A Mistress, a Scandal, a Ring

The muscle at the corner of his mouth flickered, hinting at amusement, and her pulse leapt in her veins. They were both making an effort to get along today, and even though the light mood felt a bit forced it was ten times better than the way things had been between them yesterday.

A part of her was still astonished that he’d agreed to come with her. Last night her heart had clenched at hearing him finally admit that knowing who his birth mother had been meant something to him, but a niggle of doubt had made her wonder if he’d just been telling her what he thought she wanted to hear. Asking him to do this trip with her had been a challenge—a test of sorts—to see if his curiosity about Camila was genuine.

‘What were you thinking?’ he asked now.

‘How do you know I was thinking anything?’ she countered, feeling a tug at the corners of her own mouth.

Every now and again over the last two hours they’d slipped into a comfortable banter which she was finding dangerously addictive. Xavier in a bad mood was formidable; in a good mood he was downright lethal.

He glanced at her. ‘There’s always something going on in a woman’s mind.’

She pushed her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. ‘That’s because we’re highly intelligent.’ And then, realising she’d just cornered herself with that statement, she added, ‘If you must know, I was thinking you look remarkably relaxed today.’

‘“Remarkably”?’

She shrugged. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘No,’ he said smoothly. ‘Enlighten me.’

She shot him a sidelong glance. ‘Well...you’re not exactly the most laid-back person in the world.’

A sharp, narrow bend loomed ahead and he slowed and shifted gears. ‘Is that your way of sugar-coating what you really want to say?’

They rounded the bend and he accelerated out of it onto a long, straight stretch of road.

‘That’s my way of being polite.’

‘And the less polite version?’

She clamped her lips together.

‘Jordan?’ He pressed her with a look.

She held out for a few seconds more, then capitulated with a sigh. ‘Fine. You’re a chronic workaholic. Which means you’re not relaxed most of the time. You’re uptight, probably have a skewed set of priorities, and you would benefit from taking a chill pill once in a while.’

‘A “chill pill”?’

‘Metaphorically,’ she clarified. ‘I don’t condone recreational drugs.’

She saw the muscle in his cheek flicker again, and it suddenly annoyed her that he seemed to find her amusing when she wasn’t trying to be.

‘Should I brace myself for another lecture on work/life balance?’

Feeling a touch defensive now, she lifted her chin and pointed out, ‘You did ask. And, if I recall correctly, you’re the CEO of a global corporation with a multibillion-dollar turnover who doesn’t have the luxury of a mere forty-hour working week,’ she said, quoting his spiel from last night back to him verbatim. ‘I suspect any lectures on work/life balance would be completely wasted on you.’

His lips quirked again, and for one pulse-hitching moment she thought he was going to break into one of those lethal smiles that were guaranteed to leave her breathless.

Then he cast her another look and his mouth suddenly flattened. The car decelerated so rapidly her stomach pitched.

She braced her hand on the door as he braked to a stop on the hard shoulder of the road. ‘What’s wrong?’

He pulled his sunglasses off, his gaze narrowing on her face. ‘You said you were wearing sunscreen.’ His voice was a low, accusatory growl.

She frowned. ‘I am.’

He jabbed a button on the console and the car’s roof emerged from its housing.

She made a sound of dismay as it closed over their heads, blocking out the glorious sunshine. ‘Why did you do that?’