The Desert Prince's Mistress

There were games and there were games, and half-truths were sometimes necessary—especially if you wanted to avoid looking like a fool.

‘Not really.’ She watched the water running down her bare legs to form a small puddle on the bathroom floor. ‘I was just…relaxing.’ Which didn’t have even a grain of truth to it, because she had never felt less relaxed in her life. And there seemed something slightly decadent about talking to him while she was naked, so she injected a brisk and professional note into her voice. ‘What can I do for you, Darian? Have you seen the photos yet?’

‘That’s what I’ve just been doing.’ He allowed himself a brief half-smile. It seemed that his instincts had not failed him—because Lara looked nothing short of sensational. Some of London’s most stunning backdrops emphasised her bewitching looks as she stood holding a variety of his company’s phones in her hand, a dreamy, thoughtful little smile on her face. She looked as if she was talking to her lover. Beneath each one would be printed the single shout-line: Wildman: Presses All The Right Buttons!

He had felt the unmistakable tremorings of desire as he had studied them. But, having seen them, had wondered aloud to Scott whether the final images weren’t just too sexy. Scott had shrugged and given him a knowing look.

‘Oh, come on, Darian—you don’t use a young and beautiful model to do anything but sell sex,’ he had pointed out. ‘Do you?’

Selling sex.

Put like that, it sounded off-putting, and Darian had grimaced with a slight element of distaste—but that hadn’t stopped him finding her number and ringing her, had it?