Sara Craven - His Inexperienced Mistress - Girl Behind the Scandalous Reputation / The End of her Innocence / Ruthless Russian, Lost Innocence

Tristan tapped his pen against his desk. ‘I find investigators far more enlightening than “the source”.’

‘How nice for you.’

‘For example, you’re currently living with Cliff Harris…’

A dear friend who had moved into her spare room due to financial problems.

‘A lovely man.’ She smiled thinly.

‘…while you’ve been photographed cosying up to that effeminate sculptor Piers Bond.’

Lily had been to a few gallery openings with Piers, and Tristan was right—he was effeminate.

‘A very talented artist,’ she commented.

‘And presumably sleeping with that dolly boy in Thailand behind both their backs?’

Lily suppressed her usually slow to rise temper and threw him her best Mona Lisa smile. A smile she had perfected long ago that said everything and nothing all at the same time.

‘Grip,’ she corrected with forced pleasantness. ‘He’s called a dolly grip.’

‘He’s also called a junkie.’

‘Jonah once had a drug problem; he doesn’t any more.’

‘Well, you should know. You’ve been photographed going in and out of that New York rehab clinic with him enough times.’

Also true. She volunteered there when she could, which was how she’d met Jonah. She just hoped Tristan didn’t know about the director’s marriage she was supposed to have broken up while working on a film the year before. But since it had been all through the papers…

‘And Guy Jeffrey’s marriage? Or is that so far back you can’t remember your part in that particular melodrama?’

Great. He probably knew her shoe size as well.

‘My, your man is thorough,’ she complimented dryly. ‘But do you think I might visit the bathroom before you remind me about the rest of my debauched lifestyle? I don’t think I can hang on till tomorrow.’

Tristan scowled at her from beneath straight brows, and if the situation hadn’t been so awful she might have laughed. Might have.

She picked up her tote bag from the floor and grimaced as she realised she felt as if she was requesting a permission slip from the school principal when she had to ask for directions to the bathroom.

Tristan nodded towards a door at the rear of his office. ‘Leave the bag,’ he ordered, returning his focus to his computer screen.

‘Why?’

‘Because I said so.’

Rude, horrible, insufferable…He raised his eyes and locked them with hers. His gave nothing away about how he was feeling while she knew hers were shooting daggers.

She suspected she knew why he wanted her to leave it. She suspected he was trying to show her who was boss. Either that or he thought she’d been able to magic some more drugs into her bag after it had been searched by Customs. But, whatever his reasoning, he’d now succeeded in making her angry again.

She planted her hands on her hips, prepared to stare him down. ‘There’s nothing in it.’

He leaned back in his chair and regarded her as a predator might regard lunch, and goosebumps rose up along her arms. ‘Then you won’t mind leaving it.’

Lily felt her mouth tighten. No, but she wouldn’t mind braining him with it either—and damn him if he didn’t know it.

She stalked towards him, her narrowed eyes holding his, and before she could think better of it upended the entire contents of her tote onto his desk. He couldn’t hide his start of surprise, and Lily felt inordinately pleased at having knocked him off his arrogant perch.

‘Careful.’ She cast him her best Hollywood smile before swinging round towards the bathroom. ‘I left a King Cobra in there somewhere, and it’s trained to attack obnoxious lawyers.’

As parting shots went she thought it was rather good, but his unexpected chuckle set her teeth on edge. And if she was honest she was a bit worried she’d never find her favourite lipstick again in amongst all the rubble on his desk.

His bathroom was state-of-the-art, with slate-grey tiles and an enormous plate-glass shower stall. Lily would almost kill for a shower, but the thought of putting on her smelly travel clothes afterwards was not appealing. Plus Tristan was in the other room, and she didn’t want to risk that he might walk in on her. She didn’t think she could cope.

A sudden image of him naked and soapy, with water streaming off the lean angles and hard planes of his body, crowding her back against the slippery tiles pervaded her senses and made her feel light-headed. She wondered if he had an all-over tan, and then pulled a face at the image of male perfection that bombarded her. He probably had a very small penis, she thought, grinning at her wan complexion. It would only be fair.

But then she recalled the feel of his hard body pressed into hers in the secluded corner of that long-ago dance floor and knew he wasn’t small. Far from it.

She wouldn’t ruin her mood by thinking about that. Somehow tipping her bag upside down on Tristan’s desk had alleviated her anger and lifted her spirits considerably.

She splashed cold water on her cheeks and poked at the dark circles under her eyes. She looked a mess. And her hair was unusually knotty around her temples. A vague memory of soothing fingers stroking her scalp came to mind and she realised at the same time that her headache was gone. Had he stroked her? Soothed her?

The comforting gesture didn’t fit his harsh attitude, but she was secretly thrilled that he might have done it.

Thrilled? No. She shook her head at her reflection. Thoughts like that led to nothing but trouble, and hadn’t he already made it completely clear that he detested every minute he had to spend with her? And didn’t she feel exactly the same way? The man was rude, arrogant and obnoxious, to say the least.

She blew out a noisy breath and pulled her hair into a rough ponytail, securing it with the band she kept around her wrist for just such purposes—a habit that made Jordana shudder. But Lily had never been one for fashion and clothing, like Jordana. Which was probably why Jordana was a buyer for women’s wear at a leading department store and Lily wore just about anything she recommended.

Lily turned towards the door and paused with her hand on the brass knob. She was almost afraid to return to the lion’s den.

Then she chastised herself for her feebleness.

No doubt Tristan was just planning to lay down the law. Tell her he wanted absolute silence and co-operation again. And if he did she wouldn’t argue. The less they had to do with each other the better.

Sure, she had questions, but perhaps it was better to try and stifle them. She’d soon find out what was going to happen, and as much as the thought of being at his mercy made her skin crawl what choice did she really have right now?

Yes, that would be the approach to take. Polite, but aloof. Mind her own business and hope he minded his as well.

Tristan regarded Lily coolly as she walked back into his office. She’d put her hair up, which made her look more unkempt than when she’d first woken up—and incredibly cute. A fact he found hard to believe when he usually preferred women well-mannered, well-bred and well-groomed.

He was still smarting from having lowered himself to question her about her lovers before, like some jealous boyfriend, and wouldn’t have minded if she’d spent the rest of the afternoon in the bathroom. All the better for him to get some actual work done.

But she hadn’t, and now her eyes alighted on the refreshments his secretary had just placed on his desk. He knew she must be hungry, because he doubted the customs officers had made it a priority to feed her earlier today.

He suppressed a grin when he saw her glance surreptitiously around for her bag. Much as he hated to admit it, he admired her spunk.