His Inexperienced Mistress. Chantelle Shaw
he had struggled to find one case that held his attention long enough for him to forget she was in the room.
When he’d tried to engage her in a conversation about what had happened the night of Jo’s eighteenth birthday party she had clammed up, and he had to wonder why. Jordana had implied that he’d been wrong about Lily’s involvement, but if so why would Lily remain tight-lipped and only throw him that phony smile of hers when he broached the topic?
A roar from the crowd snapped his head around as a tall, buff Latino heart-throb dressed in torn jeans and a crumpled shirt swaggered towards Lily, raising both hands to wave at the near-hysterical crowd as he went. Lily turned and swatted the man with her million-dollar smile and Tristan felt his insides clench. That smile was like the midday sun coming out from behind heavy clouds—bright and instantly warming. Seductive and impossible to ignore. And so genuine it made his jaw harden. She had yet to turn it his way again, and he realised that he wanted her to. Badly.
The heart-throb draped his arm around Lily’s waist and leaned in to kiss her, smiling at her like some long-lost lover.
They looked good together, his dark hair a perfect foil for her blondeness, and Tristan’s eyes narrowed as he watched them work the crowd. His initial instinct to leap forward and rip the actor’s arm from its socket slowly abated as he calmed his senses and realised that the actor’s light touches here and there were too tentative to be that of a lover.
If the guy had known her intimately he wouldn’t be just placing his hand on her hip now and then for a photo. He’d be subtly spreading his fingers wide over the small of her back, which Tristan already knew was sensitive to a man’s touch. He’d let his fingers trail the naked baby-soft skin there and smile into her eyes when she delicately shuddered in response. Maybe he’d even press lightly on her flesh to have her arch ever so slightly towards him. Maybe exert just enough pressure so that he could hear that soft hitch in her breath as her mouth parted—
Hell.
Tristan pulled his thoughts back from the brink and dug his hands into his pockets, calling himself an idiot and wondering how long he could continue like this.
The crowd gave a howl of complaint as Lily and the heart-throb walked back towards the red carpet. The actor’s hand hovered behind her protectively, and even though Tristan knew they weren’t lovers he could tell by the expression on the Latino’s face that he’d probably give up that arm to become so.
He was immensely irritated by the man’s proprietorial air—and by his own desire to possess her. Especially when she had done little to incite his attention. And why hadn’t she?
Lily Wild was turning out to be an enigma, and he was not at all happy to find that he might have been guilty of stereotyping her just as much as the next person.
‘I have to do the red carpet thing and answer a few questions from the press and then we can go in,’ she murmured over the noise of the crowd.
He nodded, but his eyes were on the actor, and Tristan found himself deliberately stepping into Lily’s personal space to let the heart-throb know she was off-limits.
Lily’s eyes widened quizzically, but the actor got the message, throwing his chest forward in a display of machismo.
They took each other’s measure for a beat, and then the actor gave a typically Mediterranean shrug.
‘Hey, man, don’t sweat it.’ He laughed, backing down when it became obvious that Tristan wouldn’t. ‘I was just helping Angel, here. You know how she gets in crowds.’
Tristan didn’t, but he nodded anyway and watched the heart-throb amble further along the line.
He put his hand on Lily’s arm to stop her following. ‘What was he talking about?’
Lily sniffed, and raised a hand to wave at her fans. ‘Nothing.’
He tightened his grip as she made to shrug him off. ‘How was he helping you?’
‘Not by feeding me drugs, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
He hadn’t been thinking that, and her comment ticked him off. ‘Then tell me what he was talking about.’
‘I can’t explain here.’ She nodded to a fellow actor who blew a hello kiss. ‘I don’t have time.’
‘Make time.’
‘Oh!’ She huffed, and then leaned closer to him, her delicate perfume wafting into his sinuses. ‘I used to have agoraphobia. Now can we go?’
Tristan frowned. ‘Fear of open spaces?’
‘Do you even know how to whisper?’ she complained, clearly uncomfortable with the subject matter. ‘Most people think of it as that, but in my case it’s a fear of crowds and being trapped in a situation I can’t control.’
‘That’s what the therapy was about?’ he said.
She glanced at him sharply. ‘How do you know…? Oh, your special investigator’s report. Well, it’s nice to know he got some things right.’
‘How do you know it was a he?’
‘Because from the little I know of what’s in it he’s made snap judgements on very little evidence at all—just like a man.’
Tristan bit back a response and refocused. ‘How bad is your phobia?’
Lily sighed. ‘It’s not bad at all. Jordi Mantuso and I swapped stories on set and he was just being kind.’
Tristan was shocked by her revelation. ‘And are you okay? Right now?’
She looked taken aback by the question and he gritted his teeth, realising that his behaviour towards her had given her a very negative impression of who he was.
‘Y-yes. I’m okay. It’s not like I can’t go out in a crowd—it’s more a fear of being trapped by them.’
‘Like when you were a child and surrounded with your parents’ crowds of fans?’
The softness that had come over her face at his concern disappeared, and she looked away before glancing back. ‘Yes. They think that’s where it started. But I haven’t had an attack in years.’
One of the female minders approached, to find out what was delaying them, and Tristan watched Lily paste on a smile that didn’t reach her eyes as she walked towards the rows of paparazzi.
She answered questions and posed for photographs like the professional she was, and he couldn’t help respecting the adversity she had learned to overcome in order to work in her chosen profession.
He could see her making moves to finish up, and then her body stiffened. Something was wrong. Was she having a panic attack?
‘I don’t do theatre,’ she was saying firmly.
‘But why not, Lily? You’ve been offered the role of a lifetime, playing your mum. Are you not even considering it?’
‘No.’ Polite, but definite.
‘What’s wrong with the U.K., Lily? Don’t you like us?’
‘Of course.’ Another pretty smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘My schedule hasn’t allowed me to return to England before now.’
‘The roles you choose…’ an oily voice spoke up from the rear and paused for effect ‘…they’re very different women from your mother. Is that a deliberate decision on your part? Is that why you won’t take the West End gig?’
Lily felt Tristan step closer, and the warmth from his body momentarily distracted her from the reporter’s question. She hated this part of the proceedings. And she wouldn’t take the part playing her mother if it was the last known acting role on the planet.
‘I choose my roles according to what interests me. My current film, Carried Away, is a romantic comedy, and…I like happy endings…what