Bought for the Billionaire’s Bed(7)

He felt her stiffen in his arms, and she didn’t answer.

“Mia?” He cupped her face and forced her to meet his gaze. “Is anything wrong?” She looked worried and averted her eyes.

“Nothing’s wrong, Trent. It’s just a little sudden, that’s all.”

He breathed in. Maybe he was taking things too fast. He certainly didn’t want to drive her away by being too possessive. All through his life he’d been the same. When he wanted something, he just went right ahead and went for it, even if that made him appear rather ruthless on occasion. His mother had always told him he was too impulsive. Take your time, Trent. All things come to those who wait. Well, being impulsive had served him well in the cut and thrust of the markets. In his position, he needed to make instant decisions.

“I don’t want to pressure you, Mia. If you’re not sure, that’s fine by me.” He gently stroked her face. “But at least let me buy you dinner before I leave on Saturday. I want to know everything about you.” He touched her nose playfully. “I insist.”

“Very well, Trent. I’d love to.”

“Good, I’m glad that’s settled.”



* * * *



When Mia awoke, it was still dark, apart from just a little moonlight streaming through the window. It took her a while to realize where she was. The heavy breathing of the naked man lying next to her soon focused her mind.

Trent.

He lay face down. A sheet half draped across his legs. Her gaze traced the delicious contours of his back and thighs. Every muscle clearly defined in the moonlight. He was perfect in every way, right down to his gorgeous ass. She breathed in. My God, he’d pleasured her to such an extent that she couldn’t believe her good fortune. When they’d made love for a second time, he’d used every trick in the book to make her plead for release, holding her in place while he caressed every part of her body with his tongue.

Mia lay back on her pillows and stared at the ceiling. She was not the person he imagined her to be. Somehow, with the expensive designer dress and her knowledge of art, he’d assumed she was a woman with wealth and breeding. She guessed Trent thought she was financially solvent and well connected. Who wouldn’t think that considering she was wearing a Bellini dress? He might be worth millions, but she wasn’t even worth a fraction of the haute couture dress she’d borrowed, or was that stolen?

Now she had the dilemma of a lifetime. To tell the truth or not?

Last night had been wonderful in every respect. A fantasy come true. Why ruin a perfect dream with details of reality?

They’d made arrangements for dinner in two days’ time. It was then that she planned to tell him the truth. She knew she couldn’t continue masquerading as something she wasn’t.

Surely when Trent knew the whole story, he wouldn’t want to see her again? So what would be the point?

The fear of rejection made her slip quietly from his bed. Holding her breath, she silently retrieved her clothes and tiptoed from the room. Just before she closed the door, she glanced back at the beautiful man lying sound asleep on the bed. His dark hair fell disheveled around his masculine features. The hint of stubble covered his strong jaw. His lips slightly parted in restful sleep. In another life, things might have been so very different. Unfortunately, this dependence on wealth and status in society made her skeptical of his intentions. She just couldn’t take the chance. Something as beautiful as last night didn’t deserve to be ruined. It would remain untainted, a memory to cherish and last her a lifetime.

Once in his living area, she began dressing. When she stepped into the dress, she cursed her stupidity as she heard the loud tear. Just why had she put her high heels on first? Mortified, she looked down at the ripped garment. A large, six-inch slit had been torn in the back. Now she would be in trouble. She looked toward the closed bedroom door. Had Trent woken at the sound of tearing material?

With not a moment to waste, she quickly continued and then gathered her possessions together. She went over to the drinks cabinet and looked at the telephone number she’d written on the notepad the night before. She tore the page from the pad and then scribbled Trent a quick message. With one last look around the wonderful apartment, she made her way to his private elevator and pressed the ground floor button.

During the descent, she stared at her pale face in the elevator mirror. She felt terrible. Had she done the right thing? When he woke up, would he be furious? Instinctively, she covered her reflection with her hands and lowered her head. She did not wear guilt well.

In Swedish, she chanted out a mantra. “It’s better this way. It’s better this way.” Only she didn’t feel better. She just felt empty.



* * * *



The sound of the elevator groaning into life roused Trent from his sleep.

He stretched and rubbed a hand over his face. He guessed it must be his cleaner coming to work. Time to get up. When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to see it was still dark. It couldn’t be Connie.

He turned and stared at the empty bed beside him. The pillow where Mia had lain still retained her warmth and perfume. He moved from the bed and began searching the apartment for her. After several minutes, realization dawned. She had already left.

He wondered why she hadn’t said goodbye. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to wake him. He noticed the notepad left on top of the drinks cabinet. At least he had her telephone number. He walked across and picked it up. Still half asleep, he just stared at the message, trying to make out the words. Surely that couldn’t be right.

His blood ran cold as he read.



You were so wonderful, Trent.

Please forgive me, and keep the dream alive.

Really, I’m not worth it.

Mia



Trent flicked through the notepad. The page with her telephone number was missing. Why? What on earth was she hiding? Could she be married? He hadn’t thought so at the time. Perhaps she didn’t like him. He dismissed that idea, too. They had shared something very special. He shook his head. Yeah, so special she’d just left without a backward glance. He remembered how hesitant she’d been when he’d asked her to go away with him. Now he knew why.

He went over to the sophisticated and very expensive CCTV system and rewound the last half hour. With over two million dollars worth of art in his apartment, his insurers had insisted it be installed. It was a condition of his policy. It was very discreet. No one would even know it was there. When he caught a glimpse of Mia leaving the bedroom, he began playing the recording. He watched her put her clothes on and then collect her things. She stopped walking and stared at the notepad. He zoomed in and thought that somehow she looked sad. Folding his arms across his chest, he observed her tear the page from the pad and drop it into her purse before writing the message.

Then she headed for the elevator. Well, one thing was for sure. She wasn’t an art thief. If she’d been so inclined, she’d have been able to remove several priceless pieces. The camera on the elevator had been installed behind a two-way mirror for extra security. It was the only way into his apartment and the only way out. Perfect for recording a close-up of an intruder’s face. This time it had caught Mia. He moved closer to the screen. Were those tears running down her cheeks? He had no way of telling because she placed her hands right where the camera was concealed behind the two-way glass. All that was left was the sound of her voice repeating something in Swedish over and over again, and then she was gone.

Trent figured there was more to this woman than first met the eye. Could she be in trouble? There was no way he would let this go. He would get to the bottom of the mystery. He rubbed the tight band that had developed across his temples. He would track Mia down, of that he was certain, and find out why she’d acted in this way.

So just what had he got to go on?

Well, he had a Bellini dress. Luckily he’d noticed the label when he’d slipped it from her shoulders. He also had the 3G gala event. Everyone who attended had bought a ticket. It was just a matter of sifting through the clues.

Trent had no doubt he would succeed.





Chapter Seven



As soon as Mia arrived at Madame Monique’s, she laid the ruined dress on the workbench. She studied the gaping tear in terrified silence. No amount of needlework could hope to repair the damage.

There was only one thing for it. She picked up the telephone, and with her heart in her mouth, dialed Monica’s number.

Monica’s familiar voice burst onto the line on the second ring. “Hello, Monica Weston speaking.”

After some pleasantries were exchanged, Mia breathed in and owned up to what had happened. Even then, she thought it best not to tell her she’d been wearing the dress. “I’ve had an accident, Monica. I’m afraid I’ve torn one of the dresses.”

Silence filled the receiver then a deep breath.

“Which one?”

“The red Bellini—”

“Not the creation belonging to Sophia Petrov.”

Mia closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable tirade. “Yes.”

“You stupid, stupid girl. My most treasured customer and you ruin her dress. Are you trying to bankrupt me? My name will be mud. Mud, do you hear me?” Her voice rose higher and higher with each word. “How did it happen?”