Millionaire's Misbehaving Mistress

by Kimberly Lang

  His eyes feasted on her, forcefully reminding him how empty his bed had felt recently. As she laughed at something Andrews said to her, he felt a stab of jealousy in his heart. More than anything, he wanted to drag her to his office, tell her he forgave her and spend the next couple of hours showing her exactly how much he missed her.

  But he had to make it through this meeting first. As he watched, Gwen demonstrated to his VP of Accounting how to bow, and he knew he’d been right to hire her in the first place. Even in some awful old-lady outfit complete with sensible shoes, she radiated poise and confidence.

  The weight of the meeting lifted off his shoulders. With Gwen in charge, he had no doubt of the outcome. Just the sight of her filled him with surety of that fact. Gwen knew her stuff and had everyone and everything firmly in hand. Thank God he decided to use her for this.

  Out of nowhere, his own words came back to him. She was using us. Guilt filled him. Was he any better? Was this any different? He was using her right now, after all.

  Realization hit him like lightning. Utilizing someone’s talents wasn’t the same as using the person. Gwen’s defense—I lobbied HarCorp. I never lobbied you—made a lot more sense now. She may have been using the situation to her advantage, but she wasn’t necessarily using him. And taking advantage of the situation wasn’t a bad thing, either. If it was, he was just as guilty.

  And with that realization, he could now admit Gwen was more than just under his skin without sounding like a gullible fool. Somehow, in the middle of all of this, he’d fallen in love with her.

  He was out of his seat, fully intending to march Gwen out of the conference room for a private meeting of their own when she suddenly straightened and clapped her hands for everyone’s attention. With a small inclination of her head toward the hallway, she brought him back to the situation at hand.

  “It’s showtime, gentlemen. Here they come.”

  Three years of work was about to be decided, and suddenly, Will couldn’t care less.

  Gwen knew the meeting went well. No major gaffes to offend the Japanese guests, and HarCorp’s VPs kept their usual aggressive American business tactics to themselves. Mr. Hiramine’s assistant, Mr. Takeshi, served as translator when needed, freeing Gwen to help steer the meeting properly. She couldn’t have been more pleased.

  But her stomach was still tied in knots, and had been since Will walked into the room and caused every nerve cell in her body to cry out to him. The long, level looks he kept sending in her direction were unreadable, and the uncertainty they caused made her slightly nauseous.

  Her position at his left side kept her senses on overload during the meeting, and her focus shifted too often from the business going on around her to the smell of his aftershave and the sight of that place on his neck right above his collar where he liked to be kissed. Her ability to concentrate evaporated each time his arm brushed against hers or his leg bumped hers under the massive table. She had to call on every ounce of her pride, her professionalism and her training to keep the smile on her face and her head in the general vicinity of the game.

  And then it was over. There was much bowing and shaking of hands, then the line of men in dark suits filed from the room. Will followed as far as the door and shut it behind them. With the meeting behind her and a safe distance between them, Gwen was able to draw a deep breath for the first time in hours. As she exhaled, she realized she’d made one last error.

  “You should escort them as far as the elevator, Will,” she whispered, moving in the direction of the door.

  “They’ll survive.” Will perched a hip on the conference table. “So how do you think it went?”

  “Good. Really good.”

  “You don’t think they sounded unenthused about the idea?”

  “That’s normal. I warned you the Japanese could seem very reserved and formal. It doesn’t mean they aren’t interested in proceeding. It could mean quite the opposite. My feeling is that you’ll hear good news soon.” She tried for a bright smile, but it felt fake.

  Will nodded, but didn’t say anything. The silence, combined with that same stare he’d given her throughout the meeting, tightened the knot in her stomach even more.

  “Thank you for your help. It wouldn’t have gone as well without your input. I appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  The stilted, polite conversation was killing her. As soon as she could get out of here, she was getting a strong drink.

  Will fished in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “Here’s your check.” He slid it across the table to her.

  As awkward as it was, she had no choice but to take it. “Thank you. You could’ve just had Nancy mail it. I—” She lost her train of thought when she caught sight of the numbers. That was more than her contract outlined. Like twenty percent more. She looked at Will in question.

  “You did a great job, Gwen, especially considering the, uh, history we have.”

  Anger bubbled up inside her chest. It was a nice change from the nausea.

  “HarCorp has always believed in rewarding good service from its employees. Consider it a bonus.”

  He sat there calling her just another employee while in the same breath he brought up their history? Anger continued to surge through her veins, warming her skin. She’d like to shove his “bonus” up his…

  “Excuse me?” Will was the picture of shock.

  Too late, she realized she’d vocalized the thought. Oh God. Her first instinct was to backtrack, but the anger fueled her forward instead.

  “You heard me. I don’t want your bonus.” She ripped the check into small pieces, gaining great satisfaction from the look on his face. “You’ve embarrassed me publicly and insulted me personally, and you try to smooth it all over with a fat check?” She sneered the words. “Good God, you think you can just throw money at people to solve your problems. Grow up.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Yes, you do. First Evie, and now me.” She was shouting, but she didn’t care. God, it felt good to vent. She gathered up the last of her things and shoved them in her bag. “I’m not a whore, so there’s no need to pay me for the sex, and if you’re trying to salve your own conscience for some reason, it’s really not necessary. Have Nancy mail me a check for the correct amount. I’ve fulfilled my end of my contract—both contracts, actually—and since I don’t work for you anymore, I can now tell you what a first-class jerk you are.” She looked at him levelly. “I don’t want your bonus money.”

  The phone on the conference room table beeped. To her surprise, Will ignored it.

  “I’m not paying you for sex.” His mouth quirked upward. “I don’t have that much money, you know.”

  Was that some kind of compliment? And what the hell did he find so funny?

  “But maybe I was trying to salve my conscience.” He slid off the table and walked toward her. “I know I cost you some business with my behavior. I was simply trying to offset the effects.”

  The phone on the table beeped again. Gwen glanced at it and noticed the red intercom light flashing. Probably Nancy. Will continued as if he hadn’t heard it.

  “I wasn’t trying to insult you further.”

  He was close—too close for Gwen’s comfort—and she forgot about the beeping phone as, once again, Will’s presence managed to shrink her perception to just the two of them. The fire behind her anger cooled some, leaving her confused at her jumbled thoughts and emotions.

  That half smile appeared again. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you shout like that. Miss Behavior wouldn’t approve.”

  As she calmed, the belated embarrassment at losing her temper crept in. Quietly, and surprised she had the guts to vocalize the thought, she whispered, “Well, you didn’t hurt Miss Behavior. You hurt me.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry.” He stepped closer and her breath caught.

  The damn BlackBerry in Will’s pocket chirped.

  Will’s eyes never left hers. “Gwen?”r />
  It chirped again, the sound—and Will’s lack of reaction—grating on her last nerve. When Will didn’t move, she snapped. “Aren’t you going to answer that? Nancy’s probably—”

  He shook his head. “It’ll wait. This is more important.”

  What? “Huh?”

  “‘Flesh and blood people always take priority over any other message in any other medium.’”

  Her shock must have shown on her face, because he laughed.

  “I’ve been paying attention. And you are certainly my priority right now.” His hand reached out to stroke the side of her face. The sensation, coupled with his quiet words, rocked her. “I miss you. I’d like the chance to start over, if you’re willing to give it to me.”

  Her chest ached.

  “You’ve civilized me and domesticated me. I’d like for you to love me.”

  The last bit of hurt pride propping up her defenses crumbled, and a happy, hopeful bubble inflated in her chest. “I do.”

  Will’s face lit up. “Really?”

  She could feel a big goofy grin pulling at her cheeks. “Yeah.”

  And then Will was kissing her, and every feeling she’d been trying to bury exploded back to the forefront. Her body sighed into his, and a feeling of rightness flooded her. His kiss turned hungry, and she responded, ignoring the strange knocking sound…

  “Mr. Harrison!”

  She broke away and saw Nancy standing in the now-open door, her fist frozen in midknock. Horror flooded through her as she saw Mr. Hiramine and his entourage standing behind Nancy. Oh God. They’d seen her crawling all over Will…

  Will didn’t even have the good grace to look embarrassed. Of course, her face was hot enough for both of them.

  “Yes, Nancy, is there a problem?”

  Gwen tried to step away from Will, but his hand on her arm stopped him. Short of looking like a fool trying to wiggle out of his grasp, she had no choice but to continue to stand there.

  “You didn’t answer my calls.” Nancy was the picture of shock, but Gwen couldn’t tell if it was from the scene she walked in on or Will ignoring his BlackBerry.

  “I was busy.”

  “I see that now. But Mr. Takeshi wanted to speak with you.”

  Gwen stepped forward as far as Will’s arm would allow. “I apologize for the, um, scene you witnessed. Mr. Harrison and I—”

  “Please do not apologize, Miss Sawyer.” Mr. Takeshi’s young face was kind and slightly amused. “Mr. Hiramine was aware that you and Mr. Harrison had some kind of unfinished business and we are sorry to have interrupted your…reconciliation, should we say?”

  Mr. Hiramine leaned in and said something in rapid Japanese, of which Gwen only caught a few words.

  His assistant translated. “Mr. Hiramine says he looks forward to doing additional business with HarCorp, but we leave you now to settle your own matters. We will be in touch.” With a shallow bow, he turned and led his group back in the direction of the elevator.

  Nancy mouthed “I’m sorry” as she closed the door behind them.

  Gwen sunk into a chair, her knees weak at the thought of how that scene could have easily undermined all of her hard work. She was just destined, it seemed, to be caught in compromising positions. “Well, that was embarrassing.”

  Will shrugged as he kneeled in front of her chair. His hands caressed her knees, sending shivers up her spine. “You care too much what others think.”

  She might as well get everything out in the open. “You know what happened in D.C.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. It wasn’t all your fault, though. And I think you could have repaired the damage if you hadn’t left town so quickly.”

  Sarah had said the same thing dozens of times, but for some reason hearing it from Will made her believe it.

  “But it was a good thing you did leave.”

  She felt her jaw drop. “What?”

  Will just laughed at her. “Because you wouldn’t be here otherwise, and I wouldn’t have a major business deal to celebrate.”

  Realization dawned. “What am I thinking? I should be congratulating you on sealing the deal.”

  Will’s smile caused her heart to skip a beat. “With you in charge, was there ever a doubt?”

  “You’re just lucky we didn’t lose it all right there at the end. I think we broke about forty-seven rules of etiquette with that display.”

  He stood and took hold of her hands. “Again, you worry too much, Miss Behavior. In fact, there’s only one etiquette rule I care about right now.”

  “And that would be?”

  “The one about ‘flesh and blood’ being the most important thing.” Will pulled her out of the chair and into his arms.

  With her body molded to his, she had no problem feeling his flesh and blood pressing insistently against her.

  She giggled. “If you want to use the phone…”

  “You’re hysterical.” Will’s lips caught hers in a tender kiss, full of promise.

  “Check your BlackBerry?”

  “The only thing I need to check is whether the door is locked this time.” With a groan, he lifted Gwen by the hips and settled her on the table. Standing between her legs, he moved in for a long, leisurely nuzzle down the sensitive skin of her neck.

  Gwen put on her primmest, most proper Miss Behavior tone. “Sex on the conference room table during office hours is hardly proper etiquette. I thought you said you were civilized now.”

  Will didn’t pause, and Gwen tipped her head back to give him better access. “Well, maybe it’s time to redefine ‘civilized behavior.’ Some of your etiquette rules seem pretty old-fashioned. You should make new ones.”

  Her usual argument died in her throat as Will nibbled the magic spot beneath her ear. For once, Miss Behavior totally agreed with him.

  “You know what? Forget the rules.”

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-4092-0

  THE MILLIONAIRE’S MISBEHAVING MISTRESS

  First North American Publication 2009.

  Copyright © 2009 by Kimberly Kerr.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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