The Billionaire's Virgin Mistress

Oddly enough, beneath a storm of emotions she couldn’t possibly have labeled, Tess was very hungry. Scowling, she marched out of the room with as much dignity as she could muster when swathed in an old blue bath towel, and shut her bedroom door with more than necessary force. For the first time in her life, she wished she owned a real dress. Something out of Vogue, stunningly simple, reeking of money and sophistication.

With a vicious snap she switched on her hair dryer. She didn’t have time to cut her hair, but she was going to slather on eye shadow and mascara. For courage, she thought, picking up her brush.

Because wasn’t one of the several reasons she’d decided to keep this dinner date the simple fact that running away was the coward’s way out?

In the last few years, she’d done too much running.

Cade had put on Mozart by the time Tess walked back into the living room. Taking his time, he looked her up and down, noticing instantly that her fingernails were digging into her palms, and her jaw was tight. Her dress was a plain black sheath, teamed with sheer black hose and stiletto heels. She’d swept her tangle of hair into a knot high on her head; clustered black beads dangled from her earlobes. Her mouth—his own went dry—was a luscious raspberry-red. He said, “Beautiful’s such an overused word—you take my breath away.”

Her heart lurched in her breast. She said coolly, “I made my dress from a remnant that was on sale. The shoes come from Second Time Around—I only hope the original owner won’t be eating dinner at the hotel.”

“I bet she never looked that good in them.”

“You’re too kind.”

Part of her liked this verbal banter, Tess thought uneasily. Quelling a stab of fear, she took a white mohair sweater from the cupboard, flung it around her shoulders and stalked out the door.

Cade’s car smelled of leather; he drove with smooth competence, making small talk about the scenery. Ten minutes later they were seated in the hotel dining room by a window overlooking the ocean, the applewood in the fireplace crackling cheerfully. Trying not to panic at the alarming array of silverware, Tess took a deep breath and went on the offensive. “Your company—Lorimer Inc.—owns this hotel. And many others, worldwide, all part of the DelMer chain of fine hotels.”

“Del has rather a large ego—he liked the idea of combining his two names. So you checked him out.”

“Him and his adopted son. I’d be a fool not to meet him, wouldn’t I? A rich old man—every woman’s dream.”

“No more shoes from Second Time Around,” Cade said.

“No more hose from the dollar store.” The waiter put a menu in front of her, a thick leather binder embossed with gold. She wasn’t going to be intimidated by a menu, Tess thought resolutely, and opened it to the first page. “Once I’ve hooked up with Del, I could buy the dollar store. A whole string of them.”

“You could,” Cade said. “Do you like martinis?”

She’d never had one. “Of course.”

“Straight up or on the rocks?”

“On the rocks. I could buy a car like yours.”

“Several, I should think.”

Her eyes narrowed. She was doing her best to act like the crassest of fortune-hunters, and Cade wasn’t even reacting. If anything, he was laughing at her. Chewing on her lip, she added, “I’d inherit a ton of money when my grandfather dies. Enough to buy diamond earrings and go on a world cruise.”

“Lorimer Inc. owns a fleet of cruise ships—you could take your pick. Stateroom, the works. I’m sure by then you’d have found some diamonds to your taste.”

She’d never liked the look of diamonds. Too cold, too flashy. “Emeralds, to go with my eyes,” she said dreamily.

“Excellent choice…have you decided on an appetizer?”

The menu was in Italian with the English in script below. When she was eleven, she’d spent a year in Rome with Cory and Opal, her wayward mother; Tess said in impeccable Italian, “I’ll have fegato grasso al mango.” She flipped the page. “With stufato di pesce for a main course.”

Each was the most expensive item on the page. Blanking out the actual dollar amount, she said with as much innuendo as her conscience would allow, “How is your grandfather’s health? You mentioned a heart attack.”

“Oh, I suspect he’s got a good many years in him yet. You might have to wait for that inheritance.”

“Or is the inheritance like the support—nonexistent?” she retorted. “If, as you claim, I really am related to him, I could always go to the press. Illegitimate Granddaughter Cheated Of Her Rights—I can see the headlines now, can’t you?”

With a flourish, the waiter put the martinis on the table, and took their orders. Tess loathed olives. She picked up the frosted glass and took a hefty swallow. Her face convulsed. “That’s straight antifreeze!”

“Your first martini?” Cade said innocently.

“They don’t serve them at the chicken takeout.” She grimaced. “I see why—who’d want to eat olives pickled in ethylene glycol?”

Cade signaled the waiter, asked for a brandy Alexander, and said smoothly, “Del hates martinis, too. And loves the ocean.”

“Does he? How nice. You know, if allegedly he’s been supporting me since I was born, he owes me quite a backlog.” She smiled at Cade, batting her mascaraed lashes. “I’d better hire a good lawyer.”

“It would have to be a very good one to take on Lorimer Inc.”

“Then there’s you,” she said in a voice like cream, brushing his fingers with her own, letting them linger until every nerve in his body tightened. “You make Del’s fortune look like small change.”

It was the first time she’d touched him voluntarily; and how he loathed her motive for doing it. Holding tight to his temper, Cade watched her pout her raspberry-red lips, heard her purr, “I’d be a fool to turn my back on you or Del, Cade. But especially you.”

His voice taut, because there was a limit to what a man had to put up with, Cade said, “Do you want to know what I did today? I wandered around the village talking to people about you. People who’ve known you for the better part of eleven months.” The pout was gone, he noticed with mean pleasure, replaced by blank shock. Calmly he kept going. “I’m sure you’d agree with me that the islanders to a man—or woman—are sober New Englanders who don’t go in for flattery. They described you as reliable, honest, frugal, hardworking. Likes to walk the beaches by herself. Hardly ever goes off-island. No friends. No wild parties. No men.”

Tess gripped the edge of the table. “You spent the day gossiping about me? How dare you! And why would they talk to you? The islanders aren’t just sober, they’re closemouthed to a fault.”

“Several years ago, I paid top dollar to buy up ninety percent of the island. Made it into a nature conservancy to protect it from development—the only concession being that I build this place.” Cade waved his martini at his surroundings. “So I’m in like a dirty sock—the islanders love me. You might as well drop the gold-digger act, it’s wasted on me. You can’t fool an islander—if they say you’re honest as the tide turns, I’ll go along with that.”

For now, he added silently.

With exquisite timing, the waiter deposited a creamy drink sprinkled with nutmeg in front of her. She glared at it, trying to gather her wits. She’d just made a total fool of herself. Good job, Tess. What’s the follow-up?

“Try your drink,” Cade said, giving her the full benefit of his smile. One of his women had called it lethal; another, dynamite. It was a weapon he wasn’t above using when it suited him.

But instead of blushing in confusion or smiling back, Tess said furiously, “I’ve never laid eyes on one red cent of your grandfather’s money.”

His smile faded. “That was the next item on my agenda.” He waited while her antipasto was put in front of her. “I talked to Del today. He’s a stubborn, cantankerous old man, who likes control and claims he’s mislaid the investigator’s report—”

“You haven’t seen it?”

The emotion in her face was unquestionably relief. Cade picked up his fork. “No. But I did get out of Del—by sheer bloody-mindedness—the investigator’s discovery that ever since your father died six years ago, your allowance has been siphoned off the account by your mother. Opal Ritchie. I can only presume Cory took it prior to that.”

Briefly Tess shut her eyes. Opal and Cory. Her parents. Cory with his unpredictable rages, his drug-induced highs. Opal, wild, willful, never to be trusted. The rooms, she thought. Oh God, those awful rooms…

“What’s wrong?” Cade demanded.

When she opened her eyes, she was back in the elegant dining room, with its high-arched windows and vaulted ceiling, its polite murmur of conversation; and a pair of stormy-gray eyes boring into her soul. “I’m fine,” she said flatly, and with superhuman effort pulled herself together. The brandy Alexander, which was delicious, slid down her throat. The array of silver looked a little less intimidating. Carefully she selected the mate of the fork Cade had used and took a bite of mango, chewing thoroughly, tasting nothing. “You called me a liar back at the cabin.”

“I shouldn’t have doubted you,” Cade said curtly. At least with regard to Del’s monthly support, he shouldn’t have. But he still had plenty of other questions about the all-too desirable and highly enigmatic Tess Ritchie.

The tight knot in her chest easing somewhat—for hadn’t he more or less apologized?—Tess said shrewdly, “You still wish I was a thousand miles away from Del, don’t you? So you and I are on the same wavelength. The distance’ll be forty miles, not a thousand—but forty miles is plenty. Because I don’t care about the Lorimer money. His or yours. I like my life here on the island, it’s all I want and I’m not leaving here. You can tell my grandfather I’m grateful he did his best to support me—it wasn’t his fault that I never saw the money. But it’s too late now. I don’t need his support anymore.”