Page 5 of Bedding his Innocent Mistress

“Because you’re obviously very smart,” Lisette winked and then threw her scotch back in one go, wincing as it burned through her. She stood, running a hand down her front and smoothing out the fabric of the black bodycon dress. “Ives, a friend just texted to see if I can meet up. I’m going to head off.”

Ivy shook her head slowly, a smile on her lips. “You really are incorrigible.”

“So I’ve been told.” Lisette leaned closer, pulling her cousin into an embrace and kissing her cheek. “Be safe,” she whispered. “And have fun.”

“You too,” Ivy said as Lisette straightened, and could only watch as the blonde sauntered away, her head bent over her cell as she tapped out a reply to whomever this friend was.

“So…” Ivy looked up at the handsome stranger – no longer a stranger.

Rafe Santoro.

The name was familiar to her, but in a foggy way that might have been just because it suited him so absolutely perfectly.

“So…Let’s go,” he said darkly, his intention formed and set.

Her laugh was a sexy husk. “You literally just got us drinks.”

He reached over and took the flute from her, placing it on the table beside them and then chasing her now-empty hand. He laced his fingers with hers, lifting them to his lips. His breath was warm as he placed a single kiss against the back of her hand. “I know. Let’s go,” he repeated, and a frisson of anticipation warmed her from the inside out. This was the time to decide who she wanted to be.

A woman desperately pining for a man who no longer wanted her?

Or the kind of woman who wasn’t afraid to enjoy life?

“Let’s go,” she nodded, and there wasn’t a single doubt in her mind as she said it.

CHAPTER TWO

“HOLY CRAP,” SHE muttered, frozen just inside the door of his ‘apartment’. Well, that was a misnomer if ever she’d heard one.

“This is like a … freaking sky palace,” she stood on the spot but did a slow, thorough three-sixty-degree revolution. The apartment hadn’t been ‘just around the corner’. It had been a quick, chauffeur driven ride into the City – a ride in which Ivy was too wound up by adrenalin to attempt more than perfunctory small-talk. They’d parked undercover and caught the lift right to the top floor – level forty-two of what must be The Langton, going from the view she could see through the windows.

And could you technically call them windows when they formed an entire wall of the apartment and part of the roof? They curved beautifully and she could see the wisps of clouds against the inky black of the night sky. Beyond the glass, at one end of the enormous living space, there were floating lights. A balcony, she guessed. The walls that weren’t made of glass were white. Not warm white. Stark white. And there were dramatic pieces of art splashed loudly across the serenity. The décor was modern, all Scandinavian style timber furniture mixed with more glass and steel.

“This is where you live?”

He was right behind her, his body warmth a physical barrier she wanted to fall into.

“No,” his fingers grazed the flesh on the underside of her arm as he loosened her clutch from its spot, gripped against her side. He took it and strode deeper into the cavernous space, tossing it carelessly on a side table before turning to regard her thoughtfully.

“No? Are we breaking in?” She responded huskily, slipping her feet out of the wedge-heels she wore, grateful for the vertical-reprieve. She wiggled her toes and the bright red polish she’d had applied winked back at her encouragingly. “Should I be braced to defend us?”

His laugh sent a throb of something delicious down her spine. “As much as I’d like to see that, no. It’s mine; I own it. But I don’t live here.”

She regarded him thoughtfully. “Where do you live then?”

“I have a place outside San Sebastian; that’s home. But I spend much of my time in Madrid… for work.”

“You travel a lot?”

His nod was a concession. “You?”

Steve had been afraid of flying, which, given the constraints of her job, had limited the places they could go. “Only really to France.” There had been a girls’ trip to Budapest one weekend. “Hungary. Not as much as I’d like to.”

He nodded, and she had the sense that he was reading more from the statement than she’d permitted. That he was analysing her rather than just making conversation. His eyes – they were so distractingly stunning – narrowed, speculation giving them a glow.

“Why not?”

Her smile was dismissive. “I work long hours. It’s hard to get away.” Keen to change the subject off anything that might remind her of Steve, she said, “We should have gone to my place. This is too nice. I’ll break something.”

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