The Billionaire's Virgin Mistress. Sandra Field

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ wasn’t going to do a damn thing about it. For starters, she was Del’s granddaughter and strictly off-limits. Plus—more importantly—he was far from convinced she was as innocent as she looked. Too much money was at stake.

      She said shakily, “You’re early.”

      “I did knock. The door wasn’t locked.”

      “I usually don’t bother locking it. Although I guess I should when you’re around.”

      He said hoarsely, “Tess—”

      “Don’t come near me!”

      The terror was back full force. “Sometime—soon—you’re going to tell me why I frighten you so badly,” he said. “I made a dinner reservation for seven—charming though you look right now, a towel won’t cut it.”

      Her heart was still racketing in her chest. Sure, he’d startled her. But it was more than that. In his light gray suit, blue shirt and silk tie, Cade looked formidably sophisticated and wholly, disturbingly male. Not to mention sexy, a word she avoided like the plague.

      She was the nearest thing to naked.

      Power, she thought slowly, that’s what he breathed; although he was quite possibly unaware of it. Power. Money. Sexual charisma. All three put his danger quotient off the chart.

      She didn’t do sex.

      To her horror, she heard herself blurt, “If Del Lorimer’s my grandfather, that makes you my uncle.” This all-too-obvious fact hadn’t struck her until five minutes after Cade had driven away from her cabin this morning.

      “I’m Del’s adopted son,” Cade said curtly. “No blood relation to your grandfather at all. Or to you.” Just as well, he thought savagely, given the way his hormones were acting up.

      Adopted. Not a blood relative. But not her fate, either, Tess thought in a sudden snap of fury. Merely a man who was a total stranger to her, and who would remain just that—a stranger.

      Unfortunately her thoughts didn’t stop there. Because she’d grown up in an environment where she could trust nothing, she’d always endeavored to remain honest with herself. If she were to be honest now, relief had been her predominant emotion that Cade Lorimer wasn’t related to her by blood; close on its heels had been utter dismay at all the implications of that relief.

      It didn’t matter who Cade was. She just didn’t do sex.

      Deeply grateful he couldn’t read her mind, she said tartly, “So you’re an adopted son. If I’m the newly discovered granddaughter, aren’t you afraid I’ll supplant you?”

      “No,” Cade said coldly, and watched her lower her lashes, her face unreadable.

      Then she looked up, meeting his gaze in unspoken challenge. “My clothes are on the chair,” she said. “Turn your back.”

      Unwillingly admiring her spirit, he tore his eyes from the silken slopes of her bare shoulders and did as she asked. “You okay with this music?”

      “Meatloaf, Verdi, Diana Krall,” she said wildly, “play what you like. And I’m not wearing a towel for dinner, I’m wearing a dress. The only one I own, so if it’s not up to your standards, too bad.”

      “You’d look gorgeous wearing burlap.”

      “Mr. Cade Flattery Lorimer,” she retorted, picking up her clothes and holding them like a shield in front of her.

      Suddenly angry, Cade turned to face her. “I mean it. Look in the mirror, for God’s sake—you’re an extraordinarily beautiful woman.”

      Her jaw dropped. “I’m too skinny and my hair’s a mess.”

      He grinned at her, a mocking grin sparked with so much energy that it took her breath away. “Slender, not skinny,” he drawled. “Although you’re right about the hair—a good cut would do wonders.”

      “What is your angle? If money doesn’t work, try sex?”

      “What a wildcat you are. Hissing and spitting if anyone gets near you.”

      “Whereas you’re like a panther! Sleek and dangerous.”

      She hadn’t meant to say that. Only to think it.

      “Now who’s pouring on the flattery?” Cade said. “Get dressed and dry that mop of hair, or we’ll be late for dinner.”

      Oddly enough, beneath a storm of emotions she couldn’t possibly have labeled, Tess was very hungry. Scowling, she marched out of the room with as much dignity as she could muster when swathed in an old blue bath towel, and shut her bedroom door with more than necessary force. For the first time in her life, she wished she owned a real dress. Something out of Vogue, stunningly simple, reeking of money and sophistication.

      With a vicious snap she switched on her hair dryer. She didn’t have time to cut her hair, but she was going to slather on eye shadow and mascara. For courage, she thought, picking up her brush.

      Because wasn’t one of the several reasons she’d decided to keep this dinner date the simple fact that running away was the coward’s way out?

      In the last few years, she’d done too much running.

      Cade had put on Mozart by the time Tess walked back into the living room. Taking his time, he looked her up and down, noticing instantly that her fingernails were digging into her palms, and her jaw was tight. Her dress was a plain black sheath, teamed with sheer black hose and stiletto heels. She’d swept her tangle of hair into a knot high on her head; clustered black beads dangled from her earlobes. Her mouth—his own went dry—was a luscious raspberry-red. He said, “Beautiful’s such an overused word—you take my breath away.”

      Her heart lurched in her breast. She said coolly, “I made my dress from a remnant that was on sale. The shoes come from Second Time Around—I only hope the original owner won’t be eating dinner at the hotel.”

      “I bet she never looked that good in them.”

      “You’re too kind.”

      Part of her liked this verbal banter, Tess thought uneasily. Quelling a stab of fear, she took a white mohair sweater from the cupboard, flung it around her shoulders and stalked out the door.

      Cade’s car smelled of leather; he drove with smooth competence, making small talk about the scenery. Ten minutes later they were seated in the hotel dining room by a window overlooking the ocean, the applewood in the fireplace crackling cheerfully. Trying not to panic at the alarming array of silverware, Tess took a deep breath and went on the offensive. “Your company—Lorimer Inc.—owns this hotel. And many others, worldwide, all part of the DelMer chain of fine hotels.”

      “Del has rather a large ego—he liked the idea of combining his two names. So you checked him out.”

      “Him and his adopted son. I’d be a fool not to meet him, wouldn’t I? A rich old man—every woman’s dream.”

      “No more shoes from Second Time Around,” Cade said.

      “No СКАЧАТЬ