Ruthless Boss, Royal Mistress

by Natalie Anderson

  ‘I haven’t the budget for outfits to be custom made. Nor do we have the time. But somehow they have to look fabulous, uniform—it needs to be obvious they’re there to help but in keeping with the theme.’

  ‘Classical, right?’

  ‘Classical with a hint of naughty.’

  ‘Kind of like you, princess.’

  She managed a sort of smile.

  He looked thoughtful. ‘Every model worth her weight in diamonds has a Calvin Klein tee shirt.’

  She looked sideways at him. ‘Tee shirt? We’re talking the ultimate in glamour, Tino.’ What had she got herself into? What on earth was he going to have her wearing?

  He flicked his fingers. ‘Don’t worry, leave it to me.’

  With the amount of things she had to do, and the amount of time in which to do them all, she didn’t have much choice.

  Friday afternoon she finally got to see her old friend Cassie. It wasn’t for long and as she walked back to the hotel she hoped that James wouldn’t be there. She needed a little time because right now she was feeling wobblier than a three-quarters-set jelly. Seeing Cassie had been more upsetting than she’d expected and if James was in one of his intrusive, cynical moods she’d lose it.

  But he was there, stuck at the desk, up to his neck in paperwork, shirt sleeves rolled up. She gave him a bit of a smile and moved to the little balcony. Opened up the laptop and stared at the budget she’d put together for the party. The columns and rows blurred together. Eyes that had been dry for so long filled and the tears that threatened burnt them, making them water all the more.

  James stepped round the corner. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Fine,’ she replied briefly, still staring at the screen. ‘Just a bit tired.’

  ‘Did you catch up with your friend?’

  She nodded, blinking. ‘It was great.’

  She felt mortified that she’d sent Cassie fluffy letters and silly postcards—where the biggest concern she’d related had been which party to go to at the start of Fashion Week. She’d had no idea of the struggle and trauma Cassie had been through—the secrets she had been keeping. Liss’s own hurts were laughable compared to that and she had no right to be feeling this tiny spurt of envy.

  She’d felt it as Cassie had bent to listen to the small boy when he’d burst into the room for a minute before dashing back out again. Cassie’s face had illuminated, the love plain for anyone to see. It had tugged at Liss in a spot she didn’t know she had until that moment.

  Cassie had told Liss some more of what had happened all those years ago. Not that much, but Liss could read between the lines and had seen the shadow of vulnerability flash in her face. And now Cassie was so happy. Liss felt such a tide of thankfulness wash over her—that her friend had found the love and joy she deserved. Sebastian had abdicated—given up an entire kingdom for her.

  Liss couldn’t imagine anyone offering her that kind of whole, unwavering, unconditional love. She didn’t deserve it. She’d been nothing but frivolous—modelling, partying, offering no real depth or contribution. So she did some charity work—a little, but not a lot—and what of it? Not as much as she could or should given her position.

  And where did she go from here? Now Alex was Prince Regent and looking for the diamond, the instability meant there was no way he’d let her come back for fear she’d set off even more wild headlines. But in truth she’d been isolated from her country for so long it didn’t even feel like home any more. The places she’d gone to as a teen had turned their backs on her—going out these last couple of nights had been no fun, alone and unsupported.

  James had been right back in Sydney. She was lost. And she didn’t know where or how she was going to find what she wanted.

  ‘She must have been pleased to see you.’ He was still standing in the doorway, watching her.

  Their lives were poles apart. Cassie had laughed and hugged Liss when she’d apologised for how trite her letters must have seemed, told her not to be silly, that they’d lit her up for days.

  But they had had different priorities—Cassie had real ones: to care for her child, and now to love and be loved by her husband. Liss ached for that sort of fulfilment. Instead here she was still making the same mistakes she’d been making five years ago—looking for love, for acceptance in all the wrong places. What a fool she’d been for so long. Now, when she wanted things to be different, she didn’t know where to start.

  ‘Yeah.’ She looked harder at her screen. The party—she’d focus on the party. But she saw the blank spot under ‘entertainment’. She was so desperate she was seriously considering doing a compilation on her MP3 player and feeding it into the ballroom’s sound system. She blinked again—hoping that by magic something would appear under the heading. And she wished James would go back to his desk so she could get over the moment of self-pity. She could see him out of the corner of her eye, studying her, making her feel self-conscious.

  The next thing she knew he stepped forward and pushed the lid of her laptop down. She looked up in horror.

  ‘It saves automatically.’ He smiled away her anxiety. Then she saw the warmth in his expression. She hurriedly looked down at the computer again. When he looked like that he seemed so dangerously approachable. She couldn’t afford to unload to him. Probably by the time they went back to Sydney their affair would be over. It was only until the attraction went away, after all. Was it for him already? For her it was only worsening. She couldn’t admit that to him, couldn’t admit to any of the turmoil inside. She’d sound like some silly, needy girl. She had everything—youth, looks, fame and fortune. How could she complain? Spoilt wasn’t the word.

  All she wanted was to lie in bed and be held and, damn it, maybe even cry. But she didn’t want to admit she was tired—didn’t want him to think she couldn’t handle either hard work or him.

  He seemed to understand anyway—part of the problem at least. ‘I’m tired too.’ He took her hand and tugged her up. ‘Come on. We need a rest.’

  She didn’t think a rest was what he had in mind and she didn’t know if she was up to anything much more. But he surprised her. He pushed her onto the bed, set about removing her clothes, not with passionate ardour but with caring gentleness that made her heart ache all the more. After stripping himself, he slipped under the covers with her and just cuddled up behind her, his arms warm and strong as they surrounded her.

  She turned to look at him, saw the gleam under his heavy lids. The passion was there but he was reining it in. And then it seemed she did have a little energy. She couldn’t lie here and not touch him. And she was filled with an almost desperate need to have him want her despite his obvious exhaustion. She had to know that the need for each other was greater than the need for anything else—that he wasn’t tired of her already, that it wasn’t almost over.

  She kissed him, set the spark to the smoulder, and as she kissed him her desperate need opened up. She was lost. She didn’t have the energy to keep up her front any more and with her mouth, with her arms, she took and she took and she took. This was raw. This was real. The depth of feeling was totally foreign to her. And she couldn’t hide how much it affected her. She twisted in his arms, unable to get enough of his caresses, unable to satisfy her need to touch him.

  ‘Enjoying yourself, princess?’ he asked as she pulled at his shoulders, encouraging him to move over her.

  ‘Oh, James…’ she breathed as he pushed inside her slick, wet space. She lifted her hips to ease his entry, letting him slide all the way in one smooth stroke.

  God, she loved this. She loved him. She muttered his name again, tears building beneath her closed lids as the enormity of the moment, the realisation of her emotion, hit her.

  ‘Oh, James, what?’ he asked.

  She heard it then, the familiar touch of sarcasm. The slight mockery rasping underneath the note of desire. He retained sense while she was spinning so dizzily under a tide of love. Her heart was lost while he kept his.

  And she hated
it. For a second hated him with the same passion with which she wanted him, with which she loved him. That he could be so coolly lucid at a moment so sublime stopped her from saying more.

  She hoped he had no idea what was on the tip of her tongue. No clue as to what she longed to say to him. She was a fool.

  Emotionally she tried to close off but couldn’t. He wouldn’t let her. With his kisses and touches he teased her until she could no longer think, could no longer hide behind any barriers she thought she’d built.

  ‘Please, please, please!’ She wasn’t begging for just physical fulfilment. She wanted more, wishing that this weren’t a mere casual affair.

  He could make her feel so good. She wanted him to like her, wanted to be his equal—in every way. And she wasn’t. She had to shut the door on the flow of love from her heart to his—she couldn’t give it all to him. Not when she wouldn’t get it back. He’d never give it back to her.

  In the end she was forced to forget her doubts, to swallow her declaration as her feelings took over. She wouldn’t utter the words, but she couldn’t stop the response of her body. She gave in to the demands of his, took the pleasure he offered. The cries of need were torn from her. The tears of heartbreak would fall later. She’d take the ecstasy now and cope with the empty aftermath when he was gone.

  But for once her scream of release was silent.

  For a long time he lay on top, still joined with her, his heavy weight pressing her into the mattress, his breath hot on her neck. She didn’t mind; she’d miss it terribly later. She rested her cheek on the pillow and blinked, not wanting him to see any hint of her weakness. Now, more than ever, she had to keep up the party front. But tiredness stripped her of all protection, all defence.

  He lifted his head, took her chin in his hand and turned her face so she was looking straight up at him—there was no way to avoid the intense scrutiny. She held her breath and tried to hide chaos within. She tried to cover the need in her eyes, the love and longing.

  But despite her attempt there must have been something in her face that he didn’t want to see because his expression hardened and the veils across his eyes were thicker than she could ever hope hers could be. He let go of her chin, and eased off her. He pushed her gently, rolling her to the side, and fitted his body behind hers in a snug, warm embrace, but one in which she could no longer see his face. And he could no longer see hers.

  ‘You need to get some sleep.’ A slightly rough command. He rubbed his hand down her back, slow smooth strokes that were firm yet relaxing. And with each sweep her anxiety lessened and the tiredness increased. Until all her energy to fight and to fret was gone. She closed her eyes. Almost asleep she felt him move, felt the coldness as he left the bed and she wanted to call him back.

  She must have done, because after a moment his weight depressed the bed again. She tried to stay awake, to pretend to sleep so she could savour it, but later, when she tried to remember, she couldn’t be sure how long he sat—or indeed if she’d just dreamt it—leaning over her, stroking her hair from her forehead with such a gentle hand.

  She jerked upright, heart thundering as consciousness returned and with it all the worry. What the hell was she doing sleeping? This was her last night to find someone—anyone—to organise some music. She glanced at her watch—it was just before nine. Panic set in—she’d spend all night tracking someone down if she had to, it was fundamental for the success of the party. She pulled on some clothes—her usual club outfit of slim dress and strappy sandals.

  James was standing, staring out of the window, hair rumpled. A quick glance showed a half-empty takeaway container beside his laptop on the desk. He turned as she wandered into the room, looked surprised. ‘I thought you were asleep for the night.’

  ‘I need to work on some things.’ She flicked a comb through her hair and gave thanks for straightening irons—they worked wonders in moments.

  He took a step towards her. ‘Do you need some help? Is there anything I can do?’

  She didn’t want him to soften up now. What had he seen this afternoon in bed? What had he read in her face? She knew he was reaching out to her, but she had to block him—for now anyway. ‘You set me the challenge, James. Let me finish it.’

  He frowned. ‘You’re sure you’re managing OK? You still look tired.’

  There was more than one reason why she was tired. She pinned on a bright smile. ‘I’m without my make-up.’

  He looked sceptical. ‘I’ve seen you freshly scrubbed and wearing nothing but steam. It’s not the lack of make-up.’

  No. She was beyond beat. But she refused to give up now. She wanted to do it. She’d been burning to prove something to everyone for so long and she was so close to clinching this. If she could just work out this last detail, she’d have done it. Then maybe James truly would see more in her—maybe she’d let him. If she could prove to him first that she wasn’t totally unreliable, that he could believe in her, she could relax and let her guard down. Maybe, if she did that, he might want her to stick around.

  ‘I’ve got a few last-minute details to check. I’ll see you later.’ She blew him a kiss and got to the door before he had a chance to say or do much to stop her. She had to get on with the job—but she was fast running out of options and didn’t know where next to turn.

  James lay, half awake, half dreaming of his pleasure princess. He imagined her lying next to him, deep in sleep, her arms stretched above her head as she so often had them, utterly exposed to him, utterly relaxed. His fingers itched to touch her warm skin, to feel her softness. In the dark, waiting for her return, he admitted how much he’d been enjoying this week. Having her so close to him—having her as his. His blood, his emotions, everything seemed to be pumping nearer to the surface. He felt more alive than ever—and more attracted than ever. It wasn’t just the magnificent sex they had together, but it was her—her company, her conversation, her laughter.

  But this afternoon she’d come in with no laughter—looking tired, and pale and lonely. And she’d clung to him, her mouth seeking, hungry for more than just sex. And after, he’d looked deep into her eyes and she’d seemed to be offering a whole lot more than he’d ever expected. More than he’d ever thought he’d want.

  It had shaken him. Because he suddenly realised he did want it.

  The attraction wasn’t going away. Every moment they had together he wanted ten more—twenty, a million. He had to work out how he was going to get himself out of this without getting hurt. But he was starting to hope that maybe he wouldn’t have to.

  She was snippy and smart and sometimes sullen, but she was also sweet and sexy and generous—and seeking something more from life. He knew she was and he badly wanted to believe she was loyal. She’d been working hard this week—really making the effort and he wanted to help her. Maybe he’d been wrong—maybe she was different. But as hope filled him self-mockery soared too. Uncertainty sucked.

  He rolled, stretched across the bed, too tired to be able to work it out. He just wanted her to come home to him soon. Lay for hours half dozing before finally tumbling into sleep.

  He woke early, alone and grouchy. Not even a triple-strength coffee and a chocolate apricot Danish helped shake the grouch. There was no sign of her return—no shoes flung in the far corner, no glass on the bench from a late-night drink of water. And he refused to knock on the door to see if she was in the other bedroom. Doubt started to gnaw.

  He flicked on his computer. Might as well clear emails and check the headlines. He went to the usual pages and then checked out the local newspaper’s site—wanting to see if there was a piece about the party tonight.

  The photo showed her blurry, stumbling out of a club. She had a hand outstretched, grabbing onto the arm of the guy by her side.

  Princess Elissa looking much the worse for wear. Back on Aristo for a week, it hasn’t taken long for her to get back to her partying ways. Looking uncharacteristically pale, she embarked on a punishing party schedule that saw her at
three different clubs through the night…

  Last night? He quickly read it through again, checked out the digital clock on the side of the picture—showing time and date. Yes. Last night.

  There was another picture pasted alongside—outside another club—and then there was another—taken earlier in the week? But she’d been with him all night, every night, hadn’t she?

  Hell. He thought for a while and realised he couldn’t actually be certain. He’d been sleeping like the dead for the few hours he was in bed. Mentally beat from work and physically worn from all the intimacy with Elissa. Emotionally he was exhausted.

  He swore, short and sharp. She could have gone. Of course she’d gone.

  The spectre of betrayal had him scorching hot in a flash. Hadn’t he been enough for her? What the hell did the woman want?

  Anger exploded within him. Idiot. He had known. He’d warned himself all along. Hadn’t he? Here he’d been thinking she was tired from trying to pull together this party. He’d been dreaming she wanted more from him. Actually imagining that she was falling for him. He’d laugh if it weren’t so awful. What a damn, naïve bloody fool he was. Again.

  She was tired because she’d been up all night partying. Who had she been dancing with—had she gone fresh from his arms into someone else’s? Bitterness flooded his body—making him move. He had to do something. He paced as memories and pain tore at him. Why did this happen? Why were the women in his life so disloyal? He stopped walking, tried to claw back some strength. He’d been here before; he’d get through it again.

  A second later, he was striding again. This time it was worse. This time it was a thousand times worse. Jenny had been all humiliation—her betrayal had been so public, so blithe. And he’d been so blind.

  This was pure hurt. Nothing but hurt. He found he didn’t care about other people knowing. All that mattered was that she had gone.

  He ran both hands through his hair, clenched his hands and pulled—wanting the slight physical pain to distract him from the agony within. It shouldn’t be as painful as this. It shouldn’t feel as if she’d stuck white-hot swords through him on every side.