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But how was he supposed to think straight when life had thrown a curveball like Mimi Miller at him?
He gritted his teeth. The answer to that should be easily. He was a twenty-nine-year-old billionaire businessman who also happened to be the head of one of the largest charitable foundations in the world. So why, then, had he just let a woman he didn’t like or trust or respect turn him inside out as effortlessly as if he was some adolescent schoolboy, barely in control of his hormones?
All he knew was that nothing was turning out as he’d planned and that today’s encounter with her had left him almost as stunned as the one at Fairbourne two years ago—and that her anger and her accusations had shaken him almost as much as her kiss.
His body stiffened predictably as he remembered the urgency of her mouth on his and the melting softness of her body. That certainly hadn’t been on the menu, and he still had no real idea how it had happened. One moment they were eating lunch, the next arguing. So how had they ended up clasping and kissing one another as though the world was about to end?
He sure as hell didn’t know, and the only person who might be able to answer the question was upstairs, probably wishing all manner of plagues upon his head.
When Mimi had stormed off he’d had to fight an almost overwhelming urge to go after her and introduce himself to her properly. And by properly he meant with both of them naked and in her extremely large four-poster bed. Or his. Then he’d show her exactly how little he had in common with a stuffed shirt, he thought savagely.
From the moment her lips had touched his he hadn’t cared about her family, or her lies, or the fact that she represented everything that was wrong with the world—the greed, the solipsism, the lack of responsibility for one’s actions. All he’d cared about was tasting more of her.
Thankfully Antonia had been there, and despite the feverish hunger gripping his body he’d been conscious of his housekeeper’s carefully averted gaze and had sat back down and finished his meal.
His fingers tightened against the thin porcelain handle of the coffee cup. He shouldn’t care about what she’d said, and yet he could still hear Mimi’s words inside his head. And each time he thought about them, and the accompanying expression on her maddeningly beautiful face, his anger seemed to grow exponentially, so that he could feel it rising like a dark wave inside him.
He wasn’t a bully, or arrogant, and he certainly wasn’t cold-blooded—not around her anyway. And why had she said that her life was miserable enough already?
He shifted in his seat. He didn’t know the answer to that either, but he did know that it wasn’t fair for her to look like that. She should look like a gargoyle, so that no one—particularly not him—would be deceived by the softness of her mouth or her wide blue eyes.
Jerking his elbow to reveal his wrist, he glanced down at his watch and frowned. He’d assumed when she ran upstairs that she needed time to cool off, and that after an hour or so of sulking she would reappear. Not crushed—that would be too much to hope—but suitably chastened.
His heartbeat slowed. Time was running out.
Alicia would undoubtedly call soon, to check how everything was going, and what was he supposed to say?
Yes, everything’s going really well. She kissed me, and I kissed her back, and then she stormed off and now she’s hiding in her room.
Picturing his sister’s face, her soft brown eyes wide with worry, he cursed his sister’s so-called friend in both English and Spanish. He hated it that she had this power over him, but he wasn’t about to lie to Alicia so...
He drained his coffee, put down the cup and stood up.
Upstairs, he stood outside Mimi’s bedroom door, his jaw so tight it felt as if it might shatter. Damn her. She was going to pay for making him climb the stairs and seek her out.
He knocked and waited.
But why was he waiting? This was his house, he thought irritably. And, turning the handle, he opened the door and stepped through it.
The sitting room was empty and, feeling irritation swelling against the stretch of silence that greeted him, he stalked across the hand-k
notted rug towards her bedroom.
‘Okay, you’ve made your point,’ he said, glancing over at the bed. ‘But I think—’
He broke off mid-sentence. The bedroom was empty, and so was the bathroom and dressing room, and the lack of any clothes or luggage confirmed what the knot in his stomach had already told him.
She had gone. Left. Fled.
His pulse soared, panic blotting out any residual anger.
Where had she gone?
* * *
This was not one of her better ideas, Mimi thought, hugging her bag against her chest as she glanced wearily around the crowded side street.
But the word idea suggested some kind of thinking had taken place, when in reality she had spent fifteen minutes working herself up into a lather about Basa’s rudeness, and her own utterly incomprehensible and humiliating decision to kiss him, and then in a rush of panic simply grabbed everything that belonged to her and sneaked out of the house.
