Hot Picks: Secrets And Lies: His Mistress with Two Secrets (The Sauveterre Siblings) / More than a Convenient Marriage? / A Debt Paid in Passion

He had never had a mistress, had never wanted anything long-term at all. Not since…

The wrenching memory struck like a kick in the stomach, ambushing him as that dark day sometimes did.

Do you love me?

She had been a pretty thing with caramel eyes and a mouth he’d been trying to kiss for weeks. They were cornered in a stairwell and he was flushed with more attraction than he’d ever felt. Suddenly there was Trella, telling him it was time to go.

Go, then, he told her. Little sisters are such a pain, he had told the object of his affection, as Trella ran off to be stolen by Gili’s—their affectionate name for Angelique—math tutor. I do, he had assured the caramel eyes as they were given privacy again. At least, he supposed it was love. He grew excited seeing this girl in the distance. He wanted to hold her hand, touch her all the time. He could hardly take his eyes off her when she was anywhere near him.

And then their friend Sadiq had shouted his name, telling him, “Trella’s been taken.”

He had seen that girl again, after Trella was home and he and Ramon returned to school. She’d tried to talk to him, but he’d avoided her.

After that, if girls and women came on to him, if they wanted to give up their bodies for mutual physical pleasure, fine. But he was never going to make the mistake of letting a female mean something to him. It put him off his game, exposed a flank.

It could cost the life of someone near and dear.

Romantic love, he had determined, was a weakness he couldn’t afford.

Taking a mistress, however, was a slightly less dangerous risk.

He presumed, wondering if he was rationalizing.

Dressing in his pants and shrugging on his open shirt, he moved into the lounge, where he called in an order for breakfast, put in a request for the boutiques to send a selection for them and picked up the paper left outside his door.

“Bon matin,” he said to Pierre, who had relieved Guy overnight. “Anything I should know about?”

“All the coverage seems run-of-the-mill, but fresh posts are still coming out. We’re keeping an eye out.”

Henri nodded, thoughtful, as he closed the door.

He’d never taken a mistress for the same reason he refused to marry and have children: the threat of kidnapping. Women who were only briefly linked to his name were not likely to be targeted or used against him. Precautions would have to be extended to Cinnia if he went through with this.

He scanned the headlines, then picked up his phone to see a text from Ramon. A question mark. Obviously he’d seen the headlines and wondered why Henri was seeing that woman from the nightclub again.

Henri ignored it and returned a text from Angelique with a video call.

“Problème?” he asked, continuing in French. “That was a cryptic message. Why are you worried about something you said to Trella about Sadiq? Are they having a romance I don’t know about?”

“What? No! Of course not. No, I think he’s falling for someone back in Zhamair. Do you know if that’s true?”

“He didn’t say anything when I spoke to him last.” Sadiq might be the best friend he and his brother had, but they did not discuss their love lives. They talked about important things like stock prices and politics.

“Why does that affect Trella?” he prompted.

“I don’t know.” She frowned in her introspective way and he knew to give her a moment to gather her thoughts. Angelique was a quieter personality, more like him, preferring solitude, while Trella and Ramon were the extroverts. Everything Trella did was full bore, including a nervous breakdown. She had been making him mad with worry since her birth, when she had turned blue in his arms the first time he held her.

He often thought that if it had been Angelique outside the day of the kidnapping, and her tutor had called her over, planning to stuff her in his van, she would have waited for Ramon and insisted he hold her hand and come with her. Shyness had been a hurdle for her, but it was a type of self-protection that served her well.

Trella had possessed none of that. She had run headlong over to the tutor, eager to be helpful and say she wasn’t Angelique.

They had stolen her despite her kicks and screams, because how effective was a nine-year-old girl against two strong men?

The trauma affected his sister to this day, which made him blind with fury if he didn’t carefully drip-feed himself those memories. It made him want to hurry Angelique to tell him how she imagined Sadiq, their friend who had actually helped save Trella, could be a threat to their sister now.

“I was just talking to her about him,” Angelique continued as though still gathering her thoughts. “And saying it was bound to happen that he would marry someday, even if he’s not in love now. She got really quiet. Now I feel…” She shrugged. “You know. Like she’s upset.”

“Deeply upset?”

“No.” She said the word on a rush of relief. “Normal upset. But I think she’s worried that if he did get married, she wouldn’t be able to go to his wedding.”

“We can cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said. “But thank you for telling me.”

Trella had been stable for half a year. They were all holding their collective breath that this time she was actually conquering her panic attacks.

He heard Cinnia and glanced up to see her with dry, windswept hair, wearing one of the hotel robes. “I, um, just want my phone.” She scurried to where he had set her handbag on a table after finding it on the floor, where she’d dropped it last night.

“Who’s that?” Angelique asked.

“A friend.” A very beautiful goddess who had done wicked, devilish things with him in the night. He had not misremembered the power of their chemistry. He kept reminding himself he wasn’t a man to be led by his organ, but as many times as they’d made love last night, it wasn’t enough. That’s what he kept coming back to. He wasn’t prepared to go another few weeks, let alone a lifetime, without making love to her again.

“Don’t run away,” he ordered Cinnia before she could lock herself in the bedroom. “I’m finishing up here.” To his sister, he said, “I’ll touch base with her later. Let me know if anything changes.”

He ended the call and stood, still conflicted now his sister had reminded him of the threats they faced daily and their far-reaching effects.

At the same time, his hands rolled of their own accord, silently inviting Cinnia to come to him.

She didn’t move, only hugged herself and flicked her glance to his phone. “Who was that?”

“Gili. Angelique. My other sister.”

“You’re very close to your siblings.”

“They’re the only people I trust completely.”

She looked at her bare toes. “I speak French. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but I heard a little.”

“And?”

“And nothing.” She shrugged. “I feel bad for your sister. I don’t imagine something like that is anything you get over. I mean, I still cry about losing my dad and it’s been over a decade, but it sounds like she’s quite haunted and I’m sorry she’s still affected.” She glanced up, expression so soft with compassion it cracked things inside him. “I know you lost your father, as well. I’m sorry for that, too.”

“You’re sorry for a lot of things.” Deepening their relationship would come with many types of risk, he realized. Long-term relationships demanded more of this sort of thing. He was not eager to open up to her, but he hated the distance she was keeping between them right now. The physical distance, at least.

“Are you sorry about last night?” he asked, trying to understand why she wasn’t rushing into his arms.

“A little,” she mumbled.

“Why?” he demanded, not pleased to hear it.

She kept her head down, but he could see her growing red. With embarrassment?

He swore and went to her, tugging her close with gentle roughness so they knocked together and she threw back her head to scowl at him.

The vulnerability in her eyes made his heart swerve. He was not the only one disturbed by the level of intimacy between them. He found himself rubbing his thumbs against her upper arms where he gripped her, trying to offer reassurance.

“We gave each other a great deal of pleasure. That’s not something to be ashamed of.”

She swallowed and hid her thoughts with a lowered gaze. Her mouth pouted, maybe even showed a hint of bruising from their thousand rapacious kisses.

Oddly, that hint of injury was the turning point, allowing him to make his decision. They needed time so they could pace themselves. Otherwise, they were liable to kill each other.

“I like that you held nothing back,” he told her. “Quit being shy about it or I’ll do all those same things to you right here on the floor in the lounge. In daylight.”

Cinnia was tempted to scoff and say, “You can try,” but she had a feeling he would.

And she’d let him.

He started to kiss her, but the knock on the door interrupted. “Breakfast,” he said with a small grimace, releasing her to let in room service.

She touched fingertips to her tingling lips, scolding herself for being disappointed. She was achy and exhausted, very tender in delicate places, and all she could think about was how much she wanted to feel his touch on all those sensitized places again.

Other staff came in with the wheeled table of covered dishes. A woman brought an assortment of outfits and held up each in turn for approval.

“Not that one. It’s hideous,” Henri said as the woman showed them a green dress. “Why does it even exist? That one, the blue. To match your eyes,” he told Cinnia.

He accepted a striped button shirt and the boutique owner left clean underthings for both of them. Cinnia waited until everyone was gone to check the price tags.

“You’re not paying for those,” Henri said, barely glancing up from the plates he uncovered.

“Neither are you. I guess I’m going home in last night’s dress.”

“You’re my guest. I will provide everything you need while you’re with me.”

Something in her midsection did a little curl and twist, anchoring and panging inside her. Get what you can.

“Are you going to join me? Surely you’re as hungry as I am.”

“Are you going to keep teasing me about it?” she demanded.

“Last night? Did that sound like teasing? I mean it as praise and gratitude.” He looked at her and his shoulders relaxed as he gave her a perplexed look. “Vraiment, why does it bother you that we spent a night making love?”

He had stripped her bare, not just physically, but down to her soul. She was never going to be the same. He would always be the man who had done those things and made her feel that way and he would always know it. She would always know it and compare future lovers and feel wistful. Cheated, even.

“I told you,” she muttered, moving to sit across from him, absolutely starving from her expenditure of calories, but feeling defenseless and needy. Tired, she assured herself. She was just tired. And filled with impossible yearning. “I don’t do this.”

“If you think last night was common for me, you’re overestimating my libido.”

“Oh, I have a healthy respect for that animal, believe me.” Coffee. She poured a cup for each of them with shaking hands and quickly doctored hers, sighing with her first sip even though it burned her tongue.

When she glanced at him, he was watching her with an enigmatic look.

“You’re also underestimating your effect on me. We have a unique connection.” He seemed to choose his words very carefully. “We could leave things here and go on with our lives. I would probably call you the next time I was in London. I will optimistically believe you would be available and want to see me.”

That was what was killing her right now. She had been able to put him mostly out of her mind after the first time because she’d been angry and genuinely hadn’t thought she would see him again. For him to show up and pursue her so blatantly, however, set her up for believing he would do it again in the future.

She would counsel any girlfriend or sister to never wait on a man or give him so much power over her personal happiness, but here she sat, looking into her coffee because she didn’t want Henri to see that he already held her on the end of a leash and all he had to do was tug for her to come to heel.

That’s where her shame was coming from. Her eyes stung and she made herself blink to stem the tears of humility at being his sexual pet.

“What do I assume by your lack of response, Cinnia? That you would be agreeable to that arrangement?”

“I’m not going to hold a reservation for you,” she lied, setting her cup into its saucer with a hard clink and a little slosh of coffee over the rim.

“Exactly what I thought you’d say.” He braced his elbows on the table, hands loosely linked above his plate. “Much of your appeal for me is that you expect so little of me. You’re very independent. But I do not care to take my chances with your accessibility. I would like to propose a different arrangement.”

When she glanced up, his gaze was waiting to snare hers. The hazel-green tone was very, very green. Avid in a possessive, masculine way. Mine.

Her stomach swooped and she scented danger, yet it was the lofty danger of swinging out on a rope over a cliff on a bottomless lake. Life threatening, but exhilarating.

“A retainer?” she mocked.

“Of a sort. I’ve never had a mistress, but I begin to see the benefits.”

She was knocked speechless. For a few painful heartbeats, she could only stare, then pointed out, “So. Not a proposal. A proposition.”

Her pulse raced in panic and she looked across the room at the pretty clothes he was already trying to purchase for her.

Get what you can.

“I believe there are websites where women advertise for sponsors. Perhaps start there,” she suggested thinly.

“I don’t want a mistress. I want you. Look.” He waved at the plates they hadn’t yet touched. “I can eat plain scrambled eggs and there’s nothing wrong with that, especially when I’m hungry, but if I have the option to eat one poached to perfection, delicately spiced and accompanied by a tempting banquet of other flavors, one that not only sates the appetite but is a joy with every bite, why the hell wouldn’t I want the quality ones?”

“And since you’re used to buying the best, I’m sure you think you can afford the eggs you see in front of you today. In this case, you can’t.”

“I’m very rich.”

“I’d rather go hungry than sell myself.”

He made a noise that was decidedly French. “Forget the metaphors and eat the damned eggs before they go cold.”

After they’d both taken a couple of bites, he said, “I’m never going to marry. Long-term dating, in the traditional sense, is a false promise I won’t make. Women come to me, come on to me, at a steady enough rate that I’ve never lacked for company.”

“I kind of prefer the not calling over this turn of conversation.” She flashed a humorless smile. “Just saying.”

“But if I expect a woman to make herself exclusive to me, I ought to provide something in return.”

“Your charm isn’t enough?” She blinked in fake shock.

“Have you heard of erotic spanking, Cinnia? Some women find it pleasurable and deliberately test a man’s patience with backchat, looking for a hot bottom.” He showed his teeth. “Just saying.”

Wicked, evil man. For one second, she thought about that. Started to blush, and told herself to smarten up.

“You want it straight, Henri?” she challenged, stomach twisting. “Not shaken nor stirred? Fine.”

She seemed to have no pride where he was concerned anyway. She dropped back in her chair and gave him a hate-filled glare for forcing her to bring up the pathetic mistakes of her past.

“I told you my father left his estate in a mess. We were in dire straits, actually. Really dire. Mum and my sisters have a hard time seeing it, especially Mum. She has this throwback notion that if one of us marries well, all our problems will be solved. You asked me last night what happened with my ex-boyfriend. That’s what happened.”

“He was rich and didn’t want to marry you?”

“Exactly. Except that we’d been poor together, struggling through school and scrambling for rent every month for a year when we moved here to the city. I was actually the one making more money for the first while. I thought we were in love and that we would get married. Then his folks sold a piece of property and said they were going to split the money between their children. It was a few hundred thousand each, enough to make a nice down payment on a good home. I honestly thought he was being cagey for the weeks following the sale because he was shopping for an engagement ring and planning how to propose.”

“Non?” He was holding on to a very neutral tone, betraying nothing of what he might be thinking.

“Hell, no! He was telling his parents to hold off doling out his portion so I couldn’t put a claim on it, then he siphoned off half of what was in our shared accounts and kicked me out of our flat the day we were supposed to renew the lease.”

She looked at her eggs and knew Avery had been dry, white toast at best while Henri was a mouthwatering croissant.

“I know my family is a handful. I know Mum came on strong when she learned his news. She was on the phone calling local churches that day. She flat out told him he should sink his money into her house and said we should move in with her. I never would have let that happen, though. I’ll never live with her again if I can help it. She makes me bananas.”

She crossed her legs and adjusted the fall of the robe, noting her hand was trembling. She was trying hard to keep a grip, but she still felt so stupid. She had thought Avery loved her and it had shaken her confidence in herself, in her belief that she could judge a character and even in her belief that she was lovable. Her voice quavered with old emotion and she couldn’t seem to steady it.

“Even though he had known me all that time, he wrote me off as only wanting his bank balance. He said I had always known his parents were sitting on that potential, that I had known money would come to him, and that everything I had done was a calculated investment in getting a piece of it. I did know about it. I had counseled his parents on whether it was better to sell the land before their death or leave it as part of their estate. Because he asked me to. And I didn’t charge them, by the way. Friends-and-family discount.” She picked up her fork and stabbed her egg and watched the yolk bleed out.

Henri reached for his phone and said very casually, “What is his name?”

“Jerkface McPants on Fire. Don’t bother ordering a hit. He’s not worth the bullet.”

He set down his phone again. “This is why you’re so sensitive about letting me buy you a meal or a dress?”

“Or a hotel room or a favor with my boss or a rental agreement as a mistress. I earn my keep, Henri. I refuse—I absolutely refuse—to become a kept woman. I’m aiming to start my own agency. I will not work my butt off to succeed only to have people say it’s because I was sleeping with a sexy French tycoon.”

“My sisters are constantly accused of succeeding with their design house because Sauveterre International underwrote it. Do you know how they respond to that accusation?”

“How?”

“By ignoring it. You do not owe explanations to anyone. You certainly don’t have to justify yourself to McFacey man. Stop worrying about what he thinks of you. As for opening an agency, I encourage you to send us a business plan regardless of the terms you and I negotiate for our personal partnership. Ramon and I are investors. We invested in Maison des Jumeaux because Trella wrote a solid plan that has exceeded all of our expectations. If yours shows promise, we may extend you a start-up loan. It won’t be nepotism. We do not offer friends-and-family discounts. When it comes to money, neither of us is influenced by sentiment or sexual infatuation. That’s why we’re rich.”

He was not joking.

She was crushed by his reduction of her to a sexual infatuation, but suffered an immediate urge to knock his socks off with her business acumen, wanting to secure a loan from him simply for the achievement of it.

She murmured, “I’ll think about it,” and returned to eating.

He made short work of his plate and freshened their coffee.

“I like the idea of you working for yourself,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because I have a very busy life. It would be hard to find time to be together if you had a strict workweek.”

“I love the way you talk like I’m going to agree to be your—oh!” She leaned forward with mock delight. “Let’s use the French term, shall we? Courtisane.”

He gave her a flat look that grew into a considering one.

“An educated woman who values herself and her time? One who is not ashamed of her sex drive? Is that you, Cinnia?”

She sat back. “You’re trying to make it sound like that’s all it is. It’s not.”

“No, it’s potentially quite complicated. But seeing as you are so smart, walk through this with me. I am based in Paris, but I travel to New York at least once a month. I have an office here in London. I could work some of my time out of it, perhaps one week a month. Ramon and I would like to expand into Asia, but we’re already stretched thin. And I occasionally drop everything to fly home to Spain if my sister needs me. Tell me how much time we’ll have together unless you come with me for some of that travel.”

“Presuming I want to spend time with you,” she said tartly.

“Look at me,” he commanded in such a stern voice her heart stalled and her gaze flashed up to his. “Were you there last night? The bed is a pile of ashes, we set it so completely on fire. If you don’t want to do that again, fine. Get dressed and leave. I’ll never bother you again.”

His words spiked through her heart and she found herself pushing to her feet in a rush of pique, catching the wild flare of something in his eyes before she turned away and—

She halted, unable to make herself take another step.

Something hooked sharp and fierce behind her breastbone. Tears slammed into her eyes. She brought her fists up and pushed the heels of her hands into her clenched lids, catching a shattered breath. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t walk away from him.

“Idiot,” he said behind her, chair scraping before he pulled her back against his chest, strong arms encasing her, but in a way that felt secure and reassuring.

“I don’t want to feel this way,” she said in a whisper, voice breaking. All of her breaking. She was self-reliant. She didn’t need anything from a man.

But she needed him. This man. Who offered things, not his heart.

“How do you feel? Hmm?” One hand stole into the front of her robe and he cupped her bare breast, flicked her nipple.

She made a noise of pleasure-pain, instantly catapulted into memory and desire, but her nipples were so tender she covered his hand and stilled his caress.

“Sore?” he asked against her ear, nibbling in a way that sent shivers down her nape, all the way to the small of her back.

She arched, pushing her bottom into the hardness at his loins.

“You’re going to kill me, Henri. I ache all over and I don’t care. I want you anyway.”

“Ah, chérie. You’re hurting like this because you don’t want our time to end. I feel the same.” His mouth opened on the side of her neck, delicately sucking a mark into her skin. “But I will be very, very careful with you, I promise.”

His free hand went in below the belt and found her naked and slippery, already responding to being close to him. “You like that?”

“You know I do,” she breathed, tilting her head to the side so his kisses could reach all down the side of her neck. “But I don’t think I can.”

“Come here.” He backed up, bringing her with him.