The Tycoon's Virgin Mistress

by Clare Connelly

  She moaned as she rotated her hips, already knowing how good he would feel inside of her. She ripped his shirt off, exposing perfectly smooth and taut chest muscles. She peppered kisses down his stomach, her tongue teased the trail of dark hair that disappeared into his jeans. She undid his pants and removed them hastily, exposing his full manhood.

  So strong was her need for him, that she didn’t even undress herself. Missy reached beneath her silky skirt and pulled her underpants aside, and slid him into her. She took him fully, loving the sensation of being on top and in control. There was an innate feminine confidence and knowledge that overtook her, and she rode him as her need dictated, speeding her hips and then slowing down, swivelling from side to side.

  Beneath her, she watched Nate’s face contort with pleasure, and she saw how hard he was finding it to hold onto control.

  It filled her with a surge of power. She leant forward and kissed him, being sure to brush her taut nipples against his chest as she did so. He growled at the contact and grabbed her bottom. “You, angel, are playing with fire,” he threatened throatily.

  She looked at him, the picture of wide-eyed innocence and he shook his head.

  “You asked for it,” his tone was mockingly menacing.

  He rolled her over and captured her hands beneath his. Still inside of her, he pumped hard, thrilled to see the way her eyes widened with his deep possession. She arched her back, and he drove into her again. They were made to fit like this, he thought, driving her over the edge. She screamed with the complete and total fulfilment that only sexual satiation could bring. He followed her over, savouring every moment, every feeling, knowing that this, this lovemaking, was beyond compare.

  He was regretting have made reservations at a nearby restaurant. Later, as he watched her rifle through her meagre assortment of clothes, looking for something restaurant-suitable, he wished he had realised that the best use of their time was to stay in. Not go out. Piece by piece she discounted options, and her uncertainty made Nate smile. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Wear this skirt,” he ran his fingers down her thighs, feeling the cotton that had caressed him earlier, when they’d given in to their passion.

  “And this,” he retrieved the small jewellery box from his pocket and passed it to her without dropping eye contact.

  Missy’s heart began to race. She looked at Nate, and then the box, and clicked it open uncertainly. Inside, there was a beautiful solitaire diamond pendant. She shut the lid immediately and tried to pass it back, shaking her head. “It’s too much, Nate, no.”

  He frowned. He was used to giving the women who shared his bed beautiful trinkets. Expensive gifts. Missy had required very little, in that sense. “Why not? In my experience, women usually like jewellery.”

  She forced the box into his hands and walked away. “That!” She yelled angrily. “That’s why not!”

  He stared at her, bemused.

  “I don’t like being lumped in with other women from your past.”

  He continued to stare.

  She took a deep breath, trying to be calm. “I know that this isn’t going anywhere. We’ve both said that from the beginning. Neither of us see this as a happily ever after scenario.” She didn’t see the way his lips compressed into a thin line, because she couldn’t look at him. “But nor do I want to be treated like every other woman you’ve ever slept with. What is it? Like a certain number of times you have sex, and you get a diamond? What next? Ten more times and it’s a car?”

  “Come on, Missy. That kind of judgemental bullshit doesn’t work for you.”

  She threw her hands up in exasperation. “I’m just trying to make you understand. I don’t want your jewellery. I don’t want your money.”

  “A little late to say that, isn’t it? After you’ve already taken my money?”

  Her cheeks flushed. “That’s different. That was before we had sex. Well, before we had sex, regularly.” She crossed to the room and put her arms around his waist. “I’m just having fun with you. I know it’s temporary. I know you’ve probably had this a million times before, but I haven’t. And giving me the kind of gift that you think a mistress has earned devalues what I believe we have. It makes it less special. Don’t you see?”

  He looked at her in abject shock. Like no one had ever expressed such a novel concept. “So I can’t give you anything.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. What you give me has nothing to do with diamonds, or money, Nate Anderson.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The whole evening, Nate couldn’t stop thinking about her skirt, her mouth, her. Their conversation was lively. It was like the revelations at lunch time had lowered a barrier in Missy, and Nate felt like he was finally really getting to know her. He almost regretted having engaged the investigator. Now that she was opening up, he felt like the secrets were fading.

  She spoke more of her parents over dinner, and the picture she painted made him so desolate, that he longed to introduce her to his own very loving parents, to see that it didn’t have to be like that. The thought shook him to the core. He had to be careful. He’d never introduced a woman to his folks, and he didn’t intend to start now. Missy might be sexy as hell, but they’d both gone into this with eyes wide open, knowing it was good for now, but that there was no future in it.

  The next morning, they awoke to a beautiful Venice, the day’s only blight that they must return to London, and the real world.

  As the luxurious private jet took off from the stunningly beautiful Italian city, Missy was besieged by illness. It had nothing to do with the ever-present sexual tension that throbbed between her and Nate. This was hormones, pure and simple. The first time she vomited, she was able to hide it by going to the bathroom. The second time caught her by surprise and she had to reach for an airsickness bag. By the fifth time, Nate had adopted a permanently worried expression on his face. He continued to pat her on the back, or hold her hand, and she could see that he was worried.

  Missy was miserable.

  “I’m a doctor,” she reassured him, “I know how tummy bugs work. This is just a case of a flu. Nothing more complex.”

  She begged him to believe her, but it was obvious that he was not convinced.

  When the plane landed, Missy saw an ambulance waiting to greet them. She shot him an accusing glance, feeling mutinous. “Get in,” he said, firmly, not willing to argue the point.

  Missy did as he said, and the ambulance sped her to a private doctor’s room in central London. As they drove, she vomited again and, as a result of all that purging, she passed out while waiting to be seen. The last vision she had, before letting unconsciousness claim her, was Nate’s face, stern and angry.

  She came to surrounded by fluorescent light and a charming, affable doctor. She looked furtively around the room and saw that Nate was nowhere to be seen.

  She sat up, swaying unsteadily as she did so, and the Doctor smiled at her benevolently.

  “How far along are you, dear?” He asked good-naturedly.

  Missy sighed. “About eleven weeks.”

  “I see. Well, I have some news for you. You’ll be needing to go to a two for one sale when you buy your cot.” He chuckled, amused by his own joke. Missy didn’t comprehend. She stared at him.

  “Sorry?”

  “Twins, m’dear. Two beautiful babies. Perfectly healthy, good heart beats, but making you feel rather less wonderful, I see.”

  Missy lay straight back down. It was worse than she’d thought. “It can’t be. No. I don’t believe it.”

  He chuckled again. “Scans don’t lie.”

  “Does Nate know?” Her face paled at the prospect, but the doctor shook his head.

  “Not yet. At least, I haven’t told him. But I suppose you should tell him soon. Not much longer before it’s too hard to conceal.”

  She nodded frantically. “Yes. Yes. I know. But I’m not ready yet.”

  Why not? She asked herself. What was she waiting for? She
was almost at that magic twelve week mark, and the babies were doing fine. How could she keep this from him for a moment longer?

  BABIES. It hit her like a tonne of bricks. She was a twin. Why had it never occurred to her that the gene might carry? Worse, she was a doctor. She knew the statistics.

  She rubbed a hand over her face. “I don’t suppose we can go with anaemia?” She mumbled.

  The doctor shook his head. “You can say whatever you’d like, Marissa, but I can’t lie.”

  Her face was drawn, her eyes showing her panic. “But you can’t tell him, either.”

  She hated being rude to the kindly man but this was too big to have Nate find out before she was ready. She softened her expression. “I am going to tell him. It’s just going to have to be the right time.” The right time, she thought with a self-deprecating grimace. As if there was ever a right time to tell a billionaire playboy, Hey, guess what? Your’e going to be a daddy. To twins! Ugh. He was going to be livid.

  They were driven home by her favourite security guy. His name was Rick Johnson, and of all the men, he’d been the only to actually speak to her. Missy was sure they weren’t supposed to, but she’d eventually worn Rick down, and she was pleased to see his face when they left the hospital. He gave her a friendly smile and she returned it happily.

  As they climbed into the car, Missy told Nate the fib she’d prepared. An iron deficiency that required a bit of rest. She didn’t want to oversell it. Fortunately, her professional training gave her all the lingo she needed to convince most people of anything medical. She just needed to buy time before she told him. She was still mercifully flat-tummied, hard to believe when there were two babies in there, but she knew it wouldn’t be long before her stomach began to protrude.

  If all her dreams could come true, Nate would declare his undying love and devotion for her before then. And pigs might fly, she derided wearily. She rubbed her temples.

  When they got back to the apartment, it was as if there’d been a major paradigm shift. So much had happened in their absence. Nate pushed open the front door and Missy stood uncertainly in the kitchen. She headed to her own bedroom when Nate grabbed her by the wrist.

  “No way, Doc. I want you in my bed where I can watch you sleep all night. I’m not risking you passing out again.”

  Missy didn’t think it was likely and she told him so. “Don’t care,” he said firmly. “Get in my bed, right now.”

  She didn’t really want to argue with him, anyway. She had the quickest shower and dressed in her pyjamas, then climbed into his luxurious bed.

  And they slept together. Proper actual sleep, for a whole night. Always touching, always hugging, but asleep and together. It was heaven to Missy, who had never felt so loved nor secure.

  The next morning, Missy woke hours after Nate, and when she emerged, he had ordered a veritable breakfast buffet from room service. There were pancakes, bacon, eggs, hash browns, beans, toast and pastries, fruit. Missy stared at it all and simply laughed.

  “Nate, you’re so excessive,” she chided softly, taking the seat he held out for her.

  “I didn’t like seeing you sick, doc. You need your strength.” He winked at her, and it was a wink of such sweetness and promise at the same time that her toes curled.

  She helped herself to a plate of strawberries and an apricot Danish and was just pouring herself a tea when Nate’s phone rang. He picked it up, read the caller ID and, to Missy anyway, he looked guilty. “Excuse me,” he said, taking the call and stepping out into the freezing morning air on the balcony.

  She pushed the thought aside. He hadn’t looked guilty. He was probably just stressed. His workload was immense. Missy plated him up a full cooked breakfast, poured him a coffee and then began to eat. It was delicious.

  Nate re-entered the apartment only a moment later, but he didn’t see her smile. He was lost in deep concentration. Phone still tucked under his ear, he went straight to his laptop and took it through to his bedroom.

  Missy frowned, hoping nothing serious had happened.

  When he emerged, ten minutes later, it was as if his mood had undergone a severe alteration. He was silent and brooding, and barely responded to her questions. As for touching her, forget it.

  Despite it being a Sunday, he said he had to work, and left the apartment. Missy tried not to let a sense of rejection overtake her.

  But three days later, when he’d continued to alternately ignore or avoid her, Missy had had just about enough.

  Her jeans had started to strain, and she knew that, regardless of their current contretemps, she had to tell him the truth. He would discover it soon enough for himself. Or maybe he wouldn’t, she thought miserably. It was as if she had suddenly ceased to exist. Is that how it begun? He had had his fill and was moving on? Or had he already moved on? To Cressida? Angelique? Another?

  It was a Thursday night, late, and he wasn’t in the apartment. He hadn’t come home the night before. She tortured herself imagining where he was, and who he was with; it was a form of hell.

  When Missy had first moved in, he had made a point of telling her she was welcome to use his office facilities, including his state of the art laptop, and so she padded over to the slim line device, to google ultrasound clinics in the area. It would be easier to tell him the news whilst at an appointment, she reasoned. For surely, when he saw two little beans inside of her, that belonged to them completely, he would fall as in love with them as she had.

  She typed ‘Ultrasound Clinics, Mayfair’ into google and sat back while the search ran. A little button at the bottom of the screen (Robert would have knowingly referred to it as the taskbar) caught her attention. ‘MISSYno1’ it was captioned. Without hesitation, she clicked on it curiously, and she frowned in confusion at the grainy black and white image that filled out the entire screen.

  It was her, Missy, and Robert. From a great distance, but unmistakably them. Holding hands in the garden they’d gone to, in order to speak privately. Her blood started to boil as confusion quickly gave way to a sudden rage. This had been taken the day they’d gone to the island. When had Nate received it? And how the hell had he got it? She pressed to the right and another image confronted her. This time, it was her and Robert embracing. Another, of Robert dashing a tear away from her cheek. Missy shook her head, realising immediately what these pictures would have looked like to Nate.

  She picked up her phone to call him but put it down again. No. She wanted to do this face to face. She pressed ‘print’ on the images and waited for them to spit out of the nearby machine, and then, she went to bed.

  Nate didn’t return that night. Nor did he appear the following morning. Missy brooded over the pictures endlessly, and finally, by lunchtime, she knew she had no choice. If the mountain won’t come to Muhammad, she thought, then Muhammad was sure as hell going to the mountain.

  He was all the way in the city and so she called for a driver; pleased as always to see that it was Rick. She still found it awkward to be surrounded by bodyguard types. At least with Rick she could relax a little. Missy had dressed in a simple navy blue dress for the occasion, merely because it completely hid her burgeoning swell of roundness.

  Rick made bland chit chat the whole way, and Missy did her best to respond appropriately. A thousand times, she fingered the photographs in her handbag. Each time she touched the sharp edge of the paper, bile and disbelief rose in her throat.

  The sleek Mercedes pulled into the lower ground car park of a Canary Wharf high rise, and Missy was directed to the blank of lifts. His office was on the 34th floor, Rick had told her, when she’d insisted he wait downstairs.

  As the elevator ascended, Missy kept a firm grip on the folded photographs, but not so much on her temper. She was hopping mad and getting more so with each passing moment.

  The office was, as you would expect, remarkably upmarket. Modern furniture, all unmistakably expensive, and boasting views over the Thames and towards the city. A receptionist sat behind a large marb
le-topped desk and she gave Missy a coolly professional smile.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am. How may I help you?” Her accent was American, similar to Nate’s.

  In a term that brooked no opposition, Missy stated firmly, “I’m here to see Mr Anderson.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, Mr Anderson is currently in a meeting. Would you care to wait?”

  Missy pulled herself to her full, formidable height and stared down at the petite brunette. “I would not care to wait, no. Either you tell Mr Anderson that Missy Black is here to see him, or I will march back there myself.”

  The receptionist, slightly thrown off by Missy’s confrontational manner, shook her head and leaned forward, conspiratorially. “I really can’t interrupt them, I’m sorry.” She tilted her head towards a pair of oak doors diagonally across from them. “But if you’ll just take a seat...” she called after Missy’s retreating back, for Missy was heading to the oak doors.

  She slammed them open, aware that the receptionist was only metres behind her. Nate, unmistakable, stood across the room, leaning against the windows, staring down at the magnificent cityscape. Because Missy only had eyes for him, she didn’t even remotely register the man who sat at the conference table at the centre of the room. She breezed past the furniture and stormed up to Nate.

  She hadn’t seen him in two days, and, at first, the sight of him robbed her of anything but lust, and love. Her anger puffed away. She could almost have forgotten why she was there. She drank in the sight of him, so darkly handsome, so dangerously attractive. The sound of the receptionist at the door spurred her on.

  “Nate Anderson, I need to talk to you.” Her voice was shrill.

  Nate, shocked by this sudden apparition of Missy, who he had just been thinking about, spun around and, despite the darkness of his mood, almost laughed. Missy, beautiful as ever, standing there emanating anger, but so, heart-stoppingly gorgeous. Her hair was frazzled, her eyes were wide. She looked almost wild, but it only added to her charm. Out of the corner of his eye, he was aware of BJ giving Missy the once over and for the first time ever, he wanted to punch his own brother. What had happened to him?