Читать книгу Bedded by Blackmail / Millionaire's Secret Seduction: Bedded by Blackmail / Millionaire's Secret Seduction - Robyn Grady, Jennifer Lewis - Страница 12

The following evening, Tristan smiled to himself when heads turned as he escorted his date into the pres-tigious hotel’s grand ballroom.

He slid a glance at Ella’s profile, radiant in the subdued candelabra light. She wore her golden hair down in long, loose ringlets. The style complemented the serene quality of her bone structure—small straight nose, classic rosebud mouth, a complexion that confirmed good health.

Last night when they’d kissed—softly at first, then with growing passion—he’d lost himself in a moment that had felt so incredibly right. Although he’d pulled back when she’d asked, truth was, now that he’d had a taste, he couldn’t wait to have her in his arms again.

After her positive response to his kiss, he was certain Ella would pay attention to the proposition he had in mind. Sexual compatibility in a marriage was, of course, a necessity. The off-the-scale sizzle factor they seemed to share was a most welcome bonus.

They wove through the glitter and pomp of the highbrow crowd and reached their table. Tristan pulled out her chair, noticing six places at the round table were filled, but two, aside from their own, were still vacant. He took in the nearest place card, Herb Patter-son, the man he’d wanted to speak with tonight. When introductions were made around the table, Tristan was told Herb wouldn’t be attending.

Ella leaned close to whisper for his ears only, “That’s bad luck.”

Tristan pulled his chair in more. Perhaps, but he wasn’t upset because now he could focus his undivided attention upon the gorgeous woman seated beside him. Remembering that kiss, it was difficult not to sit a little closer, or find some excuse to touch her smooth, tanned skin, or to tell her about the proposition he had in mind—a civilized, sensible arrangement that should suit them both.

Following small talk around the table, which Ella handled superbly, entrée was served.

Above the lilting dinner music, Mrs. Anderson asked, “So, Ella, what do you do for a living? Do you model?”

Ella stopped buttering her bread roll to blink over at Mrs. Anderson. “Me? Model?” She looked as if she might laugh.

“Ella’s my housekeeper,” Tristan piped up.

Mrs. Anderson coughed on a mouthful of soup. “I beg your pardon? Did you say housekeeper?”

Tristan rested his hand on the back of Ella’s chair. “Her desserts are heaven on earth.”

While Ella’s smile said she was a little embarrassed by the attention, Tristan felt nothing but proud. From the expressions on the other men’s faces, they wished their help’s looks and charm compared. Housekeeper turned perfect special-occasion-partner. If things panned out, she’d become much more than that.

Ella and Mrs. Butler, who’d married a successful dot-com entrepreneur, struck up a conversation that lasted through mains. By dessert Ella was sharing recipes with the other women, who vowed to pass the secrets on to their own cooks and housekeepers. Betty Lipid suggested Ella put together her own celebrity cookbook.

Ella sipped her dessert wine. “I’m hardly a celebrity.”

Betty raised a brow. “But our Tristan is.” She directed her next words to him. “And might I say, you’re looking uncommonly well. All that good living?” She grinned. “Food, I mean.”

Tristan didn’t take offence. Let Betty Lipid and the others think what they would. In fact, soon he hoped their speculation over himself and Ella being more than employee and employer wouldn’t merely be gossip. The more he considered it, the more a proposal of marriage seemed to fit. She was attractive, poised, at-tentive, demure—he’d bet a bankroll Ella would make a great mother. He’d always envisioned himself with a big family of boys. He wanted to be the kind of dad his father had never been.

He took in Ella’s unsuspecting profile and his smile faded.

Her conversation with Mr. Scarpini last night was another reason this idea was a good one. Unless Scarpini was as stupid as he was cowardly, he would quit hassling Ella once he discovered her bystander-employer would soon become her protective husband.

Ella pushed away her mousse and held her stomach. “Delicious, but I can’t eat another bite.”

Tristan set his napkin on the table. “I’m done, too.”

When he stood and took her hand, a look of terror filled her eyes. “What are you doing?”

“They’re playing our song.”

He tugged and she reluctantly got to her feet. “We don’t have a song.”

“We do now.”

A step behind, she followed him out onto the dance floor. When he wound his arm around her, she stiffened, but as they began to move, her rigidity dissolved bit by bit. Positioned against each other like this, his body pressed lightly against her supple curves, he knew she was thinking about their kiss. So was he. He couldn’t wait to sample those honeyed lips a second, then a third time.

But he could wait…at least until he got her home.

“Have you spoken to your brother?” she asked.

Tristan frowned. If she’d wanted to temper his mood, it worked.

“No, we haven’t spoken,” he replied. “But I’ll need to, I suppose. Josh is holding a get-together tomorrow with his fiancée and her family. Cade will be there.”

Her grin was wry. “Good luck.”

Tristan’s palm traveled to the dip in her back. “Would you like to come?” he asked, swaying with her, enjoying the up close and personal contact more than she could know. With her alongside him, the family ordeal with Cade present wouldn’t seem half as un-pleasant, which was a bit of a revelation. He’d never felt so assured about a woman’s company before.

“Are they needing someone to serve?” she asked in-nocently, and he laughed.

“No, Ella, I want you to accompany me.”

She blinked and her sapphire eyes sparkled. “How will you explain me?”

He played with a frown. “How should I explain you?”

She trod on his toe and they both flinched. “How about as the woman who can’t dance to save herself?”

“You have other talents. You don’t need to dance well.”

She huffed good-humouredly. “At least you’re honest.”

“Not insensitive?”

“I can’t imagine you ever being that.”

Her lashes lowered and he gathered her slightly closer, smiling at the same feeling he’d experienced when he’d hired her months ago. This—she—felt right. Last night when he’d gone to bed, he hadn’t been able to shake the image of how good she’d looked in that pink bikini. Then the bikini had vanished and he’d imagined them together in his bed. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted it. Wanted her.

With his mouth resting against the shell of her ear, he murmured, “You look stunning in that gown.”

After a moment, she replied in a thready voice, “Thank you.”

“But you didn’t wear your earrings.”

He deliberately brushed his lips against her ear again and smiled as a tremor ran through her.

“I’m afraid they wouldn’t pass the ‘are they real or not’ test.”

He grinned. Yes, those sapphire drops he’d seen in the jewelry shop window would have looked perfect tonight. But perhaps Ella didn’t like sapphires. Some women preferred emeralds, others wanted only diamonds. He’d known a few women like that. “Do you have a favorite stone?”

“A gem, you mean? I’ve never thought about it.”

He heard the note of strain and uncertainty mixed with brewing arousal in her voice and realized how much pressure his palm had exerted on her lower back. He was aroused too, and Ella, as well as the area above her thighs, would no doubt have recognized the fact.

Not feeling nearly as contrite as he should, he said, “I’m making you uncomfortable.” She accidentally trod on his foot again. Hiding a wince, he pulled back and cleared his throat. “Would you prefer to sit down?

Her face was pained. “I think you would.”

He chuckled and admitted, “Next time I’ll wear steel-toe boots.”

“You’re a sucker for punishment.”

“It’s no hardship, believe me.”

No truer words had been spoken.

He wasn’t quite conscious of the movement, but as he smiled into her eyes, his head bowed over hers until her spine arched slightly back. He felt her intake of air and saw in her eyes…She wondered if he would kiss her again, here in front of everyone. And, God above, he was tempted.

Instead he found the strength to show some mercy and release her. On their way back to their table, they bumped smack-dab into Mayor Rufus.

Hiding his surprise—he wasn’t prepared for this meeting—Tristan squared his shoulders. “George. I didn’t realize you’d be here.”

They shook hands and the mayor nodded once. “Tristan. Nice to see you.” But the mayor’s tone wasn’t convincing.

Tristan set his jaw. He’d invested not only large amounts of money, but also his heart and soul into his current resort project. This man could seal the deal with a nod on rezoning, and just as easily run a red pen through and obliterate twelve months of Tristan’s working life—geological reports, feasibility studies, copious meetings with architects.

Did Rufus still blame Tristan for his daughter’s death? If he knew the entire story, perhaps Rufus would understand. Although the temptation was there, Tristan couldn’t consciously tarnish Bindy’s memory or scandalize his own family name, though Cade hardly deserved his loyalty.

The mayor turned to Ella. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

Tristan made the introduction, knowing Rufus would be remembering a time when his daughter had been the woman on Tristan’s arm. “George Rufus, this is Ella Jacob.”

The mayor smiled. “Are you new to town, my dear? I don’t believe I’ve seen you at similar events.”

“Ella works for me,” Tristan said. The mayor would have discovered as much when he arrived for dinner in two weeks’ time.

The mayor nodded as if that made some sense. “Personal assistant?”

“Housekeeper,” Ella admitted.

The mayor’s brow creased before his face lit up. “So you’re the young lady who bakes a caramel apple pie to die for?”

Ella lifted a modest shoulder. “I’ve received a few compliments on that recipe.”

“I’m looking forward to adding to those compli-ments. I presume Tristan told you I invited myself over for dinner?”

She smiled. “I’m planning something extra special.”

“But caramel apple pie for dessert?”

“With your choice of cream or warm brandy custard.”

The mayor chuckled. “I’ll look forward to it.” His smile tightened. “I hope Mr. Barkley is taking good care of you.” He redirected his attention to Tristan.

Tristan inwardly cringed. Ella didn’t know the full implication behind the mayor’s words. But if he decided to take this relationship to the next level, Tristan supposed he’d best tell Ella the whole sordid story. He hadn’t pushed Bindy Rufus toward her untimely death. She’d chosen her own path, which included infidelity with the worst possible partner.

A photographer with rumpled hair and an ill-fitting suit interrupted them. “Mind if I get a shot for the celebrity page?”

Tristan acquiesced and after some minor staging, the flash went off. Seemed he, Ella and the mayor would share the limelight somewhere in tomorrow morning’s print.

The mayor bid them good-night and, back at the table, Ella stifled a yawn.

Tristan studied her face. He should have noticed earlier the shadows under her eyes. “You’re tired.”

“No, I’m not,” she replied too quickly.

She didn’t want to spoil his night. Sweet, but it suited him to leave. Now that he’d made up his mind, he didn’t want to delay moving forward.

He was serious about pursuing the marriage-of-convenience proposition. For Ella it would mean a stable husband with the resources and temperament to treat her well. He in turn would have a wife other men would envy—the veritable girl-next-door with no pretences or ulterior motives. No headaches. No heartache.

Tristan’s good humor dipped as he swept his jacket off the back of his chair.

Ella’s naiveté was all the more reason to keep an eye on Cade tomorrow. His older brother had white-anted him before. No reason to trust him now.

He collected Ella’s purse from the table. “It’s almost eleven,” he said, handing the purse over. “Time to call it a night.”

Her eyes unwittingly flashed with gratitude before she shrugged. “Well, if you’re sure you’re ready.”

Tristan smiled at his beautiful companion. He was more than ready.

During the drive home, Ella was floating.

She’d never attended an event quite like tonight’s. Those people were some of the wealthiest in the state—in the country—but despite having had next to no sleep last night, she hadn’t made a social blunder. The reason was clear. Her companion.

She looked across at Tristan sitting relaxed behind the wheel, his expression intent as the night shadows flickered over his classic profile.

He’d been the perfect escort, making her feel not only beautiful but…special, even when she’d trodden on his foot, not once but twice.

Ella dropped her gaze to her hand holding her knotting stomach. The night wasn’t over yet. More than instinct whispered to her what was in store. Tristan planned to kiss her again. She saw it in his eyes and the tilt of his mouth whenever he smiled at her.

He’d obviously thought more about last night’s embrace and wanted to test those waters again. What else did he have planned? How much was she pre-pared to give? she wondered. What exactly did Tristan want from her?

Possibly a brief interlude with an employee who would be out of his life in two weeks. Fulfillment of a curiosity with no lingering ties. Surely nothing more than that.

As Tristan drove into the garage, Ella tried to divert her thoughts. The dinner she intended to prepare for the mayor seemed a good topic.

“Do you know of anything special other than pie the mayor would like served?”

“Actually he’s a big fan of clam chowder. His wife served it whenever I shared a meal with the family.”

As Tristan shut down the engine, Ella unsnapped her seat belt. “I didn’t realize you two were that close.”

“Not anymore.” He opened his car door. “Some time ago, I dated Belinda Rufus.”

Ella looked hard at him. No mistaking such a unique last name. “The mayor’s daughter?”

He nodded, then got out of the car and rounded the vehicle to escort her inside.

“We’d been seeing each other for three months,” he continued, thumbing on the kitchen lights. “She died in tragic circumstances—a car wreck.”

Ella was taken aback. “I’m sorry, Tristan.”

He nodded then added in a low voice, “The mayor blamed me.”

“Were you driving?”

He shook his head and leaned on the back of a kitchen chair. “I’d invited Bindy to a friend’s wedding. Not far into the reception party, it was clear she’d had far too much champagne. When I suggested we leave, she stumbled out onto the balcony. The fresh air only made her intoxication worse. She must have known I wasn’t impressed, but she wouldn’t stop. I thought she was talking nonsense at first, and then she told me—” His Adam’s apple bobbed, then he cleared his throat and scrubbed his jaw. “She said she’d slept with Cade the week before.”

Ella fell back against the bench. “But why?”

“She seemed to take relish in the fact that Cade was the wealthiest of the Barkley brothers.”

“Oh, Tristan. No wonder…”

“Although she obviously expected me to, I didn’t explode. Instead I had this perverse urge to laugh.” He sneered. “Big brother Cade was at it again.”

She couldn’t imagine feeling so betrayed. Scarpini might be her half brother—if, in fact, that were true—but Tristan had known Cade all his life. They’d grown up in the same house, shared the same parents. How could brothers turn out so differently? She hadn’t known Tristan long, but instinctively she knew he would never act so appallingly.

He shrugged and pushed off the chair. “Perhaps Bindy wanted a duel at dawn. But it only crystallized what I’d been feeling more and more. We weren’t right for each other and that confirmed it.” Deep into his thoughts, he moved toward her. “Bindy stumbled away. A minute later I saw my car speed off. She’d had my keys in her bag. I followed in a friend’s car, but…”

Ella continued for him. “She crashed.”

He blinked then nodded once. “She died instantly.” He took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. “The mayor blamed me. Said I didn’t take care of his little girl. He thought I’d tried to dump her and had broken her heart.” A corner of his mouth pulled down. “What a joke.”

So that’s what the mayor had meant by that com-ment, I hope Mr. Barkley is taking good care of you. She’d thought his tone, if not his words, had seemed off at the time.

“What did the mayor say when you told him the truth?”

Tristan rolled back one shoulder and lifted his chin. “I didn’t say anything. Bindy was dead. Nothing would come from discrediting her name to her father or anyone else.”

“And Cade? What did he say when you confronted him?”

His jaw flexed. “We didn’t discuss it.”

“Never?”

Tristan’s right hand fisted by his side. “Cade knows what he did. What he always does. He thinks about himself. I have no desire to rehash it.”

“But if Bindy was drunk…” Ella shrugged. “Well, maybe she got confused.”

His smile was a sneer. “She wasn’t confused about Cade’s appendix scar or the ‘cute’ tick at its lower end.”

She guessed scenarios such as this played out in real life more than people would like to admit, and not only among the rich and famous. Money and sex had the potential to warp people. Sometimes destroy them.

“And now you have to face Cade at this get-together,” she said.

“I’ll do it, but only for Josh’s sake. And I’ll behave. Hopefully Cade will, too.”

He looked at her then as if there might be a deeper meaning to his words and she wondered. Surely it wasn’t mistrust of her clouding his eyes.

They weren’t a couple, and even if they were, she would never cheat as Bindy had done. If things weren’t working out between two people who weren’t married it was better to sever the relationship than continue to hurt each other. She’d followed her own advice when she’d called off her relationship with Sean. Apparently he’d never thought her good enough in any case…

Ella pushed away the ghosts from her past. That was all so long ago. Like Tristan, she didn’t enjoy revisiting the less memorable pages of her personal history. And, remarkably, Tristan’s skeletons competed with hers. They’d both been accused of killing a person they cared about.

Tristan moved closer. “Ella…there’s something else I feel we need to discuss.” His gaze probed hers. “It’s about us.”

Her insides tensed as a thread of panic wound through her. Tristan was going to bring up that kiss. But after the emotion of that conversation—his being with another woman and her untimely death—she wasn’t ready to go there, even to discuss it.

Curling some hair behind her ear, she slid her foot back toward her bedroom door. “Do you mind if we talk in the morning?” She gave him a weak smile. “I’m more tired than I realized.”

His earnest expression deepened before he nodded and said, “Of course.”

She slid back her other foot and smiled. “Great. Well…good night. Thank you for tonight.”

He seemed about to say something more, then only nodded again. “My pleasure. Sleep well.”

But Ella didn’t sleep well. Anything but.

After tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, she wandered out to the dark kitchen for a glass of water. With her hand on the refrigerator door, she heard a shuffling noise, then a rustle. Her stomach pitched and she went cold all over. A light was shining down from further in the house, possibly the library. Then she heard stealthy footsteps on the tiles.

When Tristan appeared, she released a tension-filled breath at the same time their eyes connected in the shadows. He stopped dead before a warm smile spread across his face and he moved toward her.

One part of her wanted to retreat to her bedroom—she was dressed in a negligee, without a wrap. But the room was filled with forgiving shadows, and the air surrounding them was suddenly heavy with curiosity.

When he stopped before her, silver moonlight shining in through the window highlighted his broad, bare chest. The masculine scent of his body filled her lungs. How she loved that smell.

“You can’t sleep?” His voice was a deep rumble that resonated through to her bones.

“Not a wink,” she admitted.

“Me, neither.” He slanted his head on a teasing smile. “Maybe we shouldn’t sleep together.”

She looked into his eyes and knew what he was suggesting—the exact opposite. She couldn’t deny that the idea of sleeping together was frighteningly appealing.

As the seconds ticked by, the space separating them seemed to compress and at the same time stretch an agonizingly forbidden mile. Did she want to breach that space? The stillness of his towering frame told her that Tristan only needed her nod.

She quivered inside.

Should she?

Shouldn’t she?

She wet her dry lips. “Tristan?”

“Yes, Ella?”

Her throat convulsed and she swallowed. “You want to kiss me again, don’t you?”

His smile changed. “Yes, I do.” He moved closer until his body heat seemed to meld with hers. “And I think you want me to.”

Quivering again, she stepped away from her safety net and nodded. “Very much.”