Robyn Grady - Mistresses - In His Bed - The Billionaire's Trophy / Strictly Temporary / Whose Bed Is It Anyway?

‘Your… mother ?’ Bastian said incredulously, striding into the dressing room to tug a pair of jeans and a T-shirt out of the built-in closets that lined the walls. Her mother ran an escort agency? He was astonished and appalled by that startling piece of information.

‘Yes, my mother,’ Emmie confirmed between compressed lips and then went on to explain a little about her background and how her elder sister had raised her and her siblings after Odette had put her younger daughters into foster care. ‘I hadn’t seen Odette since I was twelve and when she rang out of the blue and said I could live with her for free while I worked unpaid for your company, I leapt at the opportunity. It wasn’t just that I needed a low-cost place to live…’ She hesitated and her cheeks warmed, her eyes veiling to conceal her vulnerability. ‘I thought it would be a great way to finally get to know my mother as well.’

Wincing at the troubled note in her voice that she could not hide, Bastian zipped up his jeans. ‘Did you know about the agency before you moved in with her?’

‘Of course not, and the minute I did move in and she told me about it she immediately began nagging at me to work as one of her escorts,’ Emmie admitted ruefully, trying not to stare as he hauled on the tee, dragging it down over his amazingly muscular bronzed abdomen. Embarrassed colour stung her face with unwelcome heat. ‘She was very annoyed when I took a job as a waitress instead—’

‘You work as a waitress as well?’ Bastian prompted with a frown of a surprise, his attention lingering on the soft full curve of her delicious mouth, which was still swollen from his kisses. That fast he wanted her again, that fast it was a challenge to concentrate on what she was saying, and he paced restively across the room, exasperated by his overactive sex drive and yet awesomely unfamiliar with the modest art of listening to a woman talk and actually recognising her distress.

‘Five nights a week. I needed the money,’ Emmie pointed out reluctantly. ‘But I suspect that my mother was counting on me agreeing to work as an escort for her when she asked me to move in—in fact that’s probably the only reason she invited me to live with her in the first place. She took the photo from my camera to put it on her website. I didn’t know about it. I would never have agreed to that.’

‘So, if you weren’t working as one of your mother’s escorts, what the hell are you doing here with me?’ Bastian demanded bluntly, dark eyes glittering suspiciously as he searched her pale tight face, judging her sincerity, recognising her discomfort in confiding such things about her mother. As a son who had often been embarrassed by parental behaviour, Bastian had sympathy enough with her on that score.

‘I’m afraid my mother brought out the big guns to persuade me to accept the booking with you,’ Emmie confided with an unamused laugh, her facial muscles locking tight with self-discipline as she broached an even more personal topic. ‘You saw the scarring on my leg…’

‘ Ne …yes,’ Bastian responded in Greek again, reacting to her clear discomfiture.

Emmie compressed her lips. ‘When I was younger, my leg was badly injured in a car crash and I ended up in a wheelchair. Eventually I graduated from the chair on to crutches. I was disabled and if I hadn’t had a private and very expensive operation abroad I would probably still be on crutches. That surgery enabled me to walk again and turned my life around. After my mother accepted your booking she told me that she had paid for that surgery and that I owed her.’

His face hardened. ‘You didn’t owe anyone anything, least of all a woman so keen to use you—and possibly your body as well—as a source of profit.’

‘I felt I owed her,’ Emmie contradicted with quiet dignity. ‘That operation meant so much to me. It gave me normality back. When my mother admitted that she was short of money I was willing to be an escort for one weekend for her out of gratitude.’

‘Therefore, you’ve genuinely never worked as an escort before,’ Bastian breathed harshly, events finally falling into place and comprehension with it. ‘But why did she keep that photo of you on her website?’

‘She thought it brought in more business and when her clients asked for me, she simply said I was fully booked,’ Emmie advanced heavily.

‘Ne…yes. She tried that gambit with me until I offered her so much money she was ready to blackmail you into providing the service for my benefit,’ Bastian told her with palpable distaste. ‘Why didn’t you tell me all this from the start? I would never have got mixed up in this nonsense!’

Emmie tensed and stood up. ‘I couldn’t get the money back off Odette so what would have been the point?’

‘I’m not a complete bastard,’ Bastian retorted in a raw driven undertone.

Emmie disagreed but said nothing. A typical shag , words for ever etched on her soul to shame and hurt. No, she wasn’t so brave and unafraid now, was she? Being forced to confront the image Bastian had of her was the most humiliating experience of her life. That she had impulsively leapt into bed with him and surrendered her virginity was something she was convinced she would regret until the day she died. Now, she badly wanted privacy. She had said what she had to say and had nothing else to add.

‘This is your bedroom, isn’t it?’ Emmie guessed, pushing a heavy hand through her hair. ‘I should have realised earlier when you got dressed here but after I bashed my head I wasn’t really thinking clearly. Tell me, did you ever plan to respect the ground rules of being with an escort? How could you think it was OK in these circumstances to expect me to share a room and a bed with you?’

Face grim, Bastian strode across the room and flung another door wide. ‘Make yourself at home in there,’ he urged.

Emmie wasted no time in picking up her suitcase, which was spilling garments, in both arms and stalking through the door. She walked back and entered the bathroom to remove her toiletries, ignoring the spill of her clothing beside the bed. There was just no way she could pick up her knickers without feeling demeaned, she acknowledged wretchedly, shame threatening to overwhelm her.

‘What are you planning to do tomorrow?’ Bastian enquired coolly.

Emmie turned her head, bright blue eyes equally cool. ‘What you paid me to do. I like your sister, Nessa. I’ll still act like your partner but strictly in a hands-off way.’

She closed the door, turned the key in the lock with a click and breathed again. Good grief, she hurt! But then what had she expected from what could only be a casual sexual encounter? Well, certainly not the level of humiliation that he had unleashed, she replied inwardly. A knock sounded on the door and she froze, lovely face paling again.

Swallowing hard, she unlocked it. Bastian handed her an armful of her clothes and she grasped them, tilting her chin in defiance, refusing to cringe.

‘One more thing,’ he breathed tightly. ‘Are you using any form of contraception?’

Her eyes widened to their fullest extent.

‘I gather that’s a no?’ Bastian prompted. ‘Unfortunately I didn’t either. I forgot—’

‘You… forgot ?’ Emmie exclaimed in disbelief.

‘I’ve been in an exclusive relationship for a long time and precautions were unnecessary,’ he stated curtly. ‘I had a recent health check and can confirm that I’m free of any infection but there’s obviously a risk that you could conceive.’

By the end of that speech, Emmie had lost all her angry colour. She clutched her clothes tightly to her chest. ‘Oh, my word…I hope not.’