Mistress by Agreement

He smiled, his astonishing eyes as warm as cornflowers in a sun-drenched meadow. ‘We date for a while,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘Nothing heavy, we can take it as slow as you want, but I’ll be there for you and you’ll be there for me.’ His American accent was very strong suddenly.

‘I don’t think—’

‘This is not a suggestion, Rosie.’ Now the blue gaze resembled cool water. ‘It’s either that or I kiss you until we end up in bed together right now. And I could do it with very little resistance from you if I put my mind to it.’

Arrogant swine. She was furious at the picture he’d painted but at the same time her innate honesty forced her to accept he had a point. Certainly she wasn’t confident enough in her powers to resist him to put it to the test, anyway. She contented herself with a glare, before she said, ‘This dating? A kiss goodnight at the end of the evening is all you’ll get, so if you’re thinking—’

‘I said we would take it as slow as you want.’ He was standing with his legs slightly apart and his powerful arms folded over his chest, and he looked big. Big and rugged and so incredibly sexy it made her mouth dry. ‘Contrary to what you so obviously believe, I can actually wine and dine a woman without expecting a pay-off at the end of the date,’ he added dryly.

No doubt because his dates in the past had been panting to get him in the hay! She cleared her throat. It was only fair to put him in the picture. ‘Look, since…since Miles I haven’t dated,’ she said flatly, dropping her eyes from his and staring at the carpet because it made it easier to say what she needed to say. ‘And I don’t want to get into another relationship again, not ever. I have my work and my home and—’

‘And you are perfectly happy to coast the rest of your life; no highs, no lows, just flat, calm water endlessly in view?’ he drawled softly. ‘I don’t think so, Rosie.’

‘How would you know?’ she shot back indignantly, her eyes shooting up to meet the slightly taunting gaze. ‘You don’t know me.’

‘We seem to have completed a full circle.’ He studied her face, the confusion she was trying to hide apparent in the dusky darkness of her eyes. ‘And I suspect every avenue of argument would come back to the same thing. So…we date. No discussion, no debate about it, we do it. All right?’

And with that he turned, reaching out for the handle of his door and opening it without another word before he stepped into the room and closed the door quietly behind him.

She didn’t believe this! Rosalie stood for a few moments more, glancing almost pleadingly about the cool, gracious landing as though it were going to provide an answer to her bemusement. Kingsley Ward was as male as you could get—aggressive, strong, ruthless and possessed of a sexual magnetism that was as powerful as it was formidable. He was the last man on earth she should date. So how come she found herself in a position where she was doing just that?

She shook her head at herself, going back in her mind over their conversation to see where she had slipped up.

‘Oh, to heck with it.’ She glared one last time at his closed door, hoping it would penetrate the wood and pin him where he stood, and shrugged her shoulders. She could refuse the dates when they occurred—or at least a number of them—once this crazy weekend was over. Give him the cold shoulder. Freeze him out.

It was scant comfort. Possibly because she didn’t believe it. To date, trying to freeze Kingsley out had been about as successful as a snowball surviving in hell.

Whatever, she’d cope. She squared her shoulders, entering her own room and determining to ignore the fact that Kingsley was right next door, possibly getting undressed, or perhaps even naked in the shower? Enough. She banished the erotic images before they had a chance to take hold.

Yes, she would cope. She had survived Miles Stuart, hadn’t she? Not only survived him, but gone on to make something of herself and carve out her own life on her own terms. So she could hold her own with Kingsley. She wasn’t a trusting, nervous little eighteen-year-old now, bowled over by the fact that the most gorgeous boy she had ever seen said he wanted to love her and take care of her.

Take care of her… She flopped down onto the bed, dropping the crutches on the floor. Miles had taken care of her all right, taken care that she came close to a nervous breakdown, damn it.

But Kingsley was right about one thing—Miles was the past. She nodded to herself, the churning in her stomach the stark memories always caused making itself known. But if Kingsley thought he had take

n out a contract for an affair when he’d signed her up to work for him, he was wrong. Her eyes narrowed and she looked resolutely ahead, her gaze inward-looking. Boy, was he ever wrong…

CHAPTER SIX

THE next day Rosalie was awoken at seven in the morning by a distraught Beth. The dean at their youngest son’s university had rung. He had been careful what he’d said, but it had transpired one of the students in Jeff’s block had been diagnosed with meningitis and was now in isolation at the local hospital. All the other students had been put on antibiotics as a precautionary measure, but three of them—of whom Jeff was one—were unwell. There was no need to panic, the dean had assured Beth, but to be on the safe side they had also been taken to the hospital and some tests were being run.

‘We’re going straight to Cambridge now.’ Beth was all but pulling her hair out. ‘Will you and Kingsley be all right? There’s plenty of food in the fridge and freezer, but could you possibly feed the cats at six tonight? Tuna in sunflower oil, it’s in the right-hand kitchen cupboard over the sink. And they like full cream milk and will only eat and drink off their china saucers. They’ll be turning up wanting milk soon, no doubt.’

‘They’ll be fine, we’ll look after them.’ Rosalie thought it was just like Beth to worry about the cats rather than her guests at a time like this. Beth was primarily concerned with the needy and vulnerable, which was one of the reasons Rosalie loved her so much, but she had always thought that her aunt’s anxiety over the cats—two enormously fat, amber-eyed females with filthy tempers—was misplaced. If ever anything could look after itself, those two could.

‘We’ll probably stay in a hotel somewhere overnight and see how things are tomorrow, but I’ll ring you.’ Beth gazed at her with tragic eyes. ‘Oh, Lee, I’m so worried.’

‘Jeff will be fine, I’m sure of it. Now you go and Kingsley and I will look after things here.’

Rosalie tried to be encouraging as she saw Beth off, and she had just made her way into the kitchen to make a cup of tea when she became aware of a presence behind her. She turned sharply, almost losing her balance as her plaster foot slid on the terracotta tiles, and Kingsley smiled at her from his vantage point in the doorway. ‘Hi.’

‘Hello.’ She instantly became aware of the fact that she hadn’t even brushed her hair in the mad scramble to get her aunt out of the house before Beth completely went to pieces, and the nightie and thin robe she was wearing were not her prettiest ones.

Kingsley, on the other hand, had obviously recently showered as his damp hair bore witness to, but he hadn’t shaved. His stubble was dynamite. As were the midnight-blue silk robe and matching pyjama bottoms, which emphasised every line and contour of the hard, powerful body in a way that should be illegal. The robe was pulled loosely together, the casually tied belt allowing a tantalising glimpse of his thickly muscled torso and the silky black hair on his chest, and his whole demeanour was one of contented ease. He was a man very much at ease with his own body, that much was for sure, but the overwhelming maleness was such that Rosalie found her throat was dry and her hands were damp.

‘Tea?’ It was a squeak and she heard it with annoyance.

‘Coffee, if that’s okay.’