Secrets of a Billionaire's Mistress

By: Sharon Kendrick



He frowned. Had her reluctance to take the cash he had insisted she accept gone deeper than he’d imagined? He’d thought she was simply making a gesture—hiding the natural greed which ran through the veins of pretty much every woman—but perhaps he had misjudged her. Perhaps she really was deeply offended by his suggestion that she buy herself some decent clothes.

Or maybe she’d just taken the money and done a runner, not intending to come here and meet him at all.

Renzo’s mouth hardened, because wasn’t there a rogue thought flickering inside his head which almost wished that to be the case? Wouldn’t he have welcomed a sound reason to despise her, instead of this simmering resentment that she was preparing to take her leave of him? That she had been the one to make a decision which was usually his province. He glanced again at his wristwatch. And how ironic that the woman to call time on a relationship should be a busty little red-headed waitress he’d picked up in a cocktail bar rather than one of the many more eligible women he’d dated.

He hadn’t even been intending to go out the night he’d met her. He’d just planned to have a quick drink with a group of bankers he’d known from way back who had been visiting from Argentina and wanted to see some London nightlife. Renzo didn’t particularly like nightclubs and remembered the stir the six men had made as they’d walked into the crowded Starlight Room at the Granchester Hotel, where they’d ordered champagne and decided which of the women sipping cocktails they should ask to dance. But Renzo hadn’t been interested in the svelte women who had been smiling invitingly in his direction. His attention had been caught by the curviest little firecracker he’d ever seen. She’d looked as if she had been poured into the black satin dress which had skimmed her rounded hips, but it had been her breasts which had caused the breath to dry in his throat. Madonna, che bella! What breasts! Luscious and quivering, they had a deep cleavage he wanted to run his tongue over and that first sight of them was something he would remember for as long as he lived.

He had ended up dancing with no one, mainly because he’d been too busy watching her and his erection had been too painful for him to move without embarrassment. He’d ordered drinks only from her, and wondered afterwards if she noticed he left them all. Each time he’d summoned her over to his table he could sense the almost palpable electricity which sizzled in the air—he’d certainly never felt such a powerful attraction towards a total stranger before. He’d expected her to make some acknowledgement of the silent chemistry which pulsed between them, but she hadn’t. In fact the way her eyelids had half shielded her huge green eyes and the cautious looks she’d been directing at him had made him think she must either be the world’s greatest innocent, or its most consummate actress. If he had known it was the former, would he still have pursued her?

Of course he would. Deep down he recognised he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself because hadn’t he been gripped by a powerful hunger which insisted he would never know peace until he had possessed her?

He’d been waiting outside when eventually she had emerged from the club and had thanked the heavens for the heavy downpour of rain which had been showering down on her. She hadn’t looked a bit surprised to see him as she’d opened up her umbrella and for a moment it had crossed his mind that she might take a different man home with her every night, though even that had not been enough to make him order his driver to move on. But when he’d offered her a lift she’d refused, in an emphatic manner which had startled him.

‘No, thanks.’

‘No?’

‘I know what you want,’ she’d said, in a low voice. ‘And you won’t get it from me.’

And with that she’d disappeared into the rain-wet night and Renzo had sat in the back seat of the limousine, watching her retreating form beneath her little black umbrella, his mouth open and his body aching with frustration and unwilling admiration.

He’d gone to the club the next night and the weekend when he’d returned from a work trip to New York. Some nights she’d been there and some she hadn’t. He’d discovered she only worked there at weekends and it had only been later he’d found out she had a daytime job as a waitress somewhere else. Extracting information from her had been like trying to get blood from a stone. She was the most private woman he’d ever met as well as the most resistant and perhaps it was those things which made Renzo persist in a way he’d never had to persist before. And just when he’d been wondering if he was wasting his time, she had agreed to let him drive her home.

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