Mistresses: Passionate Revenge. Trish Morey

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СКАЧАТЬ right. She would be perfect. ‘Maybe not yet. But I fully intend to.’ She gasped, colour flooding her cheeks almost instantly, and it was his turn to smile. Her reactions were so instantaneous, so honest. He hoped she’d never lose that. At least, not for the next few weeks.

      He picked up the abandoned report and returned to his reading. He didn’t want to have to work late.

      Not tonight.

      Tonight he hoped to have better things to do.

      The Jet Centre at London City Airport ushered them through with a minimum of fuss, expediting immigration and customs requirements so that they were ready to board less than forty minutes after leaving the hotel.

      She recognised the logo she saw on the side of the small jet they were approaching, the same stylised X she’d seen adorning Andreas’ luggage. ‘Isn’t that your logo?’

      Andreas nodded. ‘You recognised it?’

      She shook her head. He was missing the point. ‘You own a plane? Your own jet?’

      ‘Not entirely,’ he responded, stepping back to let her precede him up the short flight of steps. ‘The company leases it. Along with the helicopter we have for short-haul flights within Greece itself. It is a tax-effective arrangement.’

      She shook her head. He imagined she was interested in his financing arrangements? For someone who’d only recently made her first ever flight in a commercial airline, and then cramped in cattle class with three hundred other tortured souls, the concept of having one’s own plane at one’s beck and call was mind-boggling. She’d thought the limousine was the height of luxury and here he was with his own private jet. And a helicopter.

      ‘But there must be two dozen airlines flying between London and Greece every day.’

      He shrugged. ‘I expect so. But not when I want to.’

      That was at the heart of it, she guessed, and what Andreas wanted, Andreas got. After all, wasn’t that what she was doing here? And if he could afford to throw away a million dollars plus expenses on her, clearly a million dollars didn’t mean very much to him. He had money to burn.

      A smiling stewardess greeted her, directing her to a seat, showing her where to store her bag and taking her jacket before disappearing again. Cleo settled herself in, looking around the cabin in wonder and doing a rapid rethink.

      The interior oozed comfort, a centre aisle flanked by no more than half a dozen ultra-wide armchairs in dove-grey leather that looked more suited to a fireside setting than to any plane travel she’d ever heard of. She thought about the cramped conditions on her flight to London, the lack of space to store her own things let alone the pillows, blankets and toiletry packs they weighed you down with so that you couldn’t even sit down when you boarded, of the man in the seat in front who’d jerked his seat back the first chance he’d had and left it there the entire flight and the child two rows back with the spluttering cough. Who wouldn’t choose flying like this over queues and delays and airline food if they could afford it? If you had money to burn, there were no doubt worse ways to spend it.

      Andreas dropped his briefcase down on a timber table-cum-desk that extended from the other wall, slipping into the seat alongside her as the attendant reappeared, this time bearing a tray with two filled champagne flutes. ‘Enjoy your flight,’ she said. ‘We’ll be taking off shortly and I’ll be serving lunch as soon as we’re level.’

      Andreas took both glasses, thanking her and passing one to Cleo as the plane started taxiing from the apron. ‘This toast is to you,’ he said, raising his glass, ‘and to our month together. May it be mutually—satisfying.’

      The glass paused on the way to her lips. How did he make just one innocent word sound so sinful? And what was it about him that provoked her thighs to suddenly squeeze down further into the seat? He watched her over the rim of his glass as he took a sip of the sparkling wine, his lips curled, his eyes charged with a heat that was soon washing through her, closely followed by a crashing wave of fear that sucked the air from her lungs.

      He could be a panther sitting there, rather than a man, a big dark cat watching its next meal, waiting. She could even imagine the lazy flick of his tail as he pretended there was no rush…

      Oh, God, what was she even doing here? She was an imposter, a charlatan. She’d had sex once in her life and it had been lousy. And here she was, contracted to play the role of this man’s mistress for an entire month. Never had she been so unqualified for a position. Never so unprepared.

      ‘You don’t like the wine?’

      Condensation misted the glass between her fingers. ‘I’m not very thirsty. Maybe with lunch. How long is the flight?’ She grasped onto anything that might steer the conversation, and her thoughts, into safer territory.

      ‘Four hours, give or take. Unfortunately after our late departure we will have missed the sunset, said to be the most beautiful in all of Greece. You haven’t been to Greece before?’

      There was that sunset thing again. Maybe that was one thing Kurt hadn’t lied about, and now she’d have the chance to experience Santorini’s sunset for herself. The bright side, she thought as she shook her head in answer to Andreas’ question, definitely a bright side.

      ‘Ah. Then you are in for a treat. I promise you will love Santorini.’

      His enthusiasm was infectious and she found an answering smile with no hesitation. ‘I look forward to it.’

      The jet came to a brief halt at the end of the runway before the engines powered up and the plane moved off. Again Cleo was struck by how different this felt from the hulking jumbo jet that had seemed to take for ever to get going, panels vibrating and overhead lockers rattling as it lumbered along the runway before somehow managing to haul itself up into the air. This jet was small and powerful and accelerated as if it had been fired from a gun.

      She held onto her stomach but there was none of the lurching motion that had made her feel queasy in the seven four seven. Instead the ground fell sharply away as the plane pierced the air like an arrow, and Cleo watched the rain-washed view in fascination until cloud cover swallowed both it and the plane. A few moments later they had punched their way through and bright sunshine poured through the large portholes, filling the cabin with light.

      ‘I have some work I must attend to,’ Andreas told her, retrieving his briefcase. ‘But I have a copy of our contract for you to look over and sign. Will you be comfortable?’

      Much more comfortable than if you didn’t have work to do. The traitorous thought was as sudden as it was true. When he looked at her in that heated way that he did, it was impossible to think straight. And after the intensive morning she’d had, she could do with a few hours of quiet time curled up in a good book, or a good contract for that matter. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said a little uncertainly, taking the papers he offered.

      He watched her a while, trying to search behind her eyes for what she was really thinking, but he found no hint of machination. Instead her clear blue eyes held without shifting or looking away. He nodded then, turning back to his report, before she might read too much into his gaze.

      A woman who didn’t need constant pandering, who didn’t sulk and was content to let him work when he needed to? She was definitely a rarity. A pity about her ‘no sex’ demands. If she were any good in bed, she’d be just about perfect.

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