Hired: Mistress: Wanted: Mistress and Mother / His Private Mistress / The Millionaire's Secret Mistress. Carol Marinelli

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      The one who’d dared to allow herself to get pregnant, Matilda wanted to point out, but chose not to, clutching the plans tighter under her arm and walking swiftly on.

      ‘Would you like a lift home?’

      ‘I have an apartment over the bridge.’ Matilda pointed to the a high-rise block on the other side of the river. ‘It’s just a five-minute walk.’

      ‘Then I’ll join you,’ Dante said. ‘You shouldn’t be walking alone across the bridge at this time of night.’

      ‘Really,’ Matilda flustered, ‘there’s absolutely no need—it’s just a hop and a skip.’

      ‘I’d rather walk if you don’t mind,’ Dante said, his face completely deadpan, but his dry humour didn’t even raise a smile from Matilda. Frankly, she’d rather take the chance of walking across the bridge alone than with the evil troll beside her.

      ‘I have an apartment near here also,’ Dante said, nodding backwards from whence they’d come, but despite the proximity to hers, Matilda was quite sure any city apartment Dante owned wouldn’t compare to her second-floor shoebox!

      ‘I didn’t somehow envisage you as having an apartment,’ Dante mused, and Matilda blinked, surprised he envisaged her at all. ‘I thought, given your work you would have a home with a garden.’

      ‘That’s the plan, actually,’ Matilda admitted. ‘I’ve just put it up for sale. I never really liked it.’

      ‘So why did you buy it?’

      ‘It was too good an opportunity to miss. And location-wise, for work it’s brilliant.’ She gave a low groan at the sound of her own voice. ‘Can you tell I spent the last couple of years dating a real estate agent?’ Matilda asked, glancing over to him and surprised to see that he was actually smiling.

      ‘At least you didn’t mention the stunning views and the abundance of natural light!’

      ‘Only because I’m on the second floor,’ Matilda quipped, amazed after the tension of only a few moments ago to find herself actually smiling back. ‘I guess the drive from Mount Eliza to the city each day would be a bit much,’ Matilda ventured, but again she got things wrong.

      ‘I don’t generally drive to work, I use a helicopter.’

      ‘Of course you do,’ Matilda sighed, rolling her eyes.

      ‘It is not my helicopter.’ She could hear the teasing note in his voice. ‘More like a taxi service. I would rather spend that hour or two at home than in the car. When we bought the place it was meant more as weekender, or retreat, but since the accident I have tried not to move Alex too much. It is better, I think that she is near the beach with lots of space rather than the city. A luxury high rise apartment isn’t exactly stimulating for a small child.’

      Why did he always make her feel small?

      ‘I use the apartment a lot, though. I tend to stay there if I am involved in a difficult trial.’

      ‘I guess it would be quieter.’

      ‘A bit,’ Dante admitted. ‘I tend to get very absorbed in my cases. By the time they go to trial there is not much space left for anything else. But it is not just for that reason.’ They were walking quickly, too quickly for Matilda, who almost had to run to keep up with him, but she certainly wasn’t going to ask him to slow down. The sooner they got to her apartment block the sooner she could breathe again. ‘The press can be merciless at times. I prefer to keep it away from my family.’

      They were safely over the bridge now, walking along the dark embankment on the other side of the river.

      ‘This is me,’ Matilda said as they neared her apartment block, and she rummaged in her bag for her keys. ‘I’ll be fine now.’

      ‘I’m sure that you would be,’ Dante said, ‘but you are my dinner guest and for that reason I will see you safely home.’

      Why did he have to display manners now? Matilda wondered. He’d been nothing but rude since they’d met—it was a bit late for chivalry. But she was too drained to argue, just gave a resigned shrug, let herself into the entrance hall and headed for the stairwell, glad that she lived on the second floor and therefore wouldn’t have to squeeze into a lift with him again.

      ‘Home!’ Matilda said with false brightness.

      ‘Do you always take the stairs?’

      ‘Always,’ Matilda lied. ‘It’s good exercise.’ They were at her front door now. ‘Thank you for this evening. It’s been, er…pleasant.’

      ‘Really?’ Dante raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘I’m not sure that I believe you.’

      ‘I was actually attempting to be polite,’ Matilda responded, ‘as you were by seeing me to my door.’ She was standing there, staring at him, willing him to just go, reluctant somehow to turn her back on him, not scared exactly, but on heightened alert as still he just stood there. Surely he didn’t expect her to ask him in for coffee?

       Surely!

      How the hell was she going to spend a fortnight in his company when one evening left her a gibbering wreck? She had to get a grip, had to bring things back to a safer footing, had to let him know that it was strictly business, pretend that he didn’t intimidate her, pretend that he didn’t move her so.

      ‘Thank you for bringing the plans, Dante. I’m looking forward to working on your garden.’ She offered her hand. Direct, businesslike, Matilda decided, that was how she’d be—a snappy end to a business dinner. But as his hand took hers, instantly she regretted it.

      It was only the second time they had made physical contact. As his hand tightened around hers she was brutally reminded of that fact, despite the hours that had passed, despite a dinner shared and the emotions he had evoked, it was only the second time they had touched. And the result was as explosive as the first time, and many times more lethal. She could feel the heat of his flesh searing into hers, as his large hand coiled around hers, the pad of his index finger resting on her slender wrist, her radial pulse hammering against it. And this time the feel of his gold wedding band did nothing to soothe her, just reminded her of the depths of him, the pain that must surely exist behind those indecipherable eyes. Never had she found a person so difficult to read, never had she revealed so much of herself to someone and found out so very little in return.

      But she wanted to know more.

      ‘You interest me, Matilda.’ It was such a curious thing to say, such a hazy, ambiguous statement, and her eyes involuntarily jerked to his like a reflex action, held by his gaze, stunned, startled, yet curiously reluctant to move, a heightened sexual awareness permeating her.

      ‘I thought perhaps I bored you.’

      ‘Oh, no.’ Slowly he shook his head and she started back, mesmerised, his sensuous but brutal features utterly captivating. ‘Why would you think such a thing?’

      ‘I just…’ Matilda’s voice trailed off. She didn’t know what to say because she didn’t know the answer, didn’t know if it was her destroyed self-confidence that made her vulnerable or the man who was staring at СКАЧАТЬ