Page 21 of The Mistress Contract

But his eyes hold a mischievous glint in them, like he knows exactly why I’m on edge. He’s the reason I’m on edge—him and his hands and his mouth and the sinful, hot things he’s done to my body—without bringing anything to fruition. I’m frustrated as hell and he knows it.

I wonder if being his lover will always be like that. I also wonder if he was so commanding in bed that his partner wouldn’t be able to climax without his express permission. I frown. He notices because he’s watching. Like a hawk.

“You may as well ask, Madeline. That’s why we are here, isn’t it?”

I shake my head. “Why a mistress and why a contract? Why not have a normal relationship? Or just a short-term affair?” My eyes slide down his chest, across his broad shoulders, to his powerful hands resting on the table in front of him, calmly folded. A short-term affair might be just what I need to get this man out of my system. Like binging on chocolate cake and then not wanting it again for months.

I remember his searing mouth suckling my nipples to aching points, his thumb deftly circling my clit. My panties instantly soak at the memory and I swallow. I’m in deep, deep shit if I can’t get any more control of myself than this.

He laces his fingers together. “For one thing, I do not do relationships. I’ve been there, done that. Does not work for me. Period. As for an affair…is that what you’d prefer?”

Negotiations, eh? I know how to do this. Growing up, my dad had been an expert at negotiating, and I learned just from watching him, when I was small and he still lived with us. “I propose a one-night stand.”

A dimple forms just below his mouth as he smiles, licks his bottom lip. He sits back and looks at me for a moment between narrowed eyes. “One night?” His eyes slowly rove to my mouth, down my neck to settle at the top of my dress. Those eyes touch me like firm, strong hands, scorching me. “One night with you will not be enough for me. That taste will only make me want more. And I’m not someone who tolerates being kept wanting.”

His blue eyes twinkle, and I scowl at the cruel irony of his words. He’s kept me in a state of wanting since this morning. I’m wanting so much it’s practically painful.

I steeple my fingers over my place setting. “That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”

“What is it about the contract that you dislike?”

The sommelier arrives with the wine and uncorks it in front of us, pouring a small portion into Evan’s glass and asking him to taste. He swirls the burgundy liquid, gives it a sniff and then takes a sip, pausing for a moment, his sensual lips pursing, his eyes losing the focus of deep concentration.

“C’est bon, merci,” he says.

And the sommelier turns to fill our glasses before setting the bottle on the table, leaving the cork off. Evan nods to him and he leaves. I wish I could get up and go with him.

I fiddle with the stem of my glass, determined not to drink any of it. This man has already addled my wits quite handily without adding alcohol to the equation.

But he hasn’t forgotten that he asked me a question and I left the answer hanging in the air between us. There’s a tense, silent few minutes while he just stares at me with those deep-blue eyes, pinning me down.

I clear my throat, focusing on the wine glass. “I despise the word mistress and I don’t see the need for a contract.”

“The contract is there to protect both parties. And as for the word mistress, it need never be mentioned again.”

My eyebrows raise. “Then what would you call it?”

He looks like he’s about to laugh but decides against it. “Does it matter? How about just ‘the contract?’”

I blink. “And how does it protect me, for example?”

“Aside from listing how you’ll be provided for—”

“See, that’s just it…. If I were to displace myself to a residence for your convenience,” I say the word with a hint of disdain, “who’s to say how my life could be upended should you change your mind?”

“The contractor—” He cuts himself off when I shake my head.

“No, don’t use that crap language. At least use the correct pronouns. If this is what you are trying to set up, then own it. ‘I want...’” I modeled for him.

Something flashes in his azure eyes, though I can’t tell whether it’s irritation or intrigue. “I would be responsible for your care and living expenses for one full year should I choose to end the agreement between us.” He raises his brows at me as if to ask, Was that satisfactory?

I swallow. “And what if I choose to end it?”

His gaze flicks away for a moment, and he takes a small sip of his wine before speaking. “I’d have two weeks to find a suitable replacement.”

“Oh? And during those two weeks...?”

“The physical relationship would continue. But at the end of the day, after those two weeks, the final decision is yours.”

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