Unfinished Business: Bought: One Night, One Marriage / Always the Bridesmaid / Confessions of a Millionaire's Mistress. Robyn Grady
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on her. Probably, she decided, because she was that challenge—she’d said no right from the start and no wasn’t an answer he liked.
She should have the strength to keep saying no—it would do him good to fail for once. But what he offered was getting way too hard to resist. She couldn’t offer anyone marriage and children, and he admitted he didn’t want either. Why not simply take advantage of a skilled lover? Have the experience she’d never had. And, as he’d pointed out, no one would ever know.
But there was that part of her that resented giving him his way. He’d had his way too much, for too long. It was evident in the arrogance stamped on him. She sighed. The least she could do was to try to keep this on her terms.
The gates were open and she drove straight up the drive and to the house at the top.
It was large. And incredibly beautiful. She breathed deeply, certain the air was fresher here than even only fifty kilometres down the road.
He opened the door even before she’d had the chance to lift her finger from the buzzer.
His eyes raked down her. Her shirt—that she’d buttoned up to the top—might as well be invisible the way he seemed to look right through it.
‘You came.’
The faint surprise in his tone surprised her. ‘Well, not yet. Isn’t that why I’m here?’
His grin glowed with delight. ‘Was that humour from you? Did you just crack a joke?’
Coolly she walked past him and into his house. She was not going to show the extent to which she had the shakes. Why did he have to look so damn irresistible in jeans and a tee? It was very difficult not to walk right up to him and pounce. So much for saying ‘no’—one glance and it was all over.
To pull back her raging lust she focused on finding out her tasks—assuming he’d thought of something.
‘Where did you want me to start? I’m good in the kitchen, as you know. Must admit I’m not so great with a mop, but I can handle a vacuum cleaner—’
‘Cally, you are not going to be doing my housework.’
‘No? No odd jobs for me to do? I can make some soup.’ She looked about as if a sign labelled ‘kitchen’ would miraculously appear. The room was light and airy. Neutrals—white, fawn. Light and clean, and the view out to the ocean was spectacular.
‘Lunch is already taken care of. I have other plans for you. You’re my entertainment for the weekend.’
‘Entertainment?’ She kept looking about, too jumpy to tackle him visually. She might tackle him literally. Somehow she wanted to work a little, just a little, dignity into this situation.
‘Yeah. Are you any good at belly dancing? I’ve a feeling you’d look wonderful in one of those costumes.’
At that she looked at him, and saw the lazy amusement. It sparked a minor rebellion. ‘Damn, I left my dress-up box behind.’
‘Shame.’ He glanced at the gauzy curtains. ‘We could always improvise.’
She bit her lip, half wanting to laugh, half wanting to put him in his place—down, down, down. She decided to change tack. Do the subservient maid thing and see how he felt about that. So she clasped her hands together demurely and let the retort fall back inside. ‘Seriously, Blake, what would you like me to do first?’
He looked at her narrowly. ‘I wasn’t joking about the entertainment.’
‘Well …’ she gave it some thought ‘… I’m not so good at dancing, actually, and I’ve been told my singing is passable but not strong. I can play the piano a little. Do you have a piano?’
He shook his head.
‘Well …’ she offered a demure smile ‘… I’m not sure what else to suggest. What do you think?’
‘Actually I’m still keen on the belly dancing.’ He wasn’t smiling. Then he offered his hand. ‘Come, let’s go out to the deck.’
She looked at the outstretched hand. Slowly put hers in it. As soon as their palms touched his fingers curled, trapping her own. And she knew there was no going back.
He led the way through the large open-plan living area and out the bi-folding doors and she pretended her gasp was over the view, not the currents of electricity surging up her arm. Outside in the blazing sun there was a magnificent deck that flowed down to a large infinity pool, which gave the illusion of the water reaching right out and merging with that of the ocean.
‘Wow.’ The plants in the pots lining one end of the pool were perfectly maintained, the water crystal-clear, the deck free of debris and clutter. The effect was soothing, relaxing and magical.
‘Did you do all this?’
He half snorted. ‘I pay.’ He looked at it and she could see in his face the pleasure he took from it. ‘I oversaw the design.’
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘Thanks.’
She could imagine him swimming length after length; no wonder his body was so tanned, lean and strong. Right now she felt hotter than a cactus in Death Valley in the midday sun and that expanse of water looked incredibly inviting. She turned her back on it to look up at the house.
‘You live here alone?’
He nodded.
‘It’s not too big?’
‘I like the peace.’ He nodded to the table, with the comfortable-looking chairs around it. A tall pitcher of fresh juice was the centrepiece. They sat, with him angling his chair so he faced her rather than the spectacular pool, and then he poured them each a drink.
She sat bolt upright in her chair, feeling as if she were about to be interviewed for a job she didn’t know that she was going to be able to do, but that she really wanted.
Amusement coloured his features. ‘Relax, Cally. I’m not going to eat you.’ He took a sip from his glass. ‘At least, not yet.’
She crossed her legs a little tighter and reached for her own glass. ‘I think you’ll find there’s something else on the menu.’
With a sly smile he set his drink down. ‘Tell me about your business.’
‘Why?’
His shoulders lifted carelessly. ‘It’s a big part of your life. I want to understand it better, understand why it’s so important to you.’
‘OK.’ That she could do. She started at the beginning again—her experiments in the kitchen that were motivated by the impudent desire to subvert her mother’s diet regimes, then her study in food science and the decision to go into business herself. She didn’t go into the decision to have the company donate half its profits to charity—he didn’t need to know all that.
But as she talked she relaxed, telling him some of the jokes between her and Mel. The crazy times when they’d worked through the night to prepare enough when the big orders had started rolling in, the crazier times now she had more staff to manage and more customers to satisfy.
‘It really is everything to you.’
‘It’s my baby.’ She laughed, hiding the secret stab that came with the knowledge her business ventures were the only babies she’d ever have. ‘It keeps me up all night—teething trouble, the works.’ She glanced out to where the vivid blue of the pool seemed to meld into the wide blue of the sea. ‘Actually, to be honest, it’s not so much a baby now as an unruly teenager who I’m thinking of turfing out of the family home.’
‘Really?’ He laughed.
She nodded, joined in his warm, melodious mirth with a chuckle of her own. ‘It’s eating up all my resources.’
‘Raiding the fridge?’
‘And