‘Do you think her mother and father could sneak away to be alone for an hour or so at her christening?’ Aura suggested throatily.
James gave her a teasing look. ‘Oh, I think it could be arranged.’
‘When?’
‘Now!’
Now Aura knew the answer to that question she had once asked herself; it was wonderful having a man like James come home to her every night, to share her life with him, to love with him.
With James at her side the future held only brightness and love, and both of them hoped that Stephanie would be only the first of their children. James deserved a big family to love and care for, and with nothing to mar their future Aura was perfectly happy to provide him with that family.
Maybe Stephanie’s brother would be conceived this afternoon…!
* * * * *
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USA TODAY bestselling author
CAROLE MORTIMER,
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Now, read on for a tantalizing excerpt of USA Today bestselling author
Sharon’s Kendrick’s latest book,
SECRETS OF A BILLIONAIRE’S MISTRESS
One Night With Consequences
When one night…leads to pregnancy!
Waitress Darcy Denton isn’t Renzo Sabatini’s type. But unworldly Darcy becomes addicted to their passionate nights. And then she discovers she’s pregnant! Darcy dare not tell Renzo. But it’s only a matter of months before he claims what’s his…
Read on to get a glimpse of
SECRETS OF A BILLIONAIRE’S MISTRESS
CHAPTER ONE
RENZO SABATINI WAS unbuttoning his shirt when the doorbell rang. He felt the beat of expectation. The familiar tug of heat to his groin. He was half tempted to pull the shirt from his shoulders so Darcy could slide her fingers over his skin, closely followed by those inventive lips of hers. The soft lick of her tongue could help him forget what lay ahead. He thought about Tuscany and the closing of a chapter. About the way some memories could still be raw even when so many years had passed and maybe that was why he never really stopped to think about them.
But why concentrate on darkness when Darcy was all sunshine and light? And why rush at sex when they had the whole night ahead—a smorgasbord of sensuality which he could enjoy at his leisure with his latest and most unexpected lover? A woman who demanded nothing other than that he satisfy her—something which was easy since he had only to touch her pale skin to grow so hard that it hurt. His mouth dried. Four months in and he was as bewitched by her as he had been from the start.
In many ways he was astonished it had continued this long when their two worlds were so different. She was not his usual type of woman and he was very definitely not her type of man. He was into clean lines and minimalism, while Darcy was all voluptuous curves and lingerie which could barely contain her abundant flesh. His mouth curved into a hard smile. In reality it should never have lasted beyond one night but her tight body had been difficult to walk away from. It still was.
The doorbell rang again and the glance he shot at his wristwatch was touched with irritation. Was she daring to be impatient when she wasn’t supposed to be here for another half-hour? Surely she knew the rules by now…that she was expected to fit around his schedule, rather than the other way round?
Barefooted, he walked through the spacious rooms of his Belgravia apartment, pulling open the front door to see Darcy Denton standing there—small of stature and impossible to ignore—her magnificent curls misted with rain and tugged back into a ponytail so that only the bright red colour was on show. She wore a light raincoat, tightly belted to emphasise her tiny waist, but underneath she was still in her waitress’s uniform because she lived on the other side of London, an area Renzo had never visited—and he was perfectly content for it to stay that way. They’d established very quickly that if she went home after her shift to change, it wasted several hours—even if he sent his car to collect her. And Renzo was a busy man with an architectural practice which spanned several continents. His time was too precious to waste, which was why she always came straight from work with her overnight bag—though that was a largely unnecessary detail since she was rarely anything other than naked when she was with him.
He stared down into her green eyes, which glittered like emeralds in porcelain-pale skin and, as always, his blood began to fizz with expectation and lust. ‘You’re early,’ he observed softly. ‘Did you time your visit especially because you knew I’d be undressing?’
Darcy answered him with a tight smile as he opened the door to let her in. She was cold and she was wet and it had been the most awful day. A customer had spilt tea over her uniform. Then a child had been sick. She’d looked out of the window at the end of her shift to discover that the rain had started and someone must have taken her umbrella. And Renzo Sabatini was standing there in the warmth of his palatial apartment, looking glowing and delectable—making the assumption that she had nothing better to do than to time her visits just so she would find him half naked. Could she ever have met a man more arrogant?
Yet she’d known what she was letting herself in for when she’d started this crazy affair. When she’d fought a silent battle against everything she’d known to be wrong. Because powerful men who dallied with waitresses only wanted one thing, didn’t they?
She’d lost that particular battle and ended up in Renzo’s king-size bed—but nobody could say that her eyes hadn’t been open at the time. Well, some of the time at least—the rest of the time they’d fluttered to a quivering close as he had thrust deeply inside her until she was sobbing with pleasure. After resisting him as hard as she could, she’d decided to resist no more. Or maybe the truth was that she hadn’t been able to stop herself from falling into his arms. He’d kissed her and that had been it. She hadn’t known that a kiss could make you feel that way. She hadn’t realised that desire could make you feel as if you were floating. Or flying. She’d surrendered her virginity to him and, after his shocked reaction to discovering he was her first lover, he had introduced her to more pleasure than she’d thought possible, though in a life spectacularly short on the pleasure front that wouldn’t have been difficult, would it?
For a while things had been fine. More than fine. She spent the night with him whenever he was in the country and had a space in his diary—and sometimes she spent the following day there, too. He cooked her eggs and played her music she’d never heard before—dreamy stuff featuring lots of violins—while he pored over the fabulously intricate drawings which would one day be transformed into the glittering and iconic skyscrapers for which he was famous.
But lately something had started to niggle away inside her. Was it her conscience? Her sense that her already precarious self-worth was being eroded by him hiding her away in his palatial apartment, like a guilty secret? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she’d started to analyse what she’d become and hadn’t liked the answer she’d come up with.
She was a wealthy man’s plaything. A woman who dropped her panties whenever he clicked those elegant olive fingers.
But she was here now and it was stupid to let her reservations spoil the evening ahead, so she changed her tight smile into a bright smile as she dumped her overnight bag on the floor and tugged the elastic band from her hair. Shaking her damp curls free, she couldn’t deny the satisfaction it gave her to see the way Renzo’s eyes had darkened in response—although her physical appeal to him had never been in any question. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her and she suspected she knew why. Because she was different. Working class, for a start. She hadn’t been to college—in fact, she’d mi
ssed out on more schooling than she should have done and nearly everything she knew had been self-taught. She was curvy and redheaded, when usually he went for slender brunettes—that was if all the photos in the newspapers were to be believed. They were certainly mismatched on just about every level, except when it came to bed.
Because the sex was amazing—it always had been—but it couldn’t continue like this, taking her on an aimless path which was leading nowhere. Darcy knew what she had to do. She knew you could only fool yourself for so long before reality started hurting and forced you to change. She’d noticed Renzo was starting to take her for granted and knew that, if it continued, all the magic they’d shared would just wither away. And she didn’t want that, because memories were powerful things. The bad ones were like heavy burdens you had to carry around with you and she was determined to have some good ones to lighten the load. So when was she going to grab the courage to walk away from him, before Renzo did the walking and left her feeling broken and crushed?
‘I’m early because I sent your driver away and took the Tube instead,’ she explained, brushing excess raindrops from her forest of red curls.
‘You sent the driver away?’ He frowned as he slid the damp raincoat from her shoulders. ‘Why on earth would you do that?’
Darcy sighed, wondering what it must be like to be Renzo Sabatini and live in an enclosed and protected world, where chauffeur-driven cars and private jets shielded you from rain and snow and the worries of most normal folk. Where people did your shopping and picked up your clothes where you’d left them on the bedroom floor the night before. A world where you didn’t have to speak to anyone unless you really wanted to, because there was always some minion who would do the speaking for you.
‘Because the traffic is a nightmare at this time of day and often we’re forced to sit in a queue, moving at a snail’s pace.’ She took the coat from him and gave it a little shake before hanging it in the cupboard. ‘Public transport happens to have a lot going for it during the rush hour. Now, rather than debating my poor time-keeping can I please have a cup of tea? I’m f-f-freezing.’
But he didn’t make any move towards the kitchen as most people might have done after such a wobbly request. He took her in his arms and kissed her instead. His lips were hard as they pressed against hers and his fingers caressed her bottom through her uniform dress as he brought her up close to his body. Close enough for her to feel the hardness of his erection and the warmth of his bare chest as he deepened the kiss. Darcy’s eyelids fluttered to a close as one hard thigh pushed insistently against hers and she could feel her own parting in automatic response. And suddenly her coldness was forgotten and tea was the last thing on her mind. Her questions and insecurities dissolved as he deepened the kiss and all she was aware of was the building heat as her chilled fingers crept up to splay themselves over his bare and hair-roughened torso.
‘Hell, Renzo,’ she breathed.
‘Is it really hell?’ he murmured.
‘No, it’s…’ she brushed her lips over his ‘…heaven, if you must know.’
‘That’s what I thought. Are you trying to warm your hands on my chest?’
‘Trying. I don’t think I’m having very much luck. You do many things very well, but acting as a human hot-water bottle isn’t one of them.’
‘No. You could be right. My skills definitely lie in other directions. Perhaps I could demonstrate some of them to you right now.’ He moved his hand from her bottom and curled his fingers round hers as he guided her hand towards his groin. ‘In which case I think you’d better join me in the shower, don’t you?’
She couldn’t have said no even if she’d wanted to. One touch from Renzo was like lighting the touchpaper. Two seconds in his arms and she went up in flames.
In the bathroom, he unzipped her drab beige uniform, soft words of Italian falling from his lips as her breasts were revealed to him. Disproportionately big breasts which had always been the bane of her life, because she’d spent her life with men’s attention being constantly homed in on them. She’d often thought longingly of a breast reduction—except who could afford an operation like that on the money she earned waiting tables? So she’d made do with wearing restrictive bras, until Renzo had taught her to love her body and told her that her breasts were the most magnificent thing he’d ever seen. To enjoy being suckled or having his teeth tease the sensitive flesh until she was crying out with pleasure. He’d started to buy lingerie for her, too—the only thing she’d ever allowed him to buy for her and only because he’d insisted. He couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t let him spend money on her, but her reasons were raw and painful and she had no intention of letting him in on her secret.
But she let him buy her pretty underclothes, because he insisted that it enhanced their sex-play—balcony bras and tiny matching panties, which he said made the most of her curvy hips. And didn’t it make her feel rather decadent when she was at work, knowing she was wearing the finest silk and lace beneath the drab check of her waitress uniform? Hadn’t he told her that he wanted her to think about him when he wasn’t there? That when he was far away on business he liked to imagine her touching herself until she was wet between the legs and her body bucking helplessly as she thought about him. And although his fantasy about how she lived when he wasn’t there was just that—fantasy—she couldn’t deny that it also turned her on. But then, everything about Renzo Sabatini turned her on. His tall and powerful frame. His black hair and black eyes and those dark-rimmed spectacles he wore when he was working on one of his detailed plans. That way he had of watching her as she moved around the room. And stroking her until she was trembling with helpless need for him. Like now.
Her dress fell to the floor and the delicate underwear quickly followed. A master in the art of undressing, her Italian lover was soon as naked as she and Darcy sucked in an instinctive gasp when she saw how aroused he was.
‘Daunting, isn’t it?’ His sensual lips curved into a mocking smile. ‘Want to touch me?’
‘Not until I’ve got hot water gushing over me. My hands are so cold you might recoil.’
‘I don’t think so,’ he said softly.
His eyes glittered as he picked her up and carried her into the wet room, where steaming water streamed down from a huge showerhead and the sensory impact of the experience threatened to overwhelm her. Hot water on icy skin and a naked Renzo in her arms. In the steamy environment, which made her think of a tropical forest, his lips were hungry, one hand stroking between her legs while the other played with one aching nipple. The warm water relaxed her, made her aware of the fierce pounding of her heart and the sudden rush of warmth at her groin. She ran her hands over the hard planes of his body, enjoying the sensation of honed muscle beneath his silken olive skin. Boldly she reached down to circle his erection, sliding her thumb and forefinger lightly up and down the rocky shaft the way she knew he liked it. He gave a groan. Hell. She liked it, too. She liked everything he did to her…and the longer it went on, the more difficult it was to imagine a life without him.
She closed her eyes as his fingers moved down over her belly until they were tangling in the wet hair at the juncture of her thighs. One finger took a purposeful route further, until it was deep inside her and she gave a little yelp of pleasure as he strummed the finger against swollen flesh, the rhythmical movement taking her closer to the edge. And now it was her turn to writhe her hips against him, wanting release—and wanting oblivion, too.
‘Now,’ she breathed. ‘Make love to me now.’
‘You are impatient, little one.’
Of course she was impatient. It had been nearly a month since she’d seen him. A month when he’d been hard at work in Japan, before flying to South America to oversee the enormous new hotel complex he’d designed which was creating a lot of waves in the high-octane world of architecture. And yes, there had been the occasional email—an amusing description about a woman who had propositioned him after a boardroom meeting, which Darcy h
ad managed to laugh off and act as if it didn’t hurt. He’d even phoned her once, when his plane had been delayed at the airport in Rio de Janeiro and presumably he must have had time to kill. And even though she’d been battling through the wind on her way back from the discount supermarket at the time, she’d managed to find shelter in a shop doorway and make like it was a normal conversation. She’d tried to tell herself that she didn’t mind his total lack of commitment. That they didn’t have an ordinary relationship and that was what made it so interesting.
He’d told her right from the start what she could expect and what she must not expect and number one on his list had been commitment, closely followed by love. She remembered turning round as he’d spoken, surprising an unexpectedly bleak look in his gaze—unexpected because those ebony eyes usually gave nothing away. But she hadn’t probed further because she’d sensed he would clam up. Actually, she never probed—because if you asked someone too many questions about themselves, they might just turn around and ask them back and that was the last thing she wanted.
And she had agreed to his emotionally cold terms, hadn’t she? She’d acted as if they were the most reasonable requests in the world. To be honest, she hadn’t been able to think beyond the next kiss—and every kiss had the effect of binding her ever tighter to him. But several months had passed since he’d extracted that agreement from her and time changed everything. It always did. Time made your feelings start to deepen and made you prone to foolish daydreams. And what could be more foolish than imagining some kind of future with the billionaire designer with his jet-set lifestyle and homes all around the world? She, without a single qualification to her name, whose only skill was her ability to multitask in a restaurant?
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