His Inexperienced Mistress: Girl Behind the Scandalous Reputation / The End of her Innocence / Ruthless Russian, Lost Innocence

‘My stepfather warned me about men like you,’ she said, her voice a breathy caress in the otherwise silent room.

‘Is that right?’ His hands rounded her shoulders and then ran lightly under the heavy cascade of her hair and across her back. He felt her shiver and swallowed hard.

‘That’s right—oh!’ She gasped as his hands skimmed around her ribcage and rose to cup her breasts. Her nipples peaked against his palms and made it nearly impossible for him to leave that tiny bow done up.

‘Keep talking,’ he growled, his hands skimming back down over her torso. It was easier to ignore the feel of her if she kept annoying him. ‘You were saying something about men like me?’

He knelt at her feet and unzipped one of her boots.

‘Yes,’ she said, and her voice was only a touch uneven. ‘Men who only want one thing from a woman and then discard them when they’re finished.’

‘That “one thing” being sex, I take it?’ He put the boot aside and set to work on the other one.

‘Yes, I’m sure you do,’ she bit out scornfully. ‘Take it, that is.’

He looked up to find her studying the ceiling. ‘This is hardly taking it, Lily,’ he retorted gruffly. ‘And let’s just say I’m not enjoying this either—but I don’t usually entertain possible drug felons, so you’ll have to excuse my current modus operandi.’

‘I’ll excuse nothing,’ she spat.

‘And—’ he stopped, completely losing his train of thought when he found his face on a level with that part of her body he’d love to touch. To taste.

Was she as aroused as he was? Wet even?

Hell, don’t go there. Just don’t go there.

He blanked his mind as much as possible as he ran both hands up over one long, lean leg, finally remembering what he was about to say. ‘And I’ve never had a woman complain.’

‘That’s not true.’

He stopped and looked at her.

‘I remember reading about that girl. A model who said that you tricked her into thinking you cared. That you wouldn’t know love if it…if it hit—no, knocked you on the head.’

Tristan paused. ‘She’s entitled to her opinion, but it wasn’t my fault she fell in love with me. She knew exactly what type of relationship she was getting into, and love was never part of the deal.’

‘Silly girl.’ Lily folded her arms across her chest and stared anywhere but at him. ‘She doesn’t know how lucky she was. Personally, I don’t know any woman in her right mind who could ever imagine being in love with you.’

He shifted to her other leg.

‘Unfortunately it happens. But women fall in love with many things, and it’s rarely the man they see in front of them.’ And in him, he knew, they saw a title and a life of privilege. Like his mother had with his father. Shopping, champagne and chauffeurs, he’d heard her brag to more than one friend.

‘You should be thankful they want something at all. It’s not like you can rely on your charming personality,’ she scorned.

Tristan laughed—a hard sound in the deathly silent room. ‘I’m not looking for love.’ He rose and reached around to cup her bottom, closing his eyes as he slid both hands into her deep back pockets.

Lily’s hands flew to his chest, as if to hold him back, but how easy would it be just to tug her forward and let her feel how much she aroused him?

‘What happened?’ She gasped breathlessly. ‘Did a woman scorn you, Tristan?’

He knew she was deliberately trying to distract him, and that she was right to do so.

‘No woman’s ever got close enough to scorn me, Honey,’ he sneered, skating his hands along the inside of her waistband and then finally cupping between her legs.

‘You bastard!’ she seethed, her hand rising to slap his face.

He stopped her, but deep down he knew he deserved it. He let her go so she could stalk to the opposite side of the bed.

‘I hope you’re satisfied.’

Not by a long shot, sweetheart.

‘That was necessary. Nothing else,’ he said evenly.

‘Keep telling yourself that. It might make you sleep better tonight,’ she spat.

‘I’ll sleep just fine,’ he lied.

‘Well, you shouldn’t. But I’m curious—is it just me you don’t trust, or all women?’

‘Don’t go there.’

‘Why not? Your attitude is abysmal for someone whose parents were happily married—’

‘Actually, my parents weren’t happily married.’

‘They weren’t?’ She blinked in surprise.

‘No. I don’t think my mother ever really loved my father and he refused to see it. Which was to his detriment in the end, because as soon as she got a better offer she took off.’

‘Oh, that’s terrible.’ Her automatic compassion was like a fist to his stomach.

‘Yeah, well, that wasn’t the worst of it. Love has a way of making fools of us all. Something to remember.’

He turned sharply on his heel and strode from her room before he did something stupid. Like throw her on the bed and give her what he knew they both wanted—no matter how much she tried to deny it.

Once in his room, Tristan shed his clothes and jumped into the shower, turning the mixer all the way to cold and dousing his head as if it was on fire. He let the freezing water wash over him for a minute and then reset the temperature to hot. God, that search…He blew out a breath. The more he tried to control his physical reaction to her the more out of control it seemed to become.

This situation was seriously driving him crazy. She was seriously driving him crazy. And, worse, the memory of the day his mother had walked out on them wouldn’t leave him alone.

Tristan had overheard his parents arguing. Overheard his mother telling his father that he had nothing she wanted. That her son, Tristan, had nothing she wanted either. And that had bitten deep, because every time she had spiralled downwards Tristan had always been there to try and help her. Tried to be there for her. So to have her only want Jordana…

The memory still chilled his blood. It had taken him a long time to realise that no one was good enough for her and that all those years of trying to win her love and approval had been for nothing.

He scrubbed his hand over his face and shut the mixer off. He pulled on silk boxer shorts and walked up the outdoor circular staircase to his rooftop balcony.

The night was cool, and he enjoyed the sting of air on his skin as he leaned on the wrought-iron railing and looked out over the dark mass that was the Heath and the twinkling coloured lights of London beyond. The cumulus clouds that hung over the city had a faint pinkish tinge due to the light pollution, but he barely noticed. His mind was focused on replaying the day’s events in his head.

Which wasn’t a good thing—because his head was full of more questions than answers.