The Disobedient Mistress. LYNNE GRAHAM

maintain the fiction until I say that your role is at an end.’

      Misty sucked in a ragged breath and continued to stare at him, utterly silenced by that second speech. He was actually serious, yet she could not credit that he was addressing her with such an offer. What reason could he have for asking any woman to pretend to be his mistress? He had to have a little black book the size of an entire library. For goodness’ sake, wasn’t he dating an actress from a television show at present? Jassy something or other? A pneumatic blonde with the kind of curves that even other women stole a shaken second glance at?

      ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand,’ Misty framed very slowly and succinctly while she wondered if he were a brick short of the full load in the mental department or drunk as a skunk and just not showing physical signs of his condition.

      ‘You’re not required to understand. I have my own reasons and I don’t intend to share them. I know women don’t like mysteries but, in this case, discretion is necessary.’

      ‘If you do have some…er…need to hire a woman for such a novel role, I can’t think why you should approach me,’ Misty reasoned with enormous care.

      ‘Can’t you?’ A faint smile momentarily softened the tough line of his mouth.

      She had no intention of lowering herself to the level of spelling out the obvious. But she wasn’t beautiful or glamorous, nor did she have the high public profile of the kind of women he was usually associated with.

      ‘Is this some kind of a joke?’

      ‘It’s on the level.’

      ‘But you must know hundreds of women,’ Misty protested, intimidated by his persistence. ‘Why me?’

      ‘I prefer to hire and fire rather than coax and trust,’ Leone countered without hesitation. ‘Why are you trying to dissuade me from rescuing you from your financial problems?’

      Put like that, keeping quiet seemed more sensible, but she could not accept that he was serious without some idea of his motivation for such a weird offer. ‘This is very strange.’

      Leone shrugged a broad shoulder in unconcerned acknowledgement.

      ‘I mean…seriously,’ Misty emphasised.

      ‘I am serious and the position wouldn’t be that easy to fill. You’d have to act the part, dress the part and convince people that we’re lovers.’

      Warm colour inched up beneath her fine complexion and she glanced away from her studious scrutiny of his exquisitely tailored suit jacket. ‘I don’t think I’d be a great hit in that department.’

      ‘You just need the right props and the ability to do exactly as I tell you at all times. It would definitely be a case of when I say jump…you say how high?’

      Misty could see herself being a major disappointment in that field too. But it was dawning on her that, peculiar as his proposition was, he was not pulling her leg. He wanted a fake mistress. What did being a fake mistress entail?

      ‘We are talking…. fake mistress here?’ Misty prompted in a strained undertone.

      ‘Do you really think that I need to pay for sex?’

      Her even white teeth gritted. If she said jump to him and he said how high, she would direct him to the nearest lift shaft, but with that ego of his he would bounce back out of the fall. ‘There’s no need to get that personal, Mr Andracchi. Your private life is your business but my safety is mine.’

      ‘Are you trying to suggest that I might be some sort of pervert?’ Leone shot back at her in an incredulous growl.

      ‘How would I know? This is not a common or garden offer. Like, I don’t have rich Sicilian tycoons offering me the moon just to pretend to be their mistresses every day, do I?’ Misty snapped out in bewilderment and embarrassment.

      ‘And if you take that tone and attitude, you are unlikely to have even one Sicilian tycoon still interested.’

      Legs cramped by the rigidity of her posture in the chair, Misty got up again and walked across the office before spinning round to face him, wide grey eyes frowning. ‘Just tell me why you’re asking me to do this…why me?’

      ‘You couldn’t afford to welch on any deal we would make or change the terms to suit yourself.’ He stood straight and tall, eyes hard gold and direct.

      Misty flinched. Mr Mean and Tough, who, it seemed, knew exactly how she was placed and that was between a rock and a hard place. He had no shame about reminding her of that unpalatable fact. Perhaps it was a timely reminder too. Any alternative to bankruptcy and Birdie losing her home ought to be considered. But how could she possibly consider taking on a role in which she would be less than convincing? Didn’t he see that? People wouldn’t believe that she was his mistress for one minute! He specialised in beautiful women. Yes, he liked women, but why did she judge him for that?

      ‘I couldn’t do it…’ she muttered. ‘We mix like oil and water. I wouldn’t be at home in the sort of social life you must have. And I couldn’t possibly convince anyone that we were…lovers.’

      ‘Oh, I think you underestimate yourself on that score,’ Leone breathed in a different timbre, rich, dark drawl snaking round her like a husky, mesmeric spell.

      Nibbling at the soft underside of her full lower lip, Misty was entrapped by the intensity of his narrowed golden stare. Gorgeous eyes, undeniably gorgeous eyes. Her mouth ran dry, her muscles tightening in response. Even his voice, liquid dark enticement of the most dangerous kind, yet another enhancement to his magnetic masculine presence. The gene pool had not been stingy when he’d been born.

      Entirely against her own will, she wanted to smile, soften, be a woman in all the ways she had once allowed herself to be even if it put her at risk of getting hurt again. The atmosphere was buzzing with the sensual vibes he could put out. He could whip up the tension without effort. And no matter how hard she tried to remain impervious, excitement nibbled at her every nerve ending and she quivered as a taunting flame lit low in her pelvis and forced her to press her thighs together in shamed disconcertion.

      ‘Just say the word and sign on the dotted line and all your troubles are at an end.’

      ‘What would playing your pretend mistress involve?’ Misty heard herself ask and surprised herself.

      ‘Living in the apartment I would supply, wearing the clothes I buy, going where I ask when I ask without question.’

      Mistress as in mindless slave, she translated with a secret little shard of amusment. He was a real domineering louse. But it was interesting to note that he wasn’t suggesting any type of shared accommodation. The masquerade would only be of the public variety and would require no greater intimacy. He wanted a dressed-up doll to play a stupid role for some reason he refused to reveal. Maybe it was another Andracchi whim like the executive lunches. Or maybe it had some business purpose…which would make it an unusual job but still a job like any other.

      It wasn’t as though he would be expecting her to hop into bed with him. Of course, he wouldn’t. Her face burned that she had even suspected he might. After all, he had much more attractive possibilities than her available: women who had probably forgotten more than she had even learned about bedroom pursuits. She would be as safe as houses with him but she would be selling herself, handing over her pride and her independence in return for cold hard cash support. That was cheap and nasty and the thought of it left an unpleasant taste in her mouth, but she had Birdie and her employees to think about and pride didn’t pay the bills.

      ‘What would you do for me?’ she whispered chokily, the humiliating request for greater clarity on that point hurting her.

      ‘Settle your debts, put your business back on an even keel, cover the wages of your staff while you’re working for me. Anything else, name it. I’m prepared to negotiate.’ Leone Andracchi gazed back at her, cool as ice.

      Her tummy churned. She loathed him for issuing that unvarnished