Читать книгу His Inexperienced Mistress - Сара Крейвен, Chantelle Shaw - Страница 14

THE ride to Tristan’s home was tense, to say the least. Lily was still fuming over the humiliation of nearly embarrassing herself before, when she had almost reached up and pulled Tristan’s taunting mouth to hers. Something she hadn’t even been aware she was about to do until he’d pulled back.

Until he’d pulled back.

She swallowed a moan of distress and watched one neon sign become another as Tristan steered his silver Mercedes through the streets from Park Lane to Hampstead Heath—one of London’s most prestigious addresses.

How dared he tell her that he wasn’t interested in her? As if she would care! How about the fact that she wasn’t interested in him?

And he’d certainly been a little more than interested back in his office. Interested in sex, anyway. Not that she would have let it get that far. But deep down she knew what he was trying to say. She wasn’t his type. He thought her attractive, but nothing more.

Frank Murphy, her stepfather, had warned her about men like Tristan. ‘They’ll take one look at that face and figure and, believe me, they won’t care about your personality. You give them what they want and you’ll get a reputation for being easy.’ Like your mother. The unspoken words had hung between them and Lily shifted uncomfortably at the memory.

Her mother had been ruled by her desires. Or, more specifically, her desire for Johnny Wild, but Lily wasn’t like that. Which was one of the reasons she resented this attraction she still felt for Tristan. She’d sworn never to fall for an unattainable man, and here she was all but salivating over one.

Dammit, Tristan was right. She had wanted him earlier in his office. Had, in fact, been completely enthralled by the sensations and emotions his touch had evoked.

The memory made her cheeks heat with shame. Hadn’t she learned anything from his first rejection of her? Was she just a glutton for punishment?

Lily sighed and leaned her head back against the butter-soft leather seat, wishing she hadn’t decided to come back to England after all this time. She should never have told Jordana she could make her wedding. Would be in her wedding!

It seemed that the stars had aligned and no matter which way she looked she was being sent a message that she wasn’t as ready to come home as she had thought. And maybe she never would be.

Thankfully her morose thoughts halted when Tristan’s powerful car pulled up and waited for the ten-metre-high wrought-iron gates to open. Lily glanced at the towering stone mansion softly lit by discreet exterior lights that made it seem as if it touched the skyline.

The car inched forward and down into an underground car park that held a motorbike, a four-wheel drive, and a gleaming red sports car.

A sense of entrapment suffused her, and Lily felt so tense she jumped out of the car before it had come to a complete stop. Then wished she hadn’t as she swayed and had to grab hold of the roof to steady herself.

Tristan’s mouth tightened, but he didn’t say anything as she followed him to a lift.

A lift!

‘The house belonged to an elderly couple before I bought it,’ he said, noticing her surprised reaction.

Lily didn’t respond; emotional exhaustion and jet lag were weighing her down as effectively as a giant bag of sand. She calculated that it was about 5:00 a.m. in Bangkok, which meant that she’d been up all night, and the effort it took to work that out made her nearly trip over her own feet when the lift doors opened.

Tristan cursed and reached for her, and cursed again when she stumbled trying to avoid him.

‘Don’t be a fool,’ he ground out as she wrenched her elbow out of his reach.

‘I don’t want you touching me,’ she snapped, wedging herself into the far corner of the panelled lift and staring at his shoes.

‘Fine—fall over, then,’ he mocked, moving to the opposite side of the small space.

Tristan had briefly considered arguing with her, but if she wanted to deny the sexual chemistry between them then that was her prerogative. He should probably take a leaf out of her book and do the same thing. It had been silly, goading her in the restaurant, rising to her challenge. A challenge, he’d sensed from her awkwardness afterwards, that had been more innocent than intentional.

And maybe he’d have more success ignoring the chemistry between them if she’d stop flinching every time he came within spitting distance of her? Because that just made a primitive part of him want to pursue her even more.

‘You need to stop doing that,’ he said.

She raised her eyes from his feet all the way up his body and looked at him from under pitch-black lashes. ‘Breathing?’ she quipped, folding her arms across her chest as he mimicked her leisurely scrutiny.

He barely resisted the urge to smile. Yeah, that would help.

She glanced away and worried her top lip and he wished she’d stop doing that as well.

The lift doors opened and Tristan strode out and dumped his keys on the small hallway table, walking through the vast foyer and up the marble staircase. He noticed her glance around at the pristine surroundings and the priceless artwork on the walls as she trailed behind.

His home was modern and elegant, with eclectic pieces he’d picked up from his travels here and there, and he wondered what she thought of it. And then wondered why he cared.

He stopped outside the room he’d asked his housekeeper to allocate to her. ‘This is your room. Mine’s at the end of the hall.’

He opened the door and stood back to let her precede him inside. When her scent hit him between the eyes he steeled himself against what he was about to do.

‘As you can see, your suitcases are already inside the dressing room and the en suite bathroom is through there.’ He flicked open another door and hit the light switch. ‘My housekeeper was instructed to make the room ready, so you should have everything you need.’

She didn’t say anything, just stood beside the silk-covered queen-sized bed clutching her bag.

‘I’ll need to see the bag before I go,’ he said evenly.

‘What for?’ She snapped her eyes to his.

Because after she had spent so long in the bathroom at the restaurant with that redhead with the fake lips he had wondered if she hadn’t slipped Lily a little something. Of course Lily might have already taken it, but he hadn’t seen any evidence of that when he’d backed her up against the cupboard in the restaurant. All he’d seen then was a heady desire that matched his own.

He knew the chances of the woman giving Lily something were slim to none, but with a Scotland Yard detective due to interview her in the morning he wasn’t prepared to take that chance.

‘The bag.’

She narrowed her eyes. ‘You already know what’s in it. Remember?’

‘That was before you visited with your friend in the restaurant bathroom.’

‘Oh, come on. It’s not like I planned to run into her.’ Lily’s tone was incredulous.

Tristan held out his hand and Lily lobbed her bag at him as if it was a missile. ‘Have it—and good luck to you.’

Tristan walked closer to her and upended the contents onto the bed. There wasn’t much to see but cosmetics and a purse. He checked the purse and then dropped it back on the bed.

‘Now you.’

She didn’t move, and he clenched his jaw when he saw understanding dawn across her stunning face.

‘Tell me you’re kidding.’

He sincerely wished he could. ‘The way I see it we can do this one of two ways. Either I search you or you strip.’

She made a small sound and then slapped her hands on her hips. Her eyes, when they met his, were glacial. ‘Is this how you get your kicks? Trying to frighten innocent women into doing what you want?’

‘I didn’t ask for this,’ he grated, his eyes drawn to the little gap at the centre of her blouse where the red ribbon tied in a bow. ‘But it’s my house. My rules. So—arms out.’

He stepped towards her and she stepped backwards—and came up against the bedside table.

Her gaze flitted between him and the bedroom door, as if she was contemplating making a run for it. ‘I’m clean. I promise you I am.’

‘Don’t make this harder than it has to be.’ He stopped just in front of her.

The colour was high on her cheekbones and the pulse-point in her neck looked as if it was trying to break free. Just when he thought he’d have to consider force she surprised him by suddenly opening her arms wide.

‘Go ahead. You don’t scare me.’

Tristan stepped forward. Impudent witch. He might be as hard as stone at the thought of touching her but he actually resented having to touch her like this. No matter how much he tried to deny it to himself, he knew that he would much prefer her willing and wanting. And he’d lied to her before. He was interested. Too interested.

Wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible Tristan circled her tiny wrists and ran both his hands up the long sleeves of her blouse at the same time.

‘My stepfather warned me about men like you,’ she said, her voice a breathy caress in the otherwise silent room.

‘Is that right?’ His hands rounded her shoulders and then ran lightly under the heavy cascade of her hair and across her back. He felt her shiver and swallowed hard.

‘That’s right—oh!’ She gasped as his hands skimmed around her ribcage and rose to cup her breasts. Her nipples peaked against his palms and made it nearly impossible for him to leave that tiny bow done up.

‘Keep talking,’ he growled, his hands skimming back down over her torso. It was easier to ignore the feel of her if she kept annoying him. ‘You were saying something about men like me?’

He knelt at her feet and unzipped one of her boots.

‘Yes,’ she said, and her voice was only a touch uneven. ‘Men who only want one thing from a woman and then discard them when they’re finished.’

‘That “one thing” being sex, I take it?’ He put the boot aside and set to work on the other one.

‘Yes, I’m sure you do,’ she bit out scornfully. ‘Take it, that is.’

He looked up to find her studying the ceiling. ‘This is hardly taking it, Lily,’ he retorted gruffly. ‘And let’s just say I’m not enjoying this either—but I don’t usually entertain possible drug felons, so you’ll have to excuse my current modus operandi.’

‘I’ll excuse nothing,’ she spat.

‘And—’ he stopped, completely losing his train of thought when he found his face on a level with that part of her body he’d love to touch. To taste.

Was she as aroused as he was? Wet even?

Hell, don’t go there. Just don’t go there.

He blanked his mind as much as possible as he ran both hands up over one long, lean leg, finally remembering what he was about to say. ‘And I’ve never had a woman complain.’

‘That’s not true.’

He stopped and looked at her.

‘I remember reading about that girl. A model who said that you tricked her into thinking you cared. That you wouldn’t know love if it…if it hit—no, knocked you on the head.’

Tristan paused. ‘She’s entitled to her opinion, but it wasn’t my fault she fell in love with me. She knew exactly what type of relationship she was getting into, and love was never part of the deal.’

‘Silly girl.’ Lily folded her arms across her chest and stared anywhere but at him. ‘She doesn’t know how lucky she was. Personally, I don’t know any woman in her right mind who could ever imagine being in love with you.’

He shifted to her other leg.

‘Unfortunately it happens. But women fall in love with many things, and it’s rarely the man they see in front of them.’ And in him, he knew, they saw a title and a life of privilege. Like his mother had with his father. Shopping, champagne and chauffeurs, he’d heard her brag to more than one friend.

‘You should be thankful they want something at all. It’s not like you can rely on your charming personality,’ she scorned.

Tristan laughed—a hard sound in the deathly silent room. ‘I’m not looking for love.’ He rose and reached around to cup her bottom, closing his eyes as he slid both hands into her deep back pockets.

Lily’s hands flew to his chest, as if to hold him back, but how easy would it be just to tug her forward and let her feel how much she aroused him?

‘What happened?’ She gasped breathlessly. ‘Did a woman scorn you, Tristan?’

He knew she was deliberately trying to distract him, and that she was right to do so.

‘No woman’s ever got close enough to scorn me, Honey,’ he sneered, skating his hands along the inside of her waistband and then finally cupping between her legs.

‘You bastard!’ she seethed, her hand rising to slap his face.

He stopped her, but deep down he knew he deserved it. He let her go so she could stalk to the opposite side of the bed.

‘I hope you’re satisfied.’

Not by a long shot, sweetheart.

‘That was necessary. Nothing else,’ he said evenly.

‘Keep telling yourself that. It might make you sleep better tonight,’ she spat.

‘I’ll sleep just fine,’ he lied.

‘Well, you shouldn’t. But I’m curious—is it just me you don’t trust, or all women?’

‘Don’t go there.’

‘Why not? Your attitude is abysmal for someone whose parents were happily married—’

‘Actually, my parents weren’t happily married.’

‘They weren’t?’ She blinked in surprise.

‘No. I don’t think my mother ever really loved my father and he refused to see it. Which was to his detriment in the end, because as soon as she got a better offer she took off.’

‘Oh, that’s terrible.’ Her automatic compassion was like a fist to his stomach.

‘Yeah, well, that wasn’t the worst of it. Love has a way of making fools of us all. Something to remember.’

He turned sharply on his heel and strode from her room before he did something stupid. Like throw her on the bed and give her what he knew they both wanted—no matter how much she tried to deny it.

Once in his room, Tristan shed his clothes and jumped into the shower, turning the mixer all the way to cold and dousing his head as if it was on fire. He let the freezing water wash over him for a minute and then reset the temperature to hot. God, that search…He blew out a breath. The more he tried to control his physical reaction to her the more out of control it seemed to become.

This situation was seriously driving him crazy. She was seriously driving him crazy. And, worse, the memory of the day his mother had walked out on them wouldn’t leave him alone.

Tristan had overheard his parents arguing. Overheard his mother telling his father that he had nothing she wanted. That her son, Tristan, had nothing she wanted either. And that had bitten deep, because every time she had spiralled downwards Tristan had always been there to try and help her. Tried to be there for her. So to have her only want Jordana…

The memory still chilled his blood. It had taken him a long time to realise that no one was good enough for her and that all those years of trying to win her love and approval had been for nothing.

He scrubbed his hand over his face and shut the mixer off. He pulled on silk boxer shorts and walked up the outdoor circular staircase to his rooftop balcony.

The night was cool, and he enjoyed the sting of air on his skin as he leaned on the wrought-iron railing and looked out over the dark mass that was the Heath and the twinkling coloured lights of London beyond. The cumulus clouds that hung over the city had a faint pinkish tinge due to the light pollution, but he barely noticed. His mind was focused on replaying the day’s events in his head.

Which wasn’t a good thing—because his head was full of more questions than answers.

He didn’t know whether to believe Lily about her not having a current lover, but he was beginning to suspect that she was telling the truth about not knowing she’d had drugs in her bag. That was disconcerting, because it meant he’d been wrong about her. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been wrong about a person. Hated to think that he was now. Because if he was he owed her an apology.

Could she really be as genuine, as untouched, as she appeared? Or was he just a fool, being taken in by a beautiful and duplicitous woman? One whose job it was to pretend to be someone she wasn’t.

Whatever she was, he desired her more than he’d desired any woman before—and that wasn’t good.

He gripped the balustrade so tightly his palms hurt. He needed an outlet for all the pent-up energy whizzing through his blood, and the only thing he could think of to assuage his physical ache was totally off-limits.

Straightening, he clasped his hands behind his neck, twisting his body from side to side to ease the kinks in his back. A run usually helped clear the cobwebs away. And if he didn’t have a suspect movie star sleeping next door he’d put on his joggers and do exactly that. But then, if he didn’t have a suspect movie star sleeping next door he probably wouldn’t need to go for a run at—he glanced at his watch—one in the morning.

Grimacing, he strode inside and flopped face down on his bed.

Given that he couldn’t get rid of her in the short term, the only way he could think of to deal with this situation was with the detached professionalism he would offer any client and ignore the attraction between them.

He’d told her more than once today that he was in charge, and damn it if he wasn’t going to start behaving as if he was tomorrow.