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

nothing to do with her. It wasn’t something she was planning on finding out.
    ‘Hungry?’ he asked casually, but her brain had ceased to function on that level. ‘You missed dinner,’ he explained, slipping into a robe and thankfully tying it at his waist. ‘I thought you might be hungry. I’ve taken the liberty of ordering for both of us. You looked like you could have slept until noon.’
    She unplastered her tongue from the roof of her mouth. ‘I was tired.’
    ‘Apparently. You slept like the dead. Breakfast will be here in a few minutes and then your first appointment is in under an hour.’
    ‘What appointment?’
    ‘Downstairs in the spa salon. You’re booked in for the works by which time the stylist will be here with a selection of outfits. You won’t have much time to decide. We’re flying out at noon.’
    Cleo glanced at the clock; it was only just after seven. ‘That’s hours away.’
    ‘You’ll need every bit of it, so eat up and don’t wait for me.’ His eyes raked over her and her skin prickled under his gaze. ‘You’re going to need your strength.’
    She shivered as he disappeared into the bathroom. Why did she get the impression he wasn’t only talking about her upcoming appointments?
    He needn’t have worried about her not eating. Room Service arrived with the heavily laden trolley a minute or two later, and the aroma threatened to drive her crazy. The porter had hardly finished serving the breakfast up on the dining table in the next room before she practically fell upon the feast. There was yoghurt and jam, pastries and rolls and toast, along with two massive platters of English breakfast. It was a feast. The coffee was smooth and rich with just the right amount of bitterness to wash it all down. She couldn’t remember enjoying a meal more.
    Andreas emerged from the bathroom while she was still eating, a towel lashed low around his hips and barefoot, moisture still clinging to his chest and beading in the hair that curled into his neck.
    ‘That’s what I like to see,’ he said, sitting alongside her at the table. ‘A woman with a healthy appetite.’
    She managed to swallow her mouthful but it was hard to think about food after that. He was so close she could smell his freshly washed skin, the scent of fine soap and clean flesh challenging her appetite, steering it in another direction completely. He uncovered a platter of croissants, still steaming hot from the oven, and offered it to her.
    Turning towards him was one mistake. Looking at him rather than the plate of croissants was a bigger one. His olive skin glistened with moisture under the lights and even as shewatched a bead of moisture ran down over his sculpted chest, pausing at the bud of one tight nipple only to sit there, poised on the brink.
    She could feel that droplet as if it were on her own skin, feel it rolling down her breast and teetering at her nipple, turning it tight and hard against the soft flannelette of her pyjamas.
    She should reach out a fingertip and release it from the tension that kept it hovering. She could at least stretch out one hand and capture the doomed droplet in her palm.
    She was too late for either. Gravity won and the droplet fell, swallowed up into his towel. ‘Would you care for something?’
    She blinked and raised her eyes to find his watching hers, amusement creasing their corners. ‘A croissant, or perhaps there’s something else you might enjoy more?’ Now even his lips had turned up. He was laughing at her and she’d brought it on herself. Nothing unusual in that; she was used to making a fool of herself. It was just she wasn’t used to making a fool of herself over a naked chest and a single droplet of water.
    ‘N…No, thank you,’ she managed, holding her pyjamas together at the neck as if that would defend her against…Against what? Throwing herself bodily at him? ‘I should have my shower. Thank you for breakfast.’
    ‘One thing,’ he said, grabbing one hand