Memoirs of a Millionaire's Mistress. Anne Oliver
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sceptical now, but…unreadable in the room’s cool electric lights. They darkened considerably as his gaze flicked down over her tight black T-shirt and apricot chiffon scarf around her waist, to the black leggings and bare feet.
Oh… Her toes curled against the smooth tiles, her fingers slid down the front of her thighs as her heart did a strange tumble. Why the heck did her body react to him the way it did? As if he could draw her into those bottomless pools and—No. She’d let herself be drawn into a man’s eyes once, and that had been one time too many. Jay had captivated her from the start, the way he had so many women. It was because of him she’d never trust a man’s looks again, nor the way he might make her feel.
Because whatever her feelings might be towards a man, she couldn’t trust him to reciprocate. Even when his eyes told her otherwise. She could only nod before clearing her throat. ‘I—’
‘You’ll need space to work.’
‘Yes.’ No. Her balloons deflated. She didn’t have space.
‘So you’ll remain here until the work’s completed.’ Blunt, a rusty knife on sandstone.
No time to reply.
He swivelled away, back bristling with tension, and headed towards the kitchen. ‘Less than three weeks, Didi. You’ve got yourself a chance—use it.’
CHAPTER FOUR
DIDI heard the sound of the fridge door open, something hit the kitchen bench with a thwack, and realised she’d eaten nothing since that apple at breakfast. Nor could she now with her stomach twisted into hard, indigestible knots.
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