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The Billionaire's Virgin Mistress
Sandra Field
Ruthless and rich, Cade Lorimer is assigned a very special task by his adoptive father–find his granddaughter!Tess Ritchie has always believed she has no family, so it's a shock when Cade shows up, claiming she's an heiress to a fortune! Tess steps reluctantly into his world of glitz and glamour, then willingly into his bed. But there can be no future for their jet-set affair, for he's a hardened playboy and she is his innocent mistress. . . .
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The Billionaire’s Virgin Mistress
by Sandra Field
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Sandra Field
THE BILLIONAIRE’S VIRGIN MISTRESS
Contents
All about the author…
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
All about the author…
Sandra Field
Although born in England, SANDRA FIELD has lived most of her life in Canada. She says the silence and emptiness of the North in particular speaks to her. While she enjoys traveling and passing on her sense of a new place, she often chooses to write about the city that is now her home. She’s been very fortunate for years to be able to combine a love of travel (particularly to the North—she doesn’t do heat well) with her writing, by describing settings that most people will probably never visit.
Kayaking and canoeing, hiking and gardening, listening to music and reading are all sources of great pleasure. But best of all are good friends, some going back to her high-school days, and her family. She has a beautiful daughter-in-law and the two most delightful, handsome and intelligent grandchildren in the world (of course!).
Sandra has always loved to read, fascinated by the lure of being drawn into the other world of the story. Her first book was published as To Trust My Love. Sandra says, “I write out of my experience. I have learned that love, with its joys and its pains, is all-important. I hope this knowledge enriches my writing, and touches a chord in you, the reader.”
CHAPTER ONE
AS THE Malagash Island ferry eased into the dock, Cade Lorimer turned on the ignition of his beloved Maserati and prepared himself for what would undoubtedly be an unpleasant interview.
Saluting the ferry attendant, he drove up the metal ramp onto the narrow highway. He knew exactly where he was going. He owned most of the island, after all. An island now awash in early September sunlight, its thickets of evergreens hugging the cliffs, the sea sparkling as it dashed itself against the rocks.
He was here at the request of Del, his adoptive father. Here on a fool’s errand, one that could lead to nothing but trouble—because the woman he was to track down was, in theory, Del’s granddaughter.
Del’s granddaughter? That had to be the joke of the century. She was a fake. Of course she was.
According to Del she’d been born in Madrid, and had spent most of her life in Europe. Yet for the last eleven months she’d been living a mere forty miles from Del’s summer mansion on the coast of Maine.
Cade didn’t believe in coincidence. Tess Ritchie was an imposter who’d heard of Del’s considerable fortune and was biding her time to lay claim to it.
So it was up to him to stop her. And stop her he would.
On the meadows above the road, three deer were peacefully grazing; Cade’s eyes flicked over them, barely registering their presence. Del—so he’d said—had known about Tess ever since she was born, had supported her financially for her entire life, but had never been in touch with her directly or breathed a word about her existence to anyone.
Through local gossip, Cade had long ago found out about Del’s biological son, Cory, the black sheep of the family who was, supposedly, Tess Ritchie’s father. Del had never breathed a word about Cory’s existence, either.
The two best kept secrets on the eastern seaboard, Cade thought, his fingers drumming the soft leather on the steering wheel. If by any chance Tess Ritchie wasn’t a fake, then she was related to Del by blood. As he, Cade, was not.
This simple fact rankled; he resented even the possibility of Del having a granddaughter. Stupid of him, no doubt. But wasn’t his reaction one more indication of how he’d always felt cheated of any true connection to Del?
Cade rolled down the window, the breeze tugging at his hair. Another minute or two and he’d be there. The investigator’s report had stated that Tess Ritchie was renting a converted fish shack just past the village.
The investigator was one Cade himself had used; his reputation was impeccable. But this time, he was out to lunch.
As for strategy, Cade figured he’d wing it once he was face-to-face with Tess Ritchie. For sure, he’d have to fight her off. The woman wasn’t born who could resist Del’s money, let alone Cade’s far more substantial wealth. Billionaire had a certain ring, he had to admit.
So there were two rich men in the family. Yeah, he’d have to fight her off.
He rounded a corner, and there, on the shore of the cove, was a fish shack that had been turned into a small winterized cabin. An image of Moorings, Del’s summer place, flashed across Cade’s mind; Del wanted him to bring Tess Ritchie to Moorings on the return trip. The contrast with the fish shack was so laughable that Cade’s anger jumped another notch.
He turned down the dirt track to the cabin. No car parked outside and no sign of life. Tess Ritchie worked full-time, Tuesday to Saturday, at the local library, that much Cade knew; it was why he’d arrived well before nine on a Saturday morning.
He drew up outside the cabin and climbed out of his car. Waves murmured on the shingled beach; a pair of gulls soared overhead, their wings limned in light. Filling his lungs with cool salt air, Cade briefly forgot his errand in a moment of sheer pleasure. His own love of the sea was a rare bond between him and Del.
With an impatient sigh, he strode over to the door—painted an ebullient shade of yellow—knocked hard and knew instinctively that the silence on the other side of the door was the silence of emptiness. Fool’s errand, indeed. She wasn’t even home.
On ponderous gray wings a heron flew past; and to Cade’s ears came the rattle of footsteps on the pebbles. Swiftly he circled the cabin. A woman wearing brief shorts and a tank top was jogging toward him along the crest of the beach. She was agile, tanned and lithe, her hair jammed under a vivid orange baseball cap.
Then she caught sight of him. She stopped dead in her tracks, her breast heaving from exertion, and for the space of ten full seconds they stared at each other across the expanse of pebbled beach.
At a much slower pace, which was imbued with reluctance—or was it fear? Cade wondered—she started toward him.
On his way to the cabin, he’d pictured a bleached blonde with a slash of red lipstick and a lush, in-your-face body. He’d been wrong. About as wrong as he could be. His mouth dry, his eyes intent, he watched her come to a halt twenty feet away from him, her back to the sun.
No lipstick. A sheen of sweat on her face, most of which was shadowed by the oversize brim of her cap. Workmanlike sneakers on her feet, and legs to die for. He stepped closer and saw her, almost imperceptibly, shrink away from him. She said sharply, “Are you lost? The village is back that way.”
“Are you Tess Ritchie?”
“Yes.”
“My name’s Cade Lorimer. I need to talk to you.”
He could easily have missed the tiny flicker of response that crossed her features as he said his name, so swift was it, and as swiftly subdued. Oh, yes, he thought, you’re good. Just not quite good enough.
“I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding at all sorry, “I don’t know you and I don’t have the time to talk to you—I need to get ready for work.”
“I think, when you know why I’m here, you’ll make the time,” he said softly.
“Then you think wrong. If you really want to see me, come to the public library. Half a mile down the road, across from the post office. I’ll be there until five this afternoon. And now if you’ll excuse me—”
“Lorimer,” Cade said. “The name doesn’t ring a bell?”
“Why should it?”
“Del Lorimer is my father—he’s the one who sent me here. His other son—Cory—was your father.”
Her body went rigid. In a staccato voice, she said, “How do you know my father’s name?”
“Let’s go inside. As I said, we have things to talk about.”
But she was backing away, step by step, her gaze glued to his face. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said, her fists clenched by her side so tightly that the knuckles were white.
Terror, Cade thought, puzzled. Why the hell would she be terrified of him? She should be jumping up and down for joy that Del Lorimer had finally sent someone to seek her out. “If you don’t want to go inside,” he said, “we can talk out here. There’s lots of time—the library doesn’t open for an hour and a half.”
“Talk about what?”
“Your grandfather. Wendel—better know as Del—Lorimer. Who just happens to spend his summers forty miles down the coast. Don’t tell me you don’t know about him because I won’t believe you.”
“You’re out of your mind,” she whispered. “I don’t have a grandfather. My grandparents died years ago—not that that’s any of your business. Whatever your game is, Mr. Lorimer, I don’t like it. Please leave. And don’t come back, or I’ll set the police on you.”
The sheriff on Malagash Island was a longtime friend of Cade’s. He should have come up with a strategy, Cade thought irritably, because this wasn’t going the way he’d imagined it would. “Who told you your grandparents died?”
A tiny shiver rippled through her body; she hugged her arms to her chest. “Go away—just leave me alone.”
“We have several options here, but that’s not one of them.” Cade’s jaw tightened. Above her thin tank top, he could see the enticing shadow of her cleavage. Her arms were smoothly muscled, her fingers long and narrow. Ringless, he noticed, and in a sudden spurt of rage recalled the Lorimer family diamonds.
He’d had enough of this ridiculous fencing. In a blur of movement, he closed the distance between them, gripped her by the arms and said forcefully, “Your grandfather sent me. Cory Lorimer’s father.”
Ducking her head, she kicked out at him, as vicious and unexpected as a snake. As Cade automatically evaded the slash of her foot, she tore free and took off at a run up the slope.
In five fast strides, Cade caught up with her, grabbed her by the shoulder and tugged her around to face him. But before he could say anything, her body went limp in his hold. Oh, yeah, he thought cynically, oldest trick in the book. Digging his fingers into her shoulder because she was a dead weight, he wrapped the other arm around her waist.
Then, to his dismay, he realized it wasn’t a trick. She’d fainted, a genuine, no-fooling faint. Face paper-white, eyes shut, body boneless. With a muttered curse, he lowered her to the ground and thrust her head between her knees.
So the terror had been real. What in God’s name was going on? Impulsively he pulled the ball cap off her head, loosing a tumble of dark chestnut curls from which the sun teased streaks of gold. It was soft between his fingers, silky smooth. She was too thin, he thought. But her skin was like silk, too.
Then she stirred, muttering something under her breath. He said with a calmness he was far from feeling, “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have frightened you like that.”
He could hear her trying to steady her breath; the small sounds smote him with compunction. He added, “I’ve never in my life terrified a woman into fainting—not my style. Which is something you’ll have to take on trust. Look, let’s start again. I have a very important message for you, one I’ve promised to deliver. But we can do this outside, so you’ll feel safe.”
Slowly Tess raised her head, her hair falling around her face. She needed a haircut, she thought distantly. Time to get out the scissors and hack the ends off.
The man was still there. Through her tumbled curls she saw hair black as the ravens that flocked the beaches, eyes the harsh gray of the cliffs that ringed the island. His face was carved like the cliffs—hard, unyielding, craggy. And undeniably, terrifyingly male.
A stranger. But worse than a stranger, she thought with a superstitious shiver. Her fate. Dark, dangerous and full of secrets.
Pushing her hair back, terror rising in her throat again so that she could scarcely breathe, she said raggedly, “I’ve nothing here worth stealing. No money, and I don’t do drugs, I swear I don’t.”
Cade Lorimer said blankly, “Your eyes. They’re green.”
Panic-stricken, she gaped at him. Con artist, or certifiably mad? What did green eyes have to do with anything? She pushed hard against him and said frantically, “There’s nothing here for you. Cory’s dead—he’s been dead for years. Can’t you just leave me in peace?”
Cade’s heart was thudding in his chest; her words scarcely registered. In all his life, he’d only known one other person with eyes that true, deep green, the green of wet leaves in springtime. That person was Del Lorimer.
She must be Del’s granddaughter. She had to be. “Do you wear contact lenses?” he rapped.
Temper streaked with a flash of humor came to her rescue, briefly subduing fear. “Which mental ward have you escaped from? You’re here to rob me and you want to know if I wear contacts?”
“Just answer me,” Cade said brusquely. “Your eyes—are they really green?”
“Of course they are—what sort of stupid question is that?”
“The only question that matters,” he said heavily. So she wasn’t a fake; he’d been way off base. That wasn’t his style, either.
As for her, her whole body was taut with tension; she was looking at him as warily as if he really was an escapee from a mental institution. Or a thief, the other accusation she’d thrown at him.
