Confessions of a Millionaire's Mistress. Robyn Grady
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Название: Confessions of a Millionaire's Mistress
Автор: Robyn Grady
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Зарубежные любовные романы
isbn: 9781408902769
isbn:
Rodney’s expression jostled. ‘Denise has a banquet on its way out.’
‘And with my appetite—’ Suzanne’s settling hand found her fiancé’s arm again ‘—I’m sure I could eat at least half of it. You two run along,’ she encouraged Ben and Celeste. ‘We’ll see you both back here later.’
Five minutes on, Ben and the still stunned Celeste were seated in his SLK Mercedes, heading into town. She didn’t protest; he’d bet she could barely talk. Her last twelve hours had been one kick in the gut after another. Yet she’d been so strong.
He was definitely no expert in fixing family woes; today he was an outsider, as always. He shouldn’t feel responsible. This wasn’t his doing. And yet what would it cost him to see his vixen smile again?
He planted his foot.
He knew just where to start.
CHAPTER THREE
BEHIND her sunglasses, Celeste gazed blindly out at the endless stretch of gum trees as Benton Scott’s high-powered sports car propelled them away from her father’s house. She didn’t know if she ever wanted to see it again.
Benton didn’t try to talk, for which she was grateful. Rather, with the top down, they drove until the traffic skirting the city slowed their escape. It was enough. She’d had an hour and had reached a conclusion.
Things happened for a reason. Today’s king-hit was meant to make her see that the dream she’d held onto all these years hadn’t been real—had never really been hers, no matter what she remembered from the past. Now it was time to either be eaten up by a sense of betrayal or let go. Given that her heart had been cracked wide open and all hope had leaked out, the second choice was a shoe-in. She had no more to give.
The well had run dry.
A traffic light blinked to red and Benton rolled the Merc to a stop. Exhaling fully, Celeste removed her glasses and studied the driver, who, at the moment, seemed more like a godsend than an assassin. Either way, he was the hottest man she’d ever met. And, it seemed, a sensitive one.
She half smiled. ‘Thanks for getting me out of there.’
Glancing over, Benton pulled his mirror lenses down an inch, lifted a brow, then pushed the frames back up his aquiline nose. ‘No problem.’
He was bad-boy handsome, perhaps with a touch of Mediterranean blood. His skin was smooth and olive, hair dark as pitch and long enough, she realised now, to lick the collar of his khaki shirt. She couldn’t see his eyes so she focused on his profile…on his lips…beautiful lips for a man…dusty pink, the bottom one full and soft. She remembered how soft. Remembered how he’d tasted too.
‘We’re almost into the city.’ He slipped into gear. The car cruised off again and the magnificent steel arch of Sydney Harbour Bridge came into view. ‘I’d like to see your shop.’
Celeste smiled, but shook her head. Now he was taking compassion too far. ‘You’re not the least bit interested in handbags and belts.’
‘Doesn’t mean I’m not interested in what you normally do with your day.’
Brooke helped manage Celestial Bags and Accessories and had taken this weekend shift. They’d been best friends for ten years, but Celeste couldn’t face her today. Knowing the family history, Brooke would try to comfort her and Celeste would sooner forget today had ever happened. A long hot bath and a good thick book might be the best place to start.
When the Merc rolled up to another set of lights, she turned to him. ‘Sorry, but I’d rather you just drop me home.’
His large hands slid down opposing arcs of the sports steering wheel. ‘No can do.’
She frowned. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘The day’s too nice to spend moping around inside.’
‘I won’t be moping.’ Her frown deepened. ‘I’m all done moping.’
He removed his glasses. His look said, Yeah, right. Aloud he said, ‘I’ll make you a deal.’
She gazed out the window. Please, not now. ‘I’m not in the mood.’
‘Not that I’m keeping score, but you owe me one. In fact, you owe me two.’
Her mouth pulled to one side. Oh, hell. She really did—for going along with her six-week scheme, and then pulling her out of that awkward situation with her father and Suzanne Simmons.
She held back a weary sigh and faced him. ‘What is it?’
‘I’ll drop you home, but only to grab a swimsuit.’
Her pulse rate picked up. That sounded ominous. ‘What do you have planned?’
He drew a zip across his lips. ‘Federal secret.’
She had a flash of him entertaining her in a bubbling spa tub on the balcony of some glamorous penthouse suite. But somehow that didn’t gel. She wasn’t getting a ‘take advantage of the poor girl while she’s down’ feeling. Rather the opposite.
Oh, what was she agonising over anyway? She’d bought a new swimsuit last week. She was a couple of kilos past her ideal weight, which had gone directly to her saddle bags. But what the heck? Would it kill her to be impulsive for a change?
Decided, she gave him directions to her apartment building, and ten minutes after he’d pulled up she was back down with her swimsuit packed. With his hip propped against the bonnet, he disconnected his cell call and opened her door, then eased back into his side.
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