Sabrina Philips - Mistress - Taming the Playboy - Constantine's Defiant Mistress / Androletti's Mistress / Valenti's One-Month Mistress

She saw Constantine immediately—somehow he had bagged the best table in a quiet corner which commanded an enviable view of the stunning gardens outside. A waitress was buzzing around him, smiling for an extra beat as she placed a small dish of olives in front of him, smoothing her manicured hand down over a slender hip as if she wanted to draw his attention to it.

Please give me the strength to stand up to him, Laura said to herself silently as she picked her way through the room towards him, trying to fix her face into a neutral expression. But what kind of expression did she wear in circumstances like these?

Constantine watched her, observing her with a clinical detachment made easier by the fact that she was not wearing a uniform tonight. Tonight her long, fine hair was fizzing down over her shoulders—he could see its brightness as she approached. And she wore a thin little summer dress which made the most of her firm, young body and slender frame. The shoes she wore were high and drew attention to her legs. Amazing legs, he thought suddenly, as if remembering why she had captivated him all those years ago—and then instantly regretted it as she walked up to his table.

‘H-hello, Constantine.’

He should have risen to greet her, but his trousers were stretched so tightly across his groin that he did not dare move. It wasn’t textbook behaviour—but then he reminded himself that this wasn’t exactly a textbook situation. They weren’t out on some kind of cute, getting-to-know-you evening; they were here to discuss a small child. And once again the shimmering of some unknown emotion whispered at his heart.

‘Sit down,’ he drawled.

‘Thanks.’ She perched on the edge of the plush leather banquette, her skin clammy and her heart thumping loudly with nerves. It was so hot in here! When he handed her a glass of wine, she automatically took it with boneless fingers, even though she’d decided on the way over that alcohol was a bad idea. She took a sip. ‘Have … have you been waiting long?’

There was silence for a moment, and Constantine leaned back, taking his time as he studied her, noting the way her knees were pushed tightly together and the stiff set of her slender shoulders. Her body language screamed out her tension—and he knew then that this was not going to be a walk-over. ‘No, I’ve only just arrived,’ he said, and in the fading light his eyes glittered. ‘So … that’s the niceties out of the way. Have you told the boy anything yet?’

Laura shook her head. She wished he would stop looking at her like that. As if he was stripping her completely bare with his black eyes. ‘No.’

Fractionally, he leaned towards her. ‘Do you realize,’ he said softly, ‘that I don’t even know his name?’

It sounded like an accusation, and maybe it was—though it was actually the first time he’d asked. She sucked in a breath, disorientated by his proximity. What if he hates the name I’ve chosen? she thought— in that inexplicable

way that people often did take against names because they reminded them of someone or something from their past.

‘It’s Alex,’ she said quietly. ‘Short for Alexander.’

There was a moment of silence before Constantine let out a long, low breath. It was a name which meant warrior. A proud name which carried with it all the weight and honour of his heritage. ‘A Greek name,’ he observed.

‘Yes. It seemed somehow appropriate .’

He felt a wave of something approaching helplessness wash over him. ‘In a situation which was entirely inappropriate ?’ he countered—because didn’t giving the child a name make him seem real in a way that a photo never could? A person was beginning to emerge from the scraps of information he was being fed. A person about whom he knew absolutely nothing. ‘What else did you decide was appropriate ?’ he snapped.

Laura recoiled from the anger which was emanating in heated waves from his powerful frame, and she put her wine glass down on the table before it slid from her fingers. ‘We can’t keep apportioning blame!’ she said in a low voice. ‘What happened happened. We can’t change it—we just have to deal with the situation as it is.’

‘And the situation is what?’ he retorted. ‘A woman who is clearly living from hand to mouth having sole charge of my son and heir? Don’t you think it’s time I had a little input into his life as well, Laura?’

‘Of … of course I do. That’s why I’m here.’ She stared at him, twisting her fingers nervously in her lap. ‘We could arrange a first meeting, if you like.’

He gave a short laugh. ‘Slot me into the diary like an appointment at the dentist, you mean? You want me turning up on a Saturday afternoon to take a reluctant child for a hamburger while he counts away the minutes he has to spend with this stranger?’

Laura bit her lip. ‘I didn’t mean like that.’

‘No? Then just what did you mean?’ His black eyes blazed into her. ‘What kind of future had you anticipated when you made contact with me again?’

His dominance was formidable, and Laura felt herself swamped by its dark power. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted desperately.

Constantine’s mouth hardened. ‘Well, I do. I have given it a lot of thought and weighed up all the possibilities.’ He had spoken to his lawyers, too—but maybe now was not the best time to tell her that. He lowered his voice, the way he did in the world of business when he was about to close a deal. ‘And there is a future which makes perfect sense for all parties. Which is why I want you to accompany me to my island home in Greece, Laura, occupying the only position which is appropriate.’ He paused, and his eyes gleamed like cold, black stones as he looked at her. ‘As my wife.’

LAURA stared at Constantine, her heart beating wildly, scarcely able to believe her ears. ‘Your wife ?’ she repeated incredulously. ‘Why on earth would I want to marry you ?’

‘ Want has nothing to do with it,’ he iced back, outraged at her shocked and unflattering response. ‘Need is a far more fitting word. For a start, you need money.’

‘I never said—’

‘You’re a waitress who also works in a damned shop!’ he shot out.

The beating of her heart increased. ‘How did you know that?’

His lips twisted. How naïve she was! ‘It wasn’t difficult. I got someone to find out for me.’

Laura swallowed. ‘You mean you’ve been spying on me?’

Dismissively, he batted the question away, with an arrogant flick of his hand. If only it were as easy to bat away the memory of the photos his private detective had dropped in front of him: Laura taking the boy to school in clothes which were clearly too small for him. Not to mention the pictorial evidence of his son growing up in some scruffy apartment over a seedy little shop.

But it was more than that. There had been the dawning realisation that perhaps this trembling little waitress might actually make ideal marriage material. Poor and desperate—wouldn’t she be so swept away by his power and his riches that she would be completely malleable, so that he could mould her to the image of his perfect wife? And of course added to all this was the inexplicable fact that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that stolen kiss in the dark basement of the hotel … Why, even now the memory of it made him want to do it all over again. It was crazy. It was inexplicable. And it was as potent as hell …

He scowled, forcing his mind back to her ridiculous claim that she’d been spying on him. ‘Don’t be hysterical, Laura,’ he snapped. ‘When a woman comes to a man in my position, making claims of enormous significance, it is inevitable her background will be investigated. For all I knew you might have had some male partner at home, his eyes fixed greedily on the main chance—seeing your ex-lover as a meal ticket.’