Prince of Montez, Pregnant Mistress Page 9

  ‘You mean I’m in danger of distracting you?’ he drawled.

  ‘Not specifically you—anyone,’ Cally lied, only hoping he hadn’t guessed that when he watched her it felt like every movement she made was being magnified and projected on the wall for his scrutiny.

  ‘If you say so. As it happens, I’ve only come to tell you that Kaliq and his fiancée will be joining us for dinner this evening, so you’ll need to be ready by eight.’

  Cally blanched. When they had been unable to make it on Saturday she’d known he planned to reschedule, but it hadn’t occurred to her again since…Since he’d made it clear that asking her to join them last time had had nothing to do with her expertise and everything to do with wanting her to become his mistress.

  ‘Actually, I planned to begin work on the nude this evening. I’m almost finished on this one.’ They both turned to the first painting, as surprised as each another to see that the restoration work was almost complete, and the difference it made was breathtaking.

  ‘Well, then, it seems the perfect place to stop, does it not?’

  ‘All the same, I’d rather not join you for dinner.’

  ‘Then it’s a good job it’s not optional, then, isn’t it?’

  Cally glowered at him. ‘Since I declined the generous offer of becoming your mistress, I rather think it is up to me when and with whom I dine.’

  ‘Not if it is a requirement of your job, which, for your information, is the capacity in which I require you to be there.’

  ‘Really? Since my job is only to restore and conserve art, am I to assume that the prince is bringing a painting with him that you’d like me to take a look at between courses, perhaps?’

  ‘Kaliq does not share my passion for art,’ he growled.

  ‘Then how can my joining you for dinner possibly be in the capacity of work?’

  ‘The meeting is part business, part pleasure.’

  ‘Well, then, why do you need me when you’re the expert on combining the two?’

  A cloud settled over his features. ‘Kaliq and I have a trading treaty to discuss, but I also wish to toast my acquisition of the paintings.’

  ‘Like a new Ferrari or a penthouse in Dubai,’ she said sarcastically. ‘So I can’t understand why you’d want me there to lower the tone.’

  ‘That’s because you have no idea how good you look in that green ensemble,’ he ground out beneath his breath. ‘But luckily your comprehension isn’t a requirement. I am your employer, and I consider your presence tonight a necessary part of your work. And, since I am not asking you to do anything more unpalatable than have a world-class meal in more than amicable company, I cannot comprehend your objection. Unless, of course, you are worried that you might not be able to keep your desire tied up when you see me in a dinner suit.’

  ‘God, you’re arrogant!’

  ‘So you do think you can keep it tied up?’

  ‘Of course I—I have no desire for you!’

  ‘Then we don’t have a problem, do we? I will see you at eight. Oh, and wear the green dress, won’t you?’

  ‘Over my dead body.’

  ‘Why, does it bring back too many memories?’ He raised his eyebrows, daring her to say no.

  She stared back, mute, furious.

  ‘Good. Eight it is, then.’

  Chapter Eight

  RESISTING the urge to storm into her room and find out why the hell she wasn’t ready yet, Leon paced the forecourt of the palace and turned his thoughts to his guests, whom Boyet had gone to collect from Kaliq’s villa. After years of failing to convince his oldest friend to bring a female companion to Montéz, he could scarcely believe that tonight Kaliq would be accompanied by his future bride. Leon shook his head. Despite the law of Kaliq’s homeland, which stated he had to marry in order to inherit the throne, Leon had never really believed that the cool and cynical sheikh would settle down. In fact, when he had first received word of his engagement, Leon had dismissed it as rumour. Then, when Boyet had confirmed it, he had supposed that in the wake of his father’s ill health duty must have forced Kaliq to find a docile Qwasirian bride. So discovering that his choice was in fact a British model had filled Leon with both surprise and concern. A concern which on second thoughts was unnecessary, because Leon knew that Kaliq, unlike Girard, was an astute judge of character and would never marry a woman who wouldn’t make a perfect queen and mother to his children.

  Leon stopped pacing, wondering if the concern in his chest might therefore really be for himself, for Montéz. No doubt before long Kaliq would have an heir to his throne. He drew in a deep breath, wondering how long he could go on ignoring his own duty—the duty which should never have been his, he thought grimly. What happened if Toria’s body clock started ticking in the meantime? No, he thought, pacing the floor and wishing he had time to tear off his clothes and obliterate those thoughts in the ocean. She didn’t have a maternal instinct in her body. It wouldn’t happen, and he was only allowing it to bother him because for the past three days he’d been driven wild by her red-haired equivalent.

  Cally. Leon’s body tightened beneath the tailored fabric of his suit at the thought of her. The rational part of his brain warned him that she was every bit as conniving as his sister-in-law—and ought to be just as unappealing. Except in his mind they couldn’t be further apart. Toria had offered herself to him on a plate more times since Girard’s death than he cared to remember, but he found the thought of her about as desirable as walking into the web of a black widow spider. Yet Cally…

  How many times over the past few days had he gone into that studio and had to leave because if he’d stayed a moment longer he would have ripped the damned paintbrush out of her hand and kissed her until she begged him to make love to her again? So many times he wished he could forget. Was it some kind of elaborate game to ensure his surrender to her was total, helpless? If it was, then it was futile. No matter how many cold showers it took to keep his permanent state of semi-arousal at bay, he would be patient, and he would have her on his terms. It was only a matter of time until she came to him again and admitted that he was what she had wanted all along. And, if her resistance to this evening’s meal had been anything to go by, it would be soon.

  ‘Sheikh A’zam and Miss Weston are here, Your Highness,’ Boyet announced, heading towards him.

  ‘Thank you. Right on time.’

  It was a shame he couldn’t say the same about Cally, Leon thought, his nostrils flaring.

  Cally stared at the jade green dress hanging on her wardrobe door. He had her cornered. If she didn’t go to dinner, not only would she miss the opportunity to share her work on the paintings, and be placing her job in jeopardy for a second time, but he would also deduce it was because she thought herself incapable of resisting him. The dilemma with the dress was just as bad. Wear something else, and he’d know it meant something to her. Wear it as he’d demanded, and she might just as well have agreed to become his mistress. But then he’d chosen everything in her wardrobe anyway, she thought sullenly.

  Aware that she had been cutting it fine when she’d left the studio at seven-thirty, and that she’d now been staring at the dress for what felt like an age, Cally glanced at her watch. Seven fifty-five. She tried to ignore the usual sense of horror she felt at the prospect of making anyone wait on the rare occasions she was late. So what if she was late for him? He could hardly get annoyed that she had been working late to finish the restoration of the first painting for his guests to see. But it would be mortifying to make them wait, Cally thought suddenly, grasping for the dress. After all, they were what this whole evening was about. He wasn’t even part of the equation. All she had to do was remember it.

  ‘Ah, Cally.’ Leon turned to watch her descend the stairs with a sardonic expression. ‘You decided to join us.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware I had a choice,’ Cally hissed under her breath, before smiling broadly at his guests, grateful to have an excuse to take her eyes off of the disarming sight of
him in his navy dinner suit.

  ‘May I introduce His Royal Highness Sheikh Al-Zahir A’zam, and his fiancée, Miss Tamara Weston. Kaliq, Tamara, this is Cally Greenway.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ Cally said genuinely as she shook their hands, grateful that, although the sheikh was just as regal as she had imagined, and Tamara was stunning in an evening gown of mesmerising coral, they weren’t the least bit disparaging towards her.

  ‘Do you live here on Montéz?’ Tamara asked her amiably as they took their seats at the antique dining table.

  ‘I am just working on the island at the moment—’

  ‘Cally is living here at the palace,’ Leon interrupted. ‘One of her many talents is restoring fine art. She is working on some paintings I purchased in London.’ He looked directly at Kaliq. ‘Rénard’s Mon Amour par la Mer.‘

  Cally stared at him, so incredulous that he had cut her off that she didn’t notice the significant look which Kaliq gave him in return. ‘Congratulations, Leon. You must be very pleased.’

  ‘It sounds fascinating. I’d love to see,’ Tamara added, too polite to show that she had noticed Leon’s rudeness.

  ‘I’d be delighted to show you,’ Cally replied, before Leon halted any elaboration on her part by bombarding Tamara with questions about their stay on the island, and cracking open the champagne to celebrate their engagement. And who could blame him? Cally thought as a plethora of palace staff she’d never seen before brought in platters of meats, cheeses, olives and fresh bread. Although Leon spoke to Tamara with appropriate respect, he was no doubt as captivated by her beauty as any man would be.

  As captivated as you are by him, Cally thought despondently, unable to stop her eyes from straying to his mouth, or the lance of jealousy which jabbed at her heart.

  ‘You must be used to exploring different countries by yourself?’ She made the effort to chip into the conversation as Tamara mentioned that she had visited the university today whilst Kaliq had been working.

  She nodded. ‘I don’t get as much time as I would like to explore when I am on a shoot abroad, but I don’t mind travelling alone.’

  ‘It sounds very exciting,’ Cally replied with genuine admiration, trying to feel inspired by the possibilities that might await her once she had finished the Rénards. The kind of opportunities she’d spent a lifetime dreaming about but which suddenly seemed to have lost their appeal, she thought bleakly. She wondered how much longer she could go on pretending that was what she wanted when, in spite of all the reasons why she shouldn’t, all she really wanted was for Leon to make love to her again more than she had ever wanted anything in her life.

  ‘It can also be very dangerous.’ Kaliq cut into the conversation. ‘Naturally, once we are married Tamara will give up work, so it shall cease to become a concern.’

  Cally registered the triumphant look on Leon’s face and hated him for it. She could just imagine him adding Tamara’s name to the list in his mind which proved that women only troubled themselves with a career until they secured themselves a position as a mistress or a wife. But he was wrong. She might have only just met them both, but it was obvious that the desert prince had only said that because he cared for Tamara with such a passion he couldn’t bear the thought of her being at any kind of risk. And she only had to take one look at Tamara’s less-than-impressed expression to know she would never let her future husband stop her if she chose to continue with her career.

  What would it be like to be here because she mattered to Leon the way Tamara mattered to Kaliq? Cally thought hopelessly as the conversation moved on to discussing the forthcoming wedding. What would it be like to have a man love you so deeply that he wanted to spend his life with you, and who actually cared, not just about having you in his bed, but about your safety and well-being?

  She didn’t have a clue, and for the first time since David had quashed her dreams she couldn’t think of anything worse than never finding out. But they were just childish dreams, she reminded herself as she pushed the main course of duck around her plate, and that was why she’d given them up. So why did it seem so difficult to go back to accepting that she was destined to be alone, the way she had been before she’d met him?

  Because he had made her aware of the gaping hole in her life, she thought wretchedly as she watched him speak animatedly about the international trading treaty with Kaliq, shamefully aware that, though she had spent the past few days telling herself to forget how it had felt to make love to him, tonight she was failing more spectacularly than ever.

  She drew in a ragged breath. If she gave in now she may as well toss her self-respect out with the trash. He wants you as a mistress, nothing more, she repeated in her mind. And you don’t even like him. But as she listened to him chatting about his plans for the university, for cutting taxes, for strengthening the links between Montéz and Qwasir, even disliking him was getting more difficult. She had turned up here believing that, like David and the rest of his moneyed family, the ruler of Montéz was a snob who didn’t care about anyone but himself. But there was no denying that Leon had his people’s best interests at heart and that, palace and paintings aside, he also seemed remarkably frugal for a billionaire. Apart from one cleaner and the additional staff he had called upon tonight, Boyet seemed to be his only aide, and his pleasures, like diving out at sea, were equally simple. So how was she supposed to focus on hating him when the reasons for doing so were getting fewer by the second?

  Because, prince among men or not, the stonking great reason remains: he only wants you to warm his bed. And if you give in to your desire now what does that say about you? That you have no pride, she answered inwardly. Or you’re so delusional that, in spite of all the evidence, you’ve started to believe in the fairy tale again.

  Either way, Cally knew that to give in to her desire would be to set herself up for a fall, but that didn’t make it any easier to step away from the edge. Her whole being seemed attuned only to filling the gaping hole he had opened, she realised as she cracked open the hard layer of caramel on her crème brûlée and stole a glance at him. And she was unable to stop herself from wondering whether, when he looked at Kaliq and Tamara, their evident love for one another made him aware of a missing link in his own future too.

  ‘Thank you, Leon, that was delicious.’ Tamara’s words made Cally snap out of her lust-induced daze.

  Leon turned to Tamara. ‘I hope you will persuade Kaliq not to leave it so long between visits in future.’

  Tamara nodded.

  ‘So long as you promise to visit Qwasir soon so that we can return the favour,’ Kaliq added.

  ‘What an excellent idea,’ Leon said, eyeing Cally with increased hunger as he imagined making love to her in the sultry climes of the desert. ‘Now, you must forgive us, but I find that tonight I am now somewhat exhausted.’

  Leon, exhausted? Cally had no idea what he was playing at, but she knew that was impossible. She’d seen him get back from a fourteen-hour day of negotiations on the mainland only to dive straight into the ocean. Not that she had been watching out of her window to see when he got back or anything, she argued inwardly, then wondered who on earth she was trying to kid.

  ‘I thought perhaps Sheikh A’zam and Tamara would like to see the paintings before they leave.’

  ‘Well, that will be an additional incentive for them both to return.’ Leon smiled through clenched teeth.

  ‘But—’

  He signalled over her shoulder for Boyet to bring the car round and shook his head. ‘It won’t be necessary, Cally, thank you.’

  Cally could barely hide her fury as the two princes embraced and all four of them exchanged farewells, before Leon accompanied Kaliq and Tamara down the steps amidst well wishes for their nuptial plans.

  When he returned she was standing at the top of the steps, hands on her hips.

  ‘So you’re done with even pretending my presence here tonight had to do with work? The boast that the Rénards were yours might have
been enough of an ego boost for you, but surely the least you could do was have me show them to your guests? But, no, you bundle them away before it’s even eleven o’clock. I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone so rude.’

  ‘There will be another time. I don’t consider it rude when two people can’t keep their hands off each other and clearly want to be alone.’

  Cally smarted, forced to concede his insightfulness. ‘They did seem very much in love.’

  Leon looked her straight in the eye. ‘I wasn’t talking about them.’

  She flushed crimson and broke his gaze. ‘Then you have not only acted without manners but you have also misread this situation.’

  ‘Have I?’ he breathed, taking a step so disturbingly close that she had to shut her eyes to block out the sight of him. Except she could still sense him there, smell that unmistakable musk, which tonight was mixed with a citrusy cologne.

  ‘Yes, just like you read everything wrong! That look on your face when Kaliq said that Tamara was giving up work—you think it proves your archaic theory about women using their career until they ensnare a man, then giving it up the second they’ve succeeded, but you’re wrong. Kaliq simply cares about her safety.’

  ‘So now you think you know my oldest friend better than me?’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s possible for two people with their own careers to meet, fall in love and marry?’ Cally cried, wondering whether she was asking the question of him or herself.

  Leon gritted his teeth. There was that word again: marriage. The one she allegedly loathed as much as him. Allegedly. ‘Do you want me to say yes so that you have something to dream about, chérie?‘

  ‘I just—’ Cally exhaled deeply. ‘Aren’t you ever worried the endless line of women will come to an end? That you’ll end up alone?’

  His face turned to thunder. ‘Alone suits me fine.’

  ‘I know.’ She breathed deeply, trying to focus on one of the regal gold buttons on his jacket, and willing her feet to walk her away from him. But as she raised her eyes to his impossibly handsome face, bathed in the soft lights from the palace, her pride somehow felt like an inevitable sacrifice. Her fight had already gone—left at the bottom of her glass in the Road to Nowhere, lost down the back of the sofa in the studio, gone from the palace with Tamara and Kaliq.