Читать книгу Mistresses: Passionate Revenge - Шантель Шоу, Trish Morey - Страница 15

‘PRETEND to be your what?’ Cleo started to laugh. If ever there was a time for hysterical laughter, this moment was tailor-made, but shock won out in the reaction stakes, choking off the sound and rendering her aghast. ‘You must be insane!’

‘I assure you I’m perfectly serious.’

‘But your mistress? Who even uses that word any more?’

‘Would you prefer it if I used the word lover?

‘No!’ Definitely not lover. And definitely not when it was said in that rich, curling accent. She didn’t want to think about being Andreas’ lover, pretend or otherwise. ‘I don’t know where you got the impression that I might say yes to such a crazy proposition, but I’m afraid you have the wrong impression of me, Mr Xenides. I’m sorry, but I’ll have to turn down your generous proposal.’

‘Call me Andreas, please.’

She looked over her shoulder anxiously, watching the door, before she looked back. ‘And why would a man like you even need someone to act as his mistress anyway? It makes no sense.’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe I just don’t like to be seen as available.’

‘Maybe you should just put out a press release.’ She looked longingly at the door again. ‘When is my bag supposed to arrive? I want to go.’

‘At least think about it, Cleo. It’s a lot of money to throw away. Can you afford that?’

‘You’re crazy. Just look at me.’ She held her arms out at her sides, her heart jumping wildly in her chest, her words tumbling over her tongue. ‘I’m a cleaner. I muck out bathrooms and rubbish bins and have the split nails and red hands to prove it. I’m short and dumpy and have never once in my life been called so much as pretty, and you’re suggesting I could pretend to be your mistress? Who’s going to believe that for a start? They’ll think you’ve gone mad and they’d be right.’

He answered her with a raised eyebrow and a half-hearted shrug as he eased closer. ‘I think you underestimate your charms.’

Charms? What planet was this man from? ‘Why me? You could have any woman in the world. You probably already have.’

He turned her implied insult to his advantage. ‘Exactly. Which is why I don’t want just any woman in the world.’ He was close now, so close she could see the individual lashes that framed his dark eyes, close enough to see his pupils flare as he held out his fingers to her cheek. She flinched but he kept coming, tracing the line of her cheek with the backs of his fingers. ‘I want you.’

Her heart missed a beat or two. She tried to shake her head but still his fingers remained, his touch feather-light and yet bone-shudderingly deep in effect.

‘I don’t…I can’t…’

And he pulled his hand away, concern muddying his eyes as if something had just occurred to him. ‘You’re not a virgin?’

The intimacy of the question threw her for a moment. She could feel her cheeks burning up as she fought to find an answer. ‘I thought this was about pretending. Why should whether or not I’ve ever slept with anyone even be an issue?’

He shrugged. ‘Because there will be nights we are forced to share a bed to keep up appearances. And it’s not beyond the realms of possibility that as a man and a woman, together, we might wish to seek mutual pleasure in each other’s bodies.’

Help! ‘So you expect sex, then, as part of this deal?’

He frowned and drew away, as if the very idea of her asking offended him. ‘Not necessarily. Just that it may well be a by-product of our arrangement.’

Sex as a by-product of our arrangement?

How formal that sounded. How impersonal. It sounded more like a business deal, which she supposed it was. Not that she’d been involved in too many business deals, especially where they included a sex clause.

‘I don’t want it,’ she ventured, not entirely sure if she meant just the contract or the sex or both. Because there was something about Andreas’ touch that sent her senses into overdrive, something about his touch that made a secret part of her ache in ways it shouldn’t, especially not for a man she’d only just met, a man she knew nothing about.

‘It’s a good offer,’ he continued, as gently and convincingly as a parent trying to get a child to drink its milk. ‘It’s a fixed-term contract and in one month you go home. All expenses paid. First-class travel naturally.’

He watched her face, searching for the crack in her resolve. ‘And no sex, if that’s what you want. Though if it did happen, I can guarantee it wouldn’t mean anything.’

His words blurred. “It wouldn’t mean anything.” And all she kept hearing was the echo of the words Kurt had said to her when she’d told him she loved him. And he’d just laughed as he’d yanked up his jeans. “What’s your problem? It didn’t mean anything. You really are stupid.”

And all she had felt was the bottom falling out of her world as her newly discovered heart had lain shredded. She’d made a pointless journey, thrown what she’d always believed to be special away on a deadbeat who’d taken everything he could get and left her high and dry.

‘You have had sex? Can we be clear on that?’ Andreas’ uncertain voice came from a long way away and still it brought her hackles up. What did he think now, that she was a complete loser?

‘Oh, sure, loads of times.’ Once. But then why should it matter if he thought her a complete loser? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t thought the same thing herself.

‘Then it’s all settled.’

Her head snapped up. ‘Hang on, what’s settled?’ She had a feeling she’d missed something somewhere. Had she said yes and somehow forgotten?

‘Tomorrow you will fly with me to my home on Santorini.’

She knew the name. Kurt had wooed her with his promises of travel and sunsets, of short breaks they could take to the Mediterranean, to Corfu and Mykonos and Santorini, of crystal-clear waters and lazy summer days. It had sounded so romantic, but of course, it had all been lies designed to convince her that they had a future together in order to lure her to London. She’d all but given up any hope of seeing anything at all of Europe.

But now she had the chance to go there with Andreas. Was it enough of a reason to say yes?

A buzzer sounded and Andreas moved swiftly to the door, pulling it open to the porter at last with her luggage. ‘We will leave at twelve. The morning will be busy with appointments so we will have to start early.

‘In the bedroom, thank you,’ Andreas directed the porter, pressing a note into his hand.

‘No!’ she called, surprising them both and causing the porter to wheel around. ‘I’ll take that.’ She grabbed one of the shoulder straps.

‘Leave it, Cleo.’

‘But there’s no point. I was just leaving anyway.’

The porter looked nervously from one to the other, Cleo tugging on the pack, knowing it was her hold on reality and on control, and Andreas glowering until finally the porter decided that discretion was the better part of valour and withdrew, uttering a rushed, ‘Call me if you need anything more,’ before making himself scarce.

Cleo heaved the backpack onto her shoulder.

‘I thought we had a deal.’

‘You thought wrong. I never agreed to anything. And I’m leaving.’

‘But you have no job, nowhere to go.’

‘I’ll find something. I’ll manage.’ She retrieved her Driza-Bone from the back of a chair and bundled it in front of her before being game enough to steal one last glance at him.

Impossibly good-looking. That was how she’d remember him. Eyes of midnight-black and hair that waved thick and dark to collar length, an imperious nose and a passionate slash of mouth it was almost a crime for any man to possess. And a face like slate, just like she’d thought in the hotel, until it heated up and the angles took on curves she’d never seen coming.

But so what? She was leaving. It might be a huge amount of money to give up and already she could hear the girls from her high school singing out a familiar chorus of “loser, loser, Cleo’s a loser”. But she’d been hearing that chorus a long time and she was used to it. She’d been an object of pity ever since her father had walked out on her pregnant mother, never to be seen again.

And besides, she knew she was doing the right thing. For Andreas’ proposal was flawed. She didn’t want the chance of ‘sex as a by-product’ of anything. She’d had sex that didn’t mean anything and she’d hated herself in the aftermath. It had made her feel cheap and disposable and had hurt her more than she wanted to admit. She didn’t care for the chance of more, no matter how much he might be paying.

‘I’ll see myself out.’

‘I need you,’ he said as she turned for the door.

She halted, her fingers around the door handle. ‘I get the impression, Mr Xenides, that you don’t need anyone.’ She twisted and pulled. She didn’t belong here. Now she’d made up her mind, she couldn’t wait to get away. Had to get away.

The door was open just a few inches when his palm slammed it shut. ‘You’re wrong!’

She turned to protest but the words sizzled and burned in the heat she saw coming from his eyes. ‘How much will it take, then? How much do you want? I thought you didn’t care about money, but you’re just like the rest, one whiff and you want more. You’re just a better actress. Which tells me you’re exactly the woman I need.

‘So how much, sweet, talented Cleo? How much to secure your services for a month? One hundred thousand clearly isn’t enough, so let’s say we double it. Two hundred thousand pounds. Four hundred thousand of your dollars. Would that be enough?’

The numbers went whirling around her brain, so big they didn’t mean anything, so enormous she couldn’t get a grip on them. Four hundred thousand dollars for a month of pretending to be Andreas’ companion? Was she nuts to even think about giving that up? She could go home, pay back her nanna, pay for repairs to the farm’s leaking roof that her mother always complained about but there was never enough money to repair, and she’d still have enough left over to buy a place of her own.

More than that, she’d be able to go home and hold her head up high. And for once, just once in her life, she didn’t have to be a loser.

But could she do it? Could she pretend to be this man’s lover and all that entailed and simply walk away in the end?

She shook her head trying to work it all out. She truly didn’t know. If she just had some time to think it all out. ‘Andreas, I—’

‘Five hundred thousand pounds! One million of your dollars. Will that be enough to sway your mind?’

She gasped. ‘You have to be kidding. That’s an obscene amount of money.’

‘Not if it gets me what I want. And I want you, Cleo. Say yes.’

She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, only one note of clarity spearing through the fog of her brain.

One million dollars.

How could she walk away from that? It was unthinkable, unimaginable, like winning the lottery or scooping the pools. And she’d even get to live on Santorini for a whole month, the island she’d longed to visit, the island Kurt had only talked about visiting for a day or two. Wasn’t that some kind of justice? She licked her lips, once more feeling her hold on the world slipping, swaying. ‘Just for a month, you say?’

The corners of his mouth turned up. ‘Maybe even less if you play your cards right.’

‘But definitely no sex. Just pretending. Is that right?’

A shadow passed across his eyes and was just as quickly gone. ‘If that’s the way you want it.’

‘That’s exactly the way I want it. No sex. And in one month I go home.’

‘No questions asked. First class. All expenses paid.’

She swallowed against a throat that felt tight and dry and against a fear that he might soon discover he was making the mistake of his life and she’d be booted out with the week. ‘I don’t know if I’m the right person for the job.’

He slipped the pack from her shoulder and dropped it on the ground beside them before she’d noticed, relieving her of the weight on her back, but not even touching the fear in her gut. ‘You’ll be perfect. Any other questions?’

She shook her head. How could she expect him to make sense of anything going on in her mind when she couldn’t unscramble it herself? ‘No. Um, at least…No, I don’t think so.’

He smiled then, as he curved one hand around her neck, his fingers warm and gentle on her skin and yet setting her flesh alight. ‘Then what say we seal this deal with a kiss?’

She gasped and looked up at him in shock. That message cleared a way through the fog in her brain as if it had been shot from a cannon. ‘We could always just shake hands.’

‘We could,’ he agreed, both hands weaving their magic behind her head, his thumbs tracing the line of her jaw while he studied her face. ‘But given we will no doubt have to get used to at least this, we might as well start now.’

And he angled her upturned face and dipped his own until his lips met hers. Fear held her rigid, that and a heart that had taken on a life of its own and threatened to jump out of her chest. But as his lips moved over hers, gentler than she’d imagined possible, gentle but, oh, so sure, she sighed into the kiss, participating, matching him.

One hand scooped down her back, pressing her to him from chest to thigh, her nipples exquisitely sensitive to the chest that met hers, heat pooling low down between her thighs, making her more aware than she’d ever been of her own physical needs. They called to her now, announcing their presence with logicnumbing desperation until her knees, once stiff with shock, threatened to buckle under her. She trembled, reaching for him, needing something to steady herself as his mouth wove some kind of magic upon her own.

It was just a kiss. Tender almost, more gentle than she would ever expect this man to give, but, oh, so thorough in its impact. Her fingers tangled in his shirt, her fingertips drinking in the feel of the firm flesh beneath and she was sure she felt him shudder. Was this how a man felt, rock-hard and solid, as opposed to a boy? Kurt had claimed to be twenty-six and told her he worked out regularly, but his body had been white-bread soft and just as unsatisfying.

But Andreas felt as if he’d been sculpted from marble, firm flesh over muscle and skin that felt like satin and her fingers itched to feel more. Ached to feel more.

Then just as suddenly the kiss was over, his lips departing, and she was left bereft and breathless blinking up at him. He said nothing, just looked down at her, his dark eyes swirling with questions until a bubble of panic rose up inside her.

Had he spotted her lack of experience? Would he change his mind and toss her out, now that she’d finally agreed to his terms?

‘I guess we have a deal,’ he surprised her by saying, before letting her go. ‘You might want to settle in. I have some work to do with the lawyers and I’ll arrange for the necessary papers to be drawn up.’

‘The papers?’ She’d just been kissed senseless and he expected her to suddenly know what he was talking about. ‘What papers?’

‘The contract. This is a business arrangement. I think we both need the assurance it will stay that way.’

‘Oh, of course.’ She nodded as if she understood completely. When what she knew about business law would fit through the eye of a needle. Which was what had got her into her mess with Kurt. A gentlemen’s agreement, he’d told her, and she’d been fool enough to believe he was gentleman enough to honour the terms. So much for trust.

Andreas clearly wasn’t into trust or gentlemen’s agreements, for which she should be thankful, even if it rubbed that he might not trust her. But if a contract meant she’d get her money and not get ripped off this time, she could live with it.

A wave of exhaustion suddenly washed over her, the adrenaline rush of the last half-hour, the events of the last twenty-four hours, especially the emotional upheaval of the last four when she’d been wrenched from her bed, catching up with her. She needed sleep and she needed it badly. ‘Which way to my room?’

He’d already pulled his cell phone from his pocket and made the connection. He looked up and frowned before turning away, a torrent of Greek pouring into the phone.

Okay, so she’d find it by herself. She hauled her pack over her shoulder and aimed for one of the two doors she knew didn’t lead to the hallway outside. One of them would be her room for sure.

She found a bedroom off the living room, a massive king-sized bed covered in almost a dozen pillows taking centre stage. She opened one cupboard and found a line of shirts and trousers hanging inside. Andreas’ wardrobe, then. She took another door that led into a massive marble bathroom, complete with bath, shower and bidet, and then took another door out, only to find herself back in the living room where Andreas was still on the phone.

He raised one eyebrow when he saw her emerge and she raised her own. ‘My room?’ she mouthed quietly and he frowned and pointed to the door she’d first entered and her heart leapt into her mouth. Surely he wasn’t expecting them to share? Even though he’d hinted that it might be necessary to maintain the illusion, there was no one else here to pretend for now. And hadn’t she made it plain enough that she wouldn’t sleep with him? She shook her head and her panicked thoughts must have been laid bare in her eyes. He covered the handset with one hand and pointed to a sofa. ‘I’m sleeping there,’ he growled. ‘The bedroom is all yours.’

She retraced her steps to the bedroom and dug through her bag until she found her pyjamas and toilet bag and ducked into the bathroom, feeling embarrassed and stupid and relieved all at the same time. Of course he didn’t want to sleep with her! What the hell had she been thinking? Their deal was for her to pretend to be his mistress, not be the real thing. One kiss had scrambled her brain completely. One kiss and she was practically expecting him to make love to her.

She adjusted the water temperature and stepped into the cloudburst of a shower. The pounding of the steamy water was like a salve to her weary muscles and tired body, but still she was out in record time, simultaneously pulling on her pyjamas and cleaning her teeth in case Andreas needed the bathroom. Her stomach rumbled and she realised she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. But she was used to that. It was the one reason her jeans fitted her now, rather than stretching at the seams like when she’d first arrived in London. At least her mad job had achieved what ten years of New Year’s resolutions had failed to deliver. Anyway, she was too tired to eat now. All she wanted to do was collapse into bed.

She pulled the hair tie from her hair, shaking the damp ends free as she surveyed the object in question. Compared to the camp bed she was used to, the bed seemed to stretch an acre in every direction. And it was all for her. But which side was his? Or did his lordship like to occupy the middle? He might be going to sleep on the sofa outside, but just the knowledge that he’d slept here last night and she could be sharing that same place seemed too intimate, too personal. She hovered at the side a while, before exhaustion got the better of her and she climbed into the closest side, finding herself enveloped in cloud-soft luxury, the scent of Andreas on her pillow, the comforter so soft and warm around her it was like a hug from her nanna.

The bright side, she thought dreamily, was that sooner than she’d expected she’d be home and hugging her nanna again. There was always a bright side.

She pulled her mask over her eyes to shut out the ribbon of light seeping under the door, feeling sleep tugging at her so hard that nothing could keep her awake tonight, not the occasional burst of Greek she could hear coming from the room outside, not regret at making the deal she’d done and not even the fear that, despite his assurances, at any moment Andreas Xenides could walk through that door and climb into this bed.

She yawned. She knew she should care. She wanted to. But not right now. In the morning she’d be able to think straight. In the morning they could set any necessary boundaries.

In the morning…

Andreas was still on the phone when Room Service arrived with the meal he’d ordered in between calls to his lawyers and to the concierge to arrange the round of appointments Cleo would need in the morning. He was hungry and he figured she must be too, and until she’d been thoroughly made over there was little point being photographed with her in any of the restaurants or bars. Before and after shots wouldn’t help his cause. In any event, there was something to be said for taking a few hours in private to get to know one another. For, as much as he expected she’d be perfect for his purposes, the contracts needn’t be signed until he’d made absolutely certain.

He pushed open the door to the bedroom to let her know their meal had arrived and found the room in darkness, lit only with the light spilling in from the room behind. And there she lay, looking tiny in the big wide bed, her flannelette pyjamas buttoned almost all the way up to her neck like a suit of armour with the quilt pulled up almost as high, and that damned Princess mask hiding her eyes.

The blood in his veins heated to boiling point. She was sleeping? He’d just agreed to pay her a million dollars and she was sleeping as if it were no big deal and she could start earning her money tomorrow?

He was just about to rip the damn mask off when she stirred on a sigh and settled back into the mattress, her breathing so slow and regular that he paused, remembering.

She’d been asleep when his staff had woken her hours ago, he recalled, after being awake since the very early hours, the shadows under her eyes underlining her exhaustion. Maybe he should give those shadows a chance to clear and give the makeover experts a fighting chance to turn her into the woman he needed her to be?

Maybe he should just back out of here and let her sleep?

And maybe he should just climb right in there with her and make the most of his money? She’d said she didn’t want sex but he’d never known a woman to turn him down. That she’d been so adamant grated.

There was a knock at the door outside. Housekeeping, no doubt, come to make up the sofa bed, and he turned and pulled the door closed behind him.

He had no need to take any woman. He had an entire month. She would come to him; he knew it.