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

She didn’t look at his face but she heard his sharp inhalation.

‘It’s next to the cabinet,’ he bit out, and Lily followed his line of vision to where her tiny nude-coloured thong lay crumpled in a corner. She marched over and snatched it up, balling it into her fist. No way was she going to inspect the state of it while he stood there towering over her like some Machiavellian warlord.

‘Well, I’m going to bed,’ she stated boldly, turning towards the back staircase and heading for the relative safety of her room.

He snagged her arm as she moved past him. ‘Did I hurt you?’ His voice low and rough, as if the concept was anathema to him.

Lily cleared her throat. ‘Uh, no. It was…I’m fine.’

CHAPTER TEN

FINE.

She had been going to say it was fine, Tristan thought moodily the next morning as he stared out of his kitchen window at the grey London skyline. The colour reflected his dismal mood perfectly.

But last night hadn’t been fine. It had been amazing, sensational, mind-blowing. The most intensely involved sexual experience of his life, in fact. And he hated that. Hated that he hadn’t had the wherewithal to go slow, and hated that he hadn’t been able to take her into his arms afterwards and carry her up to his bed. Make love to her again. Slowly this time. More carefully…

He released a pent-up breath and scrubbed his hand over his face, remembering how she had looked afterwards. Gloriously dishevelled. Her dress creased, her hair half up and half down where his hands had mussed it, her lips swollen from his kisses.

He could recall with bruising clarity the moment her body had sheathed his, her shocked stillness. And she had bitten him—marked him—because even though she had denied it he had hurt her. The thought made him feel sick. He should have been more gentle. Would have been if he’d known.

A virgin!

She had been a virgin, and afterwards he had been disgusted with himself for taking her with all the finesse of a rutting animal against a wall.

Damn.

If there had ever been a time he’d felt this badly he couldn’t remember it. Maybe when he’d come across her in his father’s study doing cocaine—or so he had thought at the time—with some loser she had just had sex with.

Correction: hadn’t had sex with.

Damn.

His head was a mess, and last night, after the deed was done, he’d stood in front of her like some gauche schoolboy with no idea how to fix what had just happened. Which was a first. But what could he have said? Hey, thanks. How about we use a bed next time?

And what about her response? Don’t say anything, she’d said, and, I could do without a post-mortem.

Damn.

He couldn’t have been any more shocked by her off-handedness if she’d hit him over the head with a block of wood. On some level he knew it was a defence mechanism, but it was clear she also regretted what they’d done together and that had made him feel doubly guilty.

Not that it should. She was an adult and had wanted it just as much. Things had just come to a natural head with two people available and finding themselves attracted to each other.

So he would have gone about things a little differently if he’d guessed the extent of her inexperience? If she’d told him! But that hadn’t happened, and he didn’t do regrets.

Tristan rubbed at a spot between his brows.

He might not do regret, but he owed her one hell of an apology for his condescending behaviour of the last two days. As well as his readiness to accept all the garbage that was written about her.

But hadn’t it been easier to accept she was an outrageous attention-seeker like his mother so he didn’t have to face how she made him feel?

Which was what, exactly?

Confused? Off-balance?

He took a swill of his coffee and grimaced as cold liquid pooled in his mouth.

He put his cup in the sink and stopped to look again at the morning papers on his kitchen table.

An earlier perusal of the headlines on the internet had confirmed that Lily’s concerns the previous night had been well founded. A photo of their kiss was plastered over every two-bit tabloid and interested blog in the Western world.

On top of that someone had snapped their photo at the airport right before he had put her in the back of his limousine that first day. She’d had her hand on his chest and the caption in that particular paper had read ‘Lord Garrett picks up something Wild at Heathrow’.

Cute.

So what to do about her? Try and play it cool? Pretend he wasn’t still burning up for her? And why was he? Once was often more than enough with a woman, because for him sex was just sex no matter which way you spun it.

But it hadn’t felt like just sex with Lily, and that was one more reason to stay away from her.

The thought that this was more than just an attraction chilled him. He didn’t do love either.

Damn. Who’d mentioned anything about love?

He blew out a breath and snatched the papers off the bench. One good deed. That was all he’d tried to do. And now his life was more complicated than a world-class Sudoku.

When Lily woke that morning she remembered everything that had happened the night before in minute detail. Every single thing. Every touch, every kiss, the scent of him, the feel of him…

She rolled onto her back and stared at the crystal chandelier above her bed. She loved that these perfect antiques were woven into the ultra-modern décor of his amazing home.

Part of her wanted to regret last night. The part that had been hurt by his obvious rejection straight afterwards. But another part told her to get over it. She’d had sex. Big deal. People did it every day. Granted, it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to have sex with a playboy type who thought she belonged in a sewer…but at least she hadn’t made her mother’s grave error and fallen in love with him.

And in a way it had been necessary. Tristan had been right when he’d said there was unfinished business between them. As much as she’d tried to deny it there had been, and now it was gone. Finished—as it were.

It wasn’t as if Tristan had promised her a happy-ever-after. And even if he had she didn’t want one. So what was there to regret? Except having to face him again. That could be awkward. Oh, and the small matter of an unplanned pregnancy. She didn’t know how that had slipped her mind. Not that she was worried. She trusted the universe too much to believe that was a possibility, and she was still in the early part of her cycle so that was safe—wasn’t it? She’d never had to consider it before, and those sketchy high school lessons on the birds and bees weren’t holding up very well ten years down the track.

Pushing aside her thoughts, she glanced around the elegant, tastefully decorated room. His whole house was like that. State-of-the-art and hideously expensive. Lots of wide open spaces, acres of polished surfaces, toe-curlingly soft carpets against contrasting art and antiquities. And it was neat. Super neat. But that was most likely his housekeeper’s doing, because his office was another story altogether.

It made her wonder at the person he was. Because as much as she wanted to hate him she knew she didn’t. Most of his actions, she knew, were driven by a deep-seated sense of responsibility and a desire to look out for his sister, and even though he had been harsh with her he’d also been incredibly tender. If she was being completely honest with herself, his sharp intellect and take-no-prisoners attitude had always excited her.

Lily felt herself soften, and swung her legs onto the boldly striped Tai Ping carpet and headed for the shower, her body tender from his powerful lovemaking.

She showered quickly and smoothed rosehip oil all over her face and arms, running a critical eye over herself. She knew her face was much lauded, but like anyone she had her problems. A tendency for her skin to look sallow, and dark circles that materialised under her eyes as soon as she even thought about not getting eight hours sleep a night. Right now they looked like bottomless craters, and she reached for her magic concealer pen to hide the damage of another night with very little sleep.

Discarding the towel she had wrapped around her body, she donned her silk robe and felt the flow of the fabric across her sensitised skin. Her breasts firmed and peaked, and just like that she was back in Tristan’s living room with his mouth sweetly tugging on her flesh.

Stop thinking about it, she berated herself. She was an intelligent woman who paid her own bills and made her own bed, and yet the only bed she could think of at the minute was Tristan’s—with both of them in it! And since he wasn’t thinking the same thing why torture herself with fantasies? She should be thinking about how she was going to face him still feeling so…so aroused!

A knock on the outer door brought her head around and she turned sharply towards the bedroom. It would be Tristan because she knew it was still too early for his housekeeper to have arrived, and she berated herself for dithering in front of the mirror for so long. It would have been more prudent to meet him downstairs, fully clothed.

‘Come in,’ she called reluctantly, tightening the sash around her robe and crossing her arms over her chest.

He did. And he looked gorgeous and refreshed. Just how she wanted to feel.

He walked over and dropped a couple of newspapers on her bed, and then stood regarding her, his hands buried in his pockets. His hair, still damp, curled enticingly around the nape of his neck and his olive skin gleamed darkly against his pale blue shirt. But it was his guarded expression that eventually held her attention. A level of awkwardness about his stance that gave her pause.

‘I owe you an apology.’

‘For last night?’ Her voice was sharp and she moistened her lips. ‘That’s not necessary.’

‘Yes, it is.’ His voice was that of a polite stranger. ‘If I had known it was your first time I never would have let things go so far.’

Lily sighed. She had been trying not to feel bad about what had happened last night but his open regret wasn’t helping. Nor was the way he paced back and forth. ‘I think we should just forget it ever happened,’ she said, not quite able to meet his eyes. Lord, was this worse than his rejection of her six years ago? ‘As you already said, we had unfinished business—and now…now we don’t.’

He stopped pacing. ‘And you’re okay with that?’

‘Of course. Aren’t you?’

‘Of course.’

Lily nodded. Of course. What had she expected? A declaration of love? Even the thought was ludicrous, because she absolutely didn’t want that.

‘So…’

‘I also want to apologise for my attitude towards you when I picked you up. For accusing you of using drugs and knowingly bringing them into the country,’ he said.

Lily’s eyebrows shot skyward. ‘So because I was a virgin I’m innocent of drug smuggling as well? Gosh, if only I’d thought to tell the customs official it would have saved all this hassle.’

Tristan threw her a baleful look. ‘Your virginity has nothing to do with my reasoning.’

‘No?’

‘No,’ he said irritably. ‘I had already worked out you weren’t a user before then. And you’ll be pleased to know I’ve fired my investigator.’

‘Shooting the messenger you mean?’ she jeered.

‘His work was substandard—even with the limited time frame he had to collate the information. Hell, I thought you’d be happy to hear that.’

‘Happy that a man lost his job because he confirmed your view of me? He probably just gave you what you wanted, like everybody else does,’ she said caustically.

‘Don’t push it, Lily. You weren’t exactly forthcoming with the truth when I questioned you.’

‘That’s because I don’t find it beneficial to bash my head against a brick wall.’

She saw a muscle tick in his jaw as he regarded her from under hooded eyes.

‘Tell me why I found you hiding a joint under Jo’s mattress when you were fourteen.’

‘I thought you were apologizing?’ she countered.

‘I did.’

‘It could use some work.’

Tristan said nothing, his expression coolly assessing. It was a look Lily had come to recognise. It meant that he fully intended to get his own way.

‘Don’t use your courtroom tactics with me, Tristan,’ she said frostily. ‘They won’t work.’

‘Would it help if I tell you Jordana has already admitted that it was hers?’

Lily tried to keep her surprise from showing. ‘When?’

‘The day of your apprehension at Heathrow. I didn’t believe her at the time.’

Lily placed her hand against her chest with a flourish. ‘Oh, and for a minute there I felt so special.’

She could see her sarcasm had irritated him, but he rubbed a hand across his eyes before piercing her with his gaze again.

‘It’s confession time, Lily. I know my sister hasn’t been the saint I’ve wanted her to be, and I’m tired of the misunderstandings between us.’

Lily thought about arguing—but what was the point? He’d only get his own way in the end.

‘If you remember, you visited our boarding school on a surprise birthday visit for Jo—only she saw you from the rec room. She called me on the internal phone and asked me to hide it. I hadn’t expected you would walk in without knocking.’

‘And the night of Jo’s eighteenth? In my father’s study? No evading the answer this time.’

‘You should ask Jordana.’

‘I’m asking you.’

Lily crossed the floor and sat on the striped Rein occasional chair in the corner. ‘I don’t know how the party in your dad’s study got started. I was tipped off by a mutual friend, and by the time I got there it was in full swing. I felt responsible, because the guy who’d brought the drugs worked for my stepfather’s company, but no one listened when I told them to clean it up. So I decided to step in and do it myself and—’

‘I walked in, put two and two together, and came up with several hundred.’

‘Something like that.’

‘And you didn’t think to defend yourself?’ His tone was accusatory.

‘You didn’t exactly give me much of a chance, remember?’ she felt stung into retorting.

Tristan shook his head and strode over to the window, pushing the heavy curtain aside to stare outside.

Lily shifted and tucked her legs under her on the chair, absently noting how the light from the incoming sun picked up the bronzed highlights in his hair.

Then he turned back, his expression guarded. ‘I’m sorry.’

Did he have to look quite so good-looking?

She cleared her throat and shifted uncomfortably on her seat. If he was apologising why did she suddenly feel so nervous? ‘It’s fine; I shouldn’t have invited that guy in the first place.’

He shrugged as if that were inconsequential. ‘I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I…I wasn’t quite myself that night.’

Lily’s mind immediately spun back to the dance floor. The kiss. Had he not been himself then either? How embarrassing.

‘Me either,’ she lied.

He nodded, as if that solved everything, and Lily’s heart sank a little. ‘Was there something else?’

He shook his head and then glanced towards her bed.

‘Actually, yes.’ He pointed to the bed. ‘I’m sorry to say that your premonition about the photos has come true.’

Lily rose and walked over to the bed. ‘Oh.’

‘I said a little more than that myself,’ he acknowledged ruefully.

‘I did too.’ She glanced up briefly. ‘Internally…’

She thought a momentary smile curved his mouth, but it might easily have been a trick of the light given how stiff and remote he seemed.

‘I should go.’

‘Yes,’ Lily agreed, following him with her eyes as he walked to the door. Then he stopped abruptly.

‘Are you…okay this morning?’ His voice was rough and slightly aggressive and she knew what he was asking.

‘I thought we’d just agreed to forget last night?’

‘I’m allowed to check how you are, dammit. And don’t say fine.’

She arched an eyebrow. ‘Will great do?’ she asked lightly.

His nostrils flared and she thought that maybe now was not a good time to aggravate him.

Tristan’s mouth tightened. This situation was intolerable. He couldn’t be in the same room with her and not want to touch her, but it was obvious by the proud tilt of her head that she wouldn’t welcome his advances. He didn’t know what he had expected from her this morning, but her suggestion that they forget last night had surprised him. And annoyed him. Because he wasn’t sure he could forget it!

The phone in his pocket rang and he checked the caller ID before answering. Bert had been caught in a six-car pile-up on Rosslyn Hill. He didn’t want another car. He’d call a cab—it would be quicker.

‘What happened?’

‘Bert’s been caught in an accident.’

‘Is he okay?’ Her concern was genuine, and he was reminded of how yesterday she had given Bert unsolicited signed promotional pictures of herself when she found out his daughters were fans.

‘It was minor, but he’s wedged between two other cars. I’ll arrange someone to help him out and call a cab.’

‘I’ll get dressed.’

Tristan’s eyes drifted down over the dove-grey silk wrap she wore and he noted the delicate pink that swept into her face. Even with the shadows beneath her eyes she was quite simply the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

‘Good idea.’

Twenty minutes later Lily joined Tristan on a rear terrace that looked out over a sizable manicured garden flanked by a glassed-in pool and gymnasium, absently noting that it was hard to believe she was in the middle of one of the busiest cities in the world.

Tristan wore his suit jacket now, and she felt like a tourist in her simple jeans, white T-shirt and faithful black cardigan. She noticed him glance at her cardigan as he watched her approach, a bemused expression flitting across his face.

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ He shook his head. ‘I would offer you tea, but I’d like to get going and check that Bert is okay.’

‘Sure.’ Lily followed him back through the house towards the front door.

‘It seems traffic is particularly bad this morning. The cab driver has had to park up the road a way.’

‘That’s okay.’ Lily smiled. ‘I like walking. It’s a New York pastime.’

‘I suppose it is,’ Tristan agreed, feeling awkward and out of sorts after her disclosures in her bedroom. His instincts warned him to keep his distance from her. After last night she was more dangerous to his emotional well-being than she had ever been, and in hindsight having sex with her had been a terrible idea.

Lily waited for him to open the front door and stepped out ahead of him—straight into the view of at least twenty members of the press, who had breached his security gates and were filling the normally pristine space of his forecourt, trampling grass and flowerbeds as they jostled for position.

They shouted an endless list of questions as camera flashes momentarily blinded them both.

It was like a scene from a bad movie, and after a split second of shocked inertia Tristan grabbed Lily around the waist and hauled her back inside.

‘Oh, my gosh!’

‘I’ll call the police,’ he stated grimly, slamming the door shut before he turned to her and grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Are you okay?’ His eyes scanned her face for signs of distress, wondering if perhaps she might have a panic attack.

‘I’m fine,’ she confirmed. ‘I told you, I rarely have attacks any more—and, anyway, you grabbed me so quickly I barely had time to register they were even there.’

She smiled and he trailed a finger down her cheek, noting the way her eyes widened and darkened. Tristan felt his body harden and tamped down on the response. He was supposed to be forgetting last night and keeping his distance.

He dropped his hand and stalked through the house until he reached the kitchen.

‘I’m sorry. I should have expected this…’ she said.

Tristan shook his head. Not sure if he was more agitated at himself, her, or the hyenas filling his front garden. ‘I don’t know how you live like this.’

She swallowed. ‘It’s not normally this bad. In New York you get followed sometimes, but it’s different here.’

‘It’s disgusting.’

‘I’m sorry.’

He swore, and Lily flinched.

‘Stop apologising. It’s not your fault,’ he bit out. ‘If anything it’s mine.’ He raked a hand through his hair and pulled his mobile out of his pocket. ‘Make a coffee, or something. We might be a while.’

‘Do you want one?’

‘No, thanks.’

After a brief interlude in his study, Tristan strode out into his rear garden and found Lily sipping tea on a stone bench, studying one of the statues that dotted his garden.

‘Plans have changed,’ he said brusquely, not enjoying the way she seemed to fit so seamlessly into his home.

‘Oh?’ Lily replied, confused.

‘We leave for Hillesden Abbey in an hour.’

‘How?’

‘Helicopter.’

‘Helicop…? But I have a dress fitting today with Jo.’

‘You had a dress fitting. The seamstress will travel to the Abbey during the week to meet with you.’

‘But surely Chanel don’t…?’

‘Yeah, they do. Now, stop arguing. A car will be pulling up in ten minutes to take us onto the Heath.’

‘Helicopters leave from the Heath?’

‘Not as a general rule.’

Ten minutes later two police motorcycles escorted a stretch limousine along Hampstead Lane and pulled up near Kenwood House, where a bright red helicopter was waiting. A few curious onlookers watched as they alighted from the car—but no paparazzi, Tristan was pleased to note.

‘Are you okay to fly in one of these?’ Tristan raised his voice above the whir of the rotors.

‘I don’t know,’ Lily yelled back. ‘I never have.’

He helped her secure the safety harness and stowed their overnight bags behind her seat.

‘I’m co-piloting today, but let me know if you feel sick.’

‘I’ll be fine.’ She smiled tentatively and he realised she probably would be. She was a survivor, and quick to adapt to the circumstances around her.

He handed her a set of headphones and took his seat beside the pilot, not wanting to think about how that was just one more thing to admire about her.

He was looking forward to going home. His father was away on business until Friday, when Jordana would arrive to commence her wedding activities, but Tristan always felt rejuvenated in the country. And most importantly of all, the Abbey was huge. It had two hundred and twenty rooms, which should be more than enough space to put some physical distance between himself and Lily and still remain within the constraints of the custody order. He felt sure that if he didn’t have her underfoot the chemistry between them would abate. Normalise. She’d just be another pretty face in a cast of thousands.

His chest felt tight as the ground fell away, and he berated himself for not thinking of the Abbey sooner.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

LILY closed the last page of the play and stared vacantly into the open fire Thomas, the family butler, had lit for her earlier that night. The writer had captured a side of her parents she hadn’t known about. He had focused on their struggles and their hunger for fame and what had driven it, rather than just the consequence of it.

The result was an aspect of their lives Lily knew about from her mother’s diaries but which the press rarely focused on. It was an aspect that always caused Lily to regret who they had become. She had expected that reading the play would imbue her with a renewed sense of disgust at their wasted lives—and it had, sort of—but what she hadn’t expected was that it would fill her with a sense of yearning for them still to be around. For a chance to get to know them.