Mistress: At What Price? by Anne Oliver Read Free Book Online

take much digging for someone keen enough to unearth the dirt on Paris and Luc and fling the mud at her. She’d never be able to set up a successful business here with that negative publicity. Hopefully the attention would fade when they realised there was nothing going on.

CHAPTER FOUR
    D ANE found coffee, a plunger and mugs, switched on the kettle and studied the business pages while he waited for Mariel to take a shower. He could hear the water running and schooled himself not to think about all that gorgeous flesh and warm soapy water.
    Safer, much safer, to think about making that date he’d promised the robust blonde surfer chick he’d met in the bar last week. The fact that he’d had no intention of following up was irrelevant.
    He looked up when Mariel appeared, and his gaze drifted over her of its own accord. She wore a navy mini sundress with a bright floral pattern and a white lace trim. It hugged that sensational figure and left miles of bare leg. Heaven help him.
    â€˜That feels much better,’ she said, taking a seat opposite, her enticing still-damp fragrance wafting across the table.
    He didn’t agree. Ignoring his body’s wayward but inevitable response, he poured them both a coffee, then, remembering, he withdrew a small plastic self-sealing bag from his pocket. ‘I was cleaning out my car the other day and found Phoebe’s diamond earring.’
    â€˜She lost her earring? In your car?’
    He noticed Mariel’s complexion fade, her green eyes taking on the hue of winter’s frost-covered paddocks. Interesting.
    â€˜A couple of weeks ago, yes.’
    She stared at him. ‘You and Phoebe…?’
    â€˜Me and four women, actually. Drunk as skunks, talking dirty to me and giggling themselves silly.’
    â€˜Yeah, right.’ She picked up her mug, but there was a smidgeon of uncertainty beneath the scorn.
    â€˜Ever tried to ferry a gaggle of women home from a hen night?’
    â€˜Hen night?’
    â€˜Amy’s do. Drunk on Mai Tais, Screaming Orgasms and a male stripper. Well-endowed, too… Their words, not mine. The bride-to-be appointed me chauffeur for the evening.’
    Mariel’s expression didn’t alter, but he saw something flicker in her eyes. She reached for a croissant, broke it open. ‘I bet that put a dent in your social calendar.’
    â€˜Not at all.’ He took a croissant himself. ‘I’d do it for you if you asked.’
    â€˜Strip and ply me with Screaming Orgasms? No thanks.’ She raised her mug, took a gulp, then set it down with a chink. Her crisp retort made him smile on the inside. But only for a pulse-beat, because the image she conjured with her sharp retort hit him right between the thighs.
    He lifted his mug to his suddenly parched throat and took a long, slow swallow. ‘I meant chauffeur duty. You don’t have a car yet, do you?’
    â€˜Actually, I do. A pretty yellow hatchback. I’m picking it up today.’
    He watched her eat in silence a moment, considering his words before speaking again, but he had to know for sure. ‘What’s the deal with your business partner?’ He rolled his mug between his fingers. ‘He isn’t only your business partner, is he?’
    â€˜No. He—’ She shook her head, pressed her lips together as if she was afraid of saying too much. ‘And the word’s was . He’s history. Leave it at that.’
    She drank her coffee greedily, then finished off her croissant in three quick, careless bites. ‘It’s handy you’re here; you can put those chauffeuring skills to work and drive me to the car dealer. If you’re not busy with any other…ah…commitments, that is.’ Without looking at him she rose, carried the dishes to the sink.
    â€˜Clear schedule today.’ And wasn’t that handy? ‘When do you want to leave?’
    She rinsed the dishes, put them away.