His Inexperienced Mistress: Girl Behind the Scandalous Reputation / The End of her Innocence / Ruthless Russian, Lost Innocence

His Inexperienced

Mistress

Girl Behind the

Scandalous

Reputation

Michelle Conder

The End of

Her Innocence

Sara Craven

Ruthless Russian,

Lost Innocence

Chantelle Shaw

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Girl Behind the Scandalous Reputation

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The End of Her Innocence

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Ruthless Russian, Lost Innocence

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

Girl Behind the Scandalous Reputation

Michelle Conder

From as far back as she can remember MICHELLE CONDER dreamed of being a writer. She penned the first chapter of a romance novel just out of high school, but it took much study, many (varied) jobs, one ultra-understanding husband and three very patient children before she finally sat down to turn that dream into a reality.

Michelle lives in Australia, and when she isn’t busy plotting she loves to read, ride horses, travel and practise yoga.

For Paul, who always takes the kids—even when it means missing a surf—for my kids, who so graciously accept when Mummy is busy, for Laurel, who tirelessly reads my dodgy first drafts, and for Mum, who is always there when I need her most. And for Flo for her keen insights and endless encouragement. Thank you all.

CHAPTER ONE

‘IS THIS your idea of a joke, Jordana?’ Tristan Garrett turned away from the view of the Thames outside his tenth-storey office window to stare incredulously at his baby sister. She sat in one of the navy tub chairs on the visitors’ side of his desk, legs crossed, immaculately groomed, and looking not at all like a crazy person sailing three sheets to the wind—as she sounded.

‘As if I would joke about something so serious!’ Jordana exclaimed, gazing at him, her jade-green eyes, the exact shade of his own, wide and etched with worry. ‘I know it sounds unbelievable but it’s true, and we have to help her.’

Actually, her story didn’t sound unbelievable at all, but Tristan knew his sanguine sister had a tendency to see goodness in people when there was none to see at all.

He turned back to stare at the pedestrians lining the Thames and better able to enjoy the September sunshine than he was. He couldn’t stand seeing his sister so upset, and he cursed the so-called friend who was responsible for putting these fresh tears in her eyes.

When she came to stand beside him he slung his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. What could he say to placate her? That the friend she wanted to help wasn’t worth it? That anyone stupid enough to try and smuggle drugs out of Thailand deserved to get caught?

Normally he would help his sister in a heartbeat, but no way was he getting involved in this fiasco—and nor was she. He gave her an affectionate squeeze, but he didn’t try to contain the edge of steel in his voice when he spoke. ‘Jo, this is not your problem and you are not getting involved.’

‘I—’

Tristan held up his hand to cut off her immediate objection, his solid-gold cufflinks glinting in the downlights. ‘If what you say is true then the girl made her bed and she’ll have to lie in it. And may I remind you that you’re eight days away from the wedding of the year. Not only will Oliver not want you getting involved, but I doubt the Prince of Greece will want to sit beside a known drug-user—no matter how beautiful.’

Jordana’s mouth tightened. ‘Oliver will want me to do what’s right,’ she objected. ‘And I don’t care what my wedding guests think. I’m going to help Lily and that’s that.’

Tristan shook his head. ‘Why would you risk it?’

‘She’s my best friend and I promised I would.’

That surprised him. He’d thought their friendship had died down years ago. But if that was the case then why was Lily to be maid of honour at Jo’s wedding? Maid of honour to his best man! And why hadn’t he thought to ask that question two weeks earlier, when he’d found out Lily was coming to the wedding?

He frowned, but decided to push that issue aside for the more pressing problem at hand. ‘When did you speak to her?’

‘I didn’t. A customs officer called on her behalf. Lily wanted to let me know why she couldn’t meet me, and—Oh, Tristan, if we don’t help her she’ll probably go to jail.’

Tristan pushed back the thick lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead and made a mental note to book a haircut.

Much as he didn’t want to, he could see that he needed to get tough with his sister. ‘Which is probably the best place for her.’ He scowled. ‘She’ll be able to get help there.’

‘You don’t mean that!’

Didn’t he? He didn’t know. But what he did know was that his morning had been a lot better before Jordana had rushed into his office, bringing to mind a girl he’d rather strip from it altogether.

Honey Blossom Lily Wild.

Currently voted one of the sexiest women on the planet, and a talented actress to boot. He didn’t follow films but he’d seen her first one—some art-house twaddle made by a precocious upstart of a director about the end of the world. Tristan couldn’t remember the plot. What man could? It had Lily naked, save for a white oversized singlet and a pair of cotton panties masquerading as shorts, in almost every scene. The movie had signified to him that as a culture they were heading backwards—and people like Lily Wild were half the reason for that.

He and his father had tolerated the girls’ teenage friendship because it had made Jordana happy—and neither man would ever have jeopardised that—but Tristan had disliked Lily on sight when he’d first come across her as a gangly fourteen-year-old, hiding drugs under his sister’s dormitory mattress. She’d been haughty beyond her years that day, and if he had his time again he’d suggest his sister be relocated to another boarding school quick-smart.

Tristan heaved a sigh and returned to the smooth curve of his walnut desk, stroking his computer mouse to get rid of the screen saver. ‘Jo, I’m busy. I have an important meeting in half an hour. I’m sorry, but I can’t help.’

‘Tristan, I know you have a thing about drug-users, but Lily is innocent.’

‘And you know this how, exactly?’ he queried, deciding that humouring his sister might expedite her leaving.

‘Because I know Lily, and I know she doesn’t take drugs. She hates them.’

Tristan raised an eyebrow. Was his sister for real?

‘Have you conveniently forgotten the fallout from your eighteenth birthday party? How I caught her hiding a joint when she was fourteen? Not to mention the various press photos of her completely wasted in between.’

Jordana frowned and shook her head. ‘Most of those photos were fakes. Lily’s been hounded by the press her whole life because of who her parents were—and, anyway, she’s far too sensible and level-headed to get involved in something as destructive as drugs.’

‘And that would be why there was the scandal at your eighteenth? Because Lily is so level-headed?’

Jordana glanced at the ceiling before returning resigned eyes to his. ‘Tristan, that night was so not what it seemed. One dodgy photo—’

‘One dodgy photo?’ he all but shouted. ‘One dodgy photo that could have destroyed your reputation if I hadn’t intervened!’

‘You mean if you hadn’t made Lily take the blame!’

‘Lily was to blame!’ Tristan could feel the old anger of six years ago welling up inside him. But it wasn’t like him to let his temper override common sense and he controlled it with effort. ‘Maybe if I had contacted her stepfather when I caught her with marijuana the first time she wouldn’t be in the colossal mess she is now.’

Jordana briefly lowered her eyes before meeting his again. ‘Tristan, you’ve never let me properly explain about any of this. What if the marijuana you found Lily hiding when we were fourteen wasn’t hers? Would you be so disappointed if it was mine?’

Tristan expelled a breath. He really didn’t have time for this. He got up and rounded his desk to enfold Jordana in his arms. He knew what she was trying to do and he loved her for it—even if the little bimbo she was trying to protect didn’t deserve her loyalty.

‘I know you’re trying to take the blame for her, Jo. You’ve always protected her. But the fact still remains that she’s trouble. She always has been. Surely her stepfather or stepsisters can help her?’

Jordana sniffed against his chest and pushed away a little. ‘They’ve never been very close, and anyway I think they’re holidaying in France. Please, Tristan! The officer I spoke to this morning said she might be deported back to Thailand. And, no matter what you think, I can’t let that happen.’

Tristan swore under his breath. He had to admit he didn’t want to imagine the gorgeous Lily Wild wasting away in a Thai prison cell either. ‘Jo, my specialty is corporate law, and this will fall under the criminal jurisdiction.’

‘But surely you can do something!’ she implored.

Tristan released his sister and stalked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows again.

Unwelcome images of Lily as he’d last seen her crowded in and he forcibly held them back. She had been intruding on his thoughts and dreams for years now, but more so of late. Ever since Jordana had mentioned she was coming to the wedding, in fact, and to say that he resented her for it was putting it mildly.

He closed his eyes, the better to control the physical reaction he always seemed to have when he pictured her, but that only made it worse. Now he could not only visualise her, he could almost scent her as well.

Jordana touched his arm, and for a split second he imagined it was Lily.

Tristan muttered another curse under his breath. ‘Jo, forget Lily Wild and concentrate on your wedding,’ he growled, feeling like a heel when his sister flinched back from him.

‘If Lily’s not going to be there I might not even have a wedding.’

‘Now you’re being melodramatic.’

‘And you’re being horrible. Lily’s been unfairly targeted…’

‘Jordana, the woman wasn’t targeted. She was caught red-handed!’

Jordana looked at him with the kind of pain he hadn’t seen in her eyes since the day they had buried their mother. He’d vowed then that he’d do anything to protect her in the future and safeguard her happiness, and wasn’t what he was doing now the opposite?

But what she was asking was impossible…

‘Tristan, I know you hate drugs because of Mum, but Lily isn’t like that. And you usually jump at the chance to help a worthy cause.’

Tristan stared at Jordana. Her words brought back memories of the past he’d much rather leave dead and buried. And maybe it was somewhat illogical but he blamed Lily for that as well—because without her latest antics he wouldn’t be having this conversation with his sister at all!

He turned back to face Jo and unclenched his jaw. ‘Jordana, the key word in this situation is worthy. And as far as I’m concerned a drug-addicted actress who has hit the skids does not a worthy cause make.’

Jordana stared at him as if he’d just kicked a dog, and in that instant Tristan knew he was defeated. No way could he let his sister think so badly of him—and on top of that an image of Lily in a Thai prison cell kept swimming into his consciousness and twisting his gut.

He shook his head. ‘This is a big mistake,’ he warned, ignoring the little glow of relief he felt when Jordana’s face lit up with unconcealed gratitude. ‘And don’t look at me like that. I might not be able to do anything. It’s not like she shoplifted a bar of soap from the local chemist.’

‘Oh, Tristan, you are the best brother in the world. Shall I wait and come with you?’ Jordana was so happy she was practically singing.

Tristan looked up blankly, his mind already turning over to how he would approach the problem. When her words sank in his eyebrows shot skywards. ‘Absolutely not.’ The last thing he needed was his interfering sister getting in the way. ‘I’ll call you when I know something. Now, go. Do wedding stuff, or something, and leave me to sort through this mess you’re so determined to get us in the middle of.’

He barely registered it when she kissed his cheek and let herself out of his office, already issuing orders down the phone to his secretary. ‘Kate, reschedule all my meetings for the afternoon and tell Stuart Macintyre I want him in my office five minutes ago.’

He eased back in his chair and blew out a breath.

Was he completely crazy to get involved with this?

Lily Wild was trouble, and if seeing her bent over his father’s prized nineteenth-century Dickens desk snorting cocaine at Jo’s eighteenth party wasn’t proof enough of that, then surely her attempt to smuggle drugs through Heathrow today was.

Not that Lily had ever admitted to taking drugs the night of his sister’s party. She’d just given him a phoney, imperious smile that had incited his temper to boiling and after that he hadn’t wanted to hear any excuses. Why bother? In his experience all users were supposedly as innocent as Carmelite nuns.

And what had made him even more irate was that earlier that night Lily had looked at him with those violet-coloured doe eyes of hers as if he was the only man in the world for her. And, fool that he was, he’d very nearly bought it!

Up until that point she had been nothing more than an irritation, occasionally taking his sister to her stepfather’s industry parties when they were too young, and running away from him whenever he had come across her at the family estate during school holidays.

But she hadn’t run away from him at the party. Quite the opposite in fact.

Forget it, he told himself severely as his mind zeroed in on the potent memory of how he had danced with her that night. Touched her. Kissed her.

The realisation that he’d very nearly lost control with her still rankled. But she had tasted pure and sweet, and so hot and…

Tristan shook his head and swore violently. Instead of reliving a moment that should never have happened in the first place he should be remembering how he had come upon her in his father’s private study with a group of social misfits, his beloved sister, and about half a kilo of cocaine.

It had taken ten minutes to have Security dispense with everyone but his sister, and twenty-four hours to shut down the internet photos of Jordana that had been taken on a guest’s mobile phone.

The taste of Lily, unfortunately, had taken a little longer to shift.

Lily Wild squirmed uncomfortably on the hard metal chair she had been sitting in for the last four hours and seventeen minutes and wondered when this nightmare she was trapped in would end. She was presently alone in a small featureless room that would make any director on a cop show proud.

Earlier today she had been equal parts nervous and excited at the prospect of returning to England, her home, for the first time in six years.

She had been lined up at border control for ages, and had just made it to the passport-check booth when the official behind the partition had directed her to a row of officers with sniffer dogs. She hadn’t been concerned as she’d seen she was just one of many being checked over. Instead her mind had been on Jordana, hoping she would like the wedding present she’d bought for her and Oliver in Thailand, and also on how much she was looking forward to her long-overdue break.

Then one of the attending officers had lifted a medium-sized plastic bag out of her tote and asked if it belonged to her. She honestly hadn’t been able to remember.

‘I don’t know,’ she’d answered.

‘Then you’ll have to step this way.’ He’d indicated a long, over-bright hallway and sweat had immediately prickled on her palms—like the heat rash she’d once developed while filming in Brazil.

Now, looking around the small featureless room, she wondered where the two customs officials had gone. Not that she missed them—particularly the smarmy younger one, who spoke almost exclusively to her chest and threatened to deport her to Thailand if she didn’t start co-operating.

Which was a laugh in itself, because all she had done since they’d detained her was co-operate!

Yes, the multicoloured tote bag was hers. No, she hadn’t left it unattended at any time. Yes, a friend had been in her hotel room the night she’d packed. No, she didn’t think he’d gone near her personal belongings. And doubly no, the small plastic vials filled with ecstasy and cocaine were not hers! She’d nearly had a heart attack at the question, sure they must have made a mistake.

‘No mistake, ma’am,’ the nicer of the two officials had said, and the prickle of sweat had made its way to her armpits and dripped down the back of her neck like a leaky tap.

They’d then questioned her for hours about her movements at Suvarnabhumi Airport and her reasons for being in Thailand until she was completely exhausted and couldn’t remember what she’d told them. They’d left after that. No doubt to confer with those watching behind the two-way mirror.

Lily knew they suspected Jonah Loft, one of the guys working on the film she had just wrapped, but only because he had been in her room just before she had left for the airport. She felt terrible for him.

She had met Jonah at the New York rehabilitation centre she volunteered at, and it wouldn’t take the authorities long to discover that he had once had a drug problem.

Fortunately he was over that now, but Lily knew from her work with addicts that if anything could set off a relapse it was people not believing in them. Which was why Lily had got him a job on the film in the first place. She had wanted to give him a second chance, but she supposed when they found out she had been the instigator of having him work on the film it would reflect badly on both of them.

And yet she knew he wouldn’t have done this to her. He’d been too grateful—and hopeful of staying clean.

Lily sighed. Four hours and twenty-eight minutes.

Her bottom was numb and she stretched in the chair, wondering if she was allowed to get up and walk around. So far she hadn’t, and her thigh muscles felt as if they had been petrified. She rubbed her temples to try and ease her aching head.

She hoped Jordana had been contacted so she wouldn’t be concerned about why she hadn’t made it through the arrival gate. Though, as to that, Jo would likely be more worried if she did know what was holding her up. Lily just prayed she didn’t contact her overbearing brother for help.

The last thing she needed was the deliciously gorgeous but painfully autocratic Tristan Garrett finding out about her predicament. She knew he was supposed to be one of the best lawyers alive, but Lily had only ever had acrimonious dealings with Tristan—apart from ten unbelievably magic minutes on a dance floor at Jordana’s eighteenth birthday party. Lily knew he hated the sight of her now.

He’d devastated her—first by kissing her in a way that had transported her to another world, and then by ignoring her for the rest of the night as if she hadn’t even existed. As if they hadn’t just kissed like soul mates…

And just when she’d thought her teenage heart couldn’t break any more he’d come across her in his father’s study trying to clean up a private party Jordana should never have been involved in, and jumped completely to the wrong conclusion.

He’d blamed Lily—and her ‘kind’—and thrown her out of his home. In hindsight she supposed she should have been thankful that he’d taken the time to organise his chauffer to drive her the two hours back to London, but she hadn’t been. She’d been crushed—and so had her stupid girlhood fantasy that he just might be the love of her life.

Looking back now, she couldn’t imagine what had possessed her even to think that in the first place. They were from different worlds and she knew he had never approved of her. Had always been as disgusted as she was herself at her being the only offspring of two notoriously drugged-out hippy celebrities who had died—in flagrante—of a drug overdose.

Not that she’d ever let him see that. She did have some pride—not to mention her late father’s wise words running through her head.

‘Never let ‘em know you care, Honeybee,’ he’d always said. Of course he’d been referring mostly to rock music reviews, but she had never forgotten. And it had held her in good stead when she’d had to face down more than her fair share of speculation and scandal, thanks to her parents and, sometimes, to her own actions.

The hard scrape of the metal door snapped Lily back to the present and she glanced up as the smarmy customs official swaggered back into the room, a condescending smile expanding his fleshy lips.

He sat opposite her and cocked an eyebrow. ‘You are one lucky lady, Miss Wild,’ he said in his heavy cockney brogue. ‘It seems you’re to be released.’

Lily stared at him impassively, blinking against the harsh fluorescent light and giving nothing away as to how she was feeling.

The official sprawled back in the chair and rhythmically tapped the table with what looked like a typed report, staring at her chest. Men like him—men who thought that because she was blonde and had a nice face and reasonable body shape she was easy—were a dime a dozen.

This guy was a marine wannabe, with a flat-top haircut that, instead of adding an air of menace, made him look as if he should be in the circus. But even if he’d had the polish of some latter-day Prince Charming, Lily wouldn’t have been interested. She might make movies about love and happy-ever-after but she wasn’t interested in the fairy tale for herself. Not after her mother’s experiences with Johnny Wild, and the humiliating sting of Tristan’s rejection of her all those years ago.

‘That’s right,’ Marine-man finally sneered when she remained silent. ‘You celebrities always seem to know someone who knows someone, and then it’s all peaches an’ cream again. Personally, I would ‘ave sent you back to Thailand to face the music. But lucky for you it ain’t up to me.’

And thank heavens for that, Lily thought, trying not to react to his leering scrutiny.

‘Sign these.’ He shoved the stapled document across the table at her, all business for once.