Confessions of a Millionaire's Mistress

by Robyn Grady

  She hesitated and he growled. ‘Don’t stop there.’

  So she didn’t.

  The more she stroked and rubbed, the longer his eyes remained shut and the further his neck arced back. She was really getting the hang of it when, with a burst of energy, he seemed to come to. He smacked his hands on the glass either side of her head, the cords running down his neck strained.

  His voice was a husky deep groan. ‘I think you’d better stop now.’

  They rinsed off, towelled off, then sped off to the bed, which wasn’t king-sized but, in this case, size didn’t matter.

  He ripped back the covers and she crawled towards the middle. He pulled a blind on the oval window and the sky was shut out.

  Way past eager, she flipped onto her back and he slid down over the length of her body until his lips grazed her left breast. He lovingly looped his tongue around the tip, then raked his teeth over the sensitive flesh until she was almost out of her skin.

  Sizzling inside and out, she arched beneath him. ‘I’ll explode if you do that again.’

  ‘What? You mean this?’ He moved to her other breast and repeated the performance.

  She pulled him up by his hair. ‘Where. Are. The condoms?’

  Soon he was sheathed and hovering above her again. When he eased in, her blood turned to fire and her bones liquefied to happy mush. As her nails skimmed his sides her hips bucked to meet his next thrust. The strength of him, the sheer power, felt so darn good…

  ‘I think I might faint.’

  Grinning, he pushed again. ‘A few moments more.’

  A few moments during which she discovered where she belonged. In this incredible man’s arms. In his bed. She wrapped her legs around his and clung onto sheer bliss. ‘I know we’re not finished, but can we do it again?’

  She knew he would’ve laughed if he could spare the energy. From the hot look in his eyes as he gazed into hers, he was utilising every ounce of strength to hold back the tide. Her tide had already built to a shimmering, soul-lifting arc.

  He pushed in deliciously deep, hit the right place with the right mind-tingling amount of pressure, and the rolling tidal wave crashed over her. Her centre contracted and the intensity erupted with the booming power of a bomb blast.

  Flashing stars shot from her core, the pleasure-filled rhythm gripping and radiating out again and again. The sensations—the knowledge—felt almost too wonderful. She never wanted to let this feeling go.

  Then it got better.

  He drove in again. Every hardwired muscle in his body seemed to lock and tremble. The sound he made was almost one of pain that morphed into a throaty sigh as he plunged once more. Her fingers trailed up his arms as, eyes closed, she hummed out a dreamy smile that felt perfect on her face. Where had he been all her life?

  She stilled at a flicker of regret.

  Where would he be for the rest of it?

  For the longest time afterwards, they lay in each other’s arms, Benton holding her close against his hard body, her index finger weaving aimless patterns over his chest.

  They seemed to fit…as if they’d once been physically joined and now both sides had been reunited. But that was her romantic imagination taking flight. Just as it was nonsense to believe she’d known his scent far longer than a day—clean and male. Real and intoxicating.

  Later, when Benton suggested a swim, still feeling brave, Celeste followed his lead and skinny dipped in the cool revitalising ocean. They ate sandwiches and milk chocolate hearts on the beach, then made love again, this time leisurely, making the pleasure last, holding back the reward as long as possible…and the reward was twice as incredible second time round.

  Benton’s brand of bedroom skill was entirely inherent; the knowledge was as astute as the hands strumming the sweetest chords over her body. His pleasure in giving and receiving was sincere. Today she was the lucky one.

  When the sun was a fiery ball sinking into the sea, they emerged from their boat bedroom cocoon. He’d whipped on his chinos. She was dressed in her white beach shirt and nothing else. She’d never been so casual with a man and yet today—with Benton—it felt only natural.

  They each reclined back in a low slung canvas deckchair, their arms hanging in between—fingers laced—and gazed up at the rapidly darkening sky, its horizon feathered with rose.

  She laid her free hand behind her head. ‘The stars are coming out.’

  Had they always looked so beautiful? Tiny twinkling jewels that spoke to her. Everything will be fine now, they seemed to say.

  ‘How do you feel?’ he asked.

  ‘Alive!’

  His fingers squeezed hers. ‘Good.’

  ‘And also that this is a little uneven.’

  He looked at her. ‘Uneven how?’

  ‘You know so much about me and I know nothing about you.’

  She wanted to know everything, starting with when he’d learned to tie his shoes, right up to his plans for tomorrow. Had he ever had a long term relationship? Did he ever want to fall in love? But didn’t everyone? That was what kept the human race going. Attraction, desire, a sense of belonging that culminated in two individuals becoming a couple. She’d seen the movies, read the books. But she’d never experienced the possibility of falling in love herself more clearly than this minute. He was indeed a hit man and she’d been slugged hard and fast.

  ‘There’s nothing much to know about me.’

  As if. She turned more towards him. ‘Try me.’

  His laugh was short. ‘There’s not much of interest to tell.’

  ‘You’re being modest.’

  He grinned. ‘Why don’t you use that crystal ball of yours?’

  She searched his eyes before he looked back up at the sky and her stomach clenched. He wasn’t being modest, not even mysterious. What was in his past that he was so reluctant to share? But if he didn’t want to talk, it wasn’t fair to push.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. ‘I didn’t mean to pry.’

  He found her gaze again, raked a hand through his hair, then scratched his head as if to stimulate the memories.

  ‘Okay. Uninteresting fact number one. I grew up in foster care. Fact number two. When I was sixteen I got a job, finished my education at night school, then put myself through college. Fact three. At twenty-four I discovered the stock market. A year later I’d earned my first million. The rest, as they say, is history.’

  A little dazed, Celeste tried to soak it all in. His childhood background was so not what she’d expected. She’d imagined a home something similar to her own, regular vacations, two parents who cared.

  ‘Your mother?’ she ventured.

  ‘Died a few days after giving birth. No need to say you’re sorry,’ he said sincerely. ‘It’s not as if I knew her.’

  And her heart went out to him for precisely that reason.

  ‘What about your father?’

  ‘Good question.’

  ‘Your mother wasn’t married?’

  ‘She was. And divorced. Scott’s my father’s name.’

  Celeste tried to keep up. ‘You haven’t tracked him down?’ If she were him, she’d be eager to discover that connection—to know a link to her past. Maybe he got his looks from his father, his intelligence from his mother. Perhaps he had half-brothers or-sisters. What about grandparents? Didn’t he want some answers?

  ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve had a private investigator looking these past weeks. He’s come up a blank. I thought about trying a different agency, but if my biological father didn’t care back then, it’s unlikely he’d care now.’ He gazed at the sky and crossed his ankles. ‘Sometimes people don’t want to be found.’

  His expression was meant to be light but his furrowed brow told her he was a little more than irritated. She understood, particularly if the PI’s inability to track down his father was indeed a matter of the older Mr Scott not wishing to be found.

  She studied his controlled face…the harder than usual line of his mouth.

&n
bsp; Had Benton programmed himself not to care so the prospect of hope wouldn’t eat him alive? Maybe that was why he’d been so sympathetic about her situation today. She’d held onto hope too. It hurt to let go, but she’d discovered that it would hurt more to cling on.

  She searched for something supportive to say. ‘I bet your father would be proud of you.’

  His gaze still on the sky, he only offered a wry grin. Then his face broke into a genuine smile. ‘Quick! Look there.’

  She followed the line of his arm. A bullet shot across the blue-black sky, its silver tail trailing and fading behind.

  Her hand went to her heart, which had leapt to her throat. ‘A falling star! I’ve never seen one.’

  She’d always wanted to.

  ‘I’ve seen dozens. I used to watch out my bedroom windows, waiting.’ He stopped as if he’d said too much, then he sat straighter. ‘You’re supposed to make a wish.’

  Picturing a lonely little boy peering up at the stars, she squeezed her eyes closed and made a dual wish, for him and for her. As she opened her eyes he pushed out of his chair.

  His eyes twinkled, reflecting the cabin’s light. ‘I know what you wished for.’

  Perhaps half of it. But she wouldn’t admit to anything. She didn’t want him to know she was already close to addicted. To his smile. To his touch.

  She lifted her chin. ‘Let’s hear it.’

  He held up a finger—just a minute—and disappeared inside. Soon soft music filtered out. When he reappeared, a breathtaking masculine silhouette challenging the darkest blue sky, he helped her out of her chair.

  Then he drew her towards him and began a slow dance, his chin resting lightly on her crown. ‘You wished for a dance.’

  She leant her cheek against his chest and bit her lip as emotion stung her nose. She’d never felt so special.

  But was she? Was this ‘just one night’ or dared she hope for—wish for—more?

  His deep voice rumbled through her. ‘I’m glad we met.’

  ‘Me, too.’ Huge understatement.

  ‘I promise I’ll look after PLM.’

  She closed her eyes at a sharp twinge but smothered it quickly. Put it behind you.

  ‘I’m sure you will.’

  He waltzed her around as the song’s verse segued into the chorus.

  ‘I’d like to keep in touch?’

  Her heartbeat thumped so hard she was certain he could feel it jackhammering against her ribs. Difficult, but she kept her voice level. ‘That would be nice.’

  ‘Every quarter or so I can let you know how it’s doing.’

  Every three months? What was he talking about?

  Her pulse rate took a dive.

  Of course, he was talking about her father’s firm. Soon to be his firm. Not about keeping in touch with her on a personal level.

  She set her jaw.

  Get with the programme, Celeste. Benton Scott wasn’t a man after a relationship. A little afternoon delight wouldn’t change that. Certainly not a shooting star. And, after needing to give up PLM, she wasn’t supposed to be in the mood for commitment either.

  He rocked her around and pressed a kiss to the top of her head while the music played on. ‘Would you like to stay the night?’

  An honest answer? More than all the stardust in the universe!

  But if she spent any more time in his arms—in his bed—it would be harder to leave, and it was already hard enough. This might have been casual, but the emotions he evoked were anything but blasé. Safer to go now and save her heart.

  She filled her lungs. ‘This was exactly what I needed. Thank you, Benton—’

  ‘Call me Ben.’

  She smiled. Ben suited him far better. ‘I think I’ll go home.’

  Was it imagination, but she thought he held her a little tighter.

  He grazed his chin near her temple and murmured, ‘Let’s finish this dance first.’

  By the time the song ended, the words of the chorus were buried in her mind and heart for ever.

  Yes. She had a feeling time would go by very slowly. But now it was time to move on.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  NEW YEAR’S EVE?

  Bah Humbug.

  Celeste sank into a chair at Sydney Airport’s domestic terminal and set her chin in her hand. Moments ago, she’d said bon voyage to Brooke, who’d boarded a plane destined for romantic Hamilton Island on the Great Barrier Reef. Brooke had swung a great deal with a travel-agent friend; they’d both begged Celeste to come too. Luxury accommodation. Parties every night.

  Celeste heaved a sigh.

  She didn’t have the energy. She would love to be waltzing around, totally fine with the world, but her rose-coloured glasses were smeared with grey. Though she wished she were stronger, she was still coming to terms with the ka-thunk of losing PLM. And then there was her other problem…

  Sitting opposite, a middle aged man, wearing shorts, brown fuzzy socks and black sneakers, blew his bulbous nose into a chequered handkerchief.

  Celeste cringed and shifted her gaze to a vending machine.

  Her jetting off with Brooke and Pip would only bring their tone down. They deserved to have a good time, and if they happened to find someone nice who took them in his arms at midnight…

  A skinny man with a concave chest and long hairy arms passed Celeste’s line of vision and she flinched.

  Well, good luck to anyone who got lucky tonight. But she didn’t want to be put in that situation—a spritzer in one hand and some half-sozzled Neanderthal trying to get up close and personal on the other.

  A rush of regret, wrapped in longing, spiralled through her tummy.

  Celeste, you’ve screwed it for yourself.

  Six weeks on from saying goodbye, every man she looked at left her feeling either ill or ambivalent. No one could even half measure up to Benton Scott.

  Her nape tingled with a strange awareness, as if a warm breeze had brushed by her back. A second later she tingled at a murmur at her ear.

  ‘Boo.’

  Heart catapulting to her throat, she spun around in her seat. Every millilitre of blood dropped to her toes, then surged back up, leaving her slightly giddy. The lump in her throat was so big she could barely get the word out.

  ‘Benton?’

  As he rounded the row of seats to join her she battled the impulse to run over and throw her arms around his big beautiful neck. Instead she stood up, then almost had to sit back down again. He looked too good…

  The pale blue jeans, which rode his lean hips, dressed those long muscular legs well enough to make her mouth water. His shirt sleeves were rolled halfway up powerful bronzed forearms, and the open collar revealed a tantalising vee of crisp dark hair. She imagined the plates of rock waiting beneath the white silk blend and memories of his scent filled her mind.

  She’d thought she would never see him again! Yet here he was, stopping a mere foot away, his dazzling smile so broad and sexy, she worried her lips might not work if she tried to speak.

  He pressed a kiss, which was way too brief, high on her cheek. ‘I told you to call me Ben, remember?’ he said, tipping back.

  Oh, how she’d missed that dark-chocolate voice. ‘Ben. Yes.’ I remember.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ they said together.

  Then, ‘You first,’ at the same time.

  He laughed. ‘After you.’

  She gathered her thoughts and sucked down a settling breath. ‘I’ve just seen Brooke off.’

  ‘Brooke…your friend who helps manage the shop?’

  She nodded. When he’d driven her home that night they’d talked about boarding school and Brooke, and how they were still best friends. He’d seemed interested but hadn’t offered any more information about his past and she hadn’t pushed, although her more curious side would’ve liked to.

  ‘Brooke and another friend are on a week’s vacation on Hamilton Island,’ she explained.

  He set his briefcase down. ‘Should be one helluva party goi
ng off there tonight.’ A frown pinched his brow. ‘Why didn’t you go?’

  Slipping her hands behind her back, she crossed her fingers. ‘I’ll be busy with the shop—’ she shrugged ‘—and things.’

  ‘That’s a shame. I imagine you could’ve done with the break.’

  But if she’d boarded that plane, she’d have missed seeing him now. She’d daydreamed about just this sort of meeting, never believing it would ever come true.

  She almost reached to stroke his hand, the hand that knew every responsive inch of her body. ‘Where have you flown in from?’

  Or, where was he flying out to?

  What was the bet he was running late for his plane and had to rush off?

  ‘I just got in from Perth.’

  Excellent! But her smile dimmed. ‘You must be exhausted.’ Sydney was a six-hour flight from Perth, Australia’s west coast capital city.

  His gaze dipped to her lips before finding her eyes again. ‘I’ve been in Perth since before Christmas.’

  ‘Business?’

  ‘Mixed with pleasure. A friend of mine wanted my opinion on some—’ But he stopped. ‘I must be holding you up. It’s New Year’s Eve. You’d have a party to go to.’

  She’d had several offers but had declined every one. Same reason as Hamilton Island. She’d be about as much fun as a pregnant goldfish. But what excuse for being a sad sack could she pluck out of the air?

  ‘I was going to have an early one, being so busy with work and all.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘So you’re tired?’

  Backtrack, Celeste.

  ‘Not overly.’

  ‘It’s just I’ve been invited to a party…’ He waved a hand. ‘Forget it.’ He collected his briefcase. ‘I’ll get out of your hair.’

  ‘You’re not in my hair,’ she piped up. ‘I’ve got it up.’ She flicked her ponytail. ‘See?’

  He laughed—that deep, rumbling, infectious sound—and she melted all over again. ‘The party’s in my building. Do you need to change?’

  She assessed her black jersey dress and silver sequined flip-flops. ‘I don’t know. Do I?’