Page 36 of Bedding his Innocent Mistress

“I love sleeping with you. But this isn’t a relationship. We’re not a couple. It’s easier for me to remember that when I sleep in my own bed. Alone.”

“And you would forget if you slept with me?”

“I am sleeping with you,” she deliberately misunderstood him.

He made a grunting sound of frustration.

“I need to feel in control of this,” she said quietly, desperately. “I can’t get hurt again.”

“I’ve told you, I have no plans to hurt you.”

Her smile was wistful. “Nor did Steve.”

And nothing, no smile, no expression of grief, could soften that blow. The last thing Rafe Santoro wanted was to be compared to Ivy’s ex.

*

He stared at the box, frustration making him frown.

He didn’t know what the hell was the matter with him. Ivy was right. He didn’t want a relationship any more than she did. He’d never been into a woman for long – his relationships burned fast and bright, but they always ended, and this would be no different.

At some point, he’d go back to Spain, and Ivy would get over her ex, and this would end.

Rafe swore under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair.

The ex.

That had to explain his singular obsession to break her. To make her give him more of herself than she was willing. It wasn’t about Ivy, nor was it about desire. It was about ego.

Rafe damned well hated that she was still hung up on the idiot who’d broken her heart. The bastard didn’t deserve Ivy, that much was obvious.

Something like a sharp blade seemed to perforate the edges of Rafe’s soul.

Ivy was using Rafe to get over Steve. That had been obvious from the beginning, and Rafe had fallen in with the plan. So why was he so angry about it now? Why did that knowledge make him feel like dragging Ivy to his home in Spain and holding her captive until she couldn’t even remember her ex’s name?

He dug his nails into his palms, turning back to the box with a sense of destiny.

Ivy wanted him to seduce her; she wanted him to seduce her to a point of forgetfulness and oblivion, and Rafe would do just that. If she wanted this to be just about sex, if that made her feel better, then he’d go along with it.

And he’d have fun, while he was at it.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE BOX ARRIVED ON Saturday morning. Ivy was reading the news on the GBRTV iPad app, listening to Adele, and was on about her fifth cup of tea when the knock came.

Her heart leaped.

Rafe?

Ridiculous.

He’d been very quiet since their lunch the day before. He hadn’t asked her to his apartment, and she hadn’t offered. She might crave him bodily, but she was in control of her cravings and whatever they were.

She padded to the door, cinching her robe more tightly around her waist as she pulled it inwards.

“Miss Hennessey? Sign here, please.” The delivery man held a white box towards her, and Ivy took it, juggling it on her hip as she ran the stylus across the electronic pad.

“Thanks,” she murmured, kicking the door shut with the heel of her foot and moving back down the hallway. She pulled at the ribbon as she went, because she was impatient. She recognised Rafe’s scrawl across the front of the box and curiosity was chewing through her. She placed it on the table to finish, pushing the lid off and separating the tissue paper with mounting fascination.

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