Mistress: Taming the Playboy: Constantine's Defiant Mistress / Androletti's Mistress / Valenti's One-Month Mistress. Sabrina PhilipsЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘Very well,’ he said softly, and put the phone down—feeling slightly perplexed that she had not instantly fallen in with his wishes as he had expected her to do. As women always did.
Laura sat in silence for a moment after the connection was broken, and then ran back down to the empty shop, blurting out her news before her sister had a chance to berate her for being late.
‘I’m meeting him for a drink tomorrow night. He’s changed his mind about the DNA test.’
Sarah paused in the middle of brushing some icing sugar off the counter. ‘Why?’
Laura shook her head, and a terrible combination of fear and excitement shivered over her skin. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘I just don’t know.’
CHAPTER FIVE
DURING the build-up to her meeting with Constantine, Laura tried to carry on as usual—but inside she was still a seething cauldron of nerves, fear, and a terrible sense of excitement, too. And how she hated that heart-pounding awareness that she was going to see him again … that she wanted to see him again.
Even her choice of clothes for the outing proved a headache—she wasn’t used to going out on dates and so had no idea what to wear. And this wasn’t a date, she reminded herself—in fact, it was anything but. She knew it was wrong to go looking all dressed-up—it might look as if she was expecting something, mightn’t it? But he had only ever seen her dressed as a waitress—or naked—and she had her pride. She didn’t want him to look at her and wonder what the hell he had ever seen in her.
So, the following evening, she tucked Alex into bed and went to shower and change. It was a hot, sticky evening, and a light, flowery dress was about the only thing she had which was suitable—but it worked with bare legs and strappy wedge sandals. She added some seed pearls which had belonged to her mother, and went into the sitting room to face her sister’s assessment.
‘No make-up?’ questioned Sarah critically as she looked her up and down.
‘I am wearing a bit.’
‘Hardly going to knock his socks off looking like that, are you?’
‘That was never my intention,’ said Laura as she picked up her handbag. ‘Anyway, I’ll see you later.’ She wobbled her sister a smile as nerves came back to assail her. ‘And thanks for babysitting.’
‘Any time. Ring me if you want rescuing.’
‘And how are you going to rescue me?’ asked Laura, her mouth curving into a wry smile. ‘By sending in the cavalry?’
She caught the bus to Colinwood—a pretty journey, which took in part of the dramatic coastline before tunnelling into lanes lush and thick with summer greenery. Normally she might have enjoyed just sitting back and taking in the scenery, but her heart was full of fear and the sky was heavy with the yellow-grey clouds which preceded a storm. As Laura alighted in the market square in the still and heavy air, she could already feel the oppressive beads of sweat which were prickling at her forehead.
The Grapevine was already quite full—mainly with young professionals, as well as couples out together for the evening. Laura found herself watching them the most—their close body contact proclaiming to the world that they were in love.
She knew that envy was an unappealing trait, but sometimes she just couldn’t help herself. She wondered what it must be like to do things the ‘right’ way round. To fall in love and get engaged and then married. To have a man sit and hold your hand and look as if he had found heaven on earth. She tried to imagine the shared joy of a first baby—the breathless wonder of news being broken to friends and relatives. Not like her—with her unplanned pregnancy and her young son who had never laid eyes on his father …
She saw Constantine immediately—somehow he had bagged the best table in a quiet corner which commanded an enviable view of the stunning gardens outside. A waitress was buzzing around him, smiling for an extra beat as she placed a small dish of olives in front of him, smoothing her manicured hand down over a slender hip as if she wanted to draw his attention to it.
Please give me the strength to stand up to him, Laura said to herself silently as she picked her way through the room towards him, trying to fix her face into a neutral expression. But what kind of expression did she wear in circumstances like these?
Constantine watched her, observing her with a clinical detachment made easier by the fact that she was not wearing a uniform tonight. Tonight her long, fine hair was fizzing down over her shoulders—he could see its brightness as she approached. And she wore a thin little summer dress which made the most of her firm, young body and slender frame. The shoes she wore were high and drew attention to her legs. Amazing legs, he thought suddenly, as if remembering why she had captivated him all those years ago—and then instantly regretted it as she walked up to his table.
‘H-hello, Constantine.’
He should have risen to greet her, but his trousers were stretched so tightly across his groin that he did not dare move. It wasn’t textbook behaviour—but then he reminded himself that this wasn’t exactly a textbook situation. They weren’t out on some kind of cute, getting-to-know-you evening; they were here to discuss a small child. And once again the shimmering of some unknown emotion whispered at his heart.
‘Sit down,’ he drawled.
‘Thanks.’ She perched on the edge of the plush leather banquette, her skin clammy and her heart thumping loudly with nerves. It was so hot in here! When he handed her a glass of wine, she automatically took it with boneless fingers, even though she’d decided on the way over that alcohol was a bad idea. She took a sip. ‘Have … have you been waiting long?’
There was silence for a moment, and Constantine leaned back, taking his time as he studied her, noting the way her knees were pushed tightly together and the stiff set of her slender shoulders. Her body language screamed out her tension—and he knew then that this was not going to be a walk-over. ‘No, I’ve only just arrived,’ he said, and in the fading light his eyes glittered. ‘So … that’s the niceties out of the way. Have you told the boy anything yet?’
Laura shook her head. She wished he would stop looking at her like that. As if he was stripping her completely bare with his black eyes. ‘No.’
Fractionally, he leaned towards her. ‘Do you realize,’ he said softly, ‘that I don’t even know his name?’
It sounded like an accusation, and maybe it was—though it was actually the first time he’d asked. She sucked in a breath, disorientated by his proximity. What if he hates the name I’ve chosen? she thought—in that inexplicable
way that people often did take against names because they reminded them of someone or something from their past.
‘It’s Alex,’ she said quietly. ‘Short for Alexander.’
There was a moment of silence before Constantine let out a long, low breath. It was a name which meant warrior. A proud name which carried with it all the weight and honour of his heritage. ‘A Greek name,’ he observed.
‘Yes. It seemed somehow appropriate.’
He felt a wave of something approaching helplessness wash over him. ‘In a situation which was entirely inappropriate?’ he countered—because didn’t giving the child a name make him seem real in a way that a photo never could? A person was beginning to emerge from the scraps of information he was being fed. A person about whom he knew absolutely nothing. ‘What else did you decide was appropriate?’ he snapped.
Laura recoiled from the anger which was emanating in heated waves from his powerful frame, and she put her wine glass down on the table before it slid from her fingers. ‘We can’t keep apportioning blame!’ she said in a low voice. ‘What happened happened. We can’t change it—we just have to deal with the