His Mistress by Blackmail

‘Come here, Sage, I’m not going to bite,’ he drawled.

It would be childish to retreat now, she told herself. ‘Did you move me from the sofa to the bedroom?’

He poured the coffee, added cream and the exact amount of sugar he somehow knew she liked, and strolled over to where she stood. ‘Yes.’ He held out the cup to her, his gaze moving from the top of her head to her face, then down her body and back again.

She accepted the coffee, making sure to keep her fingers away from his. Already his scrutiny was messing with her breathing. ‘Why?’

‘You didn’t look comfortable. You were in danger of waking with a sore neck. I tried to wake you but you were dead to the world.’

Somehow that didn’t make her feel better. Her every sense warned her that any vulnerability revealed to this man was a bad idea. ‘You should’ve tried harder. Or left me alone.’

‘And ignore the rare opportunity to flex my Good Samaritan wings? I don’t think so.’ His words suggested amusement, but there was a hard look in his eyes that was at variance with his words.

She eyed him warily. ‘Are you annoyed about something?’

‘Only at the thought that you nearly cost James his job.’

Confused, she stared at him. ‘What are you talking about?’

His jaw gritted as his eyes conducted another sweep of her body in the skimpy T-shirt. ‘My butler. You’re lucky I gave him the night off. Are you in the habit of walking around half naked?’

She frowned. ‘I...what?’

‘I would’ve had to fire him if he’d seen you like this,’ he rasped.

Her eyes widened. ‘You’ve seen me like this. Do us both a favour and fire yourself.’

His teeth bared in a grin. Again, she found herself unable to look away. ‘Perhaps we should start again. Blame our irrationality on jet lag.’

‘That might be wise, although you’re winning the irrationality stakes right now.’

‘I’m extremely possessive, Sage. Even, I’m discovering, within the boundary of a fake relationship.’

She had no adequate words to counter that. Probably because her brain was still malfunctioning, and his huskily spoken words had started a keen fire in her belly.

She took the safest option and kept her mouth shut and her eyes averted from his breathtaking body.

They sipped their coffee in silence, with him leaning a slim hip on the centre island counter, unapologetically staring at her, and she fighting not to react to his blatant scrutiny. When the tension got too much, she spoke.

‘Why were you in my room in the first place?’ The thought that she’d been so out of it she hadn’t sensed his presence still disturbed her.

He reached into his pocket and brought out her phone. ‘You left your purse in the living room. It rang several times after the latest pictures of us hit social media,’ he said gravely.

Her gut clenched. ‘Ben?’

Xandro gave a curt nod.

‘Did you talk to him?’

‘Eventually.’

‘What did he say?’ she demanded.

One corner of his mouth lifted in that half smile she found so intriguing. ‘He confirmed he was no longer in Macau, refused to tell me where he was, then threatened murder and mayhem again if I laid another finger on you.’

She lurched forward, reaching for the phone. He raised it out of reach. ‘What are you doing? Give me the phone.’

He slipped it back into his pocket. ‘Not yet.’