Robyn Grady - Bedded by Blackmail / Millionaire's Secret Seduction - Bedded by Blackmail / Millionaire's Secret Seduction

“No, Ella, I want you to accompany me.”

She blinked and her sapphire eyes sparkled. “How will you explain me?”

He played with a frown. “How should I explain you?”

She trod on his toe and they both flinched. “How about as the woman who can’t dance to save herself?”

“You have other talents. You don’t need to dance well.”

She huffed good-humouredly. “At least you’re honest.”

“Not insensitive?”

“I can’t imagine you ever being that.”

Her lashes lowered and he gathered her slightly closer, smiling at the same feeling he’d experienced when he’d hired her months ago. This— she— felt right. Last night when he’d gone to bed, he hadn’t been able to shake the image of how good she’d looked in that pink bikini. Then the bikini had vanished and he’d imagined them together in his bed. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted it. Wanted her.

With his mouth resting against the shell of her ear, he murmured, “You look stunning in that gown.”

After a moment, she replied in a thready voice, “Thank you.”

“But you didn’t wear your earrings.”

He deliberately brushed his lips against her ear again and smiled as a tremor ran through her.

“I’m afraid they wouldn’t pass the ‘are they real or not’ test.”

He grinned. Yes, those sapphire drops he’d seen in the jewelry shop window would have looked perfect tonight. But perhaps Ella didn’t like sapphires. Some women preferred emeralds, others wanted only diamonds. He’d known a few women like that. “Do you have a favorite stone?”

“A gem, you mean? I’ve never thought about it.”

He heard the note of strain and uncertainty mixed with brewing arousal in her voice and realized how much pressure his palm had exerted on her lower back. He was aroused too, and Ella, as well as the area above her thighs, would no doubt have recognized the fact.

Not feeling nearly as contrite as he should, he said, “I’m making you uncomfortable.” She accidentally trod on his foot again. Hiding a wince, he pulled back and cleared his throat. “Would you prefer to sit down?

Her face was pained. “I think you would.”

He chuckled and admitted, “Next time I’ll wear steel-toe boots.”

“You’re a sucker for punishment.”

“It’s no hardship, believe me.”

No truer words had been spoken.

He wasn’t quite conscious of the movement, but as he smiled into her eyes, his head bowed over hers until her spine arched slightly back. He felt her intake of air and saw in her eyes…She wondered if he would kiss her again, here in front of everyone. And, God above, he was tempted.

Instead he found the strength to show some mercy and release her. On their way back to their table, they bumped smack-dab into Mayor Rufus.

Hiding his surprise—he wasn’t prepared for this meeting—Tristan squared his shoulders. “George. I didn’t realize you’d be here.”

They shook hands and the mayor nodded once. “Tristan. Nice to see you.” But the mayor’s tone wasn’t convincing.

Tristan set his jaw. He’d invested not only large amounts of money, but also his heart and soul into his current resort project. This man could seal the deal with a nod on rezoning, and just as easily run a red pen through and obliterate twelve months of Tristan’s working life—geological reports, feasibility studies, copious meetings with architects.

Did Rufus still blame Tristan for his daughter’s death? If he knew the entire story, perhaps Rufus would understand. Although the temptation was there, Tristan couldn’t consciously tarnish Bindy’s memory or scandalize his own family name, though Cade hardly deserved his loyalty.

The mayor turned to Ella. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

Tristan made the introduction, knowing Rufus would be remembering a time when his daughter had been the woman on Tristan’s arm. “George Rufus, this is Ella Jacob.”

The mayor smiled. “Are you new to town, my dear? I don’t believe I’ve seen you at similar events.”

“Ella works for me,” Tristan said. The mayor would have discovered as much when he arrived for dinner in two weeks’ time.

The mayor nodded as if that made some sense. “Personal assistant?”

“Housekeeper,” Ella admitted.

The mayor’s brow creased before his face lit up. “So you’re the young lady who bakes a caramel apple pie to die for?”

Ella lifted a modest shoulder. “I’ve received a few compliments on that recipe.”

“I’m looking forward to adding to those compli-ments. I presume Tristan told you I invited myself over for dinner?”

She smiled. “I’m planning something extra special.”

“But caramel apple pie for dessert?”

“With your choice of cream or warm brandy custard.”

The mayor chuckled. “I’ll look forward to it.” His smile tightened. “I hope Mr. Barkley is taking good care of you.” He redirected his attention to Tristan.

Tristan inwardly cringed. Ella didn’t know the full implication behind the mayor’s words. But if he decided to take this relationship to the next level, Tristan supposed he’d best tell Ella the whole sordid story. He hadn’t pushed Bindy Rufus toward her untimely death. She’d chosen her own path, which included infidelity with the worst possible partner.

A photographer with rumpled hair and an ill-fitting suit interrupted them. “Mind if I get a shot for the celebrity page?”

Tristan acquiesced and after some minor staging, the flash went off. Seemed he, Ella and the mayor would share the limelight somewhere in tomorrow morning’s print.

The mayor bid them good-night and, back at the table, Ella stifled a yawn.

Tristan studied her face. He should have noticed earlier the shadows under her eyes. “You’re tired.”

“No, I’m not,” she replied too quickly.

She didn’t want to spoil his night. Sweet, but it suited him to leave. Now that he’d made up his mind, he didn’t want to delay moving forward.

He was serious about pursuing the marriage-of-convenience proposition. For Ella it would mean a stable husband with the resources and temperament to treat her well. He in turn would have a wife other men would envy—the veritable girl-next-door with no pretences or ulterior motives. No headaches. No heartache.

Tristan’s good humor dipped as he swept his jacket off the back of his chair.

Ella’s naiveté was all the more reason to keep an eye on Cade tomorrow. His older brother had white-anted him before. No reason to trust him now.

He collected Ella’s purse from the table. “It’s almost eleven,” he said, handing the purse over. “Time to call it a night.”

Her eyes unwittingly flashed with gratitude before she shrugged. “Well, if you’re sure you’re ready.”

Tristan smiled at his beautiful companion. He was more than ready.

During the drive home, Ella was floating.

She’d never attended an event quite like tonight’s. Those people were some of the wealthiest in the state—in the country —but despite having had next to no sleep last night, she hadn’t made a social blunder. The reason was clear. Her companion.

She looked across at Tristan sitting relaxed behind the wheel, his expression intent as the night shadows flickered over his classic profile.

He’d been the perfect escort, making her feel not only beautiful but… special, even when she’d trodden on his foot, not once but twice.

Ella dropped her gaze to her hand holding her knotting stomach. The night wasn’t over yet. More than instinct whispered to her what was in store. Tristan planned to kiss her again. She saw it in his eyes and the tilt of his mouth whenever he smiled at her.