Bedding his Innocent Mistress

by Clare Connelly

  “I bought the station because of its potential, not its performance. Changes are inevitable.”

  She nodded, myriad questions firing through her brain.

  “What is it?” He asked after a moment.

  “What’s what?” She ate another piece of pork.

  “You look puzzled.”

  Her smile was instinctive. “Yeah. What else do you own?”

  He sipped his wine. “Other businesses, you mean?”

  “No. Shoes.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, that reminds me. I forgot your shirt.”

  “Keep it,” he shrugged. “Wear it. I like to think of it on your skin.”

  A shiver of anticipation danced down her body. How did he know just what to say for maximum sexiness at any given time? “I’ll bring it another time.”

  His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

  “So?” She reached for a spring roll, crunching down on it appreciatively.

  “I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.”

  “Sure,” she shrugged, knowing she had nothing to hide. In any event, her life was pretty darned droll. “But I asked first.”

  “I own various corporate enterprises. But by far my favourite investment is the least profitable.”

  She was quiet, waiting for him to continue.

  “I have a winery in Spain. Near my home. The vines run from the side of a mountain all the way to the sea, making for a dramatic contrast in grape flavour. I don’t produce a lot, and most of what I do I sell in-house to my own businesses.”

  “Mmm,” she smiled, as an image of Rafe in dusty jeans and a white singlet came to her from nowhere. “I like the idea of you tending vines, getting all sweaty and dusty.”

  “Me too.” He grimaced. “That’s not really what I do though.”

  “What a shame,” she murmured. “You’d suit it.”

  “Perhaps. My turn.”

  “Sure,” she nodded. “Ask away.”

  “I frightened you last night?”

  She froze, midway through lifting the spring roll back to her mouth. “When?”

  “Tying you up?”

  “Oh.” She pulled a face and shook her head. “No. Not even a bit.”

  “You were in such a hurry to leave…”

  Her heart turned over in her chest and when she spoke, it was with words that were roughened by desire. “Believe me, I enjoyed every moment of what we did last night.”

  His eyes probed hers, his expression serious, until finally he nodded. “I get the feeling you don’t have a lot of experience,” he said the words gently, but embarrassment curdled her gut. And yet, what was the shame in that? It was true.

  “Is that your way of saying I’m bad in bed?” She asked, the question a croak.

  “God, no. Surely you can tell you drive me crazy?”

  “Me, or my inexperience?”

  “You. And your innocence,” he admitted softly, gently.

  “I’m not innocent.” For some reason, the word infuriated her, and yet she knew he was right. She and Steve had slept together, but it had been the most perfunctory and unexciting love-making. There was so much she didn’t know; so much she had to learn. In many ways, she was as innocent as a virgin, and as inexperienced.

  She crunched onto the spring roll now, her mind ticking. “You’re not wrong,” she conceded finally, reluctantly. “Steve’s the only other guy I’ve been with.” He hadn’t directly asked, but for some reason she found herself wanting to confide in him. “We got together in high school and we’ve been together ever since. Well. Until seven months ago.”

  If Rafe was surprised by this, he took great pains to conceal it. “You still have a picture of him at your desk.”

  “I like the picture,” she shrugged, looking away, hoping she could conceal the depths of her emotions if she took great care. “We were together a long time. If I got rid of every photo of us then I’d be wiping out a huge chunk of my life. I’m not ready to do that.”

  Silence swirled around them.

  “And I liked the tying up,” she returned to his original question. “Though I had no idea underwear could be used in such a way.”

  His smile was hard to analyse.

  “So what are you going to do to GBRTV?”

  “Privilege rule?” He prompted, spearing a piece of eggplant and eating it thoughtfully.

  “Yeah, of course. Consider this a cone of silence.”

  “Well, I’ve been very impressed with the online developments the company’s taken in recent years. Especially during the past year. And that’s under your leadership?”

  Her cheeks glowed pink with the effect of his praise. “We’re a big company,” she reminded him. “I’m responsible for only one team.”

  “Yes, but Margerite took great pains to point out your singular obsession with diversifying online.”

  “I can just imagine,” Ivy rolled her eyes.

  “She doesn’t seem to realise that your input has helped keep the company profitable.”

  “If you’re trying to flatter me into bed, you should know, you’re already there.”

  He laughed. “You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever met, but believe me, when it comes to matters of business, meaningless flattery isn’t something I engage in.”

  Ivy narrowed her eyes. Yes, she could see that there was a hardness about Rafe. Hadn’t she known that from the beginning of their relationship? Hadn’t she felt his implacable, alpha-masculinity? Yes. And she’d loved it. “I do believe you.”

  “Things will change at GBRTV. Redundancies. Re-training. Is that going to be awkward for you?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes were wide. “These people are my friends. But if you’re asking if it’s going to be more awkward for me because we’ve slept together, then I think I can compartmentalise the two facts.”

  “Good.” He reached across the table, curling his hand over hers.

  “How long are you in England for?” The question blurted out without her consent and she regretted it instantly. She had been going for low-key, casual lovers, and instead she’d asked possibly the neediest thing, just slightly better than, ‘what are your thoughts on marriage?’.

  “I was supposed to fly back Monday, after the takeover meeting.”

  She blinked at him. “But you’re still here.”

  “True.”

  “Why?”

  His smile set fireworks going in her gut. “I found I had reasons for staying.”

  A strange hope, at odds with her insistence that this was just about fantastic sex, made her heart soar. But she fought that hope.

  It was false hope, based on a lie. Just like Steve had lied about everything. That’s what men did.

  And Ivy wouldn’t be stupid and gullible again.

  She needed to keep it real. That was the key to not being hurt. Accept the limitations of any relationship and then feel nothing when those limitations were upheld.

  She stood slowly, and moved around the table. He turned in his chair, meeting her as she straddled him where he sat. She’d chosen her outfit wisely. A floaty dress that gave plenty of leg movement.

  “Take me to bed,” she murmured.

  Sex. That’s what they were.

  “I intend to.” A throaty promise as his eyes locked with hers. She could feel the proof of his desire throbbing between her legs; her stomach churned and her veins were networks carrying high-speed blood, pulsing it through her body so her skin was pink.

  “Or take me here,” she amended, hungry for him now.

  He captured her face, a palm on either side, and stared at her as though she was his world. Is this how it always was with him? Out of nowhere she imagined the broken-hearted women who must litter his past. The women who had been seduced by him and then hoped for more. The ones who hadn’t yet realised that love is a lie, and hope a profound sense of insanity.

  “So you can run off again? Oh no, Miss Hennessey. I know your tricks now.” His kiss was slow and sensual. Perfect. She felt her bod
y tilting towards him and her breath burning her lungs as feelings swirled through her. He stood, dislodging her, but it was only seconds before he swooped down and lifted her easily, cradling her against his strong, broad chest. He carried her down a corridor she hadn’t even known existed, or if she had, perhaps she’s presumed it to be storage. Room upon room came off the corridor, and at the end, he eased her to standing. “Clothes off.” A gruff order.

  She frowned but did as he suggested, slipping the dress down her body while keeping her eyes locked to him.

  He made a low throb of noise and then spun, stalking into a room. With a curious frown she followed, just in time to see him straightening. The sound of gushing water filled her ears.

  He was in the middle of a bathroom, beautiful and grand, with tiles that covered the floor and ran up the walls, and a spa that surely almost qualified as a swimming pool in the middle. The view of London revealed by enormous windows on one wall showed twinkling lights and the London eye directly across.

  “This is beautiful.”

  He nodded towards the bath in response. “In.”

  Ivy pouted. “I want you.”

  “Yeah. Believe me, that’s something we have in common. In.”

  She laughed, shaking her head. “This is your whole hell-bent-on-global-domination thing? I’m not intimidated by you.”

  He spoke softly, earnestly. “This is my ‘you’ve had a long day at work and I want you to unwind’ thing. I have no plans to intimidate you.”

  “Oh.” And it was so sweet that she found herself unclipping her bra and sliding her underpants down quickly before stepping into the spa. The lights glistened in the window and staring out at them, with the sound of running water, was so meditative that she didn’t immediately realise Rafe had left the room.

  He returned moments later, naked, a tray in hand.

  “So far as butlers go, you make a great CEO,” she joked, her smile lighting up her face in a way he found breathtaking.

  “You haven’t seen the tray yet,” he said with mock offence. He nestled it easily on the edge of the bath and her heart turned over. A box of Charbonnel et Walker truffles with two ice cold flutes of champagne and a scented candle pretty much ticked off every item on her ‘must have’ list.

  “On second thoughts,” she said seriously, “You’re an excellent butler, and I particularly like the dress code.”

  “I aim to please.”

  “And you succeed.” She winked at him, and her heart soared higher when he climbed into the spa and took a seat opposite her. He reached for her foot, placing it between his legs, and began to rub her tired soles as the water swirled high around them.

  She reached for her champagne and in that moment she had the sense that she had actually landed in heaven. Everything was just perfect. Seven months ago, she wouldn’t have thought it possible that she could spend a night without pining for Steve. Certainly not that she could desire another man. And yet, here she was, happy. Happy again, without reference to her ex.

  Even knowing it was temporary didn’t alter that.

  “You’re very good at this,” she murmured, not sure if she meant the foot rub or the seduction.

  “You’ve had a tough day,” he said with a shrug.

  “So have you.”

  His smile was a flicker. “I’m used to them.”

  “You think I’m not?”

  He shook his head. “No. I didn’t mean that.”

  She arched a brow. “Good. Because that would be a pretty sexist thing to say…”

  His laugh was rich. “I over-see twelve multi-billion pound companies. I have many days that are on a par with this. I meant only that in your role, it is probably not as dire as today often. Besides,” he said softly. “I want you completely relaxed before we go to bed.”

  Desire slammed into her. His hands on her feet, the water swishing around them, the knowledge that he was naked; it was a potent combination.

  She looked at him, and didn’t feel even a hint of shyness. How comfortable she was with Rafe was unusual, and yet she’d felt that for him since the first night they’d met. Almost as though they had known one another before. Yet, she knew very little about him, really, and suddenly, Ivy didn’t want that to be the case. “Did you go to school here?”

  He nodded. “Undergraduate at Oxford. My second degree in the States.”

  “Hence why you speak pretty flawless English.”

  “My grandmother was English; she raised me. I heard as much English as I did Spanish.”

  “Why did she raise you?”

  “My parents were … busy.” He said it in a way that didn’t invite questions.

  She asked, anyway, not wanting him to be the one to erect barriers between them – that was her job. “Yeah? Busy doing what?”

  He smiled, but it was a tight smile. “Other stuff.”

  “Such as?” She continued, withdrawing her foot and swimming over to him, in the tub that was now almost full. “And do we need to switch this off?”

  “No, I’ve set the volume.”

  “What?”

  “You pre-program it. The taps shut off when the censors tell them to.”

  “Holy Heck, that’s one high tech bath. Any chance of electrocution?”

  He laughed. “No more than usual.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” She lifted a hand to his chest, tracing circles with her fingertips. “You were saying?”

  “Was I?”

  “Your parents were in the same line of work as you?”

  He expelled a breath, but when Ivy spun around, curling up between his legs, pressing her back to his chest, her head into the crook formed by his neck, he felt a connection that defied sense. “My mother inherited the family business. She comes from one of Spain’s wealthiest families. She loved being an heiress and adored being a wife, but she had no interest in running the businesses. My father had no money but a lot of smarts. They were a formidable team.”

  “Were?” She prompted, her voice thick, bracing for grief.

  “He died when I was eighteen. My mother’s interest in business hadn’t grown over the years. It was an obvious choice for me to take over.”

  “But you were studying?”

  “The business is such that I was able to take an interest in operations regardless of my studies. I had excellent management teams.”

  “That must have been a busy time.”

  “It was life,” he said simply, and his hands ran up and down her exposed legs distractedly. Ivy reached for his champagne, flipping in the water as a fish out of water, and held the glass to his lips. His eyes locked with hers and a strong lurching sensation jolted her.

  Ignore it.

  This is just sex. Not romance. Despite the chocolates and champagne, the bath and the secrets, they were nothing more than two people who desired one another. And she was okay with that; wasn’t she?

  *

  Ivy stretched languidly in the enormous bed, her eyes moving heavily to the alarm clock.

  “It’s late,” she said groggily. “I should go.”

  “Should you?” He murmured, his fingers running over her long, dark hair.

  She stifled a yawn. “Mmm, I have to be in early. The technical problems.”

  “Where’s home?”

  “Hammersmith.” Her eyes drifted shut and he studied her for a moment. Another yawn. “We bought a place there a few years back.”

  “We?” Though he knew.

  “Steve and me.” She sighed. “I have to go.”

  “Stay,” he murmured quietly, a frown on his handsome face that she didn’t see.

  “No.”

  “My place is much closer to your work,” he pointed out logically.

  “But my clothes are so much closer to my home.” She yawned once more but this time it seemed to jolt her eyes open. She lanced him, first with her stare and then with a sleepy smile. She moved quickly then, as if the thirty second cat-nap had revived her completely.

 
“Thanks for tonight, Rafe. It was great.”

  And when she left, it was with a smile on her face, and a determination that she felt nothing in her heart. Just the way she wanted it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “I DON’T GET IT. What’s wrong with flowers?”

  “He’s meant to be helping me get over Steve, not sweeping me off my feet,” Ivy snapped down the phone, staring at the monstrously gorgeous bunch of lillies that had arrived earlier that morning. How had he known they were her absolute favourite?

  “You’ve spent every night this week at his house –,”

  “No, I haven’t,” Ivy was quick to correct. “I’ve seen him every night this week. I’ve spent the night at my place.”

  “Same difference,” And Ivy could practically hear her cousin rolling her eyes. “Did he send a card?”

  “I haven’t checked. They literally just arrived. I’ve been fuming at them, and speaking to you.”

  “Well, check for a card. Maybe he’s written something lewd and sexy and you’ve got it wrong about being swept off your feet. Maybe he’s just your average thinks-with-his-you-know-what guy after all…”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Ivy said, stalking to the bunch and running her eyes over them distastefully. Flowers were bad. Flowers were something she definitely wasn’t ready for. They sure were beautiful, though.

  A small envelope was sticking up from the very centre. She lifted it out, snatching it from its cradle, slipping her finger in the back.

  “Well?” Lisette asked impatiently.

  The card was a plain white, obviously stock paper from a florist.

  Happy anniversary.

  “Happy Anniversary?” Lisette repeated. “Anniversary of what?”

  “I don’t know. A month since we first … Oh my God.” Ivy pushed away from the flowers as though they’d burned her. “What’s the date?”

  “October eleventh. Why?”

  “They must be from … Steve. That’s our anniversary. Today, I mean.”

  Silence prickled angrily between them.

  “That jerk,” Lisette erupted, finally, her anger on a par with if Steve had taken out a full page ad and printed a naked photo of Ivy.