Ruthless Boss, Royal Mistress

She stood still for a moment longer, the smile of Venus on her lips. She could have been one of the world’s great models if she’d wanted to. He’d never seen a more beautiful woman. And the question vexed him— was her beauty all on the outside, or the inside? What was it that made her so beautiful? Her eyes, her skin, her hair, her smile? Or was it the bubbly personality and spirit of generosity? Her natural, calm elegance came with a touch of mischief, of love, of laughter and fun. So irresistible.

And how was it that she could stand here in front of the world and there was no hint of that blush? Surely she must be feeling self-conscious? Who wouldn’t? But thinking on it, he’d only ever seen that blush when right up close to her. When he was right up close to her.

She turned then, and he forgot everything. The dress was a masterpiece, but only a foil to the body beneath.

Aside from two very long, very thin straps, there was no back to her dress. Only smooth, golden skin revealed. The material started again fractionally above where the curve of her bottom began. James, like every male in the room, was transfixed.

After a second’s pause in which everyone in the room took a collective breath, the frenzy of camera clicks started again.

Seeming to ignore it, Elissa nodded and the waiting staff moved towards the media pack, offering them the drinks. Then she turned back to face the line-up.

‘The other guests will soon be arriving. If you want to catch them on the red carpet outside, now is your chance to get your spot. Otherwise you can remain here and start the party.’

But they wouldn’t let her go—questions came at her from all directions.

‘How do you like Sydney?’

‘Will you be coming back to Aristo to live or is Australia your new home?’

‘Who designed your dress, Elissa?’

James noticed the slight set to her smile under the onslaught—the first hint of tension she’d let slip and so slight he doubted anyone else would even notice. But he was tuned in to every nuance of her body and expression and he read strain there. She chose to answer the third question.

‘Tino Dranias, a young Aristan designer.’ She gestured with her hand and a man walked past James; he hadn’t realised there was anyone behind him. ‘His work is just wonderful. If you think it looks nice, let me tell you it feels even better on.’

It was the man from the lounge. The one looking as if he’d been up all night. Of course he had—hunched over a sewing machine. James could taste the humble pie already.

‘Tino styled the wait staff tonight too.’ The young designer looked pretty blown away as he smiled into the lenses of over a hundred cameras.

Liss looked as if she’d been doing it all her life—and she had, of course. But still, she had such grace under pressure.

‘What about Australia, Elissa? Is that your new home now?’

The flash in her eyes wouldn’t have been noticed by any of them. Or if it had they couldn’t have interpreted it. But James had seen that look before, when he’d asked her to name one thing she wanted that she didn’t have.

‘I’m enjoying Sydney but I’ll probably move on again soon. I’m not ready to settle into anywhere for long yet.’ Her answer was delivered with the flippant lilt he’d heard often before. But there was an off note in there. She was lying. He was sure of it.

Half the photographers scrummed out to where many paparazzi were already in place to catch the arrival of the guests, while the others remained, snapping the room, the waiters, still trying to get a word from Liss.

She moved quickly though, pausing by James on her way. A quick, low mutter in his ear. ‘I know it’s not all about me, James, but they wanted photos and I thought it might help.’

Hell, yes, it helped. But she wouldn’t meet his eyes and he needed to make contact with her—some sort of communication that could carry them through the evening to a time when they could really talk. A compliment might help.

‘You look beautiful. Like Aphrodite.’

That earned him a quick look—one that stabbed. ‘Aphrodite was a vain and selfish creature who cheated on her husband.’

Wrong choice, then. His feeling of guilt trebled.

‘Liss, I—’

‘Better go mingle.’

She turned, smiling keenly into the crowd, and didn’t glance his way again.

The sensation that she was wrong—that he’d been wrong—grew. It was all about her. Everything he was feeling was all about her. And he had to make it right.

Ironically he regretted the media presence. She was keenly aware of them, as was he, and it meant he couldn’t get within any sort of distance—certainly not nearly as close as he’d like.