Hired: Mistress: Wanted: Mistress and Mother / His Private Mistress / The Millionaire's Secret Mistress

‘Maybe if you weren’t so damn frigid, I wouldn’t have to look at other women to get my kicks.’

He’d taunted her, humiliated her, shamed her for her lack of sexual prowess, demeaned her with words so vicious, so brutal that by the time she’d run from his house, by the time she’d arrived at Judy’s home, she’d believed each and every word. Believed that their relationship had been in trouble because of her failings, believed that if only she’d been prettier, sexier, funnier, he wouldn’t have had to flirt so much, wouldn’t have needed to humiliate her quite so badly. And somehow Dante knew it, too.

‘You did say it, didn’t you?’ It was Dante’s voice dragging her out of her own private hell.

‘I just said it,’ Matilda breathed, she could feel the blood draining out of her face. ‘It was just one of those stupid things you say when you’re angry.’

‘And you were very angry, weren’t you?’

‘No,’ Matilda refuted. ‘I was upset and annoyed but angry is probably overstretching things.’

He swirled his wine around in the glass and Matilda’s eyes darted towards it, watching the pale fluid whirl around the bottom, grateful for the distraction, grateful for something to focus on other than those dark, piercing eyes.

‘So you were only upset and annoyed, yet you admit you wished him dead!’

‘OK,’ Matilda snapped, her head spinning as the barrage continued. ‘I was angry, furious, in fact. So would anyone have been if they’d been told…’ She choked her words down, refusing to drag up that shame and certainly not prepared to reveal it to Dante. Dragging in air, she halted her tirade, tried to remember to think before she spoke, to regain some of the control she’d so easily lost. ‘Yes, I said that I wished he was dead, but there’s a big difference between saying something and actually seeing it through.’ She felt dizzy, almost sick with the emotions he’d so easily conjured up, like some wicked magician pulling out her past, her secrets, clandestine feelings exposed, and she didn’t want it to continue, didn’t want to partake in this a moment longer.

‘Can we stop this now?’ Her voice was high and slightly breathless, a trickle of moisture running between her breasts as she eyed this savage man, wondering how the hell he knew, how he had known so readily what buttons to push to reduce her to this.

‘Any time you like.’ Dante smiled, his voice so soft it was almost a caress, but it did nothing to soothe her. ‘After all, it’s just a game!’

The dessert was divine, the sweet sugary mousse contrasting with the sharp raspberry sauce, but Matilda was too shaken to really enjoy it, her long dessert spoon unusually lethargic as she attempted just to get through it.

‘Is your dessert OK?’

‘It’s fine,’ Matilda said, then gave in, putting her spoon down. ‘Actually, I’m really not that hungry. I think I’ll go home now…’

‘I’m sorry if I destroyed your appetite.’

God, he had a nerve!

‘No, you’re not.’ Matilda looked across the table at him and said it again. ‘No, Dante, you’re not. In fact I think that was exactly what you set out to do.’ Reaching for her bag, Matilda stood up and picked up the roll of plans.

‘I’ll be at your house on Sunday afternoon. I’ll look at the plans tomorrow but until I see the garden I really won’t know what I’m going to do.’

‘We’ve all said it.’ Dante’s smile bordered on the compassionate as she stood up to leave, and he didn’t bother to elaborate—they both knew what he was referring to. ‘And as you pointed out, there’s a big difference between saying it and following it through. I was just proving a point.’

‘Consider it proven,’ Matilda replied with a very tight smile. ‘Goodnight, Dante.’

Of course it took if not for ever then a good couple of minutes for the waiter to locate her jacket, giving Dante plenty of time to catch up with her. Rather than talk to him, she took a small after-dinner mint from the bowl on the desk, concentrating on unwrapping the thin gold foil as she prayed for the waiter to hurry up, popping the bitter chocolate into her mouth and biting into the sweet peppermint centre, then flushing as she sensed Dante watching her.

She’d said she wasn’t hungry just two minutes ago—well, just because he was so damned controlled, it didn’t mean that she had to be. What would a calculating man like Dante know about want rather than need? The man was utterly devoid of emotion, Matilda decided angrily. He probably peeled open his chest and pulled out his batteries at night, put them on charge ready to attack his next victim. Consoling herself that she could make a quick escape while he settled the bill, almost defiantly she took another chocolate, pathetically grateful when the waiter appeared with her jacket and helped her into it. She stepped outside into the night and closed her eyes as the cool night air hit her flaming cheeks.

‘How far do you have to go?’

She heard Dante’s footsteps as he came along behind her, recognised his heavily accented voice as he uttered the first syllable, his scent hitting her before he drew her aside, yet she’d known he was close long before, almost sensed his approach before he’d made himself known.

‘How did you…?’ She didn’t finish her question, didn’t want to be drawn into another conversation with him. She just marched swiftly on, her stilettos making a tinny sound as she clipped along the concrete pavement.

‘I eat regularly there. They send my account out once a month or so and my secretary deals with it.’

The one who’d dared to allow herself to get pregnant, Matilda wanted to point out, but chose not to, clutching the plans tighter under her arm and walking swiftly on.

‘Would you like a lift home?’

‘I have an apartment over the bridge.’ Matilda pointed to the a high-rise block on the other side of the river. ‘It’s just a five-minute walk.’

‘Then I’ll join you,’ Dante said. ‘You shouldn’t be walking alone across the bridge at this time of night.’

‘Really,’ Matilda flustered, ‘there’s absolutely no need—it’s just a hop and a skip.’

‘I’d rather walk if you don’t mind,’ Dante said, his face completely deadpan, but his dry humour didn’t even raise a smile from Matilda. Frankly, she’d rather take the chance of walking across the bridge alone than with the evil troll beside her.

‘I have an apartment near here also,’ Dante said, nodding backwards from whence they’d come, but despite the proximity to hers, Matilda was quite sure any city apartment Dante owned wouldn’t compare to her second-floor shoebox!

‘I didn’t somehow envisage you as having an apartment,’ Dante mused, and Matilda blinked, surprised he envisaged her at all. ‘I thought, given your work you would have a home with a garden.’

‘That’s the plan, actually,’ Matilda admitted. ‘I’ve just put it up for sale. I never really liked it.’

‘So why did you buy it?’

‘It was too good an opportunity to miss. And location-wise, for work it’s brilliant.’ She gave a low groan at the sound of her own voice. ‘Can you tell I spent the last couple of years dating a real estate agent?’ Matilda asked, glancing over to him and surprised to see that he was actually smiling.

‘At least you didn’t mention the stunning views and the abundance of natural light!’

‘Only because I’m on the second floor,’ Matilda quipped, amazed after the tension of only a few moments ago to find herself actually smiling back. ‘I guess the drive from Mount Eliza to the city each day would be a bit much,’ Matilda ventured, but again she got things wrong.

‘I don’t generally drive to work, I use a helicopter.’

‘Of course you do,’ Matilda sighed, rolling her eyes.

‘It is not my helicopter.’ She could hear the teasing note in his voice. ‘More like a taxi service. I would rather spend that hour or two at home than in the car. When we bought the place it was meant more as weekender, or retreat, but since the accident I have tried not to move Alex too much. It is better, I think that she is near the beach with lots of space rather than the city. A luxury high rise apartment isn’t exactly stimulating for a small child.’

Why did he always make her feel small?

‘I use the apartment a lot, though. I tend to stay there if I am involved in a difficult trial.’

‘I guess it would be quieter.’

‘A bit,’ Dante admitted. ‘I tend to get very absorbed in my cases. By the time they go to trial there is not much space left for anything else. But it is not just for that reason.’ They were walking quickly, too quickly for Matilda, who almost had to run to keep up with him, but she certainly wasn’t going to ask him to slow down. The sooner they got to her apartment block the sooner she could breathe again. ‘The press can be merciless at times. I prefer to keep it away from my family.’

They were safely over the bridge now, walking along the dark embankment on the other side of the river.

‘This is me,’ Matilda said as they neared her apartment block, and she rummaged in her bag for her keys. ‘I’ll be fine now.’

‘I’m sure that you would be,’ Dante said, ‘but you are my dinner guest and for that reason I will see you safely home.’

Why did he have to display manners now? Matilda wondered. He’d been nothing but rude since they’d met—it was a bit late for chivalry. But she was too drained to argue, just gave a resigned shrug, let herself into the entrance hall and headed for the stairwell, glad that she lived on the second floor and therefore wouldn’t have to squeeze into a lift with him again.