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

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      ‘Is he okay?’ Her concern was genuine, and he was reminded of how yesterday she had given Bert unsolicited signed promotional pictures of herself when she found out his daughters were fans.

      ‘It was minor, but he’s wedged between two other cars. I’ll arrange someone to help him out and call a cab.’

      ‘I’ll get dressed.’

      Tristan’s eyes drifted down over the dove-grey silk wrap she wore and he noted the delicate pink that swept into her face. Even with the shadows beneath her eyes she was quite simply the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

      ‘Good idea.’

      Twenty minutes later Lily joined Tristan on a rear terrace that looked out over a sizable manicured garden flanked by a glassed-in pool and gymnasium, absently noting that it was hard to believe she was in the middle of one of the busiest cities in the world.

      Tristan wore his suit jacket now, and she felt like a tourist in her simple jeans, white T-shirt and faithful black cardigan. She noticed him glance at her cardigan as he watched her approach, a bemused expression flitting across his face.

      ‘What?’

      ‘Nothing.’ He shook his head. ‘I would offer you tea, but I’d like to get going and check that Bert is okay.’

      ‘Sure.’ Lily followed him back through the house towards the front door.

      ‘It seems traffic is particularly bad this morning. The cab driver has had to park up the road a way.’

      ‘That’s okay.’ Lily smiled. ‘I like walking. It’s a New York pastime.’

      ‘I suppose it is,’ Tristan agreed, feeling awkward and out of sorts after her disclosures in her bedroom. His instincts warned him to keep his distance from her. After last night she was more dangerous to his emotional well-being than she had ever been, and in hindsight having sex with her had been a terrible idea.

      Lily waited for him to open the front door and stepped out ahead of him—straight into the view of at least twenty members of the press, who had breached his security gates and were filling the normally pristine space of his forecourt, trampling grass and flowerbeds as they jostled for position.

      They shouted an endless list of questions as camera flashes momentarily blinded them both.

      It was like a scene from a bad movie, and after a split second of shocked inertia Tristan grabbed Lily around the waist and hauled her back inside.

      ‘Oh, my gosh!’

      ‘I’ll call the police,’ he stated grimly, slamming the door shut before he turned to her and grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Are you okay?’ His eyes scanned her face for signs of distress, wondering if perhaps she might have a panic attack.

      ‘I’m fine,’ she confirmed. ‘I told you, I rarely have attacks any more—and, anyway, you grabbed me so quickly I barely had time to register they were even there.’

      She smiled and he trailed a finger down her cheek, noting the way her eyes widened and darkened. Tristan felt his body harden and tamped down on the response. He was supposed to be forgetting last night and keeping his distance.

      He dropped his hand and stalked through the house until he reached the kitchen.

      ‘I’m sorry. I should have expected this…’ she said.

      Tristan shook his head. Not sure if he was more agitated at himself, her, or the hyenas filling his front garden. ‘I don’t know how you live like this.’

      She swallowed. ‘It’s not normally this bad. In New York you get followed sometimes, but it’s different here.’

      ‘It’s disgusting.’

      ‘I’m sorry.’

      He swore, and Lily flinched.

      ‘Stop apologising. It’s not your fault,’ he bit out. ‘If anything it’s mine.’ He raked a hand through his hair and pulled his mobile out of his pocket. ‘Make a coffee, or something. We might be a while.’

      ‘Do you want one?’

      ‘No, thanks.’

      After a brief interlude in his study, Tristan strode out into his rear garden and found Lily sipping tea on a stone bench, studying one of the statues that dotted his garden.

      ‘Plans have changed,’ he said brusquely, not enjoying the way she seemed to fit so seamlessly into his home.

      ‘Oh?’ Lily replied, confused.

      ‘We leave for Hillesden Abbey in an hour.’

      ‘How?’

      ‘Helicopter.’

      ‘Helicop…? But I have a dress fitting today with Jo.’

      ‘You had a dress fitting. The seamstress will travel to the Abbey during the week to meet with you.’

      ‘But surely Chanel don’t…?’

      ‘Yeah, they do. Now, stop arguing. A car will be pulling up in ten minutes to take us onto the Heath.’

      ‘Helicopters leave from the Heath?’

      ‘Not as a general rule.’

      Ten minutes later two police motorcycles escorted a stretch limousine along Hampstead Lane and pulled up near Kenwood House, where a bright red helicopter was waiting. A few curious onlookers watched as they alighted from the car—but no paparazzi, Tristan was pleased to note.

      ‘Are you okay to fly in one of these?’ Tristan raised his voice above the whir of the rotors.

      ‘I don’t know,’ Lily yelled back. ‘I never have.’

      He helped her secure the safety harness and stowed their overnight bags behind her seat.

      ‘I’m co-piloting today, but let me know if you feel sick.’

      ‘I’ll be fine.’ She smiled tentatively and he realised she probably would be. She was a survivor, and quick to adapt to the circumstances around her.

      He handed her a set of headphones and took his seat beside the pilot, not wanting to think about how that was just one more thing to admire about her.

      He was looking forward to going home. His father was away on business until Friday, when Jordana would arrive to commence her wedding activities, but Tristan always felt rejuvenated in the country. And most importantly of all, the Abbey was huge. It had two hundred and twenty rooms, which should be more than enough space to put some physical distance between himself and Lily and still remain within the constraints of the custody order. He felt sure that if he didn’t have her underfoot the chemistry between them would abate. Normalise. She’d just be another pretty face in a cast of thousands.

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