model had sold her story to the tabloids he had made sure his affairs remained short and sweet. Very sweet and very short.
He knew he’d probably marry one day, because it was expected, but love wouldn’t play a part in his choice of a wife. When he was ready—if he ever was—he’d choose someone from his world, who understood the demands of his lifestyle. Someone logical and pragmatic like he was.
Lily made a noise in her sleep and Tristan flicked a glance at her, wincing as her head dropped sideways and butted up against the glass window. Someone the opposite of this woman.
She whimpered and jerked upright in her sleep, but didn’t waken, and Tristan watched the cycle start to repeat itself. That couldn’t be good for her headache.
Not that he cared. He didn’t. She was the reason memories from the past were crowding in and clouding his normally clear thinking, and he resented the hell out of her for it.
But just as her head was about to bump the window again he cursed and moved to her side, to move her along the seat. She flopped against his shoulder and snuggled into his arm, her silky hair brushing against his cheek, giving him pause. He felt the warmth of her breath through his shirt and went still when she made a soft, almost purring sound in the back of her throat; his traitorous body responded predictably.
If he were to move back to his side now she might wake up and, frankly, he could do without her peppering him with the questions he’d seen hovering on her lips while he’d been trying to work.
She made another pained whimper and he looked down to see a frown marring her pale forehead.
Oh, for the love of God.
He blew out a breath and lifted his free hand to her hairline, stroked her brow. The frown eased instantly from her forehead and transferred to his own. If he wasn’t careful this whole situation could get seriously out of hand. He could just feel it.
Five minutes. He’d give her five minutes and then he’d move. Get back to the waiting e-mails on his smartphone.
Twenty minutes later, just as he was about to ease his fingers from her tangled tresses, his chauffeur announced that the car had stopped. Well, of course he’d noticed.
‘Drive us to the rear entrance, Bert,’ he said, trying to rouse Lily. She rubbed her soft cheek against his palm in such a trusting gesture his chest tightened.
God, she really was a stunning woman.
How could someone born looking like she did throw it all away on drugs? He knew she must have struggled, losing both her parents at a young age, but still—they all had their crosses to bear. What made some people rise above the cards life dealt them while others sank into the mire?
According to Jordana, Lily was sensible, reserved and down to earth. Yeah, and he was the Wizard of Oz.
‘You okay, Boss?’ Bert asked, concern shadowing his voice.
Great. He hadn’t noticed the car had pulled up again. He had to stop thinking of Lily as a desirable woman before it was no longer important that he neither liked nor respected her.
‘Never better.’ He exhaled, manoeuvring himself out of the car and effortlessly lifting the comatose woman into his arms. She stirred, but instantly resettled against him. No doubt a combination of shock and jet lag was laying her out cold.
A security guard opened the glass-plated door to his building, looking for all the world as if there was nothing out of place in his boss carrying an unconscious woman towards the service lift.
‘Nice afternoon, sir.’
Tristan grunted in return, flexing his arms under Lily’s dead weight.
He exited the lift and strode towards his office throwing a ‘don’t ask’ look at his ever-efficient secretary as she hurried around her desk to push his door open for him.
‘Hold all my calls,’ he instructed Kate, before kicking the door closed with his heel.
He tumbled Lily gently down onto the white leather sofa in his office and she immediately curled into a fetal position, pulling his jacket more tightly around her body while she slept.
Scratch laundering it, he thought. He’d just throw the bloody thing away.
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