Читать книгу The Rich Man's Mistress - Cathy Williams - Страница 8

THE room was warm. That was the first thing Miranda noticed when she next surfaced. A warm room and she was changed. Her eyes flickered open and for a few seconds she experienced the disorientation that sometimes attacks when the surroundings are new and unfamiliar. Then her memory returned with a crash and the image of Luke’s dark, striking and unpleasantly cynical face filled her head.

It was as though the thought had been enough to summon him, because just at that moment her bedroom door was pushed open and she saw the object of her wandering mind filling out the doorway, with a tray in his hands. Sleep had not managed to diminish his suffocating masculinity. In fact, she literally drew her breath in as he dwarfed the small room, primitively forceful despite the tea towel slung over his shoulder.

‘So you’re up at last.’ He moved across to the curtains and yanked them open, exposing a watery grey light and the sight of fast-falling snow. ‘Breakfast.’ He deposited the tray on the bed and Miranda struggled up into a sitting position.

‘How long was I asleep?’ She stretched and the sleeves of the oversized grey tee shirt rode down to expose her slender, pale forearms.

‘Over ten hours.’

‘Over ten hours!’

‘I dutifully came with your supper only to find you sound asleep and snoring…’

‘I do not snore!’

‘How do you know that?’ he asked snidely, pulling up a chair so that he could sit and watch her. ‘It’s not the sort of thing a lover might bring to your attention. Anyway, I lit the fire to get the icicles off the ceiling and left you.’ He linked his fingers together and looked as she bit into the toast and then hungrily began demolishing what was on the plate: A fried egg, bacon, baked beans, just the sort of breakfast she had always avoided.

‘After I’d changed you, of course.’

Miranda paused with the last bit of toast en route to her mouth and started at him. ‘You change me?’

‘Shocking, isn’t it?’ He clasped his hands behind his head and stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. ‘Do you think that Daddy might refuse me my much needed financial compensation if he knew?’

‘You’re not funny!’ She had somehow assumed that she had changed herself, even though she had no recollection of doing any such thing, but she could tell from the gleam in his eyes that the man wasn’t lying. He had unwrapped the towel from her and had pulled on a tee shirt, and somewhere along the line those big hands of his had touched her shoulders, her stomach, her breasts. ‘You had no right!’

‘I do beg Your Highness’s pardon, but going to sleep with a wet towel around you in a damp room would just have compounded the sprained ankle with a healthy dose of pneumonia.’

‘You still had no right! You should have awakened me!’

‘I’ll try and remember the next time, if you try and remember to stick to the nursery slopes so that there won’t be a next time. You haven’t eaten all your egg up.’

‘I’ve lost my appetite.’ She closed her knife and fork and reclined back on the pillow.

‘In which case, you’d better try and find it. You’re building your strength up and step one is eating all that breakfast, meticulously prepared by my own fair hands.’ He leaned forward. ‘Maybe you’d like me to feed the rest to you…’

Miranda gave a little yelp of denial and hurriedly ate what was left on her plate, then she wiped her mouth with the paper napkin and folded her arms.

‘Now,’ he said implacably, standing up to remove the tray and then whipping the duvet off her so that she yelped even louder, this time in enraged discomfort, ‘the next thing I advise you to do is test that foot of yours.’

‘And would you like to hear what I advise you to do?’

‘Not really. Here, hold my hand and stand up.’

‘Or else what…?’

‘You don’t want to find out,’ he said silkily. ‘Now, stand up and try that foot of yours.’

When she remained on the bed, he leaned over her and said in a low, razor-sharp voice, ‘Shall I just remind you that you’re an unwanted and unwelcome intrusion into my house…’

‘Your house?’

‘While I’m looking after it, it’s my house. And if you think you’re going to play the grand princess and laze around for the next few days, or weeks if this weather doesn’t sort itself out, then you’re in for a shock. I’m not a man who puts up with the wiles and tantrums of a spoiled little rich girl!’

‘How dare you speak to me like that?’ Her imperious voice, which reflected more than anything else her bemusement at finding herself in the situation she was in and dealing with the man in front of her, failed to strike a chord. Or rather it did. Luke burst out laughing.

‘Oh, dear,’ he said, sobering up but not sufficiently to stop the occasional cynical chuckle from slipping through. ‘Oh, dear, dear, dear. And you wonder why I call you m’lady? Now, up!’

Miranda reluctantly swung her legs over the side of the bed, noting with relief that the tee shirt modestly reached down to just above her knees, and grasped his proffered hand.

‘Try and put a little weight on it.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Just try, and stop acting like a baby.’

Which did it. She tentatively touched the ground with her foot and discovered as she applied a bit more pressure that the immediate searing pain she had felt the previous day had become more of a persistent, dull discomfort.

‘I’ll remove the bandage before you get dressed and soak your foot in some cold water and then I’ll truss you up again.’

‘There’s no need. I can do that myself.’

‘Should I allow you to do that, I would live for ever in fear of Daddy’s avenging wrath.’

Miranda stopped her halting walk and stared up at him. ‘I hate that. Why are you so…horrible and scathing about me? You don’t even know who I am or what sort of person I am! Yet you feel it’s all right to make nasty, derogatory comments about me and my father. Daddy always said that the worst snobs are the inverted snobs. He always said that they’re the worst because they never give you a chance to prove yourself one way or another. They just assume that because someone has money, then they can’t be worthwhile.’ She found herself breathing shallowly as she stared up into his blue eyes.

‘Is that what you think I am?’ he finally asked curiously. ‘An inverted snob?’

‘Why else would you be so awful? Just because you don’t have any money doesn’t make it my fault!’

‘No, I guess you’re right,’ he said in an odd voice, ‘it doesn’t, does it?’

Instead of feeling pleased at this unexpected victory, Miranda felt suddenly nervous. Nervous because she had become quickly accustomed to his hostility and the lack of it was confusing.

‘My foot feels a lot better,’ she said, to change the subject, supporting herself on his arm as they headed slowly towards the bathroom, where a further unwanted reminder of his ministrations confronted her in the shape of the blue bath towel she had used the night before, neatly hanging over the towel rail.

She sat on the closed toilet seat and watched as he filled a plastic basin with cold water.

‘It’s freezing,’ she gasped as he soaked her foot.

He said, without looking up, ‘It’ll reduce most of the rest of the swelling. Don’t worry. You’ll get used to the temperature. There.’ He held up her foot and examined it like a butcher sizing up a joint of meat. ‘Not very pretty, but it’ll do.’ Then he carefully rebandaged it, taking his time. ‘Now, there’s a change of clothes behind you on the ledge and you might want to do something with that hair of yours. Tie it up, perhaps. Not very practical having that mane swinging around, I shouldn’t think.’

‘Actually,’ Miranda informed him coolly, ‘a woman’s mane is her crowning glory.’

‘Oh, is that so? And I always thought of her crowning glory was her mind. How much I’m learning from you.’ He shot her a brief, patronising grin and then left.

Miranda gingerly stood up and for the first time took a long look at her reflection in the mirror. Her waist-length blonde hair had been damp when she had fallen asleep, but even so it had dried and now fell in its usual silky curtain around her face. Her wide blue eyes absorbed the stunning prettiness of her features then, as she stripped off the oversized tee shirt, idly scanned the exquisite, slender proportions of her body. These looks, she thought dispassionately, had turned heads and had opened countless doors to the world of beautiful people in which she moved. If she had been dowdy and unattractive, would she have been as popular? Would men have beaten a path to her door, however much money her father had? Probably not. For the first time, she realised that her looks carried a downside. The had attracted men like Freddie, but looks were disposable. None of the men in her brittle world ever seemed to take time out to search for what lay beneath the sparkling veneer.

She very quickly washed her face and changed into yet another tee shirt and a pair of jogging bottoms that had to be tied with the tan leather belt thoughtfully left along with the bundle of clothes. Then she made her way down the stairs, refusing to yell for assistance.

Luke was in the kitchen clearing up and, for a few minutes, Miranda hovered uncertainly by the door, wondering what to do next.

‘Make yourself at home,’ he said drily. ‘I don’t bite.’

She edged to the pine kitchen table and sat down.

‘How long does this caretaker job last?’ she asked, for the sake of asking something, and he turned to look at her with a momentary expression of bewilderment. Then his face cleared.

‘Oh, this caretaker job?’ he said carelessly. ‘Oh, not very long.’

‘And then you…’

‘Move on.’

‘Move on to what?’ He made a good caretaker, she thought. The kitchen was tidy, with a stack of logs neatly chopped and piled in the corner.

‘Other things,’ he said vaguely. ‘Now, normally I tend to spend the days outside, but this blizzard has put paid to that, so we might as well work out some kind of routine here so that you don’t get in my way.’

Miranda immediately began to bristle. ‘I won’t get in your way. I’m more than happy to spend my time reading.’

‘Good.’ He paused to sit down, spinning the chair back so that he sat on it with his hands loosely hanging over the back. ‘Because I have some business to attend to on my laptop and I don’t want to feel that you’re lurking around waiting to be entertained.’

‘I don’t expect to be entertained.’

‘Don’t you?’

‘I’m quite happy in my own company.’ Miranda paused to digest this and realised that she was very seldom in her own company. Even at night, when she flopped into bed, sometimes in the early hours of the morning, she was always too tried to really spend any time on her own. ‘What work do you have to do?’ she asked curiously. ‘On a computer? I wouldn’t have thought…’

‘That I was clever enough to use a computer? Or maybe you thought that I’d never even heard of one?’ He grinned wickedly at her blushing discomfort. ‘News of technological breakthroughs do sometimes drift even to we yokels, you know. In fact, I’ll take a small bet with you that you’re the one who doesn’t have a clue how to operate a computer.’

Miranda’s face went a shade deeper in colour.

‘Mmm,’ Luke said pensively. ‘Not much point having a computer on the ski slopes, is there? Or at the races? Or in Mustique for a few weeks over summer?’

‘I—I—’

‘You—you—what?’

‘I learned everything about computers when I was doing my design course,’ she said, holding her chin up to counteract the level of defensiveness in her voice.

‘Oh, yes, that interior design course of yours.’ He was virtually smirking, and Miranda glowered impotently at him. ‘Well, wait right here.’ He stood up and she watched suspiciously while he disappeared out of the kitchen, only to return minutes later with a sleek black laptop in his hand.

‘There, now.’ He flicked it open, pressed a few buttons and the screen unfolded into life. ‘Why don’t you amuse yourself with this for a little while just while I fetch some more logs from the outside shed and do a bit of chopping.’ He moved swiftly around the table so that he was bending over her, one hand resting on the table top, the other pressing various icons until an architectural drawing of a house appeared on the screen.

‘What’s this?’

‘This, my dear interior designer, is a house.’

‘Whose house?’

‘Oh, just a little dwelling my boss has in mind to renovate. He knows I like playing on the computer now and again, so he lent me this file to have a look at.’

Miranda looked at him narrowly. ‘Now, why would your boss do something like that?’

Luke’s answer was so swift that she almost wondered whether it had been prepared. ‘We go back a ways. If you move this little gadget here, called a mouse, hey presto, you can zoom all over the place.’

Miranda gritted her teeth and allowed him to have his fun. He would be laughing on the other side of his arrogant, handsome face when she presented him with her ideas, even if the whole lot was erased never to be seen again. The last job she had done of any magnitude had been years previously, but she could feel a stirring of interest in her veins as she glanced at the outlines of a house in front of her.

‘You mean you babysit his cabin every year?’

‘Oh, yes. It’s a long-standing arrangement.’ He hadn’t straightened, so when he spoke his breath brushed against her cheek and into her ear. ‘He must have thought that I might get lonesome, stuck out here as I am, hence this little file for me to play with. Little did he know that I would have unexpected company.’ He stood up and flexed his muscles. ‘You can mess around however you like. Design whatever you want. It can all be deleted. Why don’t you go into the sitting room and relax in front of that roaring fire and show me what you can do with this little toy.’

‘I guess you do get lonely here for weeks, maybe months, on end,’ Miranda said, half to herself, as she settled onto the big sofa, with the computer on her lap. ‘How on earth do you fill your time?’

‘Loneliness is a state of mind,’ he said over his shoulder, as he slung on his waterproof jacket and then pulled on some very thick wool socks and a pair of snow boots that were by the door. ‘And it can only be filled when you’re at peace with yourself.’

‘Well, if you want to spout philosophy, then I’ll just get on with a bit of this interior design, shall I?’ She felt herself smile and when she looked up at him it was to find the smile returned. It gave her the oddest feeling.

‘When I get back from my healthy outdoor fun, you can phone your father. Although…’ he opened the door and swirls of snow blew in ‘…I did call him half an hour ago. On your behalf.’

Miranda looked up, stunned by this piece of effrontery but, before she could demand an explanation, he had left the cabin, slamming the front door behind him.

Her poor dad probably assumed that the man was a genial, middle-aged caretaker with a family tucked away further down the slopes. He would have a fit if he knew what Luke Decroix was like, she fretted. Ten fits, in fact. He would round up the forces and gear up for a rescue mission, not that that would be possible, given the state of the weather. The windows in the cabin were small, but not so small that she couldn’t get a glimpse of the leaden skies, barely visible through the continuing blizzard. Lord alone knew where she was. The skiing resort, her friends, the faithless Freddie and all the bijou little cafés seemed like a dream.

She began experimenting on the computer and the wheels of her rusty memory slowly cranked into life as she played around with ideas. Every so often, she looked up and was treated occasionally to the sight of Luke outside, tramping through the snow with a shovel over his shoulder, making sure that the doorway was kept as clear of snow as possible. He was certainly dedicated to his job, if nothing else.

When he finally came back in, he was carrying a basket of neatly chopped logs slung over his shoulder which he dumped on the ground. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her. Then he divested himself of his wet waterproofs and his boots and socks. His black hair was slick from the snow and he went to squat in front of the fire, rubbing his hands together and raking them through his hair.

‘So you haven’t got bored yet with fooling around on the computer?’ he asked, with his back to her. He pulled his thick jumper over his head and stood up, pulling down the shirt underneath. Another tee shirt, this time with some faded design on the front of what was once a bulldog next to a glass of beer. ‘What have you done?’ He sat down next to her, depressing the sofa so much that she had a job not to slide straight into him, thigh against thigh.

‘Not much. Is the snow just as heavy outside?’

‘What do you think of the house? Like it?’

Miranda angled the screen away from him, suddenly shy at exposing her efforts to him. ‘You promised I could use your mobile to call Dad. Which reminds me…’ yes, a good healthy dose of irritation to bring her back on course ‘…whoever said you could call my father? And how did you get his number? And what did you have to say to him, anyway?’

‘Questions, questions, questions. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that when a man returns from some hard labour, the last thing he needs is a whinging woman?’

‘My mother died when I was eight.’

‘Oh, yes. I’m sorry.’ He leaned back on the sofa, hooking one foot around the leg of the table in front and pulling it towards him so that he could rest both his feet on the surface. He had replaced his boots with the same worn, tasselled loafers that had greeted her when she had arrived the previous day. He rubbed his eyes, then folded his arms behind his head and looked at her.

His blue eyes were hypnotic. When she looked into them, she had the strangest sensation of giddiness and a feeling that, if she wasn’t careful, she could easily fall into their fathomless depths and drown.

‘You haven’t answered my questions,’ she reminded him tartly.

‘Oh, so I haven’t. Well, if you really want to know, I have a little method of obtaining the number of the last call on my phone, which I did last night after you had called him in his office. And I thought I might as well touch base, let him know that nothing untoward had happened to his baby during the night. Here, call him yourself now if you like.’ He felt in his pocket and retrieved the palm-sized phone which he handed to her. Except, he didn’t quite hand it over, more dangled it in front of her so that she had to reach for it.

Depressingly, her father seemed to have been reassured by Luke’s phone call.

‘Might do you a spot of good being stuck in the middle of nowhere for a few days,’ he joked, impervious to her horror at any such suggestion. Miranda clamped the phone tighter against her right ear and inclined her body slightly away from Luke’s undisguised interest in what she was saying and what was being said to her.

‘How can you say that, Dad?’ she muttered, but the question was bypassed in her father’s sudden need to get going to a meeting. His driver, apparently, was waiting. He had to dash but he would be in touch, probably later in the evening when he was back home.

‘I hope he’s not too worried about you,’ Luke said piously, reaching out for the mobile and resting it on the table next to his feet. ‘I did try and set his mind at rest. Told him how well you were being looked after. I even said that I had lent you my laptop so that you could amuse yourself on it for a couple of hours.’

‘I’m sure my father doesn’t want lengthy explanations from you on how I’m doing,’ Miranda informed him haughtily.

‘So, what have you managed to do? Anything at all?’

‘You never bothered to tell me what your boss meant by renovating. Does he intend to knock walls down? What specifications is he after?’

‘My, my. I take it you’re wearing your technical interior designer hat now?’

‘If you want to sit there and smirk, then why don’t we just forget this?’ Miranda said. ‘You can have your little toy back to do whatever it is you need to do and I can’t imagine what, and I’ll just content myself with one of those detective novels on the bookshelf.’

Luke pulled the computer towards him so that it was partially resting on his lap and looked at what she had done. ‘So, you are capable of using a computer. Accept my humble apologies for implying otherwise…’ When she looked at him, his face was patently lacking in remorse. He was flicking through the rooms she had designed, seemingly interested. ‘There’s no need for a dining room that big,’ he murmured.

‘How do you know? Don’t tell me: you’re so close to this boss of yours that you have insider knowledge into how often he plans to entertain and for how many people. Are you sure this boss is a man and not a woman?’

‘Oh,’ Luke murmured softly, scrolling through her work and using various icons to magnify certain aspects, ‘I’m most emphatically certain on that point.’

‘Well, what does this man want to do with the house?’

‘I gather he intends to move out of London and use it as a base for his work. So, and I’m presuming here, I expect he would want a fairly large working area.’

‘What does this man do?’

‘Something to do with finance, I believe.’

‘You mean he hasn’t bothered to bore you with the details?’ It was Miranda’s turn to smirk and she did so with relish. ‘Perhaps he thought that you weren’t up to understanding the technicalities of his job.’

‘What’s this?’

‘It’s an archway. I’ve bashed through those two rooms and linked them with an archway. On either side you can incorporate stained-glass windows as features to break the monotony of the brick wall.’

‘Very creative. He’ll like that touch, I’m sure. And what’s this?’

‘I haven’t finished with that bit yet.’

‘That’s not what I asked.’

‘Well, that bit, if you can picture it…’

‘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.’