Mistresses: Passionate Revenge. Trish Morey
to the motion, and all the while shuffling on her stiletto heels in search of the ever-elusive balance as the boat sliced through the gentle swell.
She abandoned the barely touched glass of champagne, exchanging it for water, which still failed to settle her stomach. The fresh air on deck didn’t help, not when all she could notice was the line of lights atop the cliffs moving up and down and the passenger catamaran skipping away from them on the seas. When perspiration started beading at her forehead, she knew she was in trouble.
‘Andreas,’ she said, one hand on her stomach as they moved between groups on the deck. ‘I don’t feel—’
‘Andreas! There you are.’
Cleo stepped back, wondering if she could just slip away as Andreas was swept into a man’s embrace, his back slapped by one beefy hand. It was no mean feat given the man barely came up to Andreas’ shoulders, his black jacket widest around his ample stomach, and his features creased and heavy with age and excess.
‘Constantine,’ Andreas said, ‘it is always a great pleasure. Allow me to introduce Cleo Taylor, all the way from Australia.’
‘Ah,’ said the beaming Greek, his eyes sizing her up and taking her hand gallantly. ‘Then it is in fact my pleasure.’ He held out a hand and gestured around him. ‘Tell me, what do you think of my little runaround?’
It was hitting the ferry’s wake that did it. Her stomach felt as if it had speared into the sky only to be slammed down again and she knew it was too late. If she opened her mouth, she was lost. She pushed her glass into Andreas’ free hand, shoved a path between the two men and bolted for the bathroom.
WHAT had he been thinking? Cleo was hopeless. A blow-up doll would have made a more convincing mistress. And the look Constantine had given him when they’d been offloaded back on shore had spoken volumes. Andreas wasn’t holding out for good news in that department any time soon. The ‘I told you so’ look Petra had thrown his way as they’d disembarked hadn’t helped.
The car slowly wound its way up the cliff-face road, the lights of Con’s yacht heading once more for the sea, the music and laughter drifting upwards on the breeze, rubbing salt into his wounds, while alongside him Cleo sat hunched and looking despondently out of her window.
Damn it, was it too much to ask to get something for his million dollars?
Carrying her shoes in one hand, Cleo made straight for the bathroom where she spent at least five times the recommended daily time with her toothbrush and at least that again holding a cold towel to her red and swollen eyes. Andreas had thankfully kept silent all the way home, although she’d known that simmering silence would erupt at some stage, especially after the pleasure boat had had to make a special trip back to the wharf to drop them off.
So be it. She knew she was already a disappointment to him. And now she’d probably blown a million-Euro business deal. But she’d warned him she wasn’t the right woman for the job. Maybe now he might listen. Maybe now he would let her go. If he didn’t throw her out first.
She sniffed, close to tears again. Did it matter? Either way, she was going.
He was sitting on the bed, flinging off first one shoe and then the other when she emerged. Following them with his silk socks. Without following her progress across the room, he spoke. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you get seasick?’
She stopped, just short of pulling open the wardrobe door. So the volcano was about to erupt? She was surprised he’d kept quiet this long. ‘Maybe I didn’t know.’
This time he did look up, disbelief plain on his features. ‘How could anyone not know?’
‘I’ve never been on a boat before. There’s not a big call for boats where I come from.’
He answered with nothing more than a grunt. ‘It could have been worse,’ she offered, trying to sound light but having to bite down on her lip to counter the prick of tears.
‘Do you think? Do you really think it could have been worse?’
‘Sure. I could have thrown up all over the both of you.’
‘You might just as well have, for all the good taking you tonight is going to do me.’
She closed her eyes and swayed against the door, liquid spilling from her eyes, and the sound of his clothes hitting the floor piece by piece like a series of exclamation marks. ‘I know. I’m sorry.’ She took a deep breath and reached in, hauling out her pack from the depths of the wardrobe. ‘It won’t happen again. There’s no way it will happen again.’
Andreas seemed to come from nowhere, his arms forcing her around even as she clung onto the pack. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
She couldn’t bring herself to look at his face. But it was no compensation that her eyes were met by the wall of his naked chest, a naked chest she’d never see the likes of again after tonight. ‘I can’t do this, Andreas,’ she said as her mind set about imprinting every square centimetre of his perfect skinscape on her memory while he slipped the pack from her hands. ‘I’m going home.’
‘You can’t go. We have a contract!’
‘I can’t do this. I’m sorry, I’m hopeless in this role, and you know it.’
‘No! That’s not true.’ He didn’t know where the words came from. Hadn’t he thought the very same thing himself tonight? But he had no answer for that mystery. All he knew was that he couldn’t let her go, couldn’t let her walk out of his life. Not like this. Not when he knew the sunshine of her smile. Not when he knew he was the one who had taken it away from her.
She tried to shrug away, even as his thumbs stroked her collarbone. ‘You don’t have to try to be nice to me. I know you’re angry and you have a right to be. I told you I wasn’t the right person for this job. I’m a cleaner. A cleaner who jumps every time you touch her. A cleaner who’s just discovered she gets seasick. Not exactly an asset to you.’
‘Not every time.’
She blinked up at him, frowning. ‘What?’
‘You don’t jump every time. You’re not jumping now. And I’m touching you. And I’d like to go on touching you.’
Her blue eyes widened. ‘Andreas?’
And he answered her question the only way he knew how. With a kiss that he hoped would tell her he wanted her to stay. That he didn’t want her to leave. He drew her closer against him, until the silk of her golden gown pressed warm and slippery and seductive against his skin. He managed to prise his lips away from hers long enough to say the words. ‘I want to make love to you, Cleo.’
She was gasping for breath, and no doubt searching for reason. ‘The contract…’ she uttered.
‘This is nothing to do with the contract. This is between you and me. Make love with me, Cleo.’
Did he mean that? Her thought processes were blurred, her senses packed to overload. What he could do to her skin with the touch of one thumbnail. What he could do to her breasts with just the brush of one fingertip. What he could do with one whispered request…
‘Make love with me.’
He wasn’t playing fair. Sex as a by-product of their arrangement—it should be clinical and dispassionate, surely. And then she could be rational and sensible in her rebuttal. But this assault was like a drug, winding logic into sensual knots, feeding into those parts of her that longed for more of what Andreas could provide.
His hands slid down her arms, captured her breasts and forced the air from her lungs. ‘Make love with me.’ And the only answer she could find was to lift her hands behind her neck and unclip her halter top, so