The Tycoon's Virgin Mistress

  THE TYCOON’S VIRGIN MISTRESS

  Clare Connelly

  All the characters in this book are fictitious and have no existence outside the author’s imagination. They have no relation to anyone bearing the same or names and are pure invention.

  All rights reserved. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reprinted by any means without permission of the Author.

  First published 2014

  (c) Clare Connelly

  http://clarewriteslove.wordpress.com/

  clareconnelly@outlook.com

  CHAPTER ONE

  A one night stand with a man she’d just met... Could she really go through with it?

  She fingered the room card he’d slipped to her only minutes before, thinking back to how he’d phrased the indecent proposition.

  “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I want you in my bed.”

  It had been to the point, abrupt, and strangely seductive.

  It helped that the man in question was sinfully sexy. She lifted her gaze to him now, where he sat at a table with six other men. It was hard to believe that only minutes earlier, they’d been locked in a passionate (and highly unprofessional) kiss. Around her, the restaurant was abuzz with its usual Friday lunch time crowd, but she only had eyes for him.

  She swallowed convulsively as, suddenly, his dark eyes lifted and locked onto hers, filling her with an unfamiliar lurching sensation.

  Missy had only been waitressing for a few weeks, but she was usually good at her job. Focussed. Professional. Today, she was a mess. And it was all down to the man with the thick American accent.

  God, could she really do this? He had no idea what he was getting himself into, after all. She felt a sharp pang of compunction as she imagined what he’d say when he discovered that she was a virgin. A virgin at her age! She squirmed with embarrassment, trying to concentrate on the glasses she was packing back onto the shelf.

  The day had started like any other. An early morning shift in the busy Mayfair restaurant had bled into the lunch rush. But somewhere between the first seating (always crowded with pensioners too tight to pay full price, wanting to cash in on the daily lunch specials) she’d realised her brother Robert hadn’t got in touch all day. Since he’d checked into rehab, they’d had a system. He texted every morning without fail. He knew how she worried, and it was his way of apologising for screwing up her life, as well as his.

  Only this morning, he hadn’t.

  And it had sent her into a spin of panic. Against restaurant regulations, she’d kept her phone in her apron pocket, volume off, but vibrate on, desperate to hear from him. She’d tried calling him whenever she had a spare moment, but he hadn’t answered. And now, as the restaurant was full to bursting with well-heeled diners, she was only half concentrating on her job. Even though Robert eventually got in touch, with a quickly tapped out text letting her know his phone had simply run out charge, she still wasn’t focussing on what she was doing.

  Which is how she ended up spilling water on the pants of one of the diners at the American’s table.

  “Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry, sir.”

  “That’s-all-right,” he’d leered drunkenly, leaning back in his chair so that his crotch was exposed beneath his portly gut. “Wanna-dry-me-up?”

  His slurring voice should have told her to back off. Clearly, he was a drunken mess. “Not even remotely,” she said through gritted teeth. “I do apologise though. If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll just grab a towel for you.”

  “A bloody towel isn’t what I had in mind, babes.”

  She shuddered in revulsion at the lascivious curl of his mouth. Spittle had formed in the corner of his fat lips, and his eyes were bloodshot.

  “Be that as it may, it’s all that’s on offer.”

  “You don’t look like the kind of woman who thinks she’s too good for a bit of fun. You sure I can’t interest you in a quickie?”

  Appalled, she shook her head from side to side, trying to remember the professional courtesy that had become second nature over the past five years. The problem was, dressed for her real job, she had the confidence to put jerks like this in their place with one withering look. As a waitress in a snooty restaurant, she knew some idiots like this thought the staff were one step better than strippers.

  An authoritative voice cut across her thoughts. “That’s quite enough, Randall.”

  “What’s it to you?” The drunken guy had responded belligerently.

  The American had then stood up. “You may remember that without my offer to buy your company, you’re days away from liquidation. So try to behave like a human being in my presence.”

  Missy had wished she could fade into the floor. She watched as the American man paced across the restaurant, heading towards the restrooms, and, as if disconnected from her brain, her body moved quickly to follow him.

  “Hey!” She accosted him outside the bathrooms. “I had that under control.”

  He shot her a look of surprise. “Did you really?”

  “Of course I did. I’m used to pervs like him thinking they’re God’s gift.”

  He’d looked her up and down, slowly, a small smile of appreciation twisting the corner of his lips. “I’ll just bet you are.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” She crossed her arms across her chest, but the indignation was feigned. She was incapable of feeling anything but red-hot sexual attraction to this man. An unfamiliar ache, deep in her stomach, was spreading through her body.

  “It means that you’re obviously a very beautiful, very sexy woman, and that most men would lose their heads when they see you.”

  She dropped her lower lip and stared at him, open-mouthed.

  “You’re not going to pretend to be embarrassed are you? I must tell you, coy women bore me senseless.”

  “And you think I care if you’re bored or not?” She retorted hotly, wondering why she hadn’t already put an end to this conversation.

  “I think you feel it, too.”

  “Feel what?” She said thickly, shaking her head slowly from side to side.

  He reached across and pressed his finger oh-so-lightly to her cheek. As light as a whispered breath, he ran it down the soft downy skin of her face, to the point at the base of her neck where her pulse was fluttering wildly.

  “This.” And then, he caught her completely by surprise, because he pressed her backwards, out of view of the dining section, and kissed her. She’d only been kissed a handful of times before. A few inept university trysts. Nothing like this. His lips on hers were skilful, his tongue in her mouth made her body dance to a tune she’d never heard before.

  She moaned low in her throat as her body caught fire, and she wound her arms around his neck, splaying her fingers into his hair. His low chuckle as he lifted his head made her flush. “Oh, God.” She murmured, stepping backwards. Only he didn’t release her. He kept her in the circle of his arms, so that she was aware of his burgeoning erection.

  “See? We both feel it.”

  Feel what? She wanted to ask. What the hell was that?

  “You’re just as bad as the rest of them,” she said through gritted teeth. But she was annoyed at herself, not him. What had she been thinking? It must have been all the worry over Robert that was making her act deranged.

  “Believe me, angel, I’m a whole lot better.”

  She let out a laugh. “Arrogant, much?”

  He shrugged. “It’s not arrogant if it’s true.”

  She didn’t doubt he would be a spectacular lover. Not that she had any frame of reference. If one kiss alone could make her insides slick with need, what the hell would it feel like to be made love to by him?<
br />
  “Why are you telling me this?”

  He leaned down so that he could press his lips against her ear, and he whispered, so that his warm breath fanned her neck: “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I want you in my bed.”

  “You want me?” She retorted hotly, to hide the fact she was about to lie down on the carpeted floor and beg him to have his way with her. “Don’t be absurd. I don’t know anything about you. Well, except that you’re American and that you think you’re a highly skilled lover.”

  His grin was devastating in its sexy lopsidedness. “You keep stating facts as if they’re up for debate.”

  Her laugh was genuine. The first time she’d really laughed in over a month, and it caught her by surprise. “I have to get back to work.”

  “And afterwards?”

  It was as if she was standing on a precipice. Missy didn’t do irresponsible. She never had. She had been the adult in the family since she could walk and talk, and all the time her peers had spent sleeping around and drinking their way through university parties, she’d been studying, working and looking after Robert.

  A kernel of desire had begun to unfurl in her stomach, and as it spread through her body, she found herself wondering what the hell she was so scared of? She was a twenty four year old woman. It wasn’t as if he was proposing anything illegal.

  But she couldn’t afford any entanglements. Any scandal.

  “I don’t even know your name,” she pointed out.

  “Nate.”

  “Nate.” She rolled it around her mouth, tasting it. “Yes, that fits.”

  His turn to laugh. “I’m glad you approve.”

  “I’m reserving judgement,” she responded archly.

  “Excellent. I’ll aim to please.” He watched the way colour suffused her face and felt a painful constriction in his gut. “And what can I call you?”

  She bit down on her lip. This man reeked of wealth and success. It was highly unlikely he was affiliated with the gangster thugs from Liverpool, but nonetheless, something stopped her from answering honestly. “Claire,” she answered, using her mother’s name.

  “Well, Claire. Here’s my key. I suggest you come straight up after you finish.”

  “And?”

  “Believe me, angel, we’ll give each other a night to remember.”

  * * *

  “You get all the luck, Missy!” Susanna, one of the waitresses she’d come to think of as a friend over the last month, said with a dramatic sigh. Missy was used to her theatrics and paused patiently by the door.

  “Oh? Why’s that?”

  “Don’t you know who’s on your table in the bay window?”

  Missy shrugged to hide the way her heart had started to race at the mention of Nate’s table. “Only Nate Anderson himself. And he’s even yummier in person than in the mags.”

  She frowned. The name was familiar, in the way memories of childhood are. A far away recollection, too fuzzy to have any real significance. “Who is he?”

  “The property tycoon. Jesus, do you live under a rock?”

  Missy shook her head. “I guess so.”

  “He owns a heap of hotels and restaurants. I think he even owns this hotel. Yes, I’m sure he does. He was married to that film star...Angelique...what was her name? You know the one. Gorgeous. Figure to die for, dark hair, big eyes...”

  Missy focussed on seeming unaffected by this conversation. This conversation about the man she’d just decided to have a one-night stand with. A stranger. A divorced, rich, gorgeous stranger.

  Well? So what? She wasn’t auditioning the man for anything other than a one night stand, was she? She really hoped he wouldn’t mind that she’d never done this before. God, she hoped she didn’t suck.

  “Well, he seemed nice. I didn’t really notice him,” she lied through her teeth, and gave the kitchen staff a small wave as she left for the day.

  Only she didn’t move towards the Bond Street tube station as she normally did. Instead, she went deeper into the heart of the hotel, pausing outside the bank of elevators.

  Again, she fingered the stiff white card in her pocket.

  Could she really go through with this?

  She wasn’t this kind of person at all. But just once she wanted to be.

  She pressed the lift button before she could back out and waited for the doors to ping open. It felt like it took forever. Moments and moments in which she could have backed away, but didn’t. Finally, she was inside, careening upwards.

  The card only accessed one floor. The penthouse suite at the very top of the expensive and exclusive hotel was every bit as daunting as she’d imagined. It was the kind of place that cost tens of thousands of pounds a night. Mick Jagger had stayed here for months, when he’d been renovating his home, and that guy who managed the Spice Girls had spent his honeymoon in this very room. Or so the restaurant gossip went.

  Missy stepped inside, feeling strangely calm. Having made the decision to spend the night with this drop-dead-gorgeous man, she felt nothing but excitement. It was so far out of her normal behaviour but something about it just felt right.

  Nate stood as soon as he heard the lift beep its arrival. Turning, slowly, refusing to acknowledge the abject relief he felt that she had gone through with her promise, he nailed her with a deadly smile.

  “Claire.”

  “Hello,” she seemed a little uncertain, and he liked that. He was used to brassy women, full of their own appeal, and confident to the hilt. Something about the way she prevaricated at the entrance of the living area intrigued him.

  “Nice place,” she observed thickly, just for something to say.

  “Home away from home. Can I get you some champagne?”

  “No, thank you. I don’t drink.”

  “I see.”

  She knew he didn’t. Not unless he had also suffered the particular torture of being raised by raging alcoholics.

  She watched as he took two water bottles from the kitchen fridge and handed one to her. She cracked the lid and drank it gratefully. Her mouth was suddenly parchment dry as she realised the enormity of what she – they – were about to do.

  Without his jacket, his taut, muscular chest was disturbingly on display through the fabric of his business shirt. “I’m finding it hard to think straight, suddenly,” she said with unusual candour.

  He came to stand in front of her, and took a curl of her blonde hair in his fingers.

  “That’s mutual. Is this your natural colour?” He asked distractedly. Surely it had to be a dye job. It was the colour of straw, and sunshine. Perfectly pale and shining.

  “My mother was Swedish,” she said. “Blonde hair runs in the family.”

  “Was?” A business man used to dealing in nuances, he honed in on the past-tense of her statement.

  Missy shied away from discussing her parents with him. She’d made a habit of keeping her personal business close to her chest, and she wasn’t about to break that habit now. “We aren’t here to discuss my family, are we?”

  His hand dropped from her hair, to her shoulder. He traced a finger along the line of her collar bone, pausing above the swell of her cleavage. Her pulse raced, and she knew he would be able to feel it, fluttering as fast as a butterfly.

  “No. We’re not.”

  Missy was suddenly as impatient as all hell. As a twenty four year old virgin, she knew she was an oddity in today’s day and age, and she was suddenly desperate to go through with this. Their brief conversation had been the sexiest she’d ever felt in her life. If sex itself was even better than that, then she was prepared to be blown away.

  She brought her hands to his shirt and pulled it from the waistband of his trousers but he stepped back.

  “You need to learn patience, Claire,” he admonished sexily. “The build up is all part of the fun.”

  She screwed her nose as she looked at him.

  “Christ, you must have been with some real bastards,” he observed dryly. “A woman l
ike you should most definitely be savoured.”

  “Show me, then.” She said, her voice shaking slightly.

  His eyes flared at her sensuous challenge, and he leant forward and kissed her neck, just beneath her ear. He didn’t need asking twice. His tongue flicked her ear lobe and she felt like she was instantly unsteady on her feet. He brought his hand to her bottom and pulled her close to him, so that she could feel the force of his erection hard against her stomach. He felt huge, and very, very rock-hard. He pressed against her and she shivered with the thrill of anticipation.

  When he pulled her sweater up over her head, he was momentarily knocked off his game by the fact she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her breasts were revealed for him to see and he wanted to take the alabaster mounds in his hands and never let go. Stuff foreplay. He was overtaken by a desire for a quick release. With the patience of a saint, he forced himself to do as he’d promised and show her the virtue of a thorough, leisurely love-making.

  He scooped Missy up and carried her to the nearest room; one of the several guest suites the penthouse boasted. He deposited her in the centre of the king size bed and knelt over her.

  Missy bucked at the sensations that tore through her as he took a nipple into his mouth. Her obvious pleasure was instantly arousing to him. He watched her face contort with desire and his groin tightened. Her jeans were easily discarded, revealing a tiny pearl-coloured g-string. He stifled a groan at how delectably sexy she was. She watched him from between clear blue-green eyes as he slid the last piece of fabric over her smooth legs.

  She seemed completely comfortable with her naked body, and a thought zipped into his head. Did she do this often? She seemed too at-ease for it to be rarity. It left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. Yeah, it made him a hypocritical ass, but he didn’t like to think of her bed-hopping.

  He ignored the feeling. After all, what did it matter if she’d slept with every man in London? For now, she was his. All that was relevant was their pleasure, this night.

  Excitement burst through him as he removed his own clothes, impatient to be naked with her. Her gasp when she saw his exposed body and erection had him almost losing a grip on his control.