Mistress to a Millionaire

‘I’m not here to have an affair with you,’ she stated shakily, willing herself not to cry.

‘Shouldn’t you wait to be asked?’

‘You…you said—’

‘I said I wanted Claudia and the rest of my household to respect you as my mouthpiece when I am not around,’ Slade said rigidly. ‘At least that’s what I heard myself say. What did you hear?’ he asked cuttingly.

‘You…you know what you were insinuating. And…and earlier…?

? She wanted to be as strong as he was, to lay into him with her tongue, to defend herself, but her lips were trembling so much she had to stop.

‘Earlier was a mistake which I thought we had both realised and acknowledged without the need for discussion,’ Slade said coolly, making her feel like the most boorish, asinine creature in the world. ‘But now you have brought it up, and at the risk of sounding coarse I will say in my defence that you were as…enthusiastic in the error of judgement as I was.’

She deserved it, Daisy conceded, her cheeks flaming scarlet. But it didn’t make it any easier to take.

‘And, for the record, I have never used my position or wealth to entice a reluctant female into a sexual relationship with me. Is that clear enough?’ he asked icily.

He was livid, absolutely furiously angry, Daisy told herself weakly, but the cool control was holding.

‘Is it?’ he pressed grimly, his coldness withering.

‘I…I thought…’

Her voice trailed away as he eyed her frostily. ‘I think we are both aware of what you thought, but I am not so short of female companionship that I am reduced to hiring someone for the role.’ He raised furious eyebrows as he finished.

‘No,’ she agreed miserably, looking down at her hands clasped in her lap. ‘No, of course not.’

There was another moment of silence, longer this time, and then his voice was different—softer, smokier—when he said, ‘He hurt you, didn’t he, this husband of yours?’

‘He is not my husband any more.’ It was said much too quickly and revealed plenty to the tall, dark man watching her.

‘This is good.’

In this particular instance she could agree wholeheartedly with him, Daisy thought bitterly. It was flipping fantastic.

‘But nevertheless it takes time to recover from such wounds,’ Slade continued quietly. ‘It is a painful time.’

Daisy nodded without raising her head. It wasn’t the wound of Ronald’s betrayal that was so hard to recover from, more the memory of a tiny sweet face that haunted her dreams and intruded on her days when she expected it least. But Slade Eastwood was the last man in the world she could talk to about Jenny. Jenny—so small, so beautiful and so completely hers.

‘And now the air is clear between us, yes?’

‘What?’ Daisy raised her head sharply. For the last agonising second or two she had been back in that hospital room and the pain was crucifying, but now Slade’s matter-of-fact voice brought her out of the darkness. After all that had happened—her accusations compounded by the unforgivable sin of striking him—he had dismissed their altercation just like that? She had expected hostility and dismissal at the very least.

‘You wish us to continue fighting?’ he asked with a touch of laughter at the back of his voice.

‘No, no, of course not.’ It was too breathless, too soft and feminine, and not the way to deal with this man.

‘Neither do I,’ he said with sudden devastating seriousness.

Did he do it on purpose, add that husky, smoky quality to his voice that was pure dynamite? Daisy asked herself silently. He was a sexy man, he was a very, very sexy man, but she was immune to his charm, she told herself forcefully. She had been immunised by an expert.

‘Now, Isabella has prepared us a delicious meal to which we shall do full justice,’ Slade said easily, as though they had been doing nothing more controversial all night than sipping cocktails and making small talk. ‘And then, once we have dined, you will have to excuse me. I have an…appointment in town.’

An appointment in town. A woman. It had to be a woman, and it was that same woman he had dressed up for—not her. Daisy felt mortified and utterly ashamed. Why would a man like Slade Eastwood be interested in someone like her, for goodness’ sake? She must be mad! Oh, why hadn’t she thought long and hard before sailing in with all guns firing? And that kiss earlier—it had been her response to what he had intended as nothing more than a friendly gesture that had sent things out of control. There would be beautiful women in their hundreds—beautiful, unattached, young women with no hang-ups and certainly no ex-husbands in the background—panting for a date with Slade Eastwood. And who could blame them?

She suddenly felt as old as Methuselah and it didn’t help the battering her self-confidence had taken in the last couple of years.

‘But first another cocktail, yes?’ said Slade smoothly.