Page 9 of Bedding his Innocent Mistress

Her mouth went dry but she smiled and reached for her champagne, drinking it gratefully. It was still cold. She padded barefoot towards the doors that must lead to the balcony. As she got closer, she could see that the outdoor space was larger than she’d appreciated. There was a table that would comfortably seat twelve, two wicker lounges with deep, cream coloured cushions, and a spa in one corner.

“This place is insane.”

He laughed. “I suppose so. I don’t really think of it.”

Ivy’s job was great. She’d worked her way up and she was in a high-level position at a leading media company. Her salary was way above what she thought fair, and her home was lovely. A pang of something sharp jabbed her as memories of house-hunting with Steve besieged her. The feeling of delight when they found ‘the one’ and gleefully plotted out which rooms they’d use for what… right down to a nursery for their prospective, one-day-when-the-time-is-right children.

Yes, her lifestyle was good, but it was nothing compared to this. “What do you do?”

“Do?” He arched a thick, dark brow.

“Professionally,” she prompted, her hand lifting to the door and opening it without realising what she intended.

“I do many things,” he said simply, but in a way that was as charismatic as it was confusing.

He followed her as she stepped outside, flicking a switch on the wall that gave life to the dozens of bobbing fairy lights strung across the balcony. Ivy gasped.

It was like a little slice of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, right there in front of her. “How can you not think this beautiful?”

He shrugged. “Like I said, you would find my home in Spain beautiful.”

“I find this… stunning.” She breathed in. At this height, the air was thick and cool. Autumn was upon them but the night was still comfortable. She sat on one end of the sofa, revelling in the unfamiliar sense of awareness that his sensory invasion had sparked.

“Mmm,” he grunted noncommittally, his eyes raking her face. “Do you go to the casino often?”

She shook her head. “God, no. It’s not really my scene. Tonight was my first time.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “What is your scene, then?”

“Oh.” She’d walked right into that one. “I’m more of a homebody.”

He dropped his gaze slowly, deliberately, raking his eyes over her body with the kind of inspection that made her feel he could see every single inch of her. And he probably could. “I find that almost impossible to believe.”

“Seriously? You don’t know me. I’m … way more comfortable in my pyjamas with Netflix going all night.” She shook her head. “An insatiable appetite for crime drama is my vice. Law and Order. SVU. The Practice. Love them all.”

“And this is how you spend your Friday nights generally?”

She bit down on her lip. “You think that’s sad?”

“I think it’s a waste,” he corrected, gravelly appreciation in his voice.

She shrugged. “Lisette’s into this stuff. When I’m out I tend to be more into restaurants and art. But, you know, she’s over from Vegas and has her own ideas about what constitutes a good time.” The way Ivy said it with a little roll of her eyes made him warm, for some reason.

“The casino would have been pretty tame after the Vegas scene.”

“But a hell of a lot more thrilling than the night I had planned.”

“Which was?” He prompted.

“Oh, there’s this exhibit that’s just opened in Camden.” She and Steve had planned to go together. The thought made her voice crack, just a tiny bit, but she ploughed on regardless. “Rare, first edition books. Then champagne at the Tate Modern and Dim Sim on the South Bank.”

“Less thrilling,” he grinned. “But very ‘you’, I suspect.”

She tilted her head to her side. “And you are often at that casino, or bars like it, right?”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I conduct a lot of business from that sort of place.”

She wrinkled her nose and he noted that it made her look years younger. “You know, when you say it like that, you sound like some kind of high-end drug dealer or pimp or something.” And then, stricken. “Which you’re not, I presume?”

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