His Inexperienced Mistress. Chantelle Shaw
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curves. Her responsiveness…Ah, the sweetness of a response that had most likely been fuelled by chemical enhancers. Or had it? It was a question that had kept him up late on more than one occasion.
‘I feel like I’m on an episode of This is Your Life.’ She smiled from behind her cup, the incongruous comment thankfully pulling his attention away from her mouth. ‘Only the host usually smiles, and I would have expected at least one or two guests to have turned up by now.’
Tristan scowled—both at the flippant remark and his unquestionable hunger for somebody he didn’t even like.
‘Okay.’ She sighed, completely oblivious to the tumultuous thoughts playing out in his head. ‘I’m presuming you don’t want my shoe size, so why don’t you tell me what happens next and—?’
‘No, I don’t want your shoe size,’ he agreed, cutting her off mid-sentence and leaning back in his chair. Some devil on his shoulder wanted to throw her as off-balance as he felt. ‘I already know it. Along with your jeans size, your bra size, and of course what type of panties you like to wear.’
‘That’s an invasion of privacy,’ she snapped.
‘So sue me,’ he drawled, unaccountably pleased to see her affable expression fade and her eyes flash purple sparks. Her watery attempt at friendship had annoyed him. He didn’t want that from her. In fact he didn’t want anything at all from her!
Lily pressed her lips together and tried to hold on to her temper. How dared he? Lounging back in his executive chair like King Tut. She took a deep breath and willed herself to remain calm. Polite and aloof…
Just imagine he’s a difficult director you have to put up with for a short while. You’ve done that before.
She was trying to think of some way to regain her equilibrium when Tristan’s mobile rang and thankfully he picked it up. He didn’t even acknowledge her as he pushed away from his desk and presented her with his back as he walked to stand in the vee of the floor to ceiling windows that partially lined two walls of his corner office.
Lily started reeling through every foul name she could think of to call him, and then her eyes wandered to the view outside his window. London only had a handful of luxury skyscrapers and Tristan owned one of them. It wasn’t the tallest, from what she could see, but it was certainly located on prime real estate near the heart of the city. Lily could see Big Ben, Westminster Abbey and the London Eye, and she hadn’t had to pay a penny for the privilege.
Without even being aware of it she shifted her gaze from outside the window to the man standing in front of it, legs apart and one hand in his trouser pocket, pulling the fabric of his trousers tight across his taut backside.
Her eyes drifted down over his long legs and up again to the wide sweep of his shoulders, to the ripple of muscle evident beneath his close-fitting shirt. He really was an impressive male and, given his sedentary job, he must work out all the time to stay as fit as he looked.
As if sensing her too-intimate regard, Tristan glanced over his shoulder and pierced her with his green eyes.
The air between them seemed to thicken. Lily’s breath caught and her body hummed with a vibrant awareness. Then a dismissive expression flitted across his face, and Lily released a long, steadying breath when he swung his gaze back to the window.
She heard him speaking rapidly to the caller about some EU presentation, effortlessly switching between English and a language she couldn’t place. His keen intelligence was evident in the incisive timbre of his voice.
Lily’s stomach growled, and she picked up a sandwich from the plate and forced herself to chew it. It was beyond her that she should feel such a strong physical reaction to someone who clearly couldn’t stand the sight of her. And it was getting a bit hard to put it down to stress and anxiety. But surely the brain had some input when it came to sexual attraction?
Tristan ended his call, dropped the phone into his pocket and stalked to his desk, gripping the high back of his chair as he studied her with relentless intensity.
‘I must say you seem remarkably composed for a woman who’s potentially facing at least twenty years in the slammer,’ he scorned, leaving Lily stunned by his coldness when minutes earlier there had been such heat.
‘I trust the universe will work everything out.’ She said, wincing inwardly at her prim tone and refusing to react as he raised a condescending eyebrow.
‘The universe? As in the moon, the stars and Mother Earth?’
‘No.’ Lily tried not to roll her eyes. ‘At least not in the way you mean. The universe is like a forcefield—an energy that we create for ourselves and others. Sort of like if we all think positive thoughts then good will always prevail.’
Tristan cocked his head as if he was seriously considering her view, but of course that was a fool’s notion. ‘Well, I’d say your universe was either out for lunch when you tried walking through Customs today, or it’s working perfectly and you’re as guilty as hell.’
Lily folded her arms and bit into her top lip.
How was it possible for someone to be so devastatingly attractive one minute and so perversely irritating the next?
‘I also have great faith that the authorities know what they’re doing,’ she said waspishly.
‘The authorities want someone to put behind bars.’
Lily angled her chin. ‘Are you trying to frighten me?’
‘I’m not even sure the Grim Reaper knocking on your door could do that. Perhaps you’re not smart enough to see the danger.’
‘You’re very good with the lofty insults, Lord Garrett, but I believe that right will win out in the end.’
Tristan shook his head. ‘I’m sure if some of those corpses buried at Tower Hill could speak they’d suggest that was a little whimsical.’
Lily was sure that if some of those corpses could talk they’d tell him they were relatives of hers—and not the blue-blooded ones!
‘Are you implying that I’m being unrealistic?’
‘Actually, I thought I was doing more than implying it.’
Lily sniffed. ‘I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand.’
‘Someone like me?’
‘Someone who thinks everything is either black or white. Someone who requires tangible proof before they’ll believe anything.’
‘It’s called dealing in the real world,’ he jibed.
‘But sometimes the real world isn’t always as it seems.’
Tristan made a scoffing sound. ‘I thought I told you I didn’t want to hear any of your protestations of innocence.’
Lily’s eyes narrowed at his bored tone, and she breathed in deeply through her nose.
Never let ‘em know you care, Honeybee.
She exhaled slowly. This would all be a lot easier if he’d just talk to her, instead of snapping off pithy comments here and there.
‘And, as pleasant as this conversation is,’ he continued, ‘I have work to do. So I’d prefer you finish your tea and sandwiches over on the sofa.’ He sat down and turned to his computer, dismissing her like some servant girl.
Oh, she’d just bet he’d prefer that. And she would have happily done so if he’d been a little nicer, but now…
‘Actually, accusations and criticisms do not add up to a conversation. And would it really hurt you to be a little more civil?’ she demanded, throwing the whole idea of polite and aloof out of one of his ultra-clean windows.
‘To what end?’
He didn’t bother looking up from his computer