Unfinished Business: Bought: One Night, One Marriage / Always the Bridesmaid / Confessions of a Millionaire's Mistress. Robyn Grady
child was too much as it was.
He watched as she made her way to the door with her slower than usual—but still pretty quick—gait. He hadn’t been joking. She might have been leaning on her pregnancy vulnerability just then, but he’d noticed how tired she’d been these last couple of weeks. Her husband was a fool. No wife of Blake’s would be working through her pregnancy—not any of it. She’d be at home being cared for and not racing around.
He’d tried to lighten Judith’s workload for her, but she’d laughed at him. Saying she was pregnant, not sick, and that she was as capable as ever of the multitude of tasks he required of her. And, employment law being what it was, he had to let her. He still thought her husband would have more ability to slow her down. But he was so besotted he said yes to anything. Whatever made her happy, made him happy. Blake grimaced. He couldn’t ever see himself giving that kind of power to another. Self-sufficiency was the way to success.
Then again, hadn’t he failed to say no to Judith just now? His frown deepened and his sympathy for her husband grew. Her maternity leave definitely couldn’t come soon enough. And right now Blake had other things to worry about—like being paraded in front of a room full of women wanting to bid for the ‘catch of the day’.
His turn edged closer. He went and stood in the wings, peeked through a tiny gap in the curtain out to the audience. He knew full well Judith had misled him about this ‘charity fundraiser’. OK, not misled, but not filled in all the info on the page. He scanned the crowd. Women who’d probably never got their hands dirty. Never ever come into contact with the people this event was supposedly going to help. The homeless, the hopeless, the destitute, the desperate. They’d have no idea, here they were just doing their ‘bit’ for charity.
He listened to the high-pitched shrieks of laughter as the latest victim suffered the humiliation of being priced. This was shaping up to be one of the most embarrassing evenings of his life. But, as Judith had said, he’d made a promise and Blake McKay always kept his promises. He turned away from the audience, thrust back his shoulders and gave himself the pep talk. Whatever he did, he did to the best of his ability. This was how he’d climbed rung by rung from the bottom of the heap to the top. With sheer grit and determination to be the best. And so, if they wanted a man to perform, he’d be their man—their ‘He-Slave’. He loosened his tie a little. Ran his fingers through his hair to give him even more of the tousled long-day-at-the-office look. He looked across the backstage area at a couple of the other poor souls who’d been railroaded into ‘performing’ for charity. Saw one of them down a neat whisky. He flashed him a tight grin. Then Judith was back, telling him he was next up.
It wouldn’t be the first time Blake had used his body like this. He’d sold out before. Women found him attractive, thought he was handsome. He’d been paid good money to trade his looks. He knew he was above the shallowness, the insincerity. Just keep it light. Think of the money—think of the charity. His time as a model all those years ago had taught him that women loved the brooding look. Not a problem. He really was brooding—on the revenge he’d have on his PA the minute she got back to work on Monday.
He listened to the words of introduction in disbelief. Judith, grinning at him from the opposite wings, had done a fine job in talking up his assets. He’d come up with some hideous filing task to keep her bored for hours on Monday. Then his name rang out and, with a deep breath and a muttered curse, he stormed onto the stage, automatically moving his feet in time to the beat of the loud music. Once he got to the centre he stopped, stood. Clenching his jaw, he stared out. The audience was semi-lit. He could see sparkle and lipstick and hair—everywhere. The blonde highlights dazzled. He carefully looked over the audience, happy to take his time. He walked closer to the edge of the stage, so he could window-shop as obviously as they were window-shopping him. Never show you were intimidated. He would at least pretend to be in control of this situation. Bluff through until he had them.
He caught sight of one particularly blinding blonde and sent her a small smile. The shrieks increased. He turned, walked in the other direction. Blow hot, blow cold. Women were fickle creatures. He knew how to keep them keen; he also knew not to trust them, certainly never to take them seriously. But while his heart was permanently locked away from their clutches, his body didn’t mind messing around now and then. The adrenalin kicked in, and he almost, almost, began to enjoy it. He winked at another screamer. Raise money, get the bids up, up, up.
He almost missed her, his eyes nearly passing over without seeing, except her stillness marked her out in the clapping, cheering crowd. She was the shadow to the blonde and bejeweled beside her. Her dark hair hung in a neat bob. Glossy and sleek, it enhanced her pale skin, ruby lips, the gentle curve of her cheek. She was staring at him. Not moving. Not talking. Not laughing or even nodding in time to the beat. Eerily still in the room full of chaos. He paused, for a second forgetting what he was supposed to be doing.
Stick-figure women dressed in black usually didn’t do it for him. But this woman wasn’t stick-thin and on her the black emphasized her creaminess—her full creaminess. His muscles tightened that little bit, a small flame sparking inside.
She wasn’t shrieking, like the blonde next to her. She wasn’t even smiling. But she was staring. A cool look that had him wanting to shake the reserve from her. He was seized with the desire to make her move. To make her sway, make her want, and above all he wanted to wipe that icy look of condescension from her face. She was judging. He was not a man to be judged. Not by her. Not in the negative way she so obviously was.
Blake liked his coffee strong and dark, a little bitter. He was looking right at a very tempting espresso. For, despite the lack of smile, despite the patent disapproval, there was fire in her eyes.
Double espresso.
The blonde beside her was grinning widely—at her rather than at him. She didn’t seem to notice, she was too busy giving him that scornful look. For a long moment he stood as still as she sat. His jaw clenched, fists curled, and a wash of begrudging desire ran through him—desire to prove her wrong, to prove a point.
It became imperative not just to raise some money here, but some serious money. If he was going to sell himself, it would be for the highest price. At that he realized he’d better get back to the parading bit. For charity, he told himself, gritting his teeth and flashing a genuine tortured look.
He forced himself to relax, to smile at the harpy at the table on the other side, who had enough volume to drown out a crowd at a football match all by herself.
The experience from photographic shoots and catwalk struts came flooding back, his muscles remembering the way to move. With ease he prowled the length of the stage and back, pausing to deliver the ‘look’ now and then. He felt strangely energised, as if he were the one hunting out the prey, not the other way round. And he knew who his target would be this evening.
There was good-looking and there was ridiculous. The ripple of excitement through the audience had been obvious. Every eyebrow in the room had risen as that piece of perfection had so coolly moved out of the wings and onto centre stage with long, fluid strides and an insolent, daring look in his eyes. Edgy, angry man personified. And every woman in the room wanted to absorb his energy and take that dare head-on. Irresistible.
Cally wasn’t unaffected. She sat, desperately keeping a grip on every one of her muscles, barely hearing the gushing sales talk of the MC so bowled over was she by him.
‘Remember, ladies, he’ll be your slave. Act on your every whim. Say the word and he’ll deliver.’
Cally already knew he’d deliver. In that one moment when her gaze had locked with his he’d awakened a ferocious longing deep inside her. But then, she’d always had poor taste in men.
One woman at the table next to theirs shrieked so loudly Cally wondered for a second if the candle had somehow set the tablecloth on fire. But it was just him setting the entire bar alight. Hell, if he kept this up most of the women would be sliding off their seats. Cally knew she would if she hadn’t crossed her legs over and clamped her inner thighs together, trying to deny the instant physical reaction in her body that had occurred simply from seeing him, for what, less than a minute?