Page 4 of Bedding his Innocent Mistress

“And for your friend?”

“My cousin,” Ivy corrected. “Scotch.” She grimaced as she looked down at her stained dress. “But you don’t have to…”

“It would be my pleasure.” He brought himself closer and lowered his voice to a gravelled whisper. “As would many other things I’m thinking of right now.”

Ivy swallowed. His meaning was clear. He was hers for the taking. Did she want him?

It was a stupid question that mocked her as she stood in the bathroom, crouched at the knees to get her dress in the right position to dry off. It was warm across her chest, and before long, the mark began to fade, leaving only a faint indication of watermark against the silky fabric.

It’s not working. I just don’t love you anymore.

The words had been circling through her mind for six damned months. That shock of coming home, planning what she was going to cook for dinner - sea bass with lime butter. Ivy’s biggest predicament had been whether she’d serve it with roast baby potatoes or creamy mash.

I don’t understand. You’ve always loved me.

In fact, Steve had always said how lucky he felt to be with Ivy. You’re too good for me, he’d complained time and time again. Look how bloody hot you are and I’m all paunchy and balding already.

Ivy hadn’t noticed those things.

She’d loved all of him.

The eyes that met hers in the reflection of the bathroom were wet with unshed tears. Her heart was hurting.

Six months!

When would she wake up and not think of Steve? When would she stop waiting for him to realise he’d made a mistake and come home to her? When would she get rid of the knick-knacks that were his? The model DeLorean because he’d loved Back to the Future. The alarm that you stopped by throwing basketballs at its centre. All these things littered her home as though he would come back at any point and life would resume.

But it wouldn’t.

He had a new life.

And he was happy.

She knew because his fiancé was all over social media like a rash and Ivy wasn’t above a bit of a late night, wine-induced trawl. It was always misery inducing, and she always regretted it the next day.

So why not have something different to regret?

Something new and exciting and, she suspected, infinitely more satisfying than stalking her way through loved-up images of the kind of engagement party her Steve would have found insufferably twee?

She was twenty-four years old, and single for the first time in her adult life.

And a really hot guy wanted to take her home.

She stood up straight, and pulled her dark hair over her shoulder. It was a stain on her pale skin and the blood-red dress.

Without giving herself a moment to question the wisdom of what she was about to do, she strode out of the bathroom and back to the main room of the elite casino, desire and lost-pride firing the urgency of her step.

He was talking to Lisette. He’d said something that had made her laugh, because her blonde head was tilted back, her big red lips open in amusement.

Jealousy and uncertainty spread through her gut, but she’d had two glasses of champagne and they were her confidence’s armour. They wrapped her back up, keeping her footing self-assured. When she was close enough, she put a hand lightly on his back. Just enough to draw his interested gaze to her face.

“Something funny?”

“Hey! Rafe Santoro, this is Ivy Hennessey, my delightful cousin and occasional partner-in-crime.”

“Why do I think you two would be quite the formidable crime duo?” He asked with a sexy smile as he reached for a glass of champagne and handed it to Ivy. She took it, purposefully wrapping her fingers across his and enjoying the sizzle of heat that sparked instantly between them.

It was different to how she’d felt with Steve, but then, they’d been together forever. They were comfortable lovers. It had never been steamy. In fact, with the benefit of hindsight, she saw that they’d been more like friends.

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