Mistress: Taming the Playboy: Constantine's Defiant Mistress / Androletti's Mistress / Valenti's One-Month Mistress. Sabrina Philips
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‘Of … of course I do. That’s why I’m here.’ She stared at him, twisting her fingers nervously in her lap. ‘We could arrange a first meeting, if you like.’
He gave a short laugh. ‘Slot me into the diary like an appointment at the dentist, you mean? You want me turning up on a Saturday afternoon to take a reluctant child for a hamburger while he counts away the minutes he has to spend with this stranger?’
Laura bit her lip. ‘I didn’t mean like that.’
‘No? Then just what did you mean?’ His black eyes blazed into her. ‘What kind of future had you anticipated when you made contact with me again?’
His dominance was formidable, and Laura felt herself swamped by its dark power. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted desperately.
Constantine’s mouth hardened. ‘Well, I do. I have given it a lot of thought and weighed up all the possibilities.’ He had spoken to his lawyers, too—but maybe now was not the best time to tell her that. He lowered his voice, the way he did in the world of business when he was about to close a deal. ‘And there is a future which makes perfect sense for all parties. Which is why I want you to accompany me to my island home in Greece, Laura, occupying the only position which is appropriate.’ He paused, and his eyes gleamed like cold, black stones as he looked at her. ‘As my wife.’
CHAPTER SIX
LAURA stared at Constantine, her heart beating wildly, scarcely able to believe her ears. ‘Your wife?’ she repeated incredulously. ‘Why on earth would I want to marry you?’
‘ Want has nothing to do with it,’ he iced back, outraged at her shocked and unflattering response. ‘Need is a far more fitting word. For a start, you need money.’
‘I never said—’
‘You’re a waitress who also works in a damned shop!’ he shot out.
The beating of her heart increased. ‘How did you know that?’
His lips twisted. How naïve she was! ‘It wasn’t difficult. I got someone to find out for me.’
Laura swallowed. ‘You mean you’ve been spying on me?’
Dismissively, he batted the question away, with an arrogant flick of his hand. If only it were as easy to bat away the memory of the photos his private detective had dropped in front of him: Laura taking the boy to school in clothes which were clearly too small for him. Not to mention the pictorial evidence of his son growing up in some scruffy apartment over a seedy little shop.
But it was more than that. There had been the dawning realisation that perhaps this trembling little waitress might actually make ideal marriage material. Poor and desperate—wouldn’t she be so swept away by his power and his riches that she would be completely malleable, so that he could mould her to the image of his perfect wife? And of course added to all this was the inexplicable fact that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that stolen kiss in the dark basement of the hotel … Why, even now the memory of it made him want to do it all over again. It was crazy. It was inexplicable. And it was as potent as hell …
He scowled, forcing his mind back to her ridiculous claim that she’d been spying on him. ‘Don’t be hysterical, Laura,’ he snapped. ‘When a woman comes to a man in my position, making claims of enormous significance, it is inevitable her background will be investigated. For all I knew you might have had some male partner at home, his eyes fixed greedily on the main chance—seeing your ex-lover as a meal ticket.’
‘You … you … cynic …’ she breathed.
‘Or simply a realist?’ he countered. ‘Oh, come on—you can lose the outrage, agape mou. You see, I know the corrupting power of money. And I’ve seen what people will do in its pursuit.’
Laura stared at him. His wife? Had he really just asked her to be his wife? ‘But I thought you were marrying that other woman—’
‘What other woman?’
She saw his eyes narrow dangerously and wished she hadn’t started this. ‘The Swedish supermodel,’ she said reluctantly.
‘Who told you that?’
‘I heard it on the radio,’ she admitted, and from the look of slowly dawning comprehension which crossed his face she wished she’d kept quiet. Because now she sounded like some kind of stalker.
‘You shouldn’t believe a word the media tells you,’ he snapped. ‘But at least that explains why you suddenly appeared out of nowhere the other night.’ His eyes fixed her with icy challenge. ‘Actually, the press have been trying to marry me off for years—but I will chose whom and when to marry, not the media!’
She stared up at him, full of bewilderment. ‘I still don’t understand … after everything you’ve said—why you want to marry me.’
‘Don’t you? Think about it. Marriage has always been on a list as something that perhaps I ought to do when I get around to it—but there’s been no real sense of urgency. Until now.’ His black eyes glittered. ‘You see, I possess a vast fortune, Laura,’ he elaborated softly, ‘and my father is old and frail. His greatest wish is to see me provide him with an heir. This could be a surprisingly easy way of accomplishing both objectives.’
Laura shook her head. ‘But that’s so … cold-blooded!’
‘Is it?’ He gave a cynical laugh. ‘Unlike you, I have not grown up on a diet of believing in romance and happy-ever-after.’ In fact, he knew better than anyone that reality never matched up to dreams, and that emotion robbed men of sense and of reason. He lowered his voice. ‘Why not look at it practically rather than emotionally? Marriage will serve a purpose—it will legitimise my son and it will give you all the financial security you could ever need.’
But deep down Laura’s suspicions were alerted. It would also give Constantine power, she recognised. And once he had that power wouldn’t he be tempted to use it against her? Pushing her to the sidelines until he dominated Alex’s life as she suspected that he could all too easily? Everything that she’d fought and worked for could be threatened by this man’s undeniable wealth and charisma.
‘No! No and no and no!’ she flared back, as the emotion and the humid atmosphere of the bar began to tighten her throat. Suddenly she needed to get away from Constantine’s heady proximity and the danger he represented.
Grabbing her handbag, she stood up—and without another word walked straight out of the bar, uncaring of the sudden lull in conversation from the couples around them, or the curious eyes watching her as she tried not to stumble in her high wedges.
Outside in the fast-fading light the atmosphere was just as sticky, and the heady scent of roses was almost overpowering. Laura dimly wondered if she should take off her shoes and run to the bus stop in an effort to escape from him, when she felt a hand gripping her arm. Constantine spun her round to face him, his black eyes blazing.
He stared at her, a nerve working furiously in his cheek. Because no woman had ever said no to him before. And no woman ever turned her back on him, either.
‘Don’t you ever walk out on me like that again!’ he bit out.
‘I’m a free agent and I can do exactly as I please!’
‘You think so?’ His mouth hardened with lust. ‘Well, in that case, so can I!’
Without warning he pulled her right up against him—so close that she could feel every hard sinew. And she wanted to resist him—just as she was resisting his demand that she marry him. But it seemed that her body had other ideas. To her horror she found herself wanting to sink against him. Into him.
Did he sense that? Was that why he gathered her closer still—with a small moan of what sounded like his own surrender?
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