Neutral Bay to her apartment.

      The weekend was just about over and soon they’d go their separate ways. A fact that should make him feel better than it did.

      ‘Thank you for the weekend.’

      She held out her hand in a show of politeness as he pulled the car up to the kerb near the entrance to her apartment building. He could tell by the wary look in her eyes that she instantly regretted the overture, which only made him perversely take hold of her hand and hold it firmly enough that if she pulled away from him it would make her movement jerky.

      She swallowed—hard—and his eyes dropped to her lips. For a second he contemplated yanking her forward into his arms and kissing her, but her mouth flattened and he knew it would be a mistake.

      Clean break.

      Still holding her hand, he let his eyes snag hers and felt decidedly unsettled at the glazed look in her eyes. ‘I hope I fulfilled my purpose this weekend?’

      Okay, now he sounded like Sam. Time to go.

      ‘Yes, thank you.’

      Again with the thank-yous.

      ‘Good luck with the coming race.’

      ‘Thanks.’

      Valentino frowned. Another thank-you from either one of them and he was likely to ignore all his good intentions and kiss her anyway.

      Climbing out of the car, he grabbed her bag and met her on the sidewalk.

      ‘I can take that.’

      She held her hand out for her bag but he only stared at it grimly. ‘I know you can, but you’re not.’

      She hesitated, her eyes briefly clashing with his. ‘Well, thank—’

      ‘Don’t.’ He watched her sharply as she stepped away from him. She was holding herself a little too stiffly. Was that so he wouldn’t touch her? Or...? ‘You look like you’re burning up.’

      ‘I’m fine. I just have a headache.’

      Tino wasn’t convinced, but he wasn’t going to argue with her on the sidewalk even if it was basically empty; most of the residents of this upper-class neighbourhood were safely behind closed doors.

      ‘Let’s go, then.’

      He felt a stab of remorse at how exhausted she looked and knew he was partly responsible for her condition. Possibly he should have told her who he was before he had agreed to help her on Thursday night, but it was too late now and he wasn’t a man who wasted time on regrets.

      The lift up seemed to take a month of Sundays, but finally she unlocked her door and stepped inside, reluctantly letting him follow.

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