His Mistress For A Week. Melanie Milburne
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it had a mind of its own. Searching for the evidence of his arousal. Yikes! Finding it. ‘I. Am. Going. To. Kill. You,’ she said in an undertone, punctuating each word with another push down of her foot.
He leaned down and began to nuzzle the side of her neck, the sexy scrape of his late-in-the-day stubble sending a frisson down her spine. His warm breath smelt of mint and coffee. Not the cheap instant stuff she had in her flat but the good stuff. ‘I’m going to kill you right back. Slowly.’ His voice was a low, deep burr that reverberated deep in her core like a tuning fork struck and left to hum.
Mavis clasped her hands like a fairy godmother enormously satisfied with her day’s work. ‘Have a wonderful time, you gorgeous lovebirds. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’
Clem pulled out of Alistair’s hold and turned and threw him a look that would have blistered paint. ‘You think you’ve won this, don’t you?’
His eyes had a determined glint that made every knob of her spine shudder. ‘Get in the car.’
Every cell in her body wanted to defy him. Every pore tightened with anger. Fury. Rage. She could barely stand still with the force of it thundering through her. But making a scene in front of her nosy neighbour was not something she was prepared to do. There were other ways to skin a cat, and Alistair Hawthorne’s pelt was one she wanted to take her time removing while inflicting as much excruciating pain as possible.
Clem slipped into the passenger seat, keeping her fake smile in place for the sake of Mavis until they were out of sight. ‘If you think I’m going to speak another word to you then you can think again,’ she said. ‘You’re the most obnoxious, control-freaky man I’ve ever met. As if I’d ever imagine myself in love with you. What a joke. You’re the last man I’d ever be interested in. I hated you ten years ago and I hate you now. You’re a stuck-up snob who thinks you can order people about like puppets. Well, listen up, because my strings are not going to be pulled by you. No freaking way.’
The silence continued for three blocks.
Clem cast him a sideways glance. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’
He flicked her an ironic look. ‘I thought you weren’t going to speak to me?’
Clem pinched her lips together and turned back to face the front. She waited another four blocks before speaking. ‘Where are you taking me?’
‘The airport. I have a flight booked.’
She swung her gaze back to him. ‘You were that certain you’d get me to come?’ Ack. Probably not the best choice of words.
Even though he was still facing the traffic, she could see from his expression her unintentional innuendo had amused him. ‘But of course.’
Clem didn’t care for his confident tone. Sexually confident men annoyed her. They were so smug about their prowess but they didn’t factor in that every woman was different. It wasn’t ‘one size fits all’, or at least not in her experience. It made her wonder whom he was currently seeing. She’d seen a photo in a gossip magazine a few months ago of him at some architectural awards ceremony with a gorgeous blonde with an eye-popping figure. The sort of figure Clem would never get even if she never ate a morsel of food again. ‘What does your girlfriend think about you flying off to France with me?’
‘I’m not in a relationship at the moment.’
‘When was your last one?’
He slanted her a glance. ‘Why do you want to know? Are you thinking of replacing her?’
Clem coughed out a disparaging laugh. ‘As if.’
Another silence ticked past. A silence that seemed to make a mockery of her denial. She couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to have sex with him. Not selfish sex, like the men she’d been with. But satisfying sex. Sensual sex. Sex that made her whole body sing with delight. Not that hers had done any singing lately. There were occasional solo performances but nothing that would make the chandeliers—if she had any—rattle.
‘What about you?’ Alistair said. ‘Should I be on the watch out for a jealous lover coming at me with a baseball bat?’
Clem considered inventing a boyfriend. Someone decent and respectable. Someone who would stand up for her and do all the things she dreamed a man in love with her would do. Someone who would make her feel special, treasured, adored. It seemed pathetic to admit she was single when everyone her age was out having a good time; lately her idea of a good time was a family-sized block of chocolate and a good book. ‘I’m enjoying my independence. Not having to fit in with someone else’s timetable. No waiting for the phone to ring. No boring weekends watching football or fighting over the remote. Bliss.’
The corner of his mouth lifted. ‘Bliss indeed.’
‘Have you ever lived with anyone?’ Why the heck are you asking that?
‘No. I too like my independence.’
‘So where does Harriet live just now?’
The tension was back around his mouth. ‘With me, but I’ve booked her into boarding school starting next term.’
Clem wondered if that was what had triggered the runaway caper. Had Harriet felt shunted aside? How could she not with her mother haring off to chase after some new lover? Being dumped with your mother’s ex’s adult son during the summer holidays was hardly something to be happy about. The poor girl was probably desperate to find a place where she was wanted. It was a pity she had chosen Clem’s brother, however. Jamie wasn’t exactly mature enough to take care of himself, let alone a partner. ‘How did she feel about going to boarding school?’
‘She’s a child. I didn’t give her a choice. It’s the best thing for her.’ Bang. Bang. Bang. The words came out like a drill sergeant’s command. No wonder the poor kid had flown the coop. The head honcho wasn’t exactly Mr Let’s Negotiate.
‘Maybe you should’ve discussed her options with her,’ Clem said. ‘You know, had a family discussion.’
The look he gave her would have shrivelled even the hardiest of Yucca plants. ‘She’s not my family. She’s nothing to do with me. But I couldn’t put her out on the street, for God’s sake.’
‘Why didn’t you leave her with your father?’
The question hung in the air between them for a second or two too long. Long enough for Clem to join some dots. Some ugly dots.
‘That wasn’t an option.’ Alistair’s tone was curt. Do-not-even-go-there curt.
Clem had never liked his father. How could she warm to a man who had abandoned his terminally ill wife to hook up with another woman? Lionel Hawthorne was a self-serving charmer, a fact she’d seen on their very first meeting. No amount of money or presents splashed around had changed her opinion of him. But did Alistair’s tone suggest his father was even worse than she had suspected?
‘Are there no other relatives?’ Clem asked. ‘Doesn’t she have a father? Or aunts or uncles or grandparents?’
‘There’s no one. Apart from her mother, but you can forget about her.’ His cynical tone suggested he had already tried that avenue and failed.
‘Where is her mother?’
His hands were gripping the steering wheel as if he wanted to strangle it or the subject of their conversation. ‘Sunning herself on some beach in Mexico with a drug lord, probably.’
Clem chewed at her lower lip. This was sounding all too familiar, like her experience of growing up with a mother who’d changed partners faster than other people changed their mind. Some of the men were nice—like the one whose parents owned the cottage outside of Nice. But others were the very opposite of nice. They were nasty. Nasty men who exploited her naïve and trusting mother, encouraging her addictive tendencies without measuring the consequences for her children. Partying, drinking and child-rearing did not mix. Which was why Clem was so