Ruthless Boss, Royal Mistress Read online

  Décor was going to be a nightmare—especially given that James pretty much was prepared to pay only for the food and wine. While the hotel was beautiful, the ballroom all marble and light, how did she turn it into super-super special?

  She’d gone with the simplicity of flowers last time—but not just any flowers. They’d been exotic, heady-scented orchids she’d had flown in specially and that had cost the earth. She couldn’t do that again. And what other options were there? It wasn’t as if she could get in a few helium cylinders and just do balloons. It had to be more than that.

  Where did you go from opulence? Aristo was the playground of the rich and famous. Where they could come to relax in privacy and also enjoy the high life should they choose. And she’d given them a ball at which only the very best had been on offer. It had been, she mused, one step away from decadence.

  She smiled. She’d jokingly accused James of wanting her to arrange an orgy. She stopped still on the pristine sand. Thought about that idea some more. What if she could gently nudge the luxuriance of Saturday’s ball on to an exclusive, seductive evening, one that whispered the promise to fill the appetite for pleasure—all kinds of pleasure?

  She racked her brains, trying to remember more than mere fragments of the Classical Studies she’d taken at university. The ancient Greeks knew how to throw parties—orgies by another name. What if she created a setting in which that spirit could be invoked? Decadent, hedonistic—as James had accused her of being—could she turn that to her advantage? Create a sumptuous, sensual feast but one that could somehow still be refined and elegant? Was that even possible?

  Yes. She could make it work. It was the only real idea she’d had and, besides, it tickled her naughty bone. Right now James made her feel like a sensual goddess. It wouldn’t last, of course. But maybe she could tempt him with fruits and wines and keep him under her spell for just that little longer.

  Her blood tingled with excitement. The other night she’d imported everything. This time she couldn’t do that—she would look at traditional produce and plenty of it. She retraced her steps back to the hotel, fast and on fire, ideas sparking one after the other, finally feeling as if she’d had a breakthrough—maybe she could put it all together after all. She was back in charge.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  JAMES sat at his desk and tried not to dwell on the fact Liss had been gone for hours, that he was missing her, and that he wanted her again badly. One night hadn’t been enough. Nor had two. Not nearly enough. Her body had him bound, and now he found he wanted to know more—wanted to get inside her head as much as he had her pants. He wanted to understand what it was that made her frown in her sleep, what it was that caused her to look wistful when she thought she was alone. He’d seen it in Sydney, he’d seen it here. He wanted to know why and he also, simply, still wanted her.

  He looked up as the door opened and immediately gave thanks to whoever was the god of lust. She floated in wearing a sophisticated dress as casually as if it were old jeans and tee. Only she could wear clothes like that with such seemingly effortless panache. He couldn’t help the way his whole body tightened.

  She leaned back against the door to close it. Then he noticed her expression. And his body tightened even more.

  He’d seen that gleam once before—when she’d nearly-but-not-quite kissed him. He knew what it meant—that he was in trouble. And, oh, boy, he wanted to be. She turned and he heard the lock slide home. Then he heard a zip slide.

  He barely noticed his pen slip from his fingers. Too busy noticing the way she moved. A tall glowing goddess had entered the room and seemed to promise to fulfil his every fantasy.

  ‘It’s afternoon tea time, James.’

  ‘Is it?’ Did the words make it from thought to audible?

  The seductress stepped closer. ‘Fancy some?’

  He cleared his throat and tried for casual. ‘Why not?’

  Her amused glance told him she knew he was all knotted up. Somehow, she whisked the dress, despite its intricate straps, straight up over her head and off. Her bra and panties were pretty and pale and pink but with simple, sultry movements she had them off too and he had to admit he liked what was under them even more.

  Her lithe, slim body was now completely nude except for wisps of shoes. He looked slowly back up from the floor—her long shapely legs, the cute neat arrow of hair between her legs, the narrow waist, the jut of her breasts and their large, hardened nipples, her long neck and long silky hair. But what turned him on most was the desire in her face, the melt in her dark chocolate eyes, the deliciously sinful smile. She was out for some fun. And he was only too happy to oblige.

  She turned her back to him and bent over a small table, giving him the sublimely sexy view of her beautiful bare rounded bottom and the inviting crevasse between.

  He was held fast by warring desires. Part of him ached to bury his face in her. To tickle, tease and taste her with his tongue until her hips writhed, her hands pulled at his hair and she screamed out his name.

  The other part wanted to simply hold her close so he could push himself inside and pump hard and fast, over and over until she clamped tight around him, her hands clinging to his shoulders, and, yes, she screamed out his name.

  Maybe he’d do both.

  But right now he couldn’t move. She had that look in her eye and he had to sit back and wait to see exactly what she was going to do.

  She stood up, gave him a saucy glance and he saw she’d retrieved a condom from the small drawer in the table. Have mercy.

  The gentle sway of her hips as she walked towards him was riveting. She tore open the small packet as she moved. His trousers were painfully tight. He’d never felt the blood pump as much as it was now. Never felt so hard it was this painful.

  ‘What about foreplay?’

  She put the condom on the desk. ‘That was it.’

  He tried to breathe again but he found he couldn’t manage even that. Too hot. Too hard.

  She pushed out his chair a little and spun it around to face her. She looked down and saw the bursting tent of his trousers. ‘In a little trouble, James?’

  Her fingers stroked down his rigid body. It wasn’t soothing.

  ‘Just a little,’ he rasped.

  She smothered a giggle as she undid the top button and then tried to slide the zip down. ‘Not little, James. More like colossal.’

  He muttered a swear word or ten and grasped the material each side of the button and hole in each hand and pulled them apart hard—the sound of the material ripping was incredibly satisfying. His cotton boxers were in the way too so he just ripped them as well.

  Her eyes were wide and her pupils swollen and her smile just kept growing too. So did he.

  He shifted his hips restlessly.

  ‘Sit still,’ she ordered.

  Surprised, he looked up at her. Met the challenge in her eyes and felt his body winch even tighter, even harder.

  She stepped close, reached out and began unbuttoning his shirt. As she leant forward to spread the halves back he pressed his mouth to her collarbone. Her smile was sublime as she stood back.

  He gripped the arms of the chair as she rolled the condom down on him with those tormenting slow fingers.

  Finally she knelt, jamming one knee either side of his hips in the narrow chair. Rising above him, she spread her legs to take him. And all he could do was watch and wait and feel—more turned on than he’d ever been. Again. By her.

  She closed her eyes as she took just the tip of him in. He let out the gust of air he’d been holding on to. She was tight and he was big and he felt her stretch to take him inch by slow, incredible inch.

  Her eyes flashed open and stared straight into his. ‘You feel good.’

  Understatement. He felt fantastic.

  And she slipped slowly up and down, rotating her hips around him, a sensuous, slow dance than was officially sending him crazy.

  The fantastic feeling increased but demand rose hard too an
d soon the urge to drive deep into her gripped him. He had to master, to conquer, to take her body and make it shake and shudder in surrender. Instinct told him to have her as bound by lust as he now was. Every muscle burned with the need to move more—harder, faster, deeper. And yet she held still, in charge above him.

  He thought of phone numbers, stock prices, hotel listings…anything to stop him, to slow himself down. He even resorted to chanting the alphabet song—but he only got as far as F and he knew he was in trouble. He tried to start again.

  Finally, with profound relief, he saw her control begin to waver. Her breathing was raw and he could see the torture in her eyes as she neared climax. The want in her expression increased and he shifted his hips just that little bit, wanting her to know the power was there.

  Liss rose up and almost off him, watching the frustration in his face sharpen. She could just about see him reciting sums in his head. She knew he wanted faster, harder—so did she. But she loved the look on his face as she teased him. Loved leaning forward and teasing his lips with the tips of her nipples. He was groaning in a way she’d never heard him groan, only barely hanging on. His eyes were glazed, his skin damp, and she felt all his muscles bunch even tighter. His face was a twisted picture of pleasure and pain as his control was pushed to the absolute limit. She wanted him broken.

  ‘I need to…’ He couldn’t seem to get the rest out. ‘I need to…’

  ‘What, James?’ she murmured into his ear as she slid down on him again, taking him in to the hilt. She saw his lips moving but couldn’t make out the words.

  She whispered once more. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘The alphabet… I’m singing the alphabet.’

  ‘Are you crazy?’ She tried to laugh but it came out more of a sob. She took his face in her hands, determined to set him free. ‘Look at me. Feel me.’ She rode him that bit harder. ‘Come in me.’

  ‘What about you?’ Teeth gritted, the effort of holding back biting even sharper into his features.

  She smoothed the strain from his damp forehead. ‘I’m already one step ahead of you.’

  He stopped the light caresses over her back. Came to grip her hips. And with incredible strength he took her weight with his hands, the muscles in his arms bunching. Holding her a fraction above him so he could lean back in the chair and pump upwards. Hard. Fast. Frantic.

  The base of his pelvis ground against hers, closer and closer. And suddenly she was the one groaning and he was the one with the diabolical grin. His fingers hurt but she didn’t care, barely noticed in fact—too close to experiencing ecstasy.

  It was only another stroke and then it hit. Another freedom-destroying orgasm in which she cried out, caught between tears and laughter, and then she revelled in his loud shout and the violent spasms of his strong body as he finally lost all control.

  ‘You’re a witch,’ he muttered, chest heaving as he still struggled for breath five minutes later.

  She smiled, spread all over him as soft as melting creamy butter and totally pleased with herself. ‘I really like being on top.’

  Without doubt he understood her enjoyment of the situation—her success. His eyes narrowed. He lifted her up, set her on her feet again, and then stood up. He took her hand and started walking—fast. Legs wobbly, she struggled to keep up with him as in only a few paces he crossed the room and went into the bedroom. She almost stumbled, such was his speed. He turned, scooped her up and with a devilish smirk literally tossed her onto the bed.

  Hungry excitement, which she had thought just filled, stirred again in her belly.

  ‘What are you doing?’ She knelt up as he shrugged off his shirt and stepped out of the remnants of his trousers and undies.

  He pushed her back onto the bed again and leant over her, teeth showing in a wide, wicked grin. ‘Showing you exactly who’s boss.’

  Later that night she sat at the computer, Googled the ancient Greek rituals surrounding the ‘orgiastic festivities’ of Dionysus, and giggled. She was definitely going to go stylised, just a hint or two, not full on and out there. But from where was she going to get the hint, the flavour of naughty fun? The computer search threw up a lot of images—artists’ impressions of those decadent scenes. They’d be perfect—but as if the Louvre or the British National Gallery were going to loan priceless paintings for a party? Maybe she could project some of the more famous images onto the walls of the ballroom? She frowned—it was a possibility but not perfect. And she wanted perfect.

  And that was when she remembered Camille—the friend with whom she’d studied Art History whilst in Paris. Whose parents lived in what anyone else would call a gallery—such was their art collection. And she remembered the tapestries Camille’s mother had—the ones Camille’s father relegated to a different wing, declaring they weren’t really ‘art’. It was a loving argument between them—art versus craft, oil on canvas versus textiles and yarn. Maybe she’d have some Greek scenes in there? All Liss remembered was that there were hundreds of them, many locked away in cupboards and not even out on display. She refined her Google search.

  After finding what she wanted, she checked on James—he’d fallen asleep on the sofa, feet on the table in front of him. She’d quickly learned that when James slept, he really slept—with the same kind of dedication and wholeheartedness that he approached everything in life. So, knowing he couldn’t hear, she picked up the phone and called.

  ‘I’m in a bit of a fix,’ she explained once the necessary squeals and brief catch-ups were concluded. She gave a quick overview of the party—skipping over the fact it was totally last minute to make up for the one she’d botched. ‘Can I borrow some of those tapestries your mum has?’ She detailed exactly which ones.

  ‘Those old things? For a party?’

  Admittedly they were old, but the way Camille described them was hardly flattering. Liss grinned. With the right lighting, music, food and atmosphere those ‘old things’ would help transform the palatial ballroom into the intimate space she wanted. The thickly woven material with its gold thread and full-bodied colours would heighten the sense of richness and luxury—the intricacy and skill in each would reflect the master craftsmanship in the construction of the hotel itself. And they were just that little bit different.

  ‘If you can get them there, you can use them.’

  Brilliant.

  Damn.

  The thoughts struck simultaneously. How was she going to manage to get them here? No way could she put the cost of transport from Paris on the account. All the extras—the décor, the finishing touches—were having to be done on the cheap. The cost of airlifting several huge tapestries from Paris to Aristo wouldn’t come anywhere near cheap. But she had her heart set on them. Knew they’d make the night, set the scene, and the rest would happen naturally.

  ‘Will you come to the party too?’ she asked Camille. It would be so great to have a friendly face there.

  ‘Can’t, darling. I’m off to New York.’

  They talked some more—caught up on commonalities, on gossip.

  ‘Thank you so much.’ Liss wrapped up the call some twenty minutes later. ‘I’ll organise transport for them and be back in touch.’

  Transport. She drummed her fingers on the table. If only she could access some of her trust fund. It would be nothing to her. But that had been blocked and she only had her day-to-day account and her earnings from her few weeks working for James. She looked up her account online. She had some money. But she’d mentally ring-fenced it for a new dress. Stupidly she hadn’t brought another party outfit with her and she had nothing new to wear to this do. She gritted her teeth. On the dress she was going to have to improvise. She’d use the money she had to get the tapestries sent over. Besides she could always wear the frock she’d worn last week.

  Ugh. She shuddered. It went against every fashion rule.

  She wanted the party to be different, wanted to be wearing something new and different herself. But, as she remembered James’s words w
ith a little wince, it wasn’t all about her.

  She walked across the lounge, looked at where he lay sprawled—undoubtedly uncomfortably—on the sofa. The sight made her smile. It was the second night in a row she’d stayed in—she couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. But how nice it was, just the two of them in their apartment in the sky—like a little nest. She had no desire to leave it, no desire to get dressed up and go dancing. She’d join him on the sofa except he was hogging it. She bent and studied him. He was sleeping the well-earned sleep of the hardworking achiever. But he badly needed to get to a bed or he’d have a crick in his neck and probably a bad case of the grumps with it.

  She had no way of getting him there without disturbing him. She went tingly all over with anticipation. Oh, well. Disturb him she must.

  But she did it gently, raining soft kisses all over his face, running her fingertips over his rough jaw and down his throat. She felt the ripple in the muscles beneath her as Mr Deep Sleeper slowly became aware.

  Eventually his eyes opened, dark with desire. ‘I was dreaming about you,’ he muttered, his voice husky, a little rusty. ‘And here you are.’

  ‘Here I am,’ she agreed, pressing another kiss to his sleep-warm skin. The scent of sensuality in the air sharpened. He moved, lifting his arm across her back to hold her to him. She could feel the strength she had awakened. No escaping now.

  ‘Are you going to make the rest of my dream come true?’ he murmured.

  Be his fantasy playmate? He was hers already—nothing could have prepared her for the way he fulfilled her every sensual wish. ‘I will if you tell me what to do.’

  For a moment their gaze met and held, and the passion flamed between them. Then, with his eyes, he told her. With his hands. With his words. And she had no hesitation complying and going, as always, that one step further, rejoicing when he shook and shouted—out of control, utterly in lust. Exactly as she wanted him—with none of the bruising mask of sarcasm, just naked need. And she knew from his response that their physical journey together was far from over. The relief was immense.