The Billionaire's Virgin Mistress. Sandra Field

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СКАЧАТЬ Tess raised her head, her hair falling around her face. She needed a haircut, she thought distantly. Time to get out the scissors and hack the ends off.

      The man was still there. Through her tumbled curls she saw hair black as the ravens that flocked the beaches, eyes the harsh gray of the cliffs that ringed the island. His face was carved like the cliffs—hard, unyielding, craggy. And undeniably, terrifyingly male.

      A stranger. But worse than a stranger, she thought with a superstitious shiver. Her fate. Dark, dangerous and full of secrets.

      Pushing her hair back, terror rising in her throat again so that she could scarcely breathe, she said raggedly, “I’ve nothing here worth stealing. No money, and I don’t do drugs, I swear I don’t.”

      Cade Lorimer said blankly, “Your eyes. They’re green.”

      Panic-stricken, she gaped at him. Con artist, or certifiably mad? What did green eyes have to do with anything? She pushed hard against him and said frantically, “There’s nothing here for you. Cory’s dead—he’s been dead for years. Can’t you just leave me in peace?”

      Cade’s heart was thudding in his chest; her words scarcely registered. In all his life, he’d only known one other person with eyes that true, deep green, the green of wet leaves in springtime. That person was Del Lorimer.

      She must be Del’s granddaughter. She had to be. “Do you wear contact lenses?” he rapped.

      Temper streaked with a flash of humor came to her rescue, briefly subduing fear. “Which mental ward have you escaped from? You’re here to rob me and you want to know if I wear contacts?”

      “Just answer me,” Cade said brusquely. “Your eyes—are they really green?”

      “Of course they are—what sort of stupid question is that?”

      “The only question that matters,” he said heavily. So she wasn’t a fake; he’d been way off base. That wasn’t his style, either.

      As for her, her whole body was taut with tension; she was looking at him as warily as if he really was an escapee from a mental institution. Or a thief, the other accusation she’d thrown at him.

      Logically he should explain the significance of her eye color. But he wasn’t quite ready to do that. “I’m no thief—I have all the money I need,” Cade said, “and I’m entirely sane. As for drugs, I’ve never touched them—more than enough excitement in day-to-day living without dosing myself with chemical additives.” He hesitated, then added with huge reluctance, “I’m here to give you something, not to take anything away.”

      “There’s nothing you can give me that I would want,” she said stonily. “Nothing.”

      “How can you say that, when you haven’t heard me out?” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “The first step is for both of us to stand up, how about it?”

      He took her by the elbow. The coolness of her skin seeped into his pores; her nearness sent heat licking along his veins, liquid heat, primitive and lethal. Oh, no, he thought, appalled. He wasn’t going to lust after Del’s granddaughter. That really wasn’t in the cards.

      But as he eased her upright, his senses were assaulted by her body’s fragility, and by the scent of lavender, delicate and uncomplicated, that drifted from her skin. Again desire ravaged him, unasked for, totally unwelcome. With all the willpower at his command, a willpower honed over the years, Cade kept his face an unrevealing mask and forced himself to relax.

      Shrugging off his fleece vest, he wrapped it around her shoulders. “You’re cold,” he said. “Go inside and get something warm on. You could call the police, too—Dan Pollard’s the sheriff’s name, I’ve known him for years. Give him a description, and he’ll vet me. Then we’ll talk.”

      Tess swallowed. Cade Lorimer was standing too close to her, much too close. But while there was concern in his voice, and remorse overlying the gray depths of his gaze, she had the strong sense that both these emotions were, at best, superficial. Lorimer, she thought, and shuddered. How could she trust anyone with the same last name as Cory, her father? “I’ll call the police right away,” she said flatly. “Don’t follow me into the house.”

      A gull screamed overhead as she walked steadily toward the cabin. The door shut decisively behind her, and Cade heard the snap of the lock. Restlessly he began prowling up and down. If she really was Del’s granddaughter, why had she never contacted Del? She’d been here for nearly a year, and not once had she put the touch on him. So what kind of game was she playing? Lying to him, telling him both her grandparents were dead, acting as though he, Cade, was a combination of Attila the Hun and Hannibal Lector.

      What was taking her so long?

      Swiftly he walked around the back of the cabin, wondering if he’d fallen for the second oldest trick in the book—escape via the back door. But through the plate glass windows that overlooked a small deck and the ocean, he could see Tess Ritchie inside the cabin, her back to him as she did something at the stove. Declining to spy on her, Cade turned and stared out to sea.

      No answers there.

      The back door scraped open. Tess said, “I’ve made coffee. I’ll give you sixteen minutes of my time and not a minute more.”

      “Did you phone the sheriff?”

      As she gave a choppy nod, Cade pulled up one of the cheap plastic chairs and sat down. She set a tray on the low table. Her movements swift, she poured two mugs of steaming coffee and pushed a plate of muffins toward him. “Homemade?” he asked casually.

      “Blueberry. I picked the berries two weeks ago. I’ve lived here nearly a year—why did you pick today to turn up?”

      He knew exactly how long she’d lived here. “A month ago my grandfather had a minor heart attack. It scared the pants off him—his first intimation that he, like everyone else, is mortal. That’s when he hired an investigator to—”

      “An investigator?”

      The terror was back, full force, nor was she making any effort to mask it. “That’s right,” Cade said, all his suspicions resurfacing. “Del wanted to discover your whereabouts. Eventually the investigator came up with this location. You must have known of Del’s existence, or why else would you be living so close?”

      Tess buried her nose in her mug, inhaling the pungency of the dark Colombian blend. “I’m living on the island because I was offered a job here and I love the sea.” And because, she thought, it was a very long way from Amsterdam. “Why would Cory lie, telling me both my grandparents were dead?” she flashed. “My grandfather died years ago, in New York City. Not long after, my grandmother succumbed to pneumonia.”

      “Was Cory a truthful man?”

      Her fingers tightened around the handle of her mug. “He had no reason to lie.”

      “He did lie. Del’s very much alive and wants to meet you. That’s why I’m here—to bring that about.”

      Coffee sloshed over the rim of her mug. “No.”

      “You haven’t even heard me out.”

      “I don’t СКАЧАТЬ