The Master's Mistress

‘You seemed to think I might be this morning,’ he reminded her mockingly.

‘You took me by surprise this morning.’

‘If my memory serves me correctly, I didn’t take you at all…’

Her mouth firmed. ‘You’re just bored, Rogan, and looking for a diversion. Any diversion.’

‘You think?’

‘I know!’

‘Never heard of opposites attracting?’ he taunted.

‘Not in this case, no.’ She shook her head. ‘We’re just too different for this attraction to be real, Rogan. Your life appears to be complicated, in so many ways. Whereas I like stability and certainty in my own life.’

‘Stability and certainty can be a little boring, don’t you think?’ he asked, his gaze continuing to hold hers even as he reached across to pick up her hand and lace the long length of his fingers with her much smaller ones.

Elizabeth felt the jolt of that physical connection as heat surged up the length of her arm and into her breasts, causing them to swell achingly and the nipples to harden and throb in awareness.

Worse, she couldn’t look away from their interlaced fingers, her own appearing very white and delicate against Rogan’s much darker skin. She swallowed hard, before moistening suddenly dry lips. ‘I like my life the way it is.’

‘Do you?’ Rogan was much closer now, his breath brushing warmly against her slightly parted lips. ‘Do you really, Elizabeth?’

She liked this man! The way he looked. The way he felt. The way he touched her. The way she felt when he looked at her with those dark, seductive eyes.

It was all too easy at times like these to forget that he had that woman waiting for him in America…

Rogan easily read the panic in Elizabeth’s widely uncertain gaze, knowing he should stop this now. Knowing, after those alarm bells had rung inside him this morning after making love with her, warning him that Elizabeth Brown could be a danger to his chosen life of solitude as well as his peace of mind, that he should never have started this teasing conversation in the first place.

The two of them were both products of what sounded to Rogan to be similar childhoods—a loving mother who had died before her time, and a father who didn’t give a damn about his wife or his child. Elizabeth had chosen to deal with the pain of that childhood by channelling her emotions into the safety of teaching History, whereas Rogan had just as deliberately chosen a life that presented constant challenge and change.

He didn’t want, had never wanted, any permanence in his own life. He certainly didn’t want a permanent woman—least of all a woman like this one!

Rogan released her fingers as he sat back abruptly. ‘You’re right, Elizabeth, you aren’t my type either,’ he said quietly, and stood up. ‘We have the funeral tomorrow to get through.’ He grimaced just at the thought of it. ‘So I’ll wish you goodnight,’ he added distractedly, before striding purposefully from the room.

‘Goodnight, Rogan…’ Elizabeth murmured softly into the empty room.

A room that, without Rogan’s vibrantly forceful presence, somehow seemed flat and uninteresting.

Much like Elizabeth was starting to realise she had allowed her life to become…

Chapter Nine

‘GRAB a plate out of the cupboard, Elizabeth, and then get the toast, will you?’ Rogan prompted when she entered the kitchen the following morning, while he stood over the hob, cooking eggs and bacon in two separate pans.

Elizabeth hadn’t been able to fall asleep the night before, and as a consequence she had overslept and so missed her early-morning swim. She had thought she must have missed breakfast too, when she’d entered the small dining room and found it empty of all the usual signs of breakfast.

Lured to the kitchen by the tempting aroma of bacon sizzling in a pan, she was too surprised at finding Rogan there, doing the cooking, to do anything other than what he asked.

Rogan appeared perfectly relaxed, in faded blue jeans and a fitted white T-shirt. His feet were bare on the terracotta tiles, those dark eyes sleepily mesmerising, his hair silkily tousled, and the dark shadow of stubble on the firmness of his jaw showing that he hadn’t yet shaved this morning…

‘No Mrs Baines today?’ Elizabeth asked distractedly, as she laid out two settings on the breakfast bar after collecting the toast from the toaster.

‘I found her in here crying earlier this morning.’ Rogan shrugged. ‘We sat down and had a chat, and as you said yesterday she’s very upset,’ he said, his back towards Elizabeth as he continued to cook. ‘I’ve suggested she take the morning off, attend the funeral with us this afternoon, and then afterwards go up to Scotland for a few days and visit with her son.’

Elizabeth’s hands shook slightly as she realised that Mrs Baines’s unexpected departure meant that she and Rogan were now completely alone at Sullivan House…

She moistened dry lips. ‘That was…very kind of you.’

Was that hollow-sounding voice really her own? Of course it was! But her sleep had been so disturbed last night, so full of dreams of Rogan Sullivan—erotically arousing dreams!—that just the thought of the two of them being alone here together filled her with dismay.

Rogan turned briefly to give her a grin. ‘I can be kind, Elizabeth.’

‘No doubt when it suits you to be, yes,’ she acknowledged dryly.

He raised dark brows. ‘It didn’t suit me to have to cook breakfast this morning!’

Elizabeth shrugged. ‘Perhaps you should have thought of that before giving Mrs Baines the morning off?’

‘I gather from that you aren’t going to offer to finish cooking the breakfast?’

‘I’m sure you’re more than capable, Rogan,’ Elizabeth came back, with saccharin sweetness. ‘At cooking breakfast, anyway,’ she added hastily.

‘You don’t have a very high opinion of me, do you?’ Rogan murmured ruefully as he served the food up onto two warmed plates before carrying it over to the breakfast bar.

‘I believe now is a good time for me to take the Fifth!’ she joked.

‘Did you just tease me, Elizabeth?’ Rogan asked appreciatively as he sat down on the stool opposite hers.

Warm colour entered her cheeks, and her gaze didn’t quite meet his as she muttered, ‘I may have done.’

Rogan nodded. ‘I liked it.’

‘I shouldn’t.’ Elizabeth raised her eyes to look across at him guardedly. ‘I doubt it will happen again.’

Rogan regarded her closely. Elizabeth was her usual efficient-looking self this morning, in a cream silk blouse, brown tailored trousers and no-nonsense brown brogues. Her hair was moussed and spiky, her make-up light and her lips glossed pale peach. Even so, there was something different about her. A softness about her eyes and the full pout of her lips that made Rogan’s thighs harden and ache at just imagining them curved moistly about his.

Damn it to hell!

Rogan had spent most of the night telling himself to forget all about the prickly and complicated Elizabeth Brown. To forget the silky feel of her skin, and the erotic taste of her. That a woman like her spelt trouble for a man like him. And now, just looking at her again, he was sitting here aroused like never before!

‘Eat your breakfast, woman!’ he snapped, his own appetite—for food, at least—having completely evaporated in the last few seconds.

‘Yes, sir!’ she came back, with a mocking salute.

Rogan scowled across at her darkly. ‘Would you be quite so obliging, I wonder, if I were to order you to strip naked and lay yourself open to me on top of this breakfast bar?’ he rasped stupidly, his thighs throbbing anew just at the thought of having Elizabeth offering herself to him like that.

Elizabeth knew that Rogan meant to disconcert her. And he had definitely succeeded! But she had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of knowing that he had. ‘Not until after I’ve eaten my breakfast, anyway,’ she retorted tartly, before resuming eating.

He sighed heavily. ‘Elizabeth—’

‘Could we just eat, Rogan?’ The steadiness of her gaze met his unflinchingly.

He sighed. ‘You’re dangerous, do you know that?’

Elizabeth hid her surprise at this statement behind another glib comment of her own. ‘No one has ever accused me of being that before.’

Rogan’s mouth thinned. ‘You don’t have to sound so pleased about it.’

She couldn’t help smiling at his disgruntled expression. ‘I’m a boring university lecturer—of course I’m pleased about it!’

Boring was one thing Elizabeth Brown definitely was not, Rogan acknowledged grimly. For one thing, he never quite knew what mood she was going to be in when next he saw her—this morning’s teasing was an example of that. For another, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the feel and taste of her yesterday out of his head. Or his senses. In fact, just looking at her now made him want to repeat the experience.

‘Let’s get one thing straight, shall we, Elizabeth?’ he said. ‘I have some more of my father’s things to go through this morning, the funeral to attend this afternoon, and then I’m definitely getting out of here.’

As if the hounds of hell were snapping at his heels, Rogan acknowledged self-disgustedly. Because there was already a danger of being snared in the trap that a woman like Elizabeth Brown could set around a man’s heart and his freedom…