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

had niggled at her before. ‘Hang on. We’re going up. Surely they wouldn’t give staff accommodation on a guest floor?’
    He held off answering as the lift doors slid open, welcoming them into an elegant elevator lobby decorated in olive and magenta tones, before he directed her to a nearby door and keyed it open. ‘It seems you’re in luck.’
    And the hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention. ‘Tell me this is not my room.’
    ‘Strictly speaking, it’s not. Like I told you, you’d have to share.’
    She swallowed. ‘Then tell me whose room it is. Who would even have a room like this in the Grosvenor to start with—Prince Harry?’ And even as she asked the question the chilling answer came to her, so unbelievable that she didn’t want to give it credence, so insane that she thought she herself must be. ‘It’syour room, isn’t it? There is no cleaning job. And you expect me to share with you?’
    His dark eyes simmered with aggravation. ‘Come inside and I’ll explain.’
    ‘I’m not going in there! I’m not going anywhere except down in that lift unless you tell me right now what’s going on. And then I’m probably heading down in that lift anyway.’
    ‘Cleo, I will not discuss this in public.’
    She looked around. ‘There’s nobody else here!’
    A bell pinged behind her, followed seconds later by lift doors sliding open. A group emerged, the women chatting and laughing, their arms laden with shopping bags, the men looking as if they could do with a stiff drink.
    She looked longingly at the open lift door behind them. Took a step towards it and then realised. She snapped her head around. ‘Where is my pack?’
    ‘No doubt still on its way up. Now come in and listen to what I have to say and if you still want to go, you can go. But hear me out first. I do have a job for you.’
    ‘Just not cleaning, right?’ Cleo bit her bottom lip. What kind of jobs did Greek billionaires give girls who’d dropped out of high school and made a mess of everything they’d ever attempted? Definitely nothing you needed qualifications for…
    But that made less sense than anything else. Her looks were plain, her figure had always erred on the side of full, and she’d never had men lining up for her favours. Cleaning was about all she was suitable for.
    ‘Cleo.’
    He made her name sound like a warning, the tone threatening, but maybe he was right. Maybe she should hear him out while she waited for her pack. Besides, if she was going to let fly with a few choice words of her own, maybe privacy was the preferred option.
    And then she’d leave.
    Spider legs skittered down her spine at the thought of going out into the cold wet night with no place to go. But she’d face that later. She wasn’t going to let the weather dictate her morals. She strode past him into the room, cursing herself for choosing that particular moment to breathe in, wishing that, for someone so aggravating, he didn’t smell so damn good.
    Thankfully the room was large enough that she could put some distance between them. A lot of distance. She’d been expecting a bedroom, a typical hotel room. She found anything but.
    The room looked more like a drawing room in a palace than any hotel room she’d ever seen, a dining table and chairs taking up one end of the room, a lounge suite facing a marble mantelpiece at the other with the dozen or so windows dressed in complementary tones of creams and crimsons.
    But she wasn’t here to appreciate the fine furnishings or the skilful use of colour. She didn’t want to be distracted by the luxury she could apparently so easily take advantage of. Would it be easy? She wondered.
    She dropped her jacket over a chair and turned, dragging in oxygen for some much-needed support. ‘Okay, I’m here. What’s going on?’
    She almost had the impression he hadn’t heard her as he headed for a sideboard, opening a crystal decanter and pouring himself a slug of the amber fluid it contained.