The Rich Man's Mistress

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‘Which might be difficult due to the dullness of my brain…’ he murmured, without looking at her, apparently absorbed by her little efforts at the task he had set her with his tongue in his cheek.

‘Is a wrought-iron gate—and he should be able to get an original one—separating the bathroom from the bedroom, so there’s a feeling of tremendous space.’ She could feel two patches of excited colour on her cheeks and remembered that her efforts would be deleted before her enforced stay was over.

‘Very imaginative.’ He closed the screen, shut the lid of the computer and stood up, leaving a void of coldness next to her. He lazily tipped a couple of logs into the fire, so that it sparked up again, hissing, then he glanced over to the bookshelf and selected a book, tossing it lightly to her.

‘What’s this for?’

‘Reading fodder.’

‘And what about my design work?’

‘What about it?’ he asked, perching on the edge of the low bookshelf and inspecting her face coolly.

‘Don’t you want me to continue?’

‘Sure, if you want. Just thought you might want a break, though, after all the hard work.’ He gave her a slow, challenging smile.

‘Meaning…what?’

Luke shrugged his massive shoulders casually. ‘Meaning that you might need to take a little time out, get accustomed to doing something other than thinking about what your next temporary pleasure might be.’

Miranda looked at him with a sudden flare of anger. He didn’t give up, did he? Now that he had grown used to the thought that she might be around for a few days, interrupting his lifestyle, whatever that might be, he had decided to enjoy himself at her expense. The worst of it was that it hurt. His opinions of her shouldn’t matter but for some reason they did. Probably, she thought bitterly, because she was forced to sit them out. She couldn’t run away because there was nowhere to run to.

‘That’s not fair,’ she muttered.

‘Isn’t it? I told your father that this wasn’t a five-star hotel and that I would make sure that you were all right and delivered back to him safe and sound, but that in the process you would be expected to work for the favour. He seemed delighted. He obviously knows you better than you know yourself.’

‘You told my father, what? You have no right to discuss me with my father!’ she found that she was spluttering in outrage. ‘Just who do you think you are?’

Instead of reacting to her tone, he simply raised his eyebrows, and the silence after she had vented her fury stretched between them like a piece of elastic. He went to one of the deep chairs, picked up the computer and opened it, scrupulously ignoring her presence as he quietly examined something on the screen and began typing on the keypad.

‘Will you listen to me when I’m trying to talk to you?’

He didn’t appear to have even heard her protest. He simply continued what he was doing and, in a burst of anger, Miranda stood up. It only took a few seconds for her to hobble to the power point and yank out the plug to his computer which died into blackness.

This time he did notice her.

His blue eyes became slits and she felt a thrill of sudden, nervous terror skitter through her veins like alcohol. Then he was on his feet, grasping her by her arms so tightly that she cried out.

‘Don’t you ever, ever do anything like that again! Do you understand me?’ He shook her slightly and her long hair, which she had made no effort to tie back, swung around her face. She felt like a rag doll at the mercy of a raging bull. ‘I will not tolerate you stamping your feet like a toddler deprived of a treat whenever you fancy no one’s paying you any attention!’

‘I’m sorry,’ Miranda choked out, dismayed at what she had done and embarrassed to be likened to a toddler. ‘You’re hurting me!’

He released her but didn’t step back. He just continued watching her as she rubbed her arms and she knew that he was making an effort to keep his temper in check. When she glanced up, she could see the vein throbbing in his neck.

‘I’m really sorry,’ she repeated, to break the deathly silence and deflect the alarming power of his blue eyes.

‘Sit down.’ The stillness of his voice was as threatening as his roar had been a few minutes ago and Miranda shakily sat back down, leaning forward tensely to accept the brunt of his reprimands. She deserved it. Yanking that plug out of its socket had been the action of a thwarted child and there was no point in trying to use any ham line about acting in retaliation because he hadn’t done anything to her. He had ignored her and his patent indifference had stung and had provoked her into a show of puerile stupidity.

‘This won’t do, Miranda, will it?’ He too was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his thighs, his expression hard. ‘You’re not a child and you must stop behaving like one. Like it or not, you’re here with me and you’re going to act like an adult. That little display of temper will be the last, do you read me loud and clear?’

Miranda nodded miserably. ‘I…’ Oh, God. She could feel her eyes beginning to brim over and she hated herself for the weakness. She couldn’t remember a time when she had cried in front of anyone, except for her father. She had certainly never shed a tear over any of her boyfriends nor had she ever felt provoked enough by any of them to cry either in their presence or out of it. Not even when she had caught Freddie in flagrante delicto. Her pride had been wounded, yes, but her reaction had been one of fury rather than sorrow. Maybe she was going stir crazy because of the isolation.

He waited for her to continue while she stared down at her slender fingers and tried not to gulp too loudly.

‘I…enjoyed doing that design work on the computer,’ was all she could think of saying. Her mind had become cloudy and she licked her lips and tried to regain control of her thoughts. She sneaked a glance at him and saw that he was still looking at her at least, his head tilted to one side as though making sure that nothing went unheard. ‘It’s easy for you,’ she said defiantly, but her defiance was stillborn.

‘Why is it easy for me?’

‘Because…you seem happy with your life, moving from place to place.’

For no reason, he looked momentarily uncomfortable with what she had said, but the shadow of unease was soon gone. ‘I get the feeling that your father is worried about you.’

Miranda shrugged, too tired to care whether he mentioned her father or not. What did it matter anyway? She wasn’t going to be here for ever. She could unburden herself on this passing stranger if she wanted, safe in the knowledge that nothing would come back to haunt her. Briefly, they were sharing the same space, but not for long.

‘What does…’ he imitated her shrug ‘…that mean?’

‘All fathers worry about their daughters,’ Miranda said uncomfortably. ‘Especially when there’s no one else to share the worry with.’

‘And what exactly do you give him to worry about?’

‘I don’t suppose he’s too impressed with my lifestyle,’ Miranda admitted. Just saying it aloud made her mouth taste sour. It was an admission she had never made to anyone in her life before. ‘He thinks that I should settle down…’

‘You mean get married?’

‘Oh, good heavens, no! I’m only twenty-five!’ She laughed at the idea. ‘Besides, I can’t think of any suitable candidates for the role. If I had ever considered settling down with any of the boys I went out with, my father would have had a heart attack on the spot!’

‘Perhaps you should have been looking for a man instead of a boy,’ Luke drawled.

Miranda averted her eyes from the blatantly masculine figure sprawling in the chair. ‘By settle down I mean get a job.’

‘Why haven’t you? You’re talented enough…’

‘I’m what…?’

‘Talented.’ He gave her a slow, amused smile. ‘Like me complimenting you, do you?’

Miranda went scarlet. ‘I don’t care either way,’ she informed him nonchalantly. That slow, measured smile made her feel as though she had been physically touched. It gave her goose bumps.

‘Good,’ he murmured, his eyes still fastened on hers, ‘because the last thing I want are any complications.’

CHAPTER THREE

NOR did she.

In fact, she thought, all she wanted to do was clear out of this wretched cabin and get back to London.

At any rate, it was what she firmly told herself. And she was only forced to confront the truth when, after three days of ferocious blizzard, Luke returned from his daily log-chopping exercise and announced that the sky was beginning to look a little healthier.

‘What does that mean?’ Miranda looked up from the computer and frowned.

‘It means, Your Highness, that our friendly blizzard might be going away.’ He sauntered over to the fire and removed his jumper. This time, he removed his tee shirt as well, which was soaked. He had his back to her, and Miranda watched, mesmerised, at the movement of muscle beneath skin as he bent slightly to warm his hands.

‘Don’t call me that,’ she said automatically, while her mind struggled to function.

‘Sorry.’ He half turned to her and grinned with wicked amusement.

‘You were telling me about the blizzard,’ she said hurriedly, relieved when he turned back to the fire.

‘Oh, yes. I think it’s clearing.’ He was wearing, for the first time, a pair of faded jeans and he began to fumble with the button.

‘What,’ she squeaked, ‘are you doing?’

‘Getting out of these clothes. Bloody tripped with the logs in my arms and fell flat on my face in the snow.’

‘Good thing you didn’t sprain that ankle of yours,’ she said, except the thread of tension in her voice didn’t quite turn her remark into the light-hearted quip she had hoped. How could she sound light-hearted when she was finding it difficult to breathe? It wasn’t physically possible.

‘I won’t embarrass you, will I?’ he asked, pausing to turn completely around and look at her.

His hand was hovering by the top button of his trousers, which had been undone so that the waistband of his jeans curled open, resting lightly on his lean lips and providing a tantalising glimpse of the flat, hard planes of his stomach down, slightly past, his navel.

‘I’d prefer to strip down here and leave these clothes to dry by the fire instead of dripping my way upstairs, but if it makes you feel uncomfortable…’

‘Not at all!’ Miranda trilled in a high-pitched voice. She made sure to look directly at his face although her racing pulse was all too aware of the rest of him; tanned, muscled and disturbingly intrusive. ‘I’m the uninvited guest, after all! You go ahead and do exactly as you please.’ She busied herself with the laptop computer, glaring at the framework of the room she was working on with her face pressed as close to the screen as it could get without the image becoming blurred in the process.

She could hear the rustle of clothes as he shifted out of his jeans and arranged them on the wooden contraption by the side of the fire, which was permanently on view and almost permanently draped with some item of outdoor clothing.

Couldn’t he move any faster? she wondered edgily.

She sneaked a quick look at his feet and quickly resumed her glaring inspection of the screen without focusing on it.

‘Your ankle seems almost healed,’ he said conversationally.

Miranda replied to the screen. ‘Yup.’

‘Which room are you concentrating on?’ he asked drily.

She said, clearing her throat, ‘The kitchen, I think.’

‘You think?’

‘It’s the kitchen!’ she snapped, furiously concentrating just in case he decided that a closer inspection of what she was doing was warranted. But he didn’t. He just laughed softly and headed upstairs. She found her wits again, breathing a long, shuddering sigh of relief when she knew that he was no longer around.

What did he mean that the blizzard was going? Miranda gently set aside the computer, which she was now utterly familiar and used whenever it was available, and walked slowly across to the window and peered out.

The snow was still falling, but he was right. Sky was visible, blue sky at that.

‘Unfortunately…’ came the familiar voice from behind her, and she swung around to look at him. His jeans had been replaced with a more presentable pair of trousers than he had worn over the previous few days although the tee shirt was still of the weathered barely-visible-motto variety ‘…the break in the weather doesn’t mean that you’ll be able to leave immediately. Sorry.’ He lifted his shoulders ruefully. ‘The only way out of here is still by ski and until your ankle can fully support the weight, you’re going to have to stay put.’

‘What about helicopter?’

‘What about it?’

‘My father could send a helicopter for me. In fact, he almost certainly will want to…’

She wasn’t ready to leave. Not yet. The realisation hit her like a ton of bricks and left her confused and ready for an argument.

Luke gave one of those nonchalant shrugs of his that indicated closure on the subject, and she followed him into the kitchen. Walking was still uncomfortable, but she no longer had to support herself everywhere she went. She could just about manage to lumber along ungracefully but fairly efficiently.

‘Well?’ she pressed on behind him as he put the kettle on to boil. ‘What do you think?’

‘If you want to mention it to him when you call then by all means do so.’

‘I thought you would have been glad to see the back of me,’ Miranda continued nastily. ‘After all, you’ve told me often enough that I’m unwelcome.’

Luke turned around and perched on the edge of the counter, tapping the spoon in his hand softly against his chin. ‘A helicopter’s fine but I don’t suppose it’s occurred to you that the snow is still falling fairly heavily and vision might be obscured? Or maybe it occurred to you, but your craving to be back in the swing of the fast lane in London conveniently overrode any guilt that you might be endangering other people’s lives in the process? Ah, no. I see that possibility hadn’t occurred to you at all. Now, why am I not surprised when you’re so used to getting what you want?’