The Master's Mistress

‘No doubt you have one of those perfect families?’ Rogan Sullivan continued scathingly. ‘Perfect mother. Perfect father. Perfect everything.’

He had no idea! Elizabeth’s family had to be even more dysfunctional than his own!

‘Come on, Liza—’

‘I believe I told you I prefer to be called Elizabeth!’ Her eyes flashed with sudden anger. Her father had always called her Liza, and she certainly wanted no reminders of him.

Rogan glanced at her, irritated with himself because of how attractive he found the way the colour came and went in her cheeks, and the way her eyes sparkled with emotion when she was angry or annoyed—

Whoa!

Elizabeth Brown wasn’t his type. At all. Rogan preferred his women to be tall, soft and feminine. Women who knew and accepted that a relationship with him had no future. He wanted nothing to do with a woman who was short and prickly, a university lecturer immersed up to her pretty neck in history, whose ideal was no doubt the house with the picket fence and two point four children!

All the same, Rogan couldn’t stop himself from flirting with her just a little, to see how uncomfortable—and beautiful—it made her. He deliberately took a step closer, crowding her. ‘Liza is so much more—friendly, don’t you think…?’ he murmured huskily.

Those deep blue eyes narrowed to warning slits. ‘I have no wish to be friendly with a man who can speak to people like you just did on your phone,’ she said scornfully.

Rogan’s eyes widened. So Dr Elizabeth Brown had overheard part of his conversation with Ace, had she? And she’d obviously drawn her own conclusions from it too. No doubt helped along by an over-active imagination from reading too many vampire books!

Well, Rogan had ceased even trying to explain himself a long time ago—least of all to a woman as unbending as this one. ‘What can I say?’ He gave an unconcerned shrug. ‘Sometimes a little aggression is necessary when people won’t do as they’re told the first time.’

Elizabeth repressed a shudder of apprehension at the callousness of his tone. Her first impression of this man last night had been the correct one after all; he really was dangerous!

‘Don’t look so worried, Elizabeth,’ Rogan Sullivan murmured softly. ‘The only time I enjoy hearing a woman scream is in bed…’

The erotic images that statement instantly conjured into Elizabeth’s head, of a lithe, bronzed and naked body entwined with a much paler and softer one, caused the colour to once again burn hotly in her cheeks.

She turned away. ‘Perhaps we should get back to Sullivan House after all.’

‘Running scared, Elizabeth?’

‘Of you?’ Her eyes glittered as she glared at him. ‘I hardly think so!’

‘You could have fooled me!’ Rogan gave her another one of those mocking smiles. ‘We’re only going to have lunch, Elizabeth, we’re not going out on a date together.’

She hadn’t imagined for one moment that their lunch together could be called a date. It was just a little disconcerting—more than a little, if she were brutally honest with herself—to think of spending time alone in a restaurant with a man who was so blatantly, breathtakingly male that just looking at him made even her teeth ache in awareness!

It was a raw attraction that was completely corroborated at that moment, as a woman passing by on the pavement happened to glance casually their way—only for her attention to suddenly become riveted on Rogan, a flush warming her cheeks as he shot her a lazy smile.

Rogan Sullivan wasn’t just dangerous—he was utterly lethal!

Elizabeth scowled. ‘I’m not hungry after all,’ she snapped. ‘It must be all that aggressive talk earlier on—you’re nothing but a bully!’ she added challengingly.

Rogan looked at her rigidly disapproving face and chose not to explain his firm orders to Ace about making sure Ricky stayed put—after all, Ricky didn’t know what was good for him.

‘Hasn’t affected my appetite,’ Rogan assured her blithely, giving her no more opportunity to disagree with him as he took a firm hold of her arm and strode forcefully towards the Bell and Sceptre Hotel, across the other side of the square.

‘So, what shall we talk about?’ Elizabeth said dryly to Rogan once they were seated at a table in the saloon bar of the hotel where he had decided they were having lunch.

He sat back against the bench seat, seemingly unaware of the interested female stares that had been coming his way ever since he had gone up to the crowded bar to order their food.

Including Elizabeth’s own more surreptitious glances!

Had she ever been this physically aware of a man before? Not that she could remember. But she was so aware of Rogan, on so many levels, that she felt she could see and hear practically nothing else but him. Her skin felt hotter than the temperature in the bar warranted. Her breasts were swollen, the nipples slightly tingly, and there was a telling dampness between her thighs that shocked her…

Ridiculous. From the little Elizabeth had overheard of his telephone conversation with someone called Ace, Rogan Sullivan was little more than a thug. No doubt his years in the army, the physical discipline he had learnt there, had made him as lethal as any of the weapons he had been trained to use.

As a woman who had always valued intellect rather than muscle, how could Elizabeth possibly find all that leashed physical power arousing? Except…she did! To such an extent that she could imagine nothing more pleasurable than ripping all that black clothing from Rogan’s bronzed and muscular body so that she might caress every powerful, rugged inch of him.

In fact, just thinking about doing those things increased the temperature of her own body to an almost unbearable degree!

Rogan gave a dismissive shrug. ‘Who says we have to talk at all? I came here for food, not conversation.’

Elizabeth frowned even as she sat back to allow the barmaid to place their plates of food on the table. A young and pretty barmaid, who could no more take her eyes off Rogan Sullivan, as she laid out their knives and forks, than the woman in the square had a few minutes ago.

‘Thanks.’ Rogan gave the young girl the same lazy grin that had so enthralled the woman in the square earlier.

Elizabeth shot him a scathing glance as that grin once again caused a slightly flustered response, but in the young barmaid this time. Really, this man ought to come with a ‘danger’ label attached!

‘ What?’he prompted irritably, once he and Elizabeth were alone again and he looked up to see her disgusted expression.

Elizabeth gave a slight shake of her head. ‘Just deploring my own gender for their obvious gullibility to a sexy smile!’

He raised speculative brows. ‘You think I have a sexy smile?’

She frowned her irritation. ‘I didn’t say that—’

‘Yeah, you did.’

Yes, she had, Elizabeth acknowledged with an inner groan. Damn the man! She sat forward to pick up her knife and fork in preparation for eating the chicken salad that was looking less and less appetising as this embarrassing conversation continued. ‘You probably practise in front of a mirror for hours just to get that effect,’ she said, in an effort to puncture his enormous ego.

Rogan gave an appreciative chuckle at her disgruntled accusation. ‘Not true. I had no idea my smile was at all sexy until you said it was.’

‘Could we just eat?’ Elizabeth snapped.

Rogan grinned unabashedly at her obvious discomfort. ‘If you think that you still can!’

Blue eyes shot sparks at him. ‘You aren’t my type, Mr Sullivan,’ she said waspishly.

‘Now, there’s a challenge if ever I heard one…’ Rogan mused.

Her eyes widened in alarm. ‘It certainly wasn’t meant as one!’

‘Hmm…’ Rogan speculated enigmatically, dark eyes narrowed. ‘So what is your usual type, Elizabeth?’ he asked, as he picked up his fork and began to eat the steak and ale pie he had ordered for his own lunch.

She avoided that probing gaze. ‘I thought you preferred not to talk?’

‘I’ve changed my mind.’

‘Unfortunately for you, so have I!’

‘Humour me, Elizabeth, hmm?’ he encouraged softly.

Elizabeth didn’t want to humour this man. In fact, she wished they had never started this conversation! Especially as she did find his smile sexy—as did every other woman who so much as looked at him!

Her chin rose defensively. ‘If you must know, I prefer brain over brawn.’

He became very still. Watchfully, dangerously so. ‘You think I’m just muscle and no brain?’

‘I didn’t say that—’

‘As good as,’ he bit out. ‘What constitutes an intelligent man to you, Elizabeth?’

She grimaced. ‘I didn’t mean to sound insulting—’

‘Oh, I think that you did,’ Rogan grated harshly. ‘Does a first-class degree in Computer Science and a doctorate in Computer Analysis pass as intelligent in your book?’

Elizabeth swallowed hard. ‘I thought you had been in the army for most of the last fifteen years.’

‘Where, if you’re so inclined, they teach you to use your brain as well as how to shoot guns!’ he assured her.

There was no mistaking the anger in Rogan’s tone now. And rightly so. Somehow in the last fifteen years this man had achieved a first-class degree and a doctorate, for goodness’ sake. Giving him the same right as Elizabeth to use the title of doctor if he so chose.