His Mistress for a Million by Trish Morey Page A

help to take care of the luggage and led the way to his suite of rooms, and yet there was too much coiled tension in his every step, his every movement, for her to believe that. Even his words were brimming with tension. The sound of her heels clicking on the terrazzo floor only served to ratchet it up.
    ‘Why did you say I might stay longer?’
    ‘Because you made it sound like you weren’t planning on staying at all.’
    ‘I wasn’t sure you’d want me to.’
    ‘And I thought we had a deal.’
    Maybe so, but she knew he wasn’t happy with her, knew she’d failed to impress him with her acting skills. But what did he expect when she’d never been a mistress, didn’t know how a mistress was supposed to act? It wasn’t as if she’d blown it in front of his business partners. It had only been his driver—his right-hand woman. An exceptionally beautiful right-hand woman.
    Could the act all be for her benefit?
    ‘Petra is very beautiful.’
    He shrugged, but gave every impression of knowing who he was talking about. ‘Is she? She’s good at what she does.’
    ‘And she lives here with you, in this—’ she looked around her, at the exquisite wall hangings and period furniture ‘—this house ?’
    ‘The offices of Xenides Properties are here. I’m often away and Petra works long hours. It’s an arrangement that works well for both of us.’
    There was no hint of any attachment in his words or the tone of his voice. In fact he could have been talking about any employee. Maybe her hunch had been wrong. Maybe he was just aware of Petra’s obvious resentment for his lifestyle and his constant change of companions? Or maybe he was just angry with her own hopeless acting skills. She could hardly blame him if he was.
    ‘Here we are.’ A pair of carved timber doors stood at the end of a passageway. He pushed them both open and her eyes opened wide. ‘The sitting room,’ he said, still moving.
    She stayed where she was and let herself gape. By now sheshould have been used to the luxury—luxury suites in London hotels, a personal private jet with wrap-around leather and champagne on tap—but still the sheer opulence of his everyday lifestyle made her jaw drop. For this was no rented accommodation or flying office, this was his home. And this one room was large enough to house her entire family back home.
    ‘How much money do you have?’
    And he turned and looked at her, a cold expression charging his eyes. ‘Does it matter?’
    ‘Well, no. It’s just…’
    ‘Do not fear, I have more than enough to pay for you.’
    His words shouldn’t have stung but somehow they did. The notion he was paying to have her here, to stroke her hand with his thumb and kiss her when he needed to look as if he had someone to kiss.
    It wasn’t as if he were paying her for sex. She was merely acting. Pretending. And yet there was no pretence about the impact his touch and his kisses had on her. It made no sense. She’d been the one to insist on no sex, so why was it that his touch made her think of nothing else? Why did his kisses make her hunger for that which she had refused to entertain? Did he really not feel it too, this ribbon of desire that seemed to tug her ever closer to his side?
    No! Andreas was right. This was a commercial arrangement, not some fairy-tale Cinderella story. In a month’s time, or however long it took, she’d leave Santorini and go back to her home in Kangaroo Crossing, albeit a million dollars richer than when she’d arrived. For a girl with her background and her chances in life, surely that was fairy tale enough. And yes, clearly there was no question he couldn’t afford it.
    ‘Come on, then,’ he said gruffly as he tugged off his tie, pointing towards a door on the far side of the room at the same time. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

Chapter Eight
    ‘W HA …? What do you mean?’
    Andreas sighed. What the hell had he been thinking to contract this woman to act as his mistress? As an