Girl Behind the Scandalous Reputation (5 page)

L
ILY
was hot. Too hot. And something was tugging on her. Pulling her down. Jonah?

She blinked and tried to focus, and found herself lying in an unfamiliar room.

‘Missing your boyfriend already, Honey?’ An aggravated male voice she instantly recognised drawled from far away.

Lily tentatively raised herself up on her elbow to find Tristan seated behind a large desk strewn with leatherbound books and reams of paper.

For a moment she just stared at him in a daze, unconsciously registering his dark frown. Then the events of the morning started replaying through her mind like a silent movie on fast forward.

The flight, the drugs, the interrogation, Tristan—

‘You called his name,’ he prompted. ‘A number of times.’

Whose name?

Lily didn’t know what he was talking about. She didn’t have a lover and never had. She smoothed her fingers over her flushed face and wiped the edges of her mouth. It felt suspiciously as if she had drooled.
Urgh!
She was grimy and sweaty, as if she’d been asleep for days. Of course she hadn’t been—had she?

Lily peered at Tristan more closely and noticed the same white shirt he’d worn earlier, the sleeves now rolled to reveal muscular bronzed forearms. The same red tie hanging loosely around his neck and the top button of his shirt was undone.
Okay, still Friday. Thank heavens. She glanced around his impressively large and impressively messy office.

For some reason she had expected someone so controlling to be a neat freak, but his desk was barely visible behind small towers of black, green and red legal tomes and spiral-bound notebooks. A set of inlaid bookcases lined half of one wall, with books stacked vertically and horizontally in a slapdash manner, and what looked like an original Klimt dominated another.

And that surprised her as well. Klimt had a soft, almost magical quality to his work, and that didn’t fit her image of Tristan at all.

‘It’s an investment,’ he said, as if he could read her mind. ‘So who is he to you?’ Tristan repeated, pulling her eyes back to his.

‘Gustav Klimt?’

Tristan made an impatient sound. ‘The loser whose name you were chanting in your sleep.’

Lily shook her head, realising one of the reasons she felt so hot was because she still wore Tristan’s jacket. Removing it quickly, she placed it on the seat beside her and met his scornful gaze. ‘I don’t know who you’re—Oh, Jonah!’

‘He’d no doubt be upset to find himself so easily dismissed from your memory. But then with so many lovers on the go how can a modern girl be expected to keep up?’

Lily’s brow pleated as she gazed at him. No improvement in his mood, then. Wonderful.

And as for his disparaging comments about her so-called lovers—the press reported she was in a relationship every time she so much as shared a taxi with a member of the opposite sex, so really he could be talking about any number of men.

She was just about to tell him she didn’t appreciate his sarcasm when he held up a manila folder, a look of contempt crossing his face.

‘I’ve had a report done on you.’

Of course he had.

‘Ever considered going directly to the source?’ she suggested sweetly. ‘Probably save you a lot in investigators’ fees.’

Tristan tapped his pen against his desk. ‘I find investigators far more enlightening than “the source”.’

‘How nice for you.’

‘For example, you’re currently living with Cliff Harris…’

A dear friend who had moved into her spare room due to financial problems.

‘A lovely man.’ She smiled thinly.

‘…while you’ve been photographed cosying up to that effeminate sculptor Piers Bond.’

Lily had been to a few gallery openings with Piers, and Tristan was right—he was effeminate.

‘A very talented artist,’ she commented.

‘And presumably sleeping with that dolly boy in Thailand behind both their backs?’

Lily suppressed her usually slow to rise temper and threw him her best Mona Lisa smile. A smile she had perfected long ago that said everything and nothing all at the same time.

‘Grip,’ she corrected with forced pleasantness. ‘He’s called a dolly grip.’

‘He’s also called a junkie.’

‘Jonah
once
had a drug problem; he doesn’t any more.’

‘Well, you should know. You’ve been photographed going in and out of that New York rehab clinic with him enough times.’

Also true. She volunteered there when she could, which was how she’d met Jonah. She just hoped Tristan didn’t know about the director’s marriage she was supposed to have broken up while working on a film the year before. But since it had been all through the papers…

‘And Guy Jeffrey’s marriage? Or is that so far back you can’t remember your part in that particular melodrama?’

Great. He probably knew her shoe size as well.

‘My, your man
is
thorough,’ she complimented dryly. ‘But do you think I might visit the bathroom before you remind me
about the rest of my debauched lifestyle? I don’t think I can hang on till tomorrow.’

Tristan scowled at her from beneath straight brows, and if the situation hadn’t been so awful she might have laughed. Might have.

She picked up her tote bag from the floor and grimaced as she realised she felt as if she was requesting a permission slip from the school principal when she had to ask for directions to the bathroom.

Tristan nodded towards a door at the rear of his office. ‘Leave the bag,’ he ordered, returning his focus to his computer screen.

‘Why?’

‘Because I said so.’

Rude, horrible, insufferable…He raised his eyes and locked them with hers. His gave nothing away about how he was feeling while she knew hers were shooting daggers.

She suspected she knew why he wanted her to leave it. She suspected he was trying to show her who was boss. Either that or he thought she’d been able to magic some more drugs into her bag after it had been searched by Customs. But, whatever his reasoning, he’d now succeeded in making her angry again.

She planted her hands on her hips, prepared to stare him down. ‘There’s nothing in it.’

He leaned back in his chair and regarded her as a predator might regard lunch, and goosebumps rose up along her arms. ‘Then you won’t mind leaving it.’

Lily felt her mouth tighten. No, but she wouldn’t mind braining him with it either—and damn him if he didn’t know it.

She stalked towards him, her narrowed eyes holding his, and before she could think better of it upended the entire contents of her tote onto his desk. He couldn’t hide his start of surprise, and Lily felt inordinately pleased at having knocked him off his arrogant perch.

‘Careful.’ She cast him her best Hollywood smile before
swinging round towards the bathroom. ‘I left a King Cobra in there somewhere, and it’s trained to attack obnoxious lawyers.’

As parting shots went she thought it was rather good, but his unexpected chuckle set her teeth on edge. And if she was honest she was a bit worried she’d never find her favourite lipstick again in amongst all the rubble on his desk.

His bathroom was state-of-the-art, with slate-grey tiles and an enormous plate-glass shower stall. Lily would almost kill for a shower, but the thought of putting on her smelly travel clothes afterwards was not appealing. Plus Tristan was in the other room, and she didn’t want to risk that he might walk in on her. She didn’t think she could cope.

A sudden image of him naked and soapy, with water streaming off the lean angles and hard planes of his body, crowding her back against the slippery tiles pervaded her senses and made her feel light-headed. She wondered if he had an all-over tan, and then pulled a face at the image of male perfection that bombarded her. He probably had a very small penis, she thought, grinning at her wan complexion. It would only be fair.

But then she recalled the feel of his hard body pressed into hers in the secluded corner of that long-ago dance floor and knew he wasn’t small. Far from it.

She wouldn’t ruin her mood by thinking about that. Somehow tipping her bag upside down on Tristan’s desk had alleviated her anger and lifted her spirits considerably.

She splashed cold water on her cheeks and poked at the dark circles under her eyes. She looked a mess. And her hair was unusually knotty around her temples. A vague memory of soothing fingers stroking her scalp came to mind and she realised at the same time that her headache was gone. Had he stroked her? Soothed her?

The comforting gesture didn’t fit his harsh attitude, but she was secretly thrilled that he might have done it.

Thrilled? No. She shook her head at her reflection. Thoughts like that led to nothing but trouble, and hadn’t he already made
it completely clear that he detested every minute he had to spend with her? And didn’t she feel exactly the same way? The man was rude, arrogant and obnoxious, to say the least.

She blew out a noisy breath and pulled her hair into a rough ponytail, securing it with the band she kept around her wrist for just such purposes—a habit that made Jordana shudder. But Lily had never been one for fashion and clothing, like Jordana. Which was probably why Jordana was a buyer for women’s wear at a leading department store and Lily wore just about anything she recommended.

Lily turned towards the door and paused with her hand on the brass knob. She was almost afraid to return to the lion’s den.

Then she chastised herself for her feebleness.

No doubt Tristan was just planning to lay down the law. Tell her he wanted absolute silence and co-operation again. And if he did she wouldn’t argue. The less they had to do with each other the better.

Sure, she had questions, but perhaps it was better to try and stifle them. She’d soon find out what was going to happen, and as much as the thought of being at his mercy made her skin crawl what choice did she really have right now?

Yes, that would be the approach to take. Polite, but aloof. Mind her own business and hope he minded his as well.

Tristan regarded Lily coolly as she walked back into his office. She’d put her hair up, which made her look more unkempt than when she’d first woken up—and incredibly cute. A fact he found hard to believe when he usually preferred women well-mannered, well-bred and well-groomed.

He was still smarting from having lowered himself to question her about her lovers before, like some jealous boyfriend, and wouldn’t have minded if she’d spent the rest of the afternoon in the bathroom. All the better for him to get some actual work done.

But she hadn’t, and now her eyes alighted on the refreshments
his secretary had just placed on his desk. He knew she must be hungry, because he doubted the customs officers had made it a priority to feed her earlier today.

He suppressed a grin when he saw her glance surreptitiously around for her bag. Much as he hated to admit it, he admired her spunk.

‘No, I didn’t bin it,’ he said conversationally. ‘Although there wasn’t much in there worth keeping apart from a miniature pair of black panties.’

Her eyes flew to his and he had to wonder why he’d said that. It had gone totally against his intention to direct her to the sofa and tell her to keep quiet.

Her mouth gaped with embarrassment and he almost felt sorry for her. She’d obviously forgotten they were in there.

Then she recovered and sauntered across the room. ‘I’m not sure they’re your size, but you’re welcome to keep them.’

‘I generally like to take them off women, not put them on,’ he purred, enjoying the way her eyes widened before lancing him with a knowing look.

‘So I’ve heard,’ she rejoined. ‘But I was referring to your personal use, not…’ Her pouty lips tightened and she looked flustered, dropping her gaze to the assortment of cups in front of her. ‘Never mind. I take it one of these is mine?’

‘Yes. Take your pick. I didn’t know if you preferred coffee or tea so I ordered both.’

She looked at him as if she thought such thoughtfulness was beyond him and his mouth compressed. He could be thoughtful when the moment called for it.

‘And I know what you were referring to.’

She didn’t respond but sipped pleasurably at the tea she’d just poured. He watched the way her mouth pursed daintily around the edge of the cup. It hadn’t been quite so dainty when it had opened under his six years ago, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about that.

It had been six years, for heaven’s sake. He couldn’t even remember the colour of his last lover’s hair let alone how she’d
tasted, and yet just looking at Lily Wild brought her unique flavour to mind. Her generous curves. Her responsiveness…Ah, the sweetness of a response that had most likely been fuelled by chemical enhancers. Or had it? It was a question that had kept him up late on more than one occasion.

‘I feel like I’m on an episode of
This is Your Life
.’ She smiled from behind her cup, the incongruous comment thankfully pulling his attention away from her mouth. ‘Only the host usually smiles, and I would have expected at least one or two guests to have turned up by now.’

Tristan scowled—both at the flippant remark and his unquestionable hunger for somebody he didn’t even like.

‘Okay.’ She sighed, completely oblivious to the tumultuous thoughts playing out in his head. ‘I’m presuming you don’t want my shoe size, so why don’t you tell me what happens next and—?’

‘No, I don’t want your shoe size,’ he agreed, cutting her off mid-sentence and leaning back in his chair. Some devil on his shoulder wanted to throw her as off-balance as he felt. ‘I already know it. Along with your jeans size, your bra size, and of course what type of panties you like to wear.’

‘That’s an invasion of privacy,’ she snapped.

‘So sue me,’ he drawled, unaccountably pleased to see her affable expression fade and her eyes flash purple sparks. Her watery attempt at friendship had annoyed him. He didn’t want that from her. In fact he didn’t want anything at all from her!

Lily pressed her lips together and tried to hold on to her temper. How dared he? Lounging back in his executive chair like King Tut. She took a deep breath and willed herself to remain calm. Polite and aloof…