Read Online His Mistress for a Million by Trish Morey - Free Book Online

herself back in the living room where Andreas was still on the phone.
    He raised one eyebrow when he saw her emerge and she raised her own. ‘My room?’ she mouthed quietly and he frowned and pointed to the door she’d first entered and her heart leapt into her mouth. Surely he wasn’t expecting them to share? Even though he’d hinted that it might be necessary to maintain the illusion, there was no one else here to pretend fornow. And hadn’t she made it plain enough that she wouldn’t sleep with him? She shook her head and her panicked thoughts must have been laid bare in her eyes. He covered the handset with one hand and pointed to a sofa. ‘I’m sleeping there,’ he growled. ‘The bedroom is all yours.’
    She retraced her steps to the bedroom and dug through her bag until she found her pyjamas and toilet bag and ducked into the bathroom, feeling embarrassed and stupid and relieved all at the same time. Of course he didn’t want to sleep with her! What the hell had she been thinking? Their deal was for her to pretend to be his mistress, not be the real thing. One kiss had scrambled her brain completely. One kiss and she was practically expecting him to make love to her.
    She adjusted the water temperature and stepped into the cloudburst of a shower. The pounding of the steamy water was like a salve to her weary muscles and tired body, but still she was out in record time, simultaneously pulling on her pyjamas and cleaning her teeth in case Andreas needed the bathroom. Her stomach rumbled and she realised she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. But she was used to that. It was the one reason her jeans fitted her now, rather than stretching at the seams like when she’d first arrived in London. At least her mad job had achieved what ten years of New Year’s resolutions had failed to deliver. Anyway, she was too tired to eat now. All she wanted to do was collapse into bed.
    She pulled the hair tie from her hair, shaking the damp ends free as she surveyed the object in question. Compared to the camp bed she was used to, the bed seemed to stretch an acre in every direction. And it was all for her. But which side was his? Or did his lordship like to occupy the middle? He might be going to sleep on the sofa outside, but just the knowledge that he’d slept here last night and she could be sharing that same place seemed too intimate, too personal. She hovered atthe side a while, before exhaustion got the better of her and she climbed into the closest side, finding herself enveloped in cloud-soft luxury, the scent of Andreas on her pillow, the comforter so soft and warm around her it was like a hug from her nanna.
    The bright side, she thought dreamily, was that sooner than she’d expected she’d be home and hugging her nanna again. There was always a bright side.
    She pulled her mask over her eyes to shut out the ribbon of light seeping under the door, feeling sleep tugging at her so hard that nothing could keep her awake tonight, not the occasional burst of Greek she could hear coming from the room outside, not regret at making the deal she’d done and not even the fear that, despite his assurances, at any moment Andreas Xenides could walk through that door and climb into this bed.
    She yawned. She knew she should care. She wanted to. But not right now. In the morning she’d be able to think straight. In the morning they could set any necessary boundaries.
    In the morning…
    Andreas was still on the phone when Room Service arrived with the meal he’d ordered in between calls to his lawyers and to the concierge to arrange the round of appointments Cleo would need in the morning. He was hungry and he figured she must be too, and until she’d been thoroughly made over there was little point being photographed with her in any of the restaurants or bars. Before and after shots wouldn’t help his cause. In any event, there was something to be said for taking a few hours in private to get to know one another. For, as