Instead of running for cover, like a sensible girl, she met his cool gaze with her own.

“Then we’d need a safe word or something. And no other partners.”

Truly, he’d never been into pain, either delivering it or receiving it. Doling out the occasional light spanking—well, quite. But that wasn’t painful. That was foreplay. As for other partners, he didn’t like to share. Not that he was planning on actually having Allie Campbell.

So. Tempting.

He told his cock to shut up. He’d never let it do the thinking before and he wasn’t about to start now.

But what was he to do? Knowing there was no way out of his offer, not without welshing, he stalked toward her and held out his hand. “You’re mine for two months. Deal.”

She hesitated for the briefest moment. “Deal.”

When she placed her hand in his, he felt a rush of anticipation.

“And you’ll forgive my father’s debt, let us keep the house, and pay off the existing mortgage,” she said in a rush.

He sighed. “Fine.”

Her face relaxed a bit. “Fine.”

Bloody hell. He wasn’t sure when things had gotten so out of hand, but somehow Trevor had acquired himself a mistress.

Chapter 2

Allie left the mansion, blinking against the bright sunlight as if she had emerged from a strange dream. She just agreed to become a mistress. To a man she didn’t know. A man who, in fifteen minutes, made her angrier than Monica ever had.

Yes, she had vowed to do anything to keep the house, to keep her promise. And when she’d seen the way Trevor looked at her, like he wanted to gobble her up and lick his fingers afterward, it popped out of her mouth. She’d figured she could screw him once, get the house, and bury the memory so deep, she’d never think about it again. But this… She’d signed up to become the man’s sex slave. This wasn’t a onetime thing, this was two months of sex servitude.

Under other circumstances, she’d probably be flattered by his interest. It’s not like he was hard on the eyes. Okay, so Trevor Blake was beautiful, with that wavy, black hair and the broad shoulders. Even beneath his expensive suit jacket, she could tell he had a nicely muscled chest. Still, he was an asshole. An English asshole, with that superior, upper-class, snobbish accent and taunting gray eyes. Despite the heat, she shivered.

But what other option did she have? She barely scraped out a living wage at the Lucky Shamrock Hotel and Casino. Even if she worked double shifts, it wouldn’t be enough to pay rent on an apartment big enough for four people.

Maybe there was some way she could hold Trevor Blake off—at least until she came up with a better plan.

Walking on the circular brick drive toward her car, she rubbed her head. Sharp pain started throbbing behind one eye. Perfect.

Allie climbed into the Festiva and propped her arm on the open window. How was she going to explain this to her father? Or manage to do her job around mistress duty?

With a growl of frustration, she beat her fists on the steering wheel. Goddamn it, when had her life fallen apart?

Dumb question. When her mom got cancer, Allie’s world came to a screeching halt. She closed her eyes and shut down the thought, feeling guilty that it even crossed her mind.

Allie was ready to get away from this house. Away from him. But when she tried to start the car, it refused to cooperate. She twisted the key again and pumped the gas pedal. “No, please no. Start, you worthless piece of crap. I swear, I’ll give you premium next time.” The engine wouldn’t catch.

She glanced back at the house and tried to start the car once more with the same result. Resting her head against the back of the seat, she thought about what to do next.

Trevor’s solitary property sat on the edges of Henderson, forty minutes away from home. She could call a cab, but somehow, the fifty dollars that had been in her wallet last night was mysteriously missing this morning. Of course she couldn’t prove Monica had taken it, but…

There were no bus stops for miles, but it was only about ninety degrees and she could hoof it. She could walk past the guard at the gate and leave her shit heap of a car in Trevor Blake’s pristine drive. Ten or twelve miles tops—that was doable, right?

No, that would be stupid, and unfortunately, she’d reached her stupid quota for the day. Pulling her keys from the ignition, she took a deep breath and swallowed her pride.

When she rang the bell, the butler, another Brit, answered the door. With sparse, dark hair and of average height—although his stiff demeanor made him seem taller—he peered at her with a calm expression.

“Back so soon, miss?”

She didn’t know if he was being sarcastic or not. “I’m sorry to bother you again.”

“It’s no bother at all.”

“Um, okay. My car won’t start.” She wagged her thumb over her shoulder.

He looked past her to the junker in the drive. “How very shocking. Do come in.”

When she stepped inside, cool air touched her hot skin. Allie glanced around the huge foyer. She hadn’t really paid much attention her first time through because she’d been too nervous about meeting Trevor Blake. But this time she took in the expensive round table with a dragonhead pedestal, the large Chinese vase filled with bright orange roses, and a suit of armor in one corner. The wooden banister was polished to a bright sheen, and the gray marble floor gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight.

“Please follow me.” With his back as stiff as his starched shirt, he moved swiftly through the house.

Allie tried to keep up but got distracted by oil paintings and large, ornate pieces of furniture. There were glass cases filled with collectibles—knives, antique guns, coins. Swords and spears decorated the walls.

The fastidious butler stopped more than once to adjust a frame or straighten a knickknack before picking right back up and zipping through the house at a quick pace. He led her to a conservatory filled with colorful, exotic flowers. A stone fountain trickled softly in the middle of the room. A wrought-iron table stood to one side, and he held out a chair for her.

“I’ll bring tea, shall I?” With a bow, he left before she could decline.

Allie’s gaze traveled around the room, and she spied a potted orange tree in the far corner. She took in the tranquil setting, breathed in the heady, perfumed air. It was like something out of a movie, and Trevor Blake actually lived like this. His electric bill alone must be in the hundreds. Maybe thousands. She couldn’t wrap her head around it.

Oh God, she’d agreed to become his mistress. How was she supposed to follow through with something like that? She’d only had a couple of boyfriends and the sex had been okay. Nothing earth shattering. But a man like Trevor would expect hot, crazy sex. Tricks and weird positions. As for weird positions, she’d tried the pretzel—once—and it had been very uncomfortable. Allie didn’t do hot and crazy. In fact, she hadn’t done sex at all in the last four years. At least not with a partner.

Images of a naked Trevor Blake ran through her mind. She may have hit the replay button on her imagination a couple times before she snapped out of it. She was certain she wouldn’t be able to satisfy him. He was sophisticated. European. Rich. She was just Allie Campbell, a college dropout from North Las Vegas. Not bad to look at, but gorgeous women were plentiful here. She was nothing special.

Allie glanced at her watch. All she wanted was the number for a tow truck. Fixing the Festiva was going to cost more than it was worth, but it would be cheaper than buying a new car. Probably.

As she continued to wait, Allie listened to the calming splash of the fountain in the background, her eyes resting on a bright purple trumpet flower. The sweet fragrance soothed her. Exhausted, she let her eyes drift shut and, for the first time in long time, felt her shoulder muscles, usually stiff from anxiety, begin to relax.