Page 11 of Hidden Heir With His Housekeeper

She wanted to be outraged at the intrusive question. Tried to feel indignant.

But, before she could find a reply, he hooked a tendril of her hair behind her ear. His thumb glided down her cheek, making her skin sizzle, and then stroked the pulse point in her neck, completely disarming her.

Her breathing gathered painfully in her lungs as he tucked his hand back into his pocket. But the damage was already done.

The proprietary touch should have disturbed her, but all it did was energise her and make her rampaging pulse get wedged between her thighs. Her gaze seemed to be locked with his. She didn’t need his approval, so why did what he thought of her seem to matter so much? Enough for her to search for an answer which wouldn’t reveal the humiliating truth—that she had been engaged to Jack Wolfe to please her father.

‘I... I don’t really know,’ she lied. ‘Jack asked me and I was hopelessly flattered, so I said yes.’

She looked away from his probing gaze, embarrassed by her not entirely truthful answer. But as she imagined what he might think of her lame response, she became brutally aware of the different paths their lives had taken.

Mason Foxx had never bowed to anyone else’s wishes but his own. While she’d always taken the easy option, obeying her father because it had been so much less stressful than standing up to him, the way Katie had done. What would this man think of her, if he knew that about her? A man who, by all accounts, had been given nothing, and fought tooth and nail for every single thing he possessed. While she’d been born into privilege, had been handed everything on a silver platter, and owned virtually nothing of any value.

She planned to change that, had convinced herself that honing her language skills would eventually help her find a way out, but the truth was her life at this point was a mere shadow of what it could have been if she’d been less of a doormat.

He hadn’t said anything, hadn’t responded to her answer. Maybe because he knew it was a lie.

She stared at the magnificent skyline—the majesty of Tower Bridge, the austere beauty of the Tower of London—and finally confronted the full weight of her own cowardice.

‘I knew as soon as I said yes to him, it was a colossal mistake,’ she murmured, wanting to be as honest as she could without exposing the sordid truth about her choices. ‘I knew Jack would consume me, and I could never make him happy. That I wasn’t enough for a man like him.’

She blinked furiously, aware of the pity tears she couldn’t let fall—because that would be hopelessly self-indulgent.

She was the only one to blame for her pathetic life, her lack of any concrete achievements. Yes, her father was a bully but she could have escaped him long ago, if she’d had Katie’s courage. Or the drive and ambition of Mason Foxx, a man who was determined to make his mark no matter the odds he faced.

She turned to find him watching her—the emerald-green eyes glittering with passion and purpose and an intensity which would have been disturbing if it weren’t so... Well, so exciting.

What he saw was the illusion, of course—of a serene, privileged woman in charge of her own life. Instead of a hopeless fake, in charge of nothing of any significance.

But, for once, Bea wanted to live up to the image, the hype. Maybe if a man like Mason Foxx could see something to admire in her, she could see something to admire too.

‘What makes you think you’re not enough for any man, Beatrice?’ he asked softly, sounding genuinely curious.

Because I know I’m a fake. But I intend to remedy that. Starting now.

She placed the half-empty glass of expensive wine on the bar. And met that dark, possessive gaze. She smiled, stupidly touched by his faith in her. Or at least in the illusion. And became mesmerised by the gold shards in his irises which were alight with a promise she now understood.

He could take her places she had never been before, never even wanted to go. If she let go of that frightened girl and embraced the woman she could be. The woman she had always wanted to be.

She lifted on tiptoes to cradle his cheek. His jaw tensed as he sucked in a breath and the day-old stubble rasped deliciously against her palm.

His eyes flared with longing. And the excitement in her gut surged, along with the potent feeling of power. And purpose.

‘Would you kiss me again, Mason?’ she asked.

Glass shattered as he went to place his wine on the bar and missed.

Triumph echoed through her heart at the thought she had so much more power than she had ever realised.

He clasped her hips in strong hands to drag her closer, until the hard line of his body moulded hers. Her nipples tightened painfully, pressed against his chest, the scent of soap and man intoxicating as it enveloped her.

He tucked a knuckle under her chin and bent his head towards her mouth.

But then he rasped, ‘You need to be sure, Princess.’ The mocking nickname was like an endearment, his hot breath feathering her cheek. ‘Because if I kiss you again, we might not be able to stop.’

She swallowed heavily. It was a warning, one that a frightened girl would once have heeded. She was unleashing something bigger than herself, something she knew nothing about. But in this moment, all his warning did was make the adrenaline spike and the ache in her core become painful.

Mason Foxx wanted her, and she wanted him. That was what mattered now.

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