The Multi-Millionaire's Virgin Mistress

‘So…’ He was wiping his face on one of the fluffy towels as he turned to face her. ‘You never say why you have to rush off. Busy day ahead? Books to mark? Nails to paint? You can’t tell me that there’s hair to be washed, because you’ve already done that.’

Megan stepped out of the shower room and looked at him as he lounged indolently against the wide plate of marble that encased the slate washbasin. He had slung a towel around his waist and it hung low, a casual covering that paid token lip service to modesty.

‘I always have books to mark. It’s a never-ending exercise. Today it’s English, and I’m expecting some fabulous stories from Year Four.’

‘In other words you are rushing back for no good reason?’

Megan didn’t say anything, because this was unfamiliar territory. She had laid down her ground rules and so far he had obeyed them. Sex without involvement. How was she supposed to cling to those ground rules if he started trying to break them?

‘Marking books is a very good reason,’ she began valiantly. ‘I know you probably think that my job isn’t as hard as yours—’

‘That’s not what I meant.’ He strolled towards the shower, turned it on and said, casually, ‘Don’t even think about leaving until we’re done with this conversation.’

‘Conversation? I thought we were exchanging information about the day ahead.’

Alessandro heard her but chose not to reply, even though he was aware of her dithering by the misted glass.

He was going to take his time, and then—well, it was open to debate whether she would be scuttling off to her house in pursuit of marking ‘fabulous stories from Year Four’. He had other plans in mind. Plans which he hadn’t had a week ago, when their non-involvement relationship had still seemed a pretty good idea—especially on the back of Victoria.

Megan wasn’t in the bedroom when he finally made it out of the bathroom, but she was waiting for him in the kitchen, sitting demurely at the kitchen table, warming her hands around a mug of coffee. Her rucksack was on the ground by her feet and her shoes were on. She was ready and prepared for a swift exit.

He scowled. ‘Breakfast?’

Megan shook her head and finished what was left of the coffee in her cup. ‘Must dash.’

Alessandro gritted his teeth as he poured himself coffee from the glass jug on the counter. He forced himself to smile. If she was so damned eager to leave, then snarling at her was only going to hasten her departure.

‘I’ve been invited to a company do this evening,’ he said conversationally, tugging out a chair with his foot and sitting to face her. ‘Theatre and dinner.’

‘Oh? That sounds nice. Anything interesting?’

He gave the name of a play which had only just hit the West End. Tickets were like gold dust.

‘Lucky you.’ Megan sighed. ‘I’d love to see that, but the waiting list is probably ten years long. Still, it’ll give me time to save up. Have you any idea how much theatre tickets cost?’

‘No idea.’

‘Well, an arm and a leg.’ She stood up and glanced at her watch as she did a mental checklist in her head, to make sure that she had packed up all the stuff she had brought over. She was careful never to leave anything at his house. It was easy to be lazy, and that was a road she had travelled down before.

She had reached ‘toothbrush’—tick—when he interrupted.

‘I’m glad you’re keen to see that play, because I need a partner and I’m inviting you to come along with me.’

Alessandro could tell immediately that she was appalled by the idea. First off there was her lack of response, and then her face fell. He could snap his fingers and have any woman he wanted leaping at the invitation, but here he was, confronted by the woman he was sleeping with—a woman who, seven years ago, would have squealed with delight at the offer—and she looked as though she was calculating what phony excuse she could dredge up by way of refusal.

‘I…I can’t.’

‘And why would that be, Megan?’ he asked with heavy sarcasm. ‘Because your social diary is so jam-packed with exciting events that you can’t possibly cancel?’

‘Because it’s not a good idea,’ she told him bluntly. She sat back down and looked at him, cupping her chin in her hand.

‘And why,’ Alessandro asked with laboured patience, ‘isn’t it a good idea?’

‘Because that’s not what this deal is all about.’

He clenched his jaw and shoved himself away from the table. ‘This so-called deal is beginning to get on my nerves,’ he said harshly. ‘I can’t slot my sex life into a diary like a business appointment, and forget about it on the days we don’t meet. It’s unnatural.’