by Trish Morey
He cast a glance in the direction of his deputy, who was sulkily scratching something into his PDA. ‘I’m none to impressed with Adrian’s advice lately. He can go and nurse his wounded pride back at the office. Meanwhile, we’re staying in Auckland for the next few days while the architects and lawyers nut out the details. We’re going to take a look at Quinn’s outfit tomorrow, then check out the competition. It’s going to be a busy few days, with more meetings and business dinners than you can imagine—you up to it?’
She smiled, feeling that strange, slow roll of her insides once more. She was not sure whether it was because he’d included her in that ‘we’re’, or because it felt like today they’d turned some kind of corner where, despite their different goals, at least they’d proved they could work together.
And, even better, at least she’d be out there doing something with him and not stuck in the hotel waiting for him, wondering when, if ever, he was going to come back.
If they could work together, if she could show she could perform in the boardroom and not just the bedroom, wouldn’t that give her more leverage when it came to changing his mind about Ashton House? So she’d bide her time, bite her tongue and wait for the perfect opportunity to raise the topic again.
‘I’m looking forward to it,’ she said.
Late the next day, Mackenzi felt like her head was going to explode. They’d done a tour of the site, checking out Quinn’s existing facilities, had gone with Quinn to visit what felt like at least a dozen other boatyards, and now Quinn was driving them back to the hotel. Her head was bursting with facts and figures and new found nautical knowledge.
But her education hadn’t finished there. She’d followed in Dante’s wake today, marvelling at the speed with which he picked up new concepts and terminology and ran with them, gaining a new respect for a man whose fortune, she assumed, had been built solely by riding roughshod over anyone and everything.
But this was a new Dante. Even now, as talk in the car turned to the specifications of the new boatyard, it was easy to see that a new rapport had been established between the two men as they enthusiastically exchanged ideas, both of them united in wanting to move the proposal beyond concept stage and into reality as quickly as possible.
No wonder he was so successful at business, she reflected, when he immersed himself so completely in the world he was entering. He couldn’t help but stay a step ahead of the competition.
She stole a glance at him while he spoke, feeling his enthusiasm, loving the energy that radiated out from him, the spark in the air around him. He turned, and caught her gaze and smiled at her through his words before turning his attention back to Quinn. It was only a moment, only a second that he’d turned her way, but Mackenzi felt the impact of his smile like a tripping of her thermostat, setting her blood to sizzle and her heartrate to overdrive.
Today she’d seen a different side to that ruthless businessman who had strong-armed his way into her life, and extracted a deal the devil himself would have been proud of.
A different side she wasn’t entirely sure she was comfortable with.
It had been easier when she’d hated him. It had been easier when she’d had no respect for him. And it had been so much easier when a mere look had felt like damnation and not temptation.
For that was what he’d become…
They said goodbye to Quinn at the hotel, and Dante took her arm, his fingers like a brand to her flesh. Their eyes met briefly and she caught a glimmer of something simmering beneath the surface, hot and urgent, and finding an answering call in the tremor that moved her body onto high alert.
Without either of them uttering a word, there was no doubt at all in her mind what they’d be doing five minutes from now. This man had an appetite for sex that astounded her, an appetite that was as contagious as it was addictive. Already she could feel her need blossom in the dragging heat between her thighs and in the quickening of her breathing as her body prepared for the inevitable.
He guided her purposefully through the lobby towards the private lift that would take them to their penthouse suite. A man on a mission. A man and his mistress.
‘It was a good day,’ Dante said, his voice as tight as a drum, breaking his silence as he followed her into the lift.
‘It was.’
The lift doors slid closed and he moved so quickly she didn’t see him coming. In a heartbeat she felt herself pressed to the back of the lift, his hands working on her hungrily, hiking up her skirt, freeing himself in a rampaging, desperate rush. ‘And it’s about to get,’ he added as he slid his long, hard length into her, ‘one hell of a lot better.’
There were definitely worst fates than being someone’s mistress, she decided as the lift doors opened and released them to their floor, dishevelled and windblown and bearing all the hallmarks of great sex.
‘I’ll run a bath,’ she said, knowing Dante would want time to check his email.
He pulled her to him and kissed her hard on the lips. ‘Thanks for the entrée. I’ll be right there for the main course.’
She could barely stop smiling as she crossed the room on knees still shaky from their elevator encounter. There were definitely worse things than being Dante Carrazzo’s mistress, that was for sure.
She stopped dead when she reached their bedroom. There were clothes spread out all over the bed and a rack of clothes parked nearby—sparkling evening gowns, linen suits and gorgeous day-dresses. Shoe boxes cluttered up the floor, and wide, flat boxes lined with tissue paper spilled over with underwear and accessories.
‘Dante?’ she called. ‘What’s all this?’
He came when she called and looked over her shoulder, his frown turning into a smile. ‘Good, they’ve come.’
‘You ordered them? What for?’
‘You need more clothes,’ Dante declared simply. ‘It was no trouble to have the boutique send up a selection.’
The boutique downstairs; Mackenzi thought some of the clothes had looked familiar. Likewise she had no trouble remembering their price tags.
‘I really think I can manage with what I’ve got.’
‘Out of a suitcase the size of a shoe box? I don’t think so. I saw you this morning trying to recycle your wardrobe into something fresh and interesting. This solves all your problems. They’ve sent up your size. Just choose what you want and send the rest back.’
He kissed her on the cheek and made a move to go, as if already bored with the topic and satisfied she would happily comply, good little mistress that she was.
‘But I don’t want any of them,’ she announced. ‘For a start, their prices downstairs are ridiculous.’
He turned back. ‘No-one said I was expecting you to pay for it. Anything you keep will be charged to the room.’
She shook her head. ‘Oh no. You are not buying me clothes. I thought I’d made that clear.’
He took a step closer and raised one eyebrow high. ‘You made it more than clear that you objected to being given jewellery. This isn’t jewellery.’
She felt the euphoria of their love-making in the lift slide away, leaving her shaky and weak and all too well reminded that their encounter had had nothing to do with who she was and had been all about what she was.
And she’d thought there could be worse things than being Dante’s mistress.
Not if being his mistress simultaneously made her his whore.
‘I don’t want the jewellery or the clothes, or anything. I don’t want the trappings. I’m not that kind of mistress.’
‘No? And I always thought mistress was a “one size fits all” concept. So what kind of mistress are you?’
She swallowed, her throat tight. ‘You know I wouldn’t be here unless you’d blackmailed me into it.’
His eyes turned cold and hard, his mouth curled into a malicious smile. ‘Ah, the blackmailed mistress. As opposed to the mercenary mistress, I suppose? Is that how you see yourself?’ He studied her face mercilessly, as if seeking any sign of weakness he co
uld exploit. ‘Or is it the altruistic mistress you fancy yourself as? The selfless virgin, sacrificing herself in order to save a crusty old pile of bricks?’ He nodded, smiling wider as if pleased with his own analysis. ‘Yes, I do believe it’s the latter. Not that I recall any virgins.’
‘Does it matter?’ she argued, hating that he was laughing at her, and afraid his interpretation was too close to the mark. More afraid that anything she enjoyed so much could hardly be considered a sacrifice. ‘I didn’t agree to this deal for the trappings. I agreed to sleep with you, sure, and that’s one thing I already have to work out how to come to terms with. But don’t make it worse. Don’t pay me for the privilege. Don’t turn me into the whore you thought you’d found in your bed.’
Her voice broke on the final word and she spun around, her teeth clamping down hard on her bottom lip, her arms clenched tight around herself while tears stung at her eyes, pressing to be released.
Strong hands clasped her shoulders and she felt herself drawn back against the warmth of his body. ‘I don’t think that.’ And when she tried to jerk away in protest he pulled her back against him. ‘Not any more. Not now.’
‘Then don’t buy me things. It’s enough that I’m here, sharing a suite that must be costing a fortune.’
He sighed, and pressed his lips to her ear. ‘But you’re practically part of the team now, working for me on this deal, and you need clothes. You know I’m right.’
‘I won’t wear clothes paid for by you and selected for me by some stick-insect shop assistant.’
He spun her around, and this time his smile looked genuine. ‘Fine. Then go and choose them yourself. But, at the risk of offending you, I should mention that I intend paying for them—’
He hushed her rapid-fire protest with one touch of his lips on hers, a touch that melted her bones and brought her even closer. ‘Let me finish,’ he said, when at last he pulled his mouth away. ‘I intend paying for them, out of the fee for your time and expertise while you assist me on this deal and any other for which I employ your services. A fee we will jointly negotiate, okay?’
She looked up into his eyes and almost wished she hadn’t. After a kiss like that, a person could lose themselves in those eyes, could forget what they were arguing for. ‘Okay,’ she said at last. ‘We’ll talk about it.’
He hugged her tight and kissed her through his smile. ‘Now, then, how about that spa? We’ve got some negotiating to do.’
CHAPTER TEN
IT HAD BEEN a productive week. Dante put the finishing touches to some notes he was preparing to email to his PA back in Melbourne and hit send. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms up high behind his head. It was Friday evening; Mackenzi was out shopping with Christine, finally having conceded that her inadequate wardrobe wasn’t up to the task. The redesigned Quinn development was passing all kinds of tests—architectural, financial and otherwise—with the preliminary advice from the department responsible for zoning looking amenable to the development. But, if the days had been good, the nights had been better.
He was amazed that someone he’d selected as his ‘deal or no deal’ mistress could be so business-savvy. He was more amazed that his mistress, chosen on a whim after one insufficient night, had proved so bedroom-savvy.
He’d always loved the cut and thrust of business: the chase, the hunt, the satisfaction of achieving his goals. Women had always been ancillary to all of that—the answer to a need, the means to an end—and then they were gone.
But no longer. Now, after hours of sitting around in boardrooms and offices, he couldn’t wait to get Mackenzi back to their suite. Once he’d no sooner closed the door to their suite before he’d taken her up against it. Then there was the time he hadn’t even waited that long, taking her in the lift the second the doors had slid closed.
But the best had been the slow times, like when they’d shared a bubble-filled spa and Mackenzi had been all slippery limbs, satiny skin and deliciously moist, inside and out. He’d slowly washed her all over, and she’d returned the compliment, her oiled hands working magic on his skin, turning mere flesh to steel. Finally, when they hadn’t been able to take it any more, he’d lowered her down onto his lap until her hot, honeyed flesh had enveloped him, a languid start had become a frantic dash to the finish, and they’d both come in a heated rush that left them both gasping.
Just thinking about it made him hard again.
An email lobbed into his inbox and he glanced down at the screen, half-wishing he’d already closed down. He frowned when he saw it was from Adrian, his frown deepening when he registered the subject line: ‘Ashton House Closure Date.’ He clicked it open, marvelling how just the mention of that place could send his blood-pressure soaring and his mind to dark deeds.
Ashton House reservations had been approached, Adrian wrote, by a tour company that wanted to book tours, including Ashton House, in their itinerary for three successive years; they were awaiting advice whether they should accept.
Dante hadn’t given a thought to Ashton House for days, but right now he stared at the email, feeling the familiar resentment build, the familiar clamp around his gut. It was always there, it seemed, simmering just below the surface, rancid and foul, waiting for an opportunity to boil over into his life. Right now he greeted the feeling like an old friend.
It was probably time he made some kind of decision. What was the point of putting it off? He’d made a deal with Mackenzi to think about it, and at least she couldn’t accuse him of not holding up his part of the bargain.
He hit reply and typed three succinct words—‘tell them no’—sending the message and closing down his computer before anything else he might need to respond to arrived.
He stood and strolled over to the windows, looking out over the impressive Auckland city-skyline under a cloud-filled sky, looking for a distraction. The police car tearing along the street below, its lights flashing, didn’t do it for long. He looked at his watch, wondering how long it would be until Mackenzi made it back from her shopping expedition with Christine; Christine had been only too happy to take Mackenzi under her wing and show her the places to shop in Auckland. They’d been gone for hours. Which meant she had to be back soon.
Dante smiled as he headed for the bathroom, grateful to have a plan. Mackenzi would be tired after all that shopping. What better way to unwind than a nice relaxing spa?
Mackenzi studied the steady rise and fall of his chest while he slept, which for once seemed to coincide with it being dark outside. Dante was a hard task-master, his energy boundless, his drive phenomenal, and when finally he slept it was like he’d entered the sleep of the dead.
Weariness dragged at her too. It had been a frantic ten days, working alongside him, and she felt like she’d been involved in a property-investment masterclass.
But the deal was looking more and more solid, the new plans featuring a state-of-the-art boat-building facility, a marina, a shopping plaza and restaurant precinct, as well as accommodation looking out over it all to the glorious harbour beyond. It was a thrill to know she was part of making it happen.
Just like it was a thrill to find herself in Dante’s bed every night.
She rolled over onto her back and stared up at the darkened ceiling, remembering how good he’d made her feel tonight. He’d whisked her into his arms barely a moment after she’d entered their suite, ignoring the scatter of shopping bags and boxes, and already working his way under her clothes before they’d made it to the bedroom.
His passion had blown her away, from their first impossibly quick encounter on the bed tonight to the slow second-act in the spa. The danger of it was that he was seducing her mind in a way she’d never imagined. Oh, she’d known from that very first night that he was capable of a form of seduction she’d never experienced before, but she’d never realized how such a seduction could weaken one’s own defences.
She felt a twinge low down in her belly and smiled with relief. Any day now. She’d been right not to
bother Dante with her concerns about forgetting to take those pills, although it had been blind fear as to his reaction that had motivated her. But knowing it would have cast a cloud over the last few days—and nights—and they’d both brought enough baggage into this relationship already. Besides which, there was no point both of them worrying.
But, as much as she found herself enjoying the love-making aspect of being Dante’s mistress much more than she’d expected, she knew she couldn’t let this bedroom bargain drag on forever. A week or two, he’d estimated their affair would last. It was already more than that and still there were no signs of him wearying of her. Surely that meant something? Surely after all they’d shared together, after all the passionate highs and more they’d shared, Dante must feel something for her? She’d sensed something in his declaration that he didn’t consider her his whore, and she wanted to believe it, even if what he felt for her was only a little respect. That would be enough. Surely he would listen to her now?
So maybe it was time. She hadn’t mentioned Ashton House since that day out on the boat. Maybe it was time to test the waters and raise the subject again.
The next few days passed in a blur. Instead of a quiet weekend in Auckland like she’d been expecting after their hectic week, Dante announced early the next morning that they were flying down to Wellington to check out several properties he’d listed to inspect. So they spent the weekend in the company of property agents, touring shopping complexes thronging with shoppers, and visiting office-towers strangely hushed and empty. Once, when they had a couple of hours to themselves and they’d walked down to the harbour, Dante stopped to buy ice creams. They strolled hand-in-hand along the shore of Oriental Bay, surrounded by joggers and families out cycling and other couples holding hands, the fresh breeze whipping around them, tugging at their hair and jackets.
He was so warm, so unusually conversational, talking with her about the distinctive architecture of the properties lining the bay, about their colour and character. He’d never looked more approachable and Mackenzi almost raised the subject of Ashton House then. Until he told her she had chocolate on her lip, and he held back the hand that was on its way to wipe it, dipping his head down to kiss it off, the touch of his tongue against her lip electric; something tiny, tender and fragile had burst into life inside her.