Resisting Mr. Kane (London Mister #2)(39)

At least I know Tristan can't sleep with his client. I hope.

Tristan reclines in the leather armchair closest to Maria. He takes up more space in the room than anyone else, and I don’t just mean physically. Taking control of the niceties he introduces the team and our roles. His words are drawn out and low with pregnant pauses, perhaps to relax Maria. He asks pleasantries about the house and the neighbourhood, which he seems to know a lot about.

She anchors her attention on Tristan. She doesn’t look like a woman pleading for help or concerned about impending jail or death. More like a predator who has found her next meal.

If Tristan notices, he doesn't react. The darling of Colombia's fashion shows sits across from him, mirroring his body language, smiling and dazzling at the right moments.

Maria signs the consent form and I start recording the meeting.

I listen in awe as Tristan explains the intricate details about her extradition request and what will happen once an arrest warrant is issued. He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows showing his muscular forearms, like he's getting ready for a fight or a fuck, maybe both. I try not to let my gaze drop down to his naked skin.

“How long can I expect to be in prison until the preliminary hearing?” Maria asks. I look around the library which is more luxurious than most hotels I’ve stayed in. Maria seems tough but transitioning from a luxury house in Kensington to prison seems like it would be a shock to the system.

“Two to three weeks,” Tristan confirms. “We will be working on your asylum case in the meantime. Your initial asylum interview will be this week. One of our team will be with you in the meeting.”

My teeth latch on to my bottom lip as I watch Tristan in action. This is why my heart couldn’t handle only a quick fling with him. There’s nothing sexier than a guy who is top of his field. Ironically, I’m not sure if I’m more aroused hearing his low husky voice groaning my name as he climaxes or discussing the intricacies of the asylum-seeking process.

As if feeling my eyes on him, he tilts his head in my direction and gives me an intimate smile. It’s enough for Maria to also turn her attention to me. I smile back politely then look away flustered.

Over the next ninety minutes, I make a conscious effort to focus on his words rather than him. With a slow calm dominance that isn’t forced, he teases what we need out of Maria.

In those ninety minutes, I get a very confusing picture of Maria. The media Maria is different from the real-world Maria. This one is just as charming, but I see flashes of something darker. When she focuses her unnerving, beautiful gaze on me, a chill bolts up my spine. Intense, unblinking eye contact makes me feel like someone has walked over my grave.

By the time we are done I walk out of my first client meeting, hot, flustered and ready to submerge myself in an ice-cold bath.





13




Elly

“The cars will take you home,” Tristan informs us as we walk out of Maria’s house onto the street where the two Aston Martins we came in sit parked.

“That’s not necessary for me,” I respond politely. “I’ll take the underground.”

The drivers are waiting outside the cars. Panic sets in as I lock eyes with the driver of the car I hadn’t arrived in. It’s George, Tristan’s driver who I did the drive of shame with from the Rosemont Hotel. His brow furrows as he tries to remember how I’m familiar to him. I return a strangled smile.

“I insist.” It’s not open for negotiation. “Lisa, Adi, take the first car. Elly, get in the second car. George is going southbound.”

The others shrug and get in the first black Aston Martin.

I give in, deciding it’s not worth the fight, and climb into the back seat of the second car. This is going to be a long drive.

George climbs into the driver’s seat. “Are we heading to Tooting, Elly?”

Before I can open my mouth to speak, the opposite door opens and Tristan climbs in.

“You can have this car,” I stammer, my hand latching on the door handle. “The underground is fine for me.”

“Stay,” he growls with such ferocity I freeze. He makes himself comfortable by spreading his thighs wide. His trouser covered knee brushes against my bare knee and I flinch.

“Most people would appreciate airtime with the owner of the company,” he mutters.

I bite my lip to stop what is in my head from shooting out my mouth. I need to be careful here. He’s still the boss. He could make or break my legal career.

I focus on a spot above George’s ear.

“Where do you live?” Tristan asks.

“Tooting,” I reply, trying to sound natural. “But you already knew I was travelling south.”

He leans forward. “George, we’ll drop Elly first in Tooting, then you can drop me off.”

George twists around in the seat to face his boss. “Sir, can I get a second car for Elly? That would be much more convenient for you.”

“One car is fine,” Tristan responds, his tone laced with irritation. “South London first.”

George looks confused but quickly turns in his seat and revs up the engine.

“Water?” Tristan offers me a closed glass bottle.

“Thanks.” My voice comes out breathy.

As he hands it to me, his fingers brush against mine.