Читать книгу His Inexperienced Mistress - Сара Крейвен, Chantelle Shaw - Страница 12

LILY was hot. Too hot. And something was tugging on her. Pulling her down. Jonah?

She blinked and tried to focus, and found herself lying in an unfamiliar room.

‘Missing your boyfriend already, Honey?’ An aggravated male voice she instantly recognised drawled from far away.

Lily tentatively raised herself up on her elbow to find Tristan seated behind a large desk strewn with leatherbound books and reams of paper.

For a moment she just stared at him in a daze, unconsciously registering his dark frown. Then the events of the morning started replaying through her mind like a silent movie on fast forward.

The flight, the drugs, the interrogation, Tristan—

‘You called his name,’ he prompted. ‘A number of times.’

Whose name?

Lily didn’t know what he was talking about. She didn’t have a lover and never had. She smoothed her fingers over her flushed face and wiped the edges of her mouth. It felt suspiciously as if she had drooled. Urgh! She was grimy and sweaty, as if she’d been asleep for days. Of course she hadn’t been—had she?

Lily peered at Tristan more closely and noticed the same white shirt he’d worn earlier, the sleeves now rolled to reveal muscular bronzed forearms. The same red tie hanging loosely around his neck and the top button of his shirt was undone. Okay, still Friday. Thank heavens. She glanced around his impressively large and impressively messy office.

For some reason she had expected someone so controlling to be a neat freak, but his desk was barely visible behind small towers of black, green and red legal tomes and spiral-bound notebooks. A set of inlaid bookcases lined half of one wall, with books stacked vertically and horizontally in a slapdash manner, and what looked like an original Klimt dominated another.

And that surprised her as well. Klimt had a soft, almost magical quality to his work, and that didn’t fit her image of Tristan at all.

‘It’s an investment,’ he said, as if he could read her mind. ‘So who is he to you?’ Tristan repeated, pulling her eyes back to his.

‘Gustav Klimt?’

Tristan made an impatient sound. ‘The loser whose name you were chanting in your sleep.’

Lily shook her head, realising one of the reasons she felt so hot was because she still wore Tristan’s jacket. Removing it quickly, she placed it on the seat beside her and met his scornful gaze. ‘I don’t know who you’re—Oh, Jonah!’

‘He’d no doubt be upset to find himself so easily dismissed from your memory. But then with so many lovers on the go how can a modern girl be expected to keep up?’

Lily’s brow pleated as she gazed at him. No improvement in his mood, then. Wonderful.

And as for his disparaging comments about her so-called lovers—the press reported she was in a relationship every time she so much as shared a taxi with a member of the opposite sex, so really he could be talking about any number of men.

She was just about to tell him she didn’t appreciate his sarcasm when he held up a manila folder, a look of contempt crossing his face.

‘I’ve had a report done on you.’

Of course he had.

‘Ever considered going directly to the source?’ she suggested sweetly. ‘Probably save you a lot in investigators’ fees.’

Tristan tapped his pen against his desk. ‘I find investigators far more enlightening than “the source”.’

‘How nice for you.’

‘For example, you’re currently living with Cliff Harris…’

A dear friend who had moved into her spare room due to financial problems.

‘A lovely man.’ She smiled thinly.

‘…while you’ve been photographed cosying up to that effeminate sculptor Piers Bond.’

Lily had been to a few gallery openings with Piers, and Tristan was right—he was effeminate.

‘A very talented artist,’ she commented.

‘And presumably sleeping with that dolly boy in Thailand behind both their backs?’

Lily suppressed her usually slow to rise temper and threw him her best Mona Lisa smile. A smile she had perfected long ago that said everything and nothing all at the same time.

‘Grip,’ she corrected with forced pleasantness. ‘He’s called a dolly grip.’

‘He’s also called a junkie.’

‘Jonah once had a drug problem; he doesn’t any more.’

‘Well, you should know. You’ve been photographed going in and out of that New York rehab clinic with him enough times.’

Also true. She volunteered there when she could, which was how she’d met Jonah. She just hoped Tristan didn’t know about the director’s marriage she was supposed to have broken up while working on a film the year before. But since it had been all through the papers…

‘And Guy Jeffrey’s marriage? Or is that so far back you can’t remember your part in that particular melodrama?’

Great. He probably knew her shoe size as well.

‘My, your man is thorough,’ she complimented dryly. ‘But do you think I might visit the bathroom before you remind me about the rest of my debauched lifestyle? I don’t think I can hang on till tomorrow.’

Tristan scowled at her from beneath straight brows, and if the situation hadn’t been so awful she might have laughed. Might have.

She picked up her tote bag from the floor and grimaced as she realised she felt as if she was requesting a permission slip from the school principal when she had to ask for directions to the bathroom.

Tristan nodded towards a door at the rear of his office. ‘Leave the bag,’ he ordered, returning his focus to his computer screen.

‘Why?’

‘Because I said so.’

Rude, horrible, insufferable…He raised his eyes and locked them with hers. His gave nothing away about how he was feeling while she knew hers were shooting daggers.

She suspected she knew why he wanted her to leave it. She suspected he was trying to show her who was boss. Either that or he thought she’d been able to magic some more drugs into her bag after it had been searched by Customs. But, whatever his reasoning, he’d now succeeded in making her angry again.

She planted her hands on her hips, prepared to stare him down. ‘There’s nothing in it.’

He leaned back in his chair and regarded her as a predator might regard lunch, and goosebumps rose up along her arms. ‘Then you won’t mind leaving it.’

Lily felt her mouth tighten. No, but she wouldn’t mind braining him with it either—and damn him if he didn’t know it.

She stalked towards him, her narrowed eyes holding his, and before she could think better of it upended the entire contents of her tote onto his desk. He couldn’t hide his start of surprise, and Lily felt inordinately pleased at having knocked him off his arrogant perch.

‘Careful.’ She cast him her best Hollywood smile before swinging round towards the bathroom. ‘I left a King Cobra in there somewhere, and it’s trained to attack obnoxious lawyers.’

As parting shots went she thought it was rather good, but his unexpected chuckle set her teeth on edge. And if she was honest she was a bit worried she’d never find her favourite lipstick again in amongst all the rubble on his desk.

His bathroom was state-of-the-art, with slate-grey tiles and an enormous plate-glass shower stall. Lily would almost kill for a shower, but the thought of putting on her smelly travel clothes afterwards was not appealing. Plus Tristan was in the other room, and she didn’t want to risk that he might walk in on her. She didn’t think she could cope.

A sudden image of him naked and soapy, with water streaming off the lean angles and hard planes of his body, crowding her back against the slippery tiles pervaded her senses and made her feel light-headed. She wondered if he had an all-over tan, and then pulled a face at the image of male perfection that bombarded her. He probably had a very small penis, she thought, grinning at her wan complexion. It would only be fair.

But then she recalled the feel of his hard body pressed into hers in the secluded corner of that long-ago dance floor and knew he wasn’t small. Far from it.

She wouldn’t ruin her mood by thinking about that. Somehow tipping her bag upside down on Tristan’s desk had alleviated her anger and lifted her spirits considerably.

She splashed cold water on her cheeks and poked at the dark circles under her eyes. She looked a mess. And her hair was unusually knotty around her temples. A vague memory of soothing fingers stroking her scalp came to mind and she realised at the same time that her headache was gone. Had he stroked her? Soothed her?

The comforting gesture didn’t fit his harsh attitude, but she was secretly thrilled that he might have done it.

Thrilled? No. She shook her head at her reflection. Thoughts like that led to nothing but trouble, and hadn’t he already made it completely clear that he detested every minute he had to spend with her? And didn’t she feel exactly the same way? The man was rude, arrogant and obnoxious, to say the least.

She blew out a noisy breath and pulled her hair into a rough ponytail, securing it with the band she kept around her wrist for just such purposes—a habit that made Jordana shudder. But Lily had never been one for fashion and clothing, like Jordana. Which was probably why Jordana was a buyer for women’s wear at a leading department store and Lily wore just about anything she recommended.

Lily turned towards the door and paused with her hand on the brass knob. She was almost afraid to return to the lion’s den.

Then she chastised herself for her feebleness.

No doubt Tristan was just planning to lay down the law. Tell her he wanted absolute silence and co-operation again. And if he did she wouldn’t argue. The less they had to do with each other the better.

Sure, she had questions, but perhaps it was better to try and stifle them. She’d soon find out what was going to happen, and as much as the thought of being at his mercy made her skin crawl what choice did she really have right now?

Yes, that would be the approach to take. Polite, but aloof. Mind her own business and hope he minded his as well.

Tristan regarded Lily coolly as she walked back into his office. She’d put her hair up, which made her look more unkempt than when she’d first woken up—and incredibly cute. A fact he found hard to believe when he usually preferred women well-mannered, well-bred and well-groomed.

He was still smarting from having lowered himself to question her about her lovers before, like some jealous boyfriend, and wouldn’t have minded if she’d spent the rest of the afternoon in the bathroom. All the better for him to get some actual work done.

But she hadn’t, and now her eyes alighted on the refreshments his secretary had just placed on his desk. He knew she must be hungry, because he doubted the customs officers had made it a priority to feed her earlier today.

He suppressed a grin when he saw her glance surreptitiously around for her bag. Much as he hated to admit it, he admired her spunk.

‘No, I didn’t bin it,’ he said conversationally. ‘Although there wasn’t much in there worth keeping apart from a miniature pair of black panties.’

Her eyes flew to his and he had to wonder why he’d said that. It had gone totally against his intention to direct her to the sofa and tell her to keep quiet.

Her mouth gaped with embarrassment and he almost felt sorry for her. She’d obviously forgotten they were in there.

Then she recovered and sauntered across the room. ‘I’m not sure they’re your size, but you’re welcome to keep them.’

‘I generally like to take them off women, not put them on,’ he purred, enjoying the way her eyes widened before lancing him with a knowing look.

‘So I’ve heard,’ she rejoined. ‘But I was referring to your personal use, not…’ Her pouty lips tightened and she looked flustered, dropping her gaze to the assortment of cups in front of her. ‘Never mind. I take it one of these is mine?’

‘Yes. Take your pick. I didn’t know if you preferred coffee or tea so I ordered both.’

She looked at him as if she thought such thoughtfulness was beyond him and his mouth compressed. He could be thoughtful when the moment called for it.

‘And I know what you were referring to.’

She didn’t respond but sipped pleasurably at the tea she’d just poured. He watched the way her mouth pursed daintily around the edge of the cup. It hadn’t been quite so dainty when it had opened under his six years ago, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about that.

It had been six years, for heaven’s sake. He couldn’t even remember the colour of his last lover’s hair let alone how she’d tasted, and yet just looking at Lily Wild brought her unique flavour to mind. Her generous curves. Her responsiveness…Ah, the sweetness of a response that had most likely been fuelled by chemical enhancers. Or had it? It was a question that had kept him up late on more than one occasion.

‘I feel like I’m on an episode of This is Your Life.’ She smiled from behind her cup, the incongruous comment thankfully pulling his attention away from her mouth. ‘Only the host usually smiles, and I would have expected at least one or two guests to have turned up by now.’

Tristan scowled—both at the flippant remark and his unquestionable hunger for somebody he didn’t even like.

‘Okay.’ She sighed, completely oblivious to the tumultuous thoughts playing out in his head. ‘I’m presuming you don’t want my shoe size, so why don’t you tell me what happens next and—?’

‘No, I don’t want your shoe size,’ he agreed, cutting her off mid-sentence and leaning back in his chair. Some devil on his shoulder wanted to throw her as off-balance as he felt. ‘I already know it. Along with your jeans size, your bra size, and of course what type of panties you like to wear.’

‘That’s an invasion of privacy,’ she snapped.

‘So sue me,’ he drawled, unaccountably pleased to see her affable expression fade and her eyes flash purple sparks. Her watery attempt at friendship had annoyed him. He didn’t want that from her. In fact he didn’t want anything at all from her!

Lily pressed her lips together and tried to hold on to her temper. How dared he? Lounging back in his executive chair like King Tut. She took a deep breath and willed herself to remain calm. Polite and aloof…

Just imagine he’s a difficult director you have to put up with for a short while. You’ve done that before.

She was trying to think of some way to regain her equilibrium when Tristan’s mobile rang and thankfully he picked it up. He didn’t even acknowledge her as he pushed away from his desk and presented her with his back as he walked to stand in the vee of the floor to ceiling windows that partially lined two walls of his corner office.

Lily started reeling through every foul name she could think of to call him, and then her eyes wandered to the view outside his window. London only had a handful of luxury skyscrapers and Tristan owned one of them. It wasn’t the tallest, from what she could see, but it was certainly located on prime real estate near the heart of the city. Lily could see Big Ben, Westminster Abbey and the London Eye, and she hadn’t had to pay a penny for the privilege.

Without even being aware of it she shifted her gaze from outside the window to the man standing in front of it, legs apart and one hand in his trouser pocket, pulling the fabric of his trousers tight across his taut backside.

Her eyes drifted down over his long legs and up again to the wide sweep of his shoulders, to the ripple of muscle evident beneath his close-fitting shirt. He really was an impressive male and, given his sedentary job, he must work out all the time to stay as fit as he looked.

As if sensing her too-intimate regard, Tristan glanced over his shoulder and pierced her with his green eyes.

The air between them seemed to thicken. Lily’s breath caught and her body hummed with a vibrant awareness. Then a dismissive expression flitted across his face, and Lily released a long, steadying breath when he swung his gaze back to the window.

She heard him speaking rapidly to the caller about some EU presentation, effortlessly switching between English and a language she couldn’t place. His keen intelligence was evident in the incisive timbre of his voice.

Lily’s stomach growled, and she picked up a sandwich from the plate and forced herself to chew it. It was beyond her that she should feel such a strong physical reaction to someone who clearly couldn’t stand the sight of her. And it was getting a bit hard to put it down to stress and anxiety. But surely the brain had some input when it came to sexual attraction?

Tristan ended his call, dropped the phone into his pocket and stalked to his desk, gripping the high back of his chair as he studied her with relentless intensity.

‘I must say you seem remarkably composed for a woman who’s potentially facing at least twenty years in the slammer,’ he scorned, leaving Lily stunned by his coldness when minutes earlier there had been such heat.

‘I trust the universe will work everything out.’ She said, wincing inwardly at her prim tone and refusing to react as he raised a condescending eyebrow.

‘The universe? As in the moon, the stars and Mother Earth?’

‘No.’ Lily tried not to roll her eyes. ‘At least not in the way you mean. The universe is like a forcefield—an energy that we create for ourselves and others. Sort of like if we all think positive thoughts then good will always prevail.’

Tristan cocked his head as if he was seriously considering her view, but of course that was a fool’s notion. ‘Well, I’d say your universe was either out for lunch when you tried walking through Customs today, or it’s working perfectly and you’re as guilty as hell.’

Lily folded her arms and bit into her top lip.

How was it possible for someone to be so devastatingly attractive one minute and so perversely irritating the next?

‘I also have great faith that the authorities know what they’re doing,’ she said waspishly.

‘The authorities want someone to put behind bars.’

Lily angled her chin. ‘Are you trying to frighten me?’

‘I’m not even sure the Grim Reaper knocking on your door could do that. Perhaps you’re not smart enough to see the danger.’

‘You’re very good with the lofty insults, Lord Garrett, but I believe that right will win out in the end.’

Tristan shook his head. ‘I’m sure if some of those corpses buried at Tower Hill could speak they’d suggest that was a little whimsical.’

Lily was sure that if some of those corpses could talk they’d tell him they were relatives of hers—and not the blue-blooded ones!

‘Are you implying that I’m being unrealistic?’

‘Actually, I thought I was doing more than implying it.’

Lily sniffed. ‘I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand.’

‘Someone like me?’

‘Someone who thinks everything is either black or white. Someone who requires tangible proof before they’ll believe anything.’

‘It’s called dealing in the real world,’ he jibed.

‘But sometimes the real world isn’t always as it seems.’

Tristan made a scoffing sound. ‘I thought I told you I didn’t want to hear any of your protestations of innocence.’

Lily’s eyes narrowed at his bored tone, and she breathed in deeply through her nose.

Never let ‘em know you care, Honeybee.

She exhaled slowly. This would all be a lot easier if he’d just talk to her, instead of snapping off pithy comments here and there.

‘And, as pleasant as this conversation is,’ he continued, ‘I have work to do. So I’d prefer you finish your tea and sandwiches over on the sofa.’ He sat down and turned to his computer, dismissing her like some servant girl.

Oh, she’d just bet he’d prefer that. And she would have happily done so if he’d been a little nicer, but now…

‘Actually, accusations and criticisms do not add up to a conversation. And would it really hurt you to be a little more civil?’ she demanded, throwing the whole idea of polite and aloof out of one of his ultra-clean windows.

‘To what end?’

He didn’t bother looking up from his computer screen and that incensed her. ‘To…to…I don’t know. Just to be nice.’

‘I don’t do nice.’

Lily nearly laughed.

As if she hadn’t worked that one out for herself! ‘You know, for someone whose job it is to communicate with others you’re not very good at it.’

That got his attention. ‘My job is about justice, not communication. And you better be careful because I’m really good at it.’

Lily shook her head. The man needed to learn some home truths. ‘You might be hot stuff in the courtroom, Lord Garrett, but personally you’re an avoider. You’d rather shut me up than try to have a constructive conversation with me.’

‘That’s because I don’t want to have a conversation with you—constructive or otherwise.’

Lily raised her eyebrows. ‘That’s a fine way to solve a problem.’

‘I don’t have…No—wait.’ He tapped his pen impatiently on his desk. ‘I do have a problem. She’s blonde, five-foot-ten and won’t stop jabbering on at me as if I care.’

Lily’s mouth gaped, and she stuck her tongue against the back of her front teeth to prevent herself from telling him just what she thought of his rude comments and hurtful attitude.

‘You really think you’ve got me all sussed out, don’t you, Tristan?’ Her voice was husky with raw emotion. ‘I’m just some no-good dumb celebrity who takes drugs and uses the casting couch to get her roles as far as you’re concerned.’

‘Well, not if you’re screwing the dolly boy. I can’t imagine he can win you too many roles.’ He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head.

Arrogant jerk.

Lily narrowed her eyes and stabbed her finger in his direction. ‘You might have some two-bit report on your desk, but let me tell you—you know nothing about me. Absolutely nothing.’

‘I know all I need to know,’ he confirmed.

Lily shook her head. She was wasting her breath trying to talk to him. He’d made up his mind about her a long time ago and there was nothing she could do to sway it. In fact, when the police found out who the real drug smuggler was he’d probably accuse her of sleeping with the whole police force to get the result.

She gave a slight shake of her head. When she’d left England six years ago she’d instigated a policy never to rise to people’s bad opinion of her again, but for some reason she couldn’t seem to help herself with Tristan. For some reason his condescending attitude hurt more than everybody else’s put together—and she hated that.

Lily folded her arms across her chest and decided to give up all attempts to change his opinion. Let him think what he wanted.

‘You know it’s a good thing you’re not my lawyer because I’d fire you.’

‘Fire me?’ He gave a harsh burst of laughter. ‘Sweetheart, I wouldn’t touch this case if it came gold-plated.’ He sat straighter and looked down his aristocratic nose at her. ‘Because I know what you are, Honey Blossom Lily Wild—or have you conveniently forgotten what happened at Jordana’s eighteenth?’

Lily stiffened at the ominously quiet question. Here was the basis of his true hatred of her. The presumed ruination of his little sister because of her association with big, bad Lily Wild. He’d judged her on circumstantial evidence at least twice before, and she hated that he had never once given her the benefit of the doubt.

‘You know—you know,’ she spat, ignoring the inner voice that told her to calm down. ‘I could make a movie about what you don’t know, you ignorant jerk, and it would be an instant classic.’

‘Ignorant jerk?’

That seemed to rile him, and it startled her when his chair shot back, nearly tipping over with the force of his movement. He circled his desk, a predatory intent in every silent step, and Lily’s heart bumped behind her ribs. She didn’t think he’d hurt her, but still, the instinct to run was nearly overwhelming.

He stopped just in front of her, his hands balled on his hips, his green eyes ablaze with suppressed emotion.

‘Let’s see,’ he snarled, leaning over her and caging her in with his hands on the armrests of her chair. ‘You tried to hide a joint under my sister’s mattress when you were fourteen, you took her to sleazy parties in the city—underage—you caused an outrageous scandal the night of her eighteenth, snorting cocaine from the glass front of my father’s seven-hundred-year-old Giotto painting, and today you cart a truckload of charlie and disco biscuits into Heathrow.’ He leaned in closer. The pronounced muscles in his forearms bunched. ‘Tell me, Honey, how am I doing so far with what I don’t know about you?’

Lily felt the back of the chair hard against her spine and ran her tongue over her dry lips. She could explain every one of those things—but he wasn’t looking for an explanation, and frankly she was getting so sick of his rudeness she almost wanted him to dig a hole so she could bury him in it.

She remained tight-lipped, and his mocking expression said it all.

‘What? No comment all of a sudden? No further explanation as to why I walked into my father’s study and found a group of wasted idiots—my sister being one of them—and you leaning over the desk holding a rolled fifty-pound note, with some Armani-clad idiot standing behind you like he was getting ready to take you? What a surprise.’

Lily blushed profusely at his bluntness. That wasn’t how it had been at all—but had it really looked like that? And how could he think she’d even been interested in that guy after the kisses they had shared?

‘For heaven’s sake, why would I kiss you if I—? Oh.’ She stopped abruptly and nodded. ‘You think I just went from you to him. Hence the cheap slut reference.’ She shook her head as if she was truly stupid. ‘Sorry, I’m a slow learner. Maybe you can add dumb blonde to my list of credentials? That’s if you haven’t done it already, of course.’

Tristan moved as quickly as a striking snake and reached down to pull her to her feet. ‘Stop. Trying. To. Garner. My. Sympathies. You took a chance. It didn’t come off. Now, deal with it.’

Lily tried to pull her hands free, and then stopped when she realised it was a futile waste of energy. Her eyes blazed into his. ‘I don’t know what ever made me think I could reason with you,’ she bit out, adrenaline coursing through her veins. ‘You know what? Go to hell. All you do is judge me and I’ve had it. You’ve never wanted the truth where I’m concerned and—oof!’

The air left her body as Tristan pulled her hard up against him and covered her mouth with his own. She tasted anger and frustration—and something else. Something that called to her. Something that left her mind reeling. After a token struggle she felt her resistance ebb away. Her brain simply shut down, leaving her body and her heart firmly in charge, and both, it seemed, craved his touch more than air.

Tristan knew it was a mistake as soon as he did it—but, seriously, just how much self-control did she think he possessed? Did she never give up? Standing there, glorious in her anger, her eyes sparkling like cabochon amethysts.

She shoved against him and tried to twist her mouth away, but Tristan wound her ponytail around his fist and held her head fast. Some distant part of his brain tried reminding him that he didn’t behave like this. That he didn’t shut women up with his mouth like some Neolithic cave dweller.

But it was too late. He’d been hungry for the taste of her all day, and something far more primitive than logic and civility was riding him now.

She moaned, her hands pushing against his shoulders, and he immediately gentled the pressure of his mouth. A voice in his head was telling him to stop. That now he was behaving like a jerk. That he hated this woman whose mouth felt like hot velvet under his.

She represented everything wrong with mankind. She took drugs, she partied hard, she was self-centered, self-absorbed—like his mother. Just when he might have had a chance of pulling away her fingernails curled into his shoulders, no longer pushing him away but drawing him closer, and he was lost.

He eased the hand in her hair and pressed his other one to her lower back, to bring her into firmer contact with his body, and delighted in her responsive quiver.

Right now he didn’t give a damn about parties and drugs. Right now he was satisfying an urge that had started six years ago and got a whole lot worse today. He felt a groan rise up from his chest as her lips moved almost shyly beneath his. He wanted her. Hell, his body was aching with it. And he knew by the way her fingers clutched at his shirt that she felt the feral chemistry between them as intensely as he did.

He softened his lips even more and felt hers cling.

‘Open your mouth, Honey,’ he urged. ‘I need to taste you.’

She obeyed instantly, and his tongue slid home and drank from her as if she was the finest wine. Only she tasted better. Sweeter than he remembered. He nearly expired at the shocking pleasure that jack-knifed through his body. She was like ambrosia to his senses, and he was once again reminded how men could start wars over a woman. And then he lost the ability to think at all as her tongue snuck into his mouth and she raised herself onto her toes to deepen the contact between them.

It was all the encouragement Tristan needed, and he widened his stance to take more of her weight, burning up when she rubbed her full breasts against his chest. Her soft, breathy whimpers incited him never to stop this crazy dance. His hands were unsteady as they skimmed down her torso, skating over her breasts and pulling her restless hips more firmly against his almost painful arousal.

She gasped and pressed even closer, buried her hands in his over-long hair.

Tristan couldn’t contain another groan, and his hands rose up to push her cumbersome cardigan aside so that he could palm her breasts with both hands. She arched into him and his thumbs flicked over her peaked nipples. His senses revelled in her soft cries of pleasure. His lips drifted down over her neck as he dragged oxygen into his starved lungs, and he slid one hand down to delve underneath the elastic waistband of her tight leggings to cup her bottom. Her skin felt gloriously smooth and hot, and there was no thought of stopping now. He’d wanted this for too long, and he knew when he touched between her legs she’d be wet and wanting…

The strident buzz of his intercom resounded through the room like a death knell, and Tristan sprang back from Lily as if he’d been kicked.

‘Tristan, I know you said no interruptions, but Jordana is on line one and threatening legal action if you don’t take her call.’ His secretary’s humorous voice rang out clear, despite the blood roaring in his ears.

Hell. Everyone was a comedian all of a sudden.

‘Tristan?’

‘Fine,’ he snapped. ‘Tell her I’ll be a minute.’

He watched Lily blink a couple of times, her hands on her heaving chest, her eyes hidden as she contemplated the foot of black carpet between them as if it was a seething pit of snakes. Her lips were deeply pink and swollen from his kisses.

He shook his head at his own stupidity.

He wasn’t some hotheaded youth at the mercy of his untried hormones. What had he been thinking?

He noted the rise of hot colour that started at her neck and swept into her face. He didn’t know if it was from embarrassment or desire.

‘Hell,’ he seethed, stalking back round to his side of the desk, raking his fingers through his hair. He willed his body to calm down. ‘We are not going to do this. You are not going to look at me with that come-hither sexiness. You want to know what happens next? I’ll tell you. You sit over there on that sofa and you don’t move. You don’t talk and you don’t whine. The only thing you’re allowed to do without me is go to the bathroom, and if I think you’re up to no good in there you’ll lose that privilege as well. Is that clear enough for you?’

‘Crystal,’ she snapped, straightening her clothing and pulling her cardigan tightly around her body.

She touched her tongue to her lips and another shaft of desire shot into his aching groin. Then she raised her chin and looked at him with over-bright eyes, and once again he felt like the jerk she’d called him earlier.

‘You know,’ she began softly, ‘Jordana thinks you’re one of the good guys. Boy, does she have that wrong.’