Read Online Bartering Her Innocence by Trish Morey - Free Book Online
Authors: Trish Morey
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to be sharing the master’s bedchamber, it was going to have to be carried upstairs at some stage.
The valet nodded, his disapproval clear on his set features, and led the way up the wide flight of stairs leading to the noble floor. A stunning palazzo, she registered as they climbed, with terrazzo floors and stuccoed walls and heavy beamed ceilings so high they were in no way oppressive.
Or were they?
Only one flight of steps, but suddenly she needed oxygen, as if the air was thinner the higher they climbed. But it wasn’t the air, she knew. It was being here, in the lion’s den, about to take on the lion at his own game.
It was anticipation, both terrifying and delicious, for what would come next.
And what could have been a spike of fear and the chance for cowardice to surface and set her fleeing down the stairs turned into a surge of strength. Did he really think she could be forced into something, to tumble meekly into his bed? Damn the man but she would not crawl to him like some simpering virgin begging for favours.
The stairs opened to a sitting room so elegant it could feature in a magazine—maybe the sofas and dark timber leant towards the masculine—but the overall effect was of light and space.
How her mother’s house was meant to look, it occurred to her. Probably had looked, before Eduardo had taken her for his wife and she’d become addicted to the factory shops of Murano and let her passion for glass suck up every last euro and every available inch of space.
Through a set of timber doors, the valet led her, and yet another reception room until finally they were at another set of sculpted timber doors where he knocked and showed her in, pulling the door closed behind him as he left.
Her heart kicked up a beat when she saw him.
The lion was in.
He sprawled arrogantly in a chair behind an acre of desk across a room that went on for ever and then some. And still he owned the room. It was an extension of him, paying tribute to his inexorable power. She wrenched her eyes from his and studied the desk before him. Antique if she wasn’t mistaken, but masculine and strong and with legs that were solid and built to last whatever the ages would throw at it.
It would do nicely.
‘Valentina,’ he said, without standing, his voice measured, his dark eyes waiting for answers. ‘This is a surprise.’
‘Is it?’ She looked around at the door. ‘Does that lock from the inside?’
He cocked his head, the shadow of a frown pulling his brows closer together. ‘Why do you ask?’
She shrugged the straps of her backpack from her shoulders, hoping no hired help was about to rush in—not with what she had planned—before letting the weight drag it to the ground at her feet, making no move to stop it hitting the floor. She summoned up confidence along with a smile she didn’t feel. ‘It would be a shame to be interrupted.’
‘Would it?’ he asked, as if he didn’t care one way or the other, and she almost panicked and fled while she could. It was so long since she’d last made love. Years since that last unforgettable night with Luca. Was she kidding herself that she could pull this off? She was so unpractised in the arts of the seductress, so unskilled.
And she almost did flee.
Except she noticed the way he’d already eased his body a fraction higher in his seat, his limbs a little less casually positioned.
And so she licked her lips in preparation for the show. Oh God, she was such an amateur! Such a fake! But still she touched a finger to the zip of her jacket and toyed with it a while, teasing it lower—she was way out of her depth and it had to show!—until she was certain he was watching. ‘It’s warm in here. Don’t you think it’s warm in here?’
‘I can open a window,’ he said guardedly, his eyes not leaving her fingers, no part of him looking like it was willing to move far enough to open a window any time soon.
‘It’s fine,’ she said, feeling suddenly empowered,
The valet nodded, his disapproval clear on his set features, and led the way up the wide flight of stairs leading to the noble floor. A stunning palazzo, she registered as they climbed, with terrazzo floors and stuccoed walls and heavy beamed ceilings so high they were in no way oppressive.
Or were they?
Only one flight of steps, but suddenly she needed oxygen, as if the air was thinner the higher they climbed. But it wasn’t the air, she knew. It was being here, in the lion’s den, about to take on the lion at his own game.
It was anticipation, both terrifying and delicious, for what would come next.
And what could have been a spike of fear and the chance for cowardice to surface and set her fleeing down the stairs turned into a surge of strength. Did he really think she could be forced into something, to tumble meekly into his bed? Damn the man but she would not crawl to him like some simpering virgin begging for favours.
The stairs opened to a sitting room so elegant it could feature in a magazine—maybe the sofas and dark timber leant towards the masculine—but the overall effect was of light and space.
How her mother’s house was meant to look, it occurred to her. Probably had looked, before Eduardo had taken her for his wife and she’d become addicted to the factory shops of Murano and let her passion for glass suck up every last euro and every available inch of space.
Through a set of timber doors, the valet led her, and yet another reception room until finally they were at another set of sculpted timber doors where he knocked and showed her in, pulling the door closed behind him as he left.
Her heart kicked up a beat when she saw him.
The lion was in.
He sprawled arrogantly in a chair behind an acre of desk across a room that went on for ever and then some. And still he owned the room. It was an extension of him, paying tribute to his inexorable power. She wrenched her eyes from his and studied the desk before him. Antique if she wasn’t mistaken, but masculine and strong and with legs that were solid and built to last whatever the ages would throw at it.
It would do nicely.
‘Valentina,’ he said, without standing, his voice measured, his dark eyes waiting for answers. ‘This is a surprise.’
‘Is it?’ She looked around at the door. ‘Does that lock from the inside?’
He cocked his head, the shadow of a frown pulling his brows closer together. ‘Why do you ask?’
She shrugged the straps of her backpack from her shoulders, hoping no hired help was about to rush in—not with what she had planned—before letting the weight drag it to the ground at her feet, making no move to stop it hitting the floor. She summoned up confidence along with a smile she didn’t feel. ‘It would be a shame to be interrupted.’
‘Would it?’ he asked, as if he didn’t care one way or the other, and she almost panicked and fled while she could. It was so long since she’d last made love. Years since that last unforgettable night with Luca. Was she kidding herself that she could pull this off? She was so unpractised in the arts of the seductress, so unskilled.
And she almost did flee.
Except she noticed the way he’d already eased his body a fraction higher in his seat, his limbs a little less casually positioned.
And so she licked her lips in preparation for the show. Oh God, she was such an amateur! Such a fake! But still she touched a finger to the zip of her jacket and toyed with it a while, teasing it lower—she was way out of her depth and it had to show!—until she was certain he was watching. ‘It’s warm in here. Don’t you think it’s warm in here?’
‘I can open a window,’ he said guardedly, his eyes not leaving her fingers, no part of him looking like it was willing to move far enough to open a window any time soon.
‘It’s fine,’ she said, feeling suddenly empowered,
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