Ruthless Boss, Royal Mistress Read online

  Instead of thrusting up to meet her as she expected, he suddenly scooted down the bed so it wasn’t his pelvis beneath her but his chest. Their eyes met and his were dancing with desire and delight. She figured hers reflected a little shock.

  He wriggled, sliding an arm under her leg, and with a twist got a shoulder under too and then he slid further beneath her. So it wasn’t his chest she was astride, but his face.

  Oh. My.

  She froze, unable to decide what to do—move, not move.

  His hands held her waist in place, taking the dilemma from her.

  ‘James!’ Heat scalded her as he turned his head and kissed the uppermost skin on her inner thigh, kissed again…and then…

  She hadn’t expected anything quite so intimate, quite so soon. Stupid perhaps, considering what they were doing, but this was…this was…

  ‘What?’ he asked lazily, fingers taking up where his tongue had left off. ‘I thought you said you wanted to be on top.’ His words were muffled and as he spoke the warm air against her sensitive skin sent delicious chills everywhere.

  ‘I do, but this is…’ She paused for breath as his tongue started another exploration. ‘This is…’ Her eyes closed as his mouth closed over her most sensitive point and he sucked. ‘This is…just… really good.’

  Incredibly intimate. Incredibly erotic.

  Once more she twisted her fingers into his hair, literally hanging on to reality as he twisted fingers and tongue and lips into and around her.

  Her whole body was hot and damp and breathing was difficult because even the air seemed fiery and it burnt her lungs. She screwed her eyes shut tighter as intense sensations closed in on her.

  ‘James,’ she muttered. Wanting the magic of release now, but wanting the moment to last for ever. Too good to last, too good to finish.

  In answer he slid a hand up her stomach and beyond to find her breast, gently rubbing her nipple between forefinger and thumb. The burning breath shuddered out of her.

  She stretched her arms forward, found the bed rails and clung on with bone-crushing strength. She wanted to scream. She was going to scream. But she couldn’t get it out for the difficult breaths and the half-sobs that she couldn’t stop as he teased in a tormenting rhythm.

  He slid both hands over her now, with firm strokes and then fluttering ones while he feasted on her. Tremors convulsed through her body and she repeated his name, almost broken.

  ‘You still sure about being on top?’ His sexy humour only served to heighten her almost painful pleasure.

  She couldn’t support herself any longer. The excitement was too intense and frankly all she wanted to do was lie back and enjoy it.

  Toppling over to the side, she apologised. ‘I’m sorry, James. When you do that I can’t…’

  ‘What, move?’ He rolled, moving up the bed on all fours like a lion. She stretched out, happy to be his prey.

  ‘Or think…’ she murmured heavy-lidded as he paused at her breasts. ‘Or speak…’

  Indeed she could only moan then as he took her hardened nipple into his mouth and his fingers resumed their rhythmic rubbing.

  He moved slowly over her—all the way down, then over again until every inch of her skin had been both burned and dampened with kisses and caresses. Until she lay without control over her own body, arching up in invitation, pleading with him—to have him inside and for the unbearable tension to be snapped by the ultimate sensation.

  ‘James.’ She shook her head wildly as he kissed the hollow at the base of her neck. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. She had to have it all, now.

  He left her body, left the bed, kicked off shoes, yanked down trousers and grabbed a condom from the complimentary pack in the drawer of the bedside table. All the while she lay supine, still arching her hips to his in time to that ancient rhythm, still whispering his name, because each time she did his eyes glowed and his hands shook.

  His body was burnished with sweat. But still he could smile that slightly sarcastic smile and prove his point. ‘If it’s all right with you, princess, this time I’m on top.’

  He was already back and settling his glorious weight on her when she abandoned all pretence and answered with ecstatic softness, ‘Oh, yes.’

  With a satisfied grin and a long, deliberate stroke he pushed hard inside. Her breath hissed out and she started shaking—the delight too pleasurable to bear.

  He paused, the ‘princess’ he muttered half strangled. Then he moved.

  She clung to his slick, broad shoulders, crying out as his body buffeted against hers again and again. He totally filled her—thrusting, making her take everything he had. And she fought to match him, curling her legs around his, pushing up to meet him, to drive him as much as he was driving her. Her gaze met and held by his. And the exquisite torture continued and sharpened, heightened and strengthened until she could no longer cope, could no longer control her ferocious response.

  She arched high one final time and locked into a moment where she had never, ever felt so good. Her body clamped onto it—onto him, gripping him tight and hard until finally she convulsed, lost under waves of intense pleasure, hardly aware of her own scream.

  CHAPTER TEN

  SHE was awake but kept her eyes closed. Her highly accurate body clock told her it was still early. Very early. But she couldn’t sleep a moment more. There was too much to stew over. Cataclysmic sex for one thing—she would never be the same.

  So that was ‘dealing with it’, huh? She flexed her thigh muscles experimentally—just a touch. Yep, she definitely felt dealt with. James was incredible—as intense and in charge in the bedroom as he was in the boardroom. And already the runny-honey feeling inside was spreading, together with the lick of desire. She wanted to deal with him some too. So much for ensuring he was as much a slave to it as she was—she hadn’t really got the chance last night.

  She closed her eyes tighter. Last night. The party. Her screw-up. His challenge for another party.

  Ugh.

  When she finally opened her eyes she saw he was propped up on his elbow, studying her—alert, despite the unshaven look, the rumpled hair.

  ‘Regrets?’ he asked straight out.

  ‘No.’ Not sleeping with him. She could never regret that. Other elements? Maybe.

  His mouth twisted into that cynical smile she didn’t like so much. ‘Of course. You’re not the kind of person to have regrets.’

  Did he still think she didn’t feel things deeply? That she was completely shallow—just the party princess? She burrowed further under the sheet. Well, she wasn’t going to admit to how deeply she’d felt a connection with him last night. How wonderful he’d made her feel.

  ‘You think?’ She tightened up. It wasn’t from anticipation. ‘Why, do you?’

  ‘No. Not about that.’

  OK. What, then? Something was clearly on his mind. But he wasn’t about to share either. Not thoughts, not emotion. But maybe his body. The gold flecks had lit in his eyes.

  ‘You know it was too good an experience not to be repeated,’ he said softly.

  Oh, she knew. She also knew he was ready for a repeat right now. And despite his blinkered vision of her, she couldn’t refuse. Her body softened, her muscles ached to move. She quelled the delicious urge to stretch out every limb and curl her toes, savouring the tension as it knotted inside. And frankly she’d be more than happy to forget the party mess for a few more moments.

  His fingers traced over her shoulders. ‘You don’t do serious.’

  He wasn’t asking. Apparently it was a given. Who said she didn’t do serious? Admittedly up till now she hadn’t. But things could change. Someone could make her feel differently about that. Lots of things felt unstable right now.

  His gaze lifted from where he’d been watching his hand slide beneath the sheet along her breastbone, and he seemed to ensure he had her attention. ‘I don’t do serious either.’

  ‘No.’ But she didn’t quite believe him. While he
could flirt and be fun James was intense and focused and diligent and he’d do serious—with the right woman. It was just that she wasn’t the right woman and he was making sure she knew that.

  Fine. She wouldn’t want serious with him anyway. He was too much the boss, too much in charge—mostly of himself. She itched to address that one.

  ‘So, later today we work.’ Both his gaze and hand dipped again. ‘Right now, we play.’

  What else was there to say? ‘OK.’

  He rolled onto her, claiming the dominant position, and she lay back and let him—for now, she reckoned. Just once more.

  She’d always known James worked hard. Now she knew he played hard too. After another hour in bed—not sleeping—and half an hour in the shower—with barely time to soap—she was ready for a nap, but he was at the desk, hard at work.

  Given what he’d asked her to do, she knew she had to knuckle under too. But she wondered if she was ever going to be able to keep up with him—in any arena. She wandered out of the bedroom to get set and discovered James had had her bags moved up from her room downstairs.

  ‘We’re going to be working night and day,’ he said within earshot of the porter in the process of unloading the luggage trolley. ‘It’ll be easier for you just to crash in the other room.’ His eyes were glinting and she was half amused and half maddened by the arrogance in his organisation of her. And she was alerted to the way he was protecting their reputations. He didn’t want people talking either, huh?

  ‘It’s true,’ he muttered, drawing her close after the porter had left. ‘We don’t have any time to waste.’

  She didn’t want to analyse what time they had, but did it anyway. Was it only the night? Only the week? Or only until he tired of her and sent her away?

  She pulled away from him, quickly unpacked her clothes into the second bedroom, making the point that she still had her own space in the suite. Even if she did spend every sleeping moment in his bed, in his arms—and she badly wanted to—she also needed to keep some sense of independence. And she didn’t want him breathing down her neck while she tried to get this party off the ground. Seeing he’d set up office in the main lounge, she moved her gear around the corner to the glassed-in balcony that gave spectacular views across the island.

  She eased her stiff body into one of the large soft seats, powered up her laptop and pulled the portable phone nearer on the low table in front of her.

  She could hear James already deep in conversation with some contractor or other on his mobile. How quickly he could switch from lust to business. She needed to learn that one too—pronto.

  The first thing she had to do was organise the damn media. She wasn’t going to be forgetting that one again. She typed up a list: glossy mags, newspapers, TV—she wanted all three. Plus photos on the hotel website. Podcast perhaps? He wanted coverage? He’d get coverage.

  She’d get them in here early in the morning—or the night before if necessary. She’d ensure the hotel assigned them rooms all on the same floor—well away from any other guests. While the guests might court the media at the party, they needed their privacy too. Then the media could take a tour of the facilities during the day with the hotel manager and then be on hand for the party that night.

  Rough plan in place, she started pulling together the contact details for all of them. Over an hour later, list complete, it was time to start making the calls. Summoning courage, she dialled the first and gave him her spiel.

  ‘But I heard there was a big bash there last night—extremely exclusive and no media present.’

  She winced at the newshound’s tone. She should have foreseen this kind of questioning. But she tried to gloss over it—inventing excuses wildly on the spot. ‘There was a small function—the practice run, if you like. But this is the big one—the high-society event in the exclusive hotel that we’re ready to show to the world.’ Practice run? How ironic. And how on earth was she going to dig herself out of this?

  ‘Little late for invites, isn’t it?’ Smart Alec journalist wasn’t going to make it easy.

  She knew he could smell a story, but she wasn’t going to give him the tale of her humiliation. ‘Things happen fast around here. If you’re not interested…’

  ‘We’ll be there. Cameras can access all areas?’

  ‘You won’t be able to film the actual party, but certainly the set-up beforehand and the arrival of the guests. Still shots are fine inside the ballroom but obviously after a while we’d like you to be able to relax and enjoy the party.’

  She was able to use her name to speak directly to the best photographers and journalists working for the best magazines. The magazines all wanted an exclusive but she refused to agree to it. They were all welcome—it was up to them to get the unique angle.

  She repeated the conversation twenty times over. And was mighty glad there were only that many at that tier of media that she had to deal with directly.

  Other paparazzi photographers would come anyway once news was out there was a media junket—local and foreign freelancers would camp out, hoping to get the ‘shot’ of the party that could be sold on to the exclusive magazines, even though they might have had their own photographers in place. It was all about that one shot.

  It took hours—factoring in time differences and the fact it was the weekend. Then, as she got each to agree, she had to organise flights and email through the details for them. It took many hours.

  With a sigh she sat back and stretched. She’d spent a whole day working on the party—promising something amazing—and hadn’t even started planning it?

  She choked back the nausea. And realised she’d only had orange juice all day. Never in her life had she sat so still and worked so hard for so long.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  She tried to feel better about it. The bones were there. Good bones. The hotel was incredible. The chef would put something marvellous together. Aristo itself was beautiful…but these people were expecting something else again. And she had no idea how she was going to do it.

  The anxiety was really starting to eat at her when James walked in with a hint of hungry and desperate in his face. All thought of the party fled because he caught her eye and grinned so wickedly and immediately her blood was on the move and anticipation quickened her lungs. He still wanted her. He wanted her right now.

  She stood, legs no longer feeling stiff but supple and limbered instead.

  He pulled his shirt off and beckoned. She followed. He didn’t even need to say anything; she couldn’t help but follow.

  They’d barely got to the bedroom when he turned her into his arms and ran his hands down her sides and kissed her.

  ‘So this is what you meant by “other duties as required”,’ she teased breathlessly minutes later, swirling her fingers into the light mat of hair on his chest.

  ‘Hell, yeah.’

  Later he phoned down to Reception, to where a skeleton staff were working, and requested they go to a restaurant and get a selection of whatever the finest dishes of the day were.

  She slipped on a summer dress and he pulled on jeans and they ate in the conservatory overlooking the vibrant, affluent city.

  Revived, she slanted him a saucy look, put her hand on his thigh, feeling his muscles move, liking the way he responded so quickly to so little.

  They hadn’t put the light on in their room so as night darkened the sky the city lights shone brightly—a very grown-up fairy-light display. They could see out but no one would be able to see them. Good thing, because by then they were naked and hot and dancing the most intimate of dances.

  * * *

  When she woke the next morning he’d already left the room. She stretched out a hand, could feel the lingering warmth on the sheet from his body. Could see the dent in the pillow pulled close to her own. She could really get used to this—the wild intimacy, the long cuddles… She froze. She’d better not get used to it—he’d already warned her it wasn’t serious, it wasn’t going to last.
It probably wouldn’t last more than this week—until she stuffed up this next event. Sheer panic filled her. How on earth was she going to pull off another party—even better than the other night? With almost no money and no time. She pushed the panic back and resolved to work through one issue at a time.

  Guest list. As opposed to media list. She had to get invitations out as soon as possible. Fortunately she knew several of the out-of-town guests who had flown in specially were staying on for a week or so cruising round the island on board a luxury yacht. She had to get invitations to everyone today. But they’d be nothing like the handmade, pure silk, exclusive invitations of the first party.

  She’d go very simple, very elegant and hopefully the guests would think it a little mysterious, not that she had no idea about a theme. She drew a mock-up on a piece of paper, then went to sweet-talk Stella, the hotel manager’s secretary, who hopefully had more of an understanding of the desktop publishing program than she did.

  Three hours later and the file was being emailed to the local printer to be printed. She spent another two hours in the office at the back of Reception figuring how to print the envelopes herself and then stuffing them. Then she sent the hotel porter to deliver them personally. In uniform, with a simple smart invitation—it wasn’t brilliant but it wasn’t bad. And right now it was the best she could do.

  At that point she needed fresh air and a brain transplant—to have the smarts to pull the party out of a hat. She walked along the stretch of beach reserved exclusively for the hotel guests’ use, looking up, down and all around for inspiration. She needed a theme but everything had been done to death—masked balls, black and white, tropical nights, pirates and princesses… Yeah, right. Yawn, yawn.