ONLY FOR SHOW

Chapter 1

Naked. He looked freaking naked. A current of dizzying nerves spiralled through Sofia Beaumont as her stylist ushered her into the grand Florentine salon.

‘Bello, no?’ Rosa said as she turned to close the ornate doors behind them.

‘Uh-huh.’ Sofia tried not to wobble in her towering stilettos as her gaze cut through the buzzing setup of the photo shoot straight to the golden glow of masculine perfection in the far corner. The spectacular decadence of the room faded to a peripheral haze while Roberto Conti sparkled in high definition. Practically naked.

Tall, svelte, his weight shifted onto one foot in the classic contrapposto stance, Roberto had the chiselled contours of a Renaissance statue. If not for the flesh-toned G-string caught teasingly between two heavenly shaped buttocks, he’d make a convincing replica of Michelangelo’s David: muscular, poised and as smooth as marble.

Sofia swallowed, her skin bristling knowing those muscular arms would soon be wrapped around her. The reality of what she’d agreed to plummeted to the pit of her stomach, twisting into knots that couldn’t be undone.

‘Madonna mia, I wish my boyfriend looked like that.’ Sofia started at Rosa’s appreciative voice beside her. ‘How do you get anything done with that to distract you?’

‘It’s not easy.’ Sofia tried for a cool tone to deflect from the heat scorching her cheeks.

‘I bet.’ Rosa nudged her gently and led them to a make-up station by a large arched window and pulled out a director’s chair. ‘Take a seat, you’re almost done.’

Sofia eased onto the canvas seat, thankful to relieve her aching feet and regain her composure. She hadn’t prepared herself for this. For real, uncontrollable feelings, even if it was just a fleeting, tantalising moment of lust.

She couldn’t think like that. Not about him. The man who’d tried to destroy her family’s company and heritage. The son of the man who’d infamously scorned her mother. But entering a devil’s deal with Roberto Conti was the only way to save her sister and her unborn niece.

But Roberto was nothing like her sister had described; Annabella’s perception had clearly been tainted by her altercation with him last year. Hunchbacked and reptilian was closer to what Sofia had imagined. Not this... hotness.

She shifted in her seat as Frank Sinatra’s suave vocals crooned from the surround sound. ‘I’ve Got You Under My Skin’. The lyrics wormed into her ear like a cruel joke.

She flashed her eyes towards the corner again, refusing to be intimidated by Roberto’s blatant beauty. He shone like a seductive beacon through swathes of sheer fabric flowing down from the high ceiling, creating light and intimacy within the dark grandeur of the frescoed walls.

Sofia prayed for him to turn around; once she looked into his surely soulless eyes, the spell would be broken and she’d be numb again. Ready to play her part with a clear head. She tapped gently on the timber frame of her chair, touch wood.

‘What are they doing?’ She nodded in the direction of two young female assistants caressing Roberto’s gold-flecked torso while renowned photographer Fabrizio Martini directed them with lively gestures.

‘They’re finishing the gold leaf, it’s very delicate. I’d take my time too, no?’ Rosa winked as she primped Sofia’s blow wave for the umpteenth time.

Thank god for the makeover. Her last haircut was years ago, a short edgy style that had slowly morphed into a tangled mess without her even noticing. It had taken Rosa over two hours to transform her lifeless long hair into voluminous tresses that now flowed around her shoulders like a dark chocolate waterfall, darling.

‘He looks kind of–’ Sofia cleared her throat, straining to hide her unease. ‘Naked.’

‘He’s not naked, he’s wearing a thong.’ Rosa caught Sofia’s eye in the mirror. ‘Don’t worry darling, Fabrizio’s an artistic genius. Look at this place.’

Sofia dragged her eyes from Roberto’s outrageous body to their opulent setting. ‘It’s like another world.’ Not lying there.

In the centre of the expansive space a blur of assistants hurried about, adjusting props and lighting equipment. A long dining table looked set for an extravagant Bacchanalian feast; carafes of red wine, glazed hams, golden platters overflowing with juicy pomegranate halves and plump grapes. And of course, piles of chocolate. Truffles, bon bons, noisettes; the rainbow of Sofia’s childhood. Flavours so familiar she could almost forget she could no longer taste them.

The set virtually pulsed with hedonistic abandon and sensual indulgence, hardly the panacea for Sofia’s lustful thoughts. As though drunk on the sumptuous décor, her eyes swept back to the hero of the feast in the corner, the ultimate treat. She bit her lower lip; in spite of herself, she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to indulge.

Rising heat slowly entwined with her racing nerves, awakening feelings she’d long forgotten. So that part of her hadn’t died completely.

‘You’re in the honeymoon phase.’ Sofia’s attention flicked back to Rosa’s reflection. ‘I can see the fire in your eyes.’

‘It’s that obvious?’ Sofia straightened, thankful Rosa misconstrued her disturbing lust for Roberto as smitten love. That was the idea after all.

‘Si, you’re in love.’ Rosa nodded knowingly, as she examined the vast array of make-up artillery on the trolley beside her. ‘Tell me darling, what’s he like behind that mysterious façade?’ Her eyes sparkled eagerly as she applied soft strokes of peach blush to Sofia’s cheek.

‘Oh, you know.’ Sofia suppressed a grimace. For as long as she could remember the Conti name meant one thing: betrayal. A flash of gold in her peripheral vision fuelled another wave of squirming nerves in her belly. She had to get it together. ‘He goes off in bed,’ she blurted.

‘I’m not surprised,’ Rosa said delightedly, quickly warming to the topic as she assessed Sofia’s eyebrows.

‘Sorry, I shouldn’t kiss and tell.’ She wasn’t another of Roberto’s conquests, they were meant to be in love. ‘I’m just... so happy our relationship’s finally going public.’

‘Everyone’s going to love it.’ Rosa stood back, gently tilting Sofia’s chin. ‘The other Beaumont sister, also madly in love. And not with just anyone, no?’

‘No one was more surprised than me.’

Publicity goldmine the producers had called it. Sofia imagined the headlines: Back off ladies, Beaumont sister tames Conti playboy rival! She had to forget the make-up, cameras and crew. She and Roberto were selling a dream, a make-believe that supposedly existed in the real world. And it did. In Annabella’s world. She and Alessandro had become Italy’s ‘It’ couple, two dynamo chocolatiers madly in love.

But chocolate perfection and everlasting love were well beyond Sofia’s reach. As for a combination of the two? A haunting memory and now an impossible dream. Fortunately, Fake it ‘til you make it had become her life’s refrain.

‘Okay, you’re all done. You look beautiful darling.’ Rosa clasped Sofia’s shoulders and smiled warmly at her in the mirror. ‘Wait here, I’ll let them know you’re ready.’

Sofia nodded and exhaled quietly, willing for the strength that once defined her reputation. She shuffled back in her seat achingly aware of her numbing toes cramped in the pinched point of her shining gold stilettos. Inspired accessories for the rest of her outfit: a buttoned-up white chef’s jacket and nothing else. All part of Fabrizio’s ‘vision’.

Alluring and sexy as prescribed. But underneath the thick cotton jacket, her sensible bra and granny underwear (an old habit for smoothing over wobbly bits) stuck to her prickling skin as the onslaught of unexpected nerves and sinful thoughts caused her to sweat. Really sexy.

She watched Rosa swan off toward Roberto and his coterie. She glided as though on roller skates despite her skyscraper heels. Sofia focused on the seductive sway of Rosa’s hips, hoping to reawaken that Italian flair in herself.

Even from behind Roberto commanded attention. Though, a muscular gold-encrusted arse was likely to do that. Again, a rush of heat surged through Sofia; would she be expected to caress that firm behind, maybe teasingly smear that gold perfection? What better way to shock the world and announce Roberto as her man? Surely the photo shoot wouldn’t go so far, but disturbingly her hands clenched, already in position to cup those glorious cheeks.

Roberto shifted his pose slightly as Rosa approached. His triceps and shoulder muscles rippled under taut olive skin, accentuated by the glittering gold leaf spraying down his torso to his narrow waist and across his luscious behind. He was the perfect mythical extra for Bacchus and his revellers who played out on the salon’s frescoed walls.

‘Sofia! Come bella.’ Fabrizio’s excited voice jolted Sofia upright. ‘You’re going to love this.’ He waved at her to join them and turned to his assistants still carefully working on Roberto’s sculpted back. Rosa looked on, seemingly transfixed by the task.

Game on. Confident, proud, capable. Sofia had been playing the part for so long sometimes she even fooled herself. No one was going to test her resolve. Not even a GQ centrefold with a perfect golden arse. Because behind that façade she already knew Roberto Conti was rotten to the core. She’d never let a man like him fool her again.

She closed her eyes to the familiar sound of Nina Simone’s smoky voice emanating from the speakers. ‘Here Comes the Sun’, one of her mother’s favourites. The husky-edged emotion disguised in uplifting melody flowed through Sofia transporting her to her childhood kitchen, her little sister by her side, giggling of shared dreams.

But her heart clenched as the happy image dissolved and her memory flared with the vision of Annabella’s anguished face, ravaged by desperate tears for her unborn baby. Sofia’s eyes shot open, her brain flicking from flight to fight. Ready or not.

She eased off her chair and carefully smoothed down her chef’s jacket, ensuring it covered her behind. It did, just. When was the last time she’d revealed so much thigh? At least three years. Before the accident that left her without a sense of smell or taste devastating her beloved career as a master chocolatier.

Three years Sofia had to forget. Rewind the clock to when her hemlines were high and her make-up flawless. When she understood the power of seduction and the need to maintain control.

But she was out of practice, her bad knee throbbed and her feet cried for a pair of comfy slippers. She was in danger of staggering across the room when she needed to catwalk. Like a woman who’d snared a golden god.

‘La musica per favore!’ Fabrizio clicked his fingers at no one in particular. ‘Something to get us in the mood, no?’ He turned from Roberto’s back and stepped towards Sofia, his head cocked to one side, openly scanning her appearance as he waited for her to approach.

Sofia’s spine lengthened as the rousing introduction of ‘Feeling Good’ pumped through her like a personal theme song. The sexual energy that had unsettled her since she’d walked through the doors now pulsed with renewed vigour. Use it. Fake it baby.

Ignoring the promise of painful blisters, her hips adopted the natural sway that should always come with the height of killer heels. Like slipping into a distant memory, when this was her uniform. Glammed up and full of swagger. Determined to squash all self-doubt under each step of her spiked stilettos.

She virtually purred as she sashayed towards Fabrizio, like in a beeline towards the dance floor of the hottest club, aware of all eyes on her. She wouldn’t stumble. The Contis had tried to ruin her family, now she was going to use them to save it. She’d play her part flawlessly. At least, that was the plan.

‘Bella, bella, Sofia!’ Fabrizio rushed towards her, arms outstretched and kissed her on each cheek with the warmth of an old friend rather than a new acquaintance.

‘You’re a vision.’ He stood back to admire her again. ‘And with your hunky Roberto …’ Fabrizio rolled his eyes in mock ecstasy. ‘I was a wreck when your sister and Alessandro pulled out at the last minute. But when I found out about you two...’ He waggled his finger at her. ‘This is going to be even hotter. Unveiling the forbidden lovers, no?’

‘Can’t wait.’ Sofia contorted her mouth into a smile, praying it looked genuine.

‘Brava. I can tell you’re excited. Me too!’ Fabrizio grinned. ‘Off to your love, bella mia,’ he said as Rosa and his assistants approached. ‘He’s almost dry, so look but no touch, not yet. We start in five, okay?’

‘Great.’ Sofia longed to ask more about the touching. How much? Where? But that was meant to come naturally. As far as everyone here was concerned, her hands had traversed Roberto’s sculptured physique countless times. Her traitorous fingers itched at the thought of it.

As Fabrizio and his gaggle hurried off to the dining table, Sofia walked shakily towards Roberto’s gleaming back, grasping for the sexy assurance that had got her this far.

Confident and sassy. That’s what she’d promised in the contract. An assertive façade had once been her default setting. And like visiting an old friend she’d foolishly thought she could easily slip back into character.

But as she stood behind Roberto, an imposing bulk of man, words escaped her. Shimmying across the room like a sex kitten was baby steps compared to this. This was big and horribly real. Her stomach churned; it was either speak or vomit.

But what to say?

Speak or vomit!

‘Turn around chocolate lover.’ Oh crap! Her brain had gone rogue.

Roberto’s muscular frame snapped to attention, the gold leaf buckling slightly at the sudden movement.

Sofia longed for a couple of hits of her anxiety medication to calm her spinning head. Don’t look down, don’t look down. She silently chanted as Roberto slowly turned around.

Confident and sassy. She willed herself as he came to a standstill. Full frontal. Oh Lordy. Gold leaf glistening, arms casually hung by his sides, feet confidently planted shoulder-width apart. Not even a suggestion of modesty. Damn him.

Sofia had thought the golden arse was distracting. But this? She quickly skimmed over Roberto’s broad chest and the glittering terrain of his carved abs, eight of them as she’d suspected, down to a thin sheath of beige fabric that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Mamma mia. She’d challenge anyone not to look.

‘Chocolate lover? I like it.’ Roberto’s velvety baritone, tinged with amusement, shook Sofia from her trance.

Her attention darted to his face. His shining dark eyes were almost as black as his thick hair, slicked back with the finesse of a 1950s film star, the ideal frame to showcase his firm jaw and heartbreaking cheekbones. He was flawless. Even his proud Roman nose distinguished him. But his eyes, guarded and unflinching, gave nothing away.

Sofia’s stomach lurched as old shameful feelings roused deep inside her. Physically Roberto was way out of her league. She felt like an invisible chubby teenager again, incapable of suppressing a crush; determined not to care what he thought of her yet yearning his desire.

Fighting the urge to look away, she held Roberto’s gaze. She wouldn’t let Mr Chiselled Abs Well Hung know the disturbing affect he was having on her suddenly raging hormones. She