Читать книгу One Man's Mistress: One Night with His Virgin Mistress / Public Mistress, Private Affair / Mistress Against Her Will - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 8

DON’T even think of doing a runner …

If only I could, Tallie thought bitterly as she switched on the percolator and set a cup, a saucer, cream jug and sugar bowl on a tray. I’d be out of here so fast, my feet wouldn’t touch the ground.

But, unfortunately, it wasn’t as simple as that. For one thing, she had nowhere else to go. For another, nearly everything she owned was in the master bedroom—and so, now, was the master. In her haste to get away from him, she’d even left her change of clothing strewn across the bed. His bed, she reminded herself, groaning inwardly.

She’d steeled herself to creep back at one point to retrieve it, but the bathroom door had been wide open, the sound of the shower only too audible, and she dared not risk being seen—or seeing him again either, she thought shuddering, so it had seemed more sensible to turn away.

Which meant that when she did have to face him in a short while, she’d still be swamped in yards of towelling that also didn’t belong to her. But at least she’d be covered this time, she thought, a wave of heat sweeping over her as she remembered that remorseless green-eyed gaze assessing every detail of her quivering body.

Not to mention the way he’d casually stripped in front of her, which had almost been more of an insult …

Tallie swallowed. People reckoned that there came a time when you could look back at moments of truly hideous embarrassment and laugh about them, but she couldn’t imagine any moment, however far into the future, when she would be able to find the events of the last half hour even remotely amusing. When remembering them would not make her want to curl up and die of shame.

She was already cringing at the prospect of her next confrontation with him. It had already occurred to her that her agreement with Kit Benedict had been purely verbal, and that she hadn’t a scrap of paper to back up her claim that she was flat-sitting on his behalf.

That the real owner, however vile, probably had every right to regard her presence as trespass. But not to assume she was involved in some sordid relationship with his brother, she told herself hotly. A discarded plaything that could be … handed on for his own use. Or who might even be willing for that to happen.

If she was being honest, she had to admit she’d had a lucky escape. That if he’d decided her protests were simply coy and not to be taken seriously, then her nightmare could have taken on a whole new dimension that she didn’t want to contemplate. His hands—touching her. That mocking mouth …

Shivering, she hurriedly refocused her train of thought.

Too good to be true …

Her own words came back to haunt her. Well, she knew the truth of that now. Realised how stupid she’d been to ignore the obvious pitfalls in such a casual arrangement. To dismiss the clear anomalies between the Kit Benedict she’d met and this serene, luxurious background he’d apparently appropriated as his own.

He’d never really belonged here, she thought. And she’d always suspected as much. But then, for God’s sake, neither did Real Owner—the sexist thug with his scruffy hair, filthy clothes and three-day growth. He was even more out of place—like the brutal invader of a peaceful foreign territory. Inexperienced as she was, she’d sensed the danger in him, the anger like a coiled spring threatening to erupt.

Shivering, she wandered restively out into the passage, noting that the door to the master bedroom was now firmly shut. There was no sound from beyond it, or anywhere else, but the stillness and quiet she’d cherished suddenly seemed to have turned into an oppressive silence beating down on her. As if she was waiting for some other dreadful thing to happen.

Don’t think like that, she advised herself, swallowing, as she retreated to the kitchen. Put those ghastly minutes in the bathroom behind you and try to behave normally. Moving in here was obviously a mistake, but you’re not a criminal and he must see that.

She set the coffee pot on the tray and carried it through to the sitting room, placing it on a charming walnut table in front of one of the sofas.

Television, she thought. Men liked television. The first thing her father and Guy seemed to do when they walked into the house was switch on the set in the living room, whether or not there was anything they wanted to watch. Real Owner might well think along similar lines.

She clicked on to one of the major channels and stood for a moment, adjusting the sound. The picture on the screen was coming from an airfield, showing a plane coming in to land, and a group of weary, dishevelled men disembarking from it. About to turn away, Tallie sent them a casual glance, then paused, her eyes widening as she realised that the tall figure leading the ramshackle party down the plane steps looked horribly familiar.

No, she thought, transfixed in spite of herself. No, surely not.

‘Glad to be safely home are the British engineers, who found themselves stranded by the civil war in Buleza,’ said an authoritative voice-over. ‘At the press conference following their arrival, Mark Benedict, the chief consultant on the Ubilisi bridge project, said it had been a major target for the opposition forces and, as a result, completely destroyed.’

Mark Benedict, she thought with a swift intake of breath. Mark Benedict … Then it really was him. It had to be.

She heard a step behind her and turned. ‘My God,’ she said huskily. ‘You were out there—in that African country where there’s been all the terrible fighting.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And, believe me, I don’t need any reminders.’ He took the remote control from her hand and the screen went blank.

He was hardly recognisable, Tallie thought blankly, apart, of course, from those amazing eyes. He certainly hadn’t the kind of looks she admired but, now that he was clean-shaven, she had to admit that he had a striking face, with high cheekbones, a strong beak of a nose and a chin that was firm to the point of arrogance.

Altogether, there was a toughness about him that Kit signally lacked, she decided without admiration, something emphasised by the line of an old scar along one cheekbone and the evidence of a more recent injury at the corner of his mouth, accentuating the cynical twist which was probably habitual with him.

The over-long dark hair had been combed into some kind of damp, curling order and the lean, tawny body was, thankfully, respectably clad in chinos and a black polo shirt.

He looked at the coffee tray. ‘Firstly,’ he said, ‘you can take away the cream and sugar, because I never use them, and, at the same time, bring me a mug in place of the after-dinner china. And, while you’re there, bring another for yourself.’

‘Is that really necessary?’ Tallie lifted her chin. ‘After all, it’s hardly a social occasion.’

‘A fair amount of business can also be settled over coffee.’ His tone was quiet but brooked no arguments. ‘So why not just do as I ask, Miss—er …’

‘Paget,’ she supplied curtly. ‘Natalie Paget.’

‘And I’m Mark Benedict, as I expect you already know.’ He paused. ‘Please don’t look so stricken, Miss Paget. I assure you that you’re just as unpleasant a shock to me as I am to you. So let’s sit down with our coffee in a civilised manner and discuss the situation.’

‘Civilised,’ Tallie brooded as she trailed back to the kitchen with the unwanted items, was not a word she would ever apply to her unwanted host. But ‘discuss’ was hopeful, because it didn’t suggest that he was planning to bring charges immediately.

However, knowing that all she was wearing was his bathrobe still placed her at a serious disadvantage, no matter how businesslike the discussion. As he was probably well aware, she told herself bitterly.

On her return to the sitting room, she accepted the mug that he filled and handed to her and sat down on the sofa opposite, hiding her bare feet under the folds of the robe—a nervous movement that she knew was not lost on him.

‘So,’ he began, without further preliminaries, ‘you say Kit’s in Australia. When did that happen and why?’

She looked down at her coffee. ‘He went at the end of last week,’ she returned woodenly. ‘I understand it’s a business trip—visiting various vineyards on behalf of the company he works for.’

The hard mouth relaxed into genuine amusement. ‘Well, well,’ he said softly, ‘I bet Veronica didn’t consider that was an option when she wangled the job for her baby boy.’ He paused. ‘He didn’t ask you to go with him?’

‘Of course not.’ Tallie stiffened indignantly. ‘I hardly know him.’

‘That’s not always a consideration,’ he murmured. ‘And, where Kit’s concerned, it could be a positive advantage.’ He leaned back against the cushions, apparently relaxed, but Tallie wasn’t fooled. She could feel the tension quivering in the air, like over-stretched wire. ‘Anyway, if it was such a brief acquaintance, how did you get to find out about this place?’

‘It was his own suggestion,’ she said defensively. ‘He knew I was looking for somewhere cheap to live for a few months.’

His brows lifted. ‘You regard this as some kind of doss-house?’ he asked coldly.

‘No—on the contrary—truly.’ Tallie flushed hotly. ‘I suppose when I came here and saw what it was like, I should have realised there was something … not right about the arrangement. But I was desperate, and grateful enough not to ask too many questions. And, anyway, I thought I could repay him by being the world’s greatest flat-sitter. Looking after it as if it was my own.’ She swallowed. ‘Even better than my own.’

‘Or, knowing he was going away, you could have decided to squat here.’ His eyes were hard.

‘No, I swear I didn’t.’ She met his gaze bravely. ‘If you don’t believe me, ask my former boss at the wine bar. He was there when your brother made the offer.’ She took a gulp of the hot coffee to hearten her. ‘Besides, a squatter wouldn’t know about forwarding the mail to the lawyers, or have a key, or been told the security code—any of it.’

‘You’ve been working in a wine bar?’ He frowned slightly.

‘Why not?’ she challenged. ‘It’s a perfectly respectable occupation.’

‘Respectable—sure.’ He studied her curiously. ‘But as a career? I’d have thought you’d want better than that.’

‘Well,’ she said tautly, ‘as we’re total strangers, that’s hardly for you to judge.’ She paused, then added reluctantly, ‘Besides, I also had a day job working as a secretary for a temps agency. The bar was … extra.’

‘I notice you keep using the past tense,’ Mark Benedict commented. ‘Am I to take it that you’re no longer gainfully employed?’

‘I’m no longer wage-earning,’ she admitted. ‘But I am working.’

‘At what? Your questionable duties as flat-sitter won’t take up too many hours in the day.’

She bit her lip, unwilling to expose her precious plan to his undoubted ridicule. She said primly, ‘I’m engaged on … on a private project.’

‘As you’ve gate-crashed my home, Miss Paget, I don’t think the usual privacy rules apply. How are you planning to earn a living?’

She glared at him. ‘If you must know, I’m writing a novel.’

‘Dear God,’ he said blankly and paused. ‘Presumably it’s for children.’

‘Why should you presume any such thing?’ Tallie asked defiantly.

‘Because you’re hardly more than a child yourself.’

‘I’m nineteen,’ she informed him coldly.

‘I rest my case,’ he returned cynically. ‘So what kind of a book is it?’

She lifted her chin. ‘It’s a love story.’

There was a silence and Tallie saw a gleam of hateful amusement dawn in the green eyes. ‘I’m impressed, Miss Paget. It’s a subject you’ve researched in depth, of course?’

‘As much as I need,’ she said shortly, furious to discover that she was blushing again.

‘In other words—not very far at all.’ He was grinning openly now. ‘Unless I miss my guess—which I’m sure I don’t, judging by your terrified nymph act when I walked in on you just now.’

Tallie’s blush deepened hectically.

Oh, God, I might as well have ‘Virgin—untouched by human hand’ tattooed across my forehead, she thought, loathing him.

He was speaking again. ‘And you’ve actually staked your economic future on this unlikely enterprise?’

She was almost tempted to tell him about Alice Morgan. Make him see that it wasn’t all pie in the sky but a calculated and considered risk, except that it was none of his damned business. And, anyway, why should she explain a thing to someone who’d already mortified her beyond belief and was now going to ruin everything else for her?

‘Yes,’ she said, icily. ‘Yes, I have.’

‘Well,’ he said, ‘that pretty well explains why you snatched at the chance of living here when Kit dangled it in front of you.’ He paused. ‘Are you paying him rent?’

She shook her head. ‘Just—my share of the utility bills.’

‘Which can be pretty steep for a place this size. So how can you possibly afford them?’

‘By working day and night for months and saving every possible penny,’ she said huskily. ‘In order to give myself some dedicated time—a window of opportunity.’

‘You seem to have mastered the jargon anyway,’ he commented dryly as he refilled his mug. ‘Where were you living before this?’

‘I was sharing a flat,’ she said, ‘with my … my cousin and a friend of hers.’

‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘Then you have a place to go back to.’

Tallie stared into her mug. She said with difficulty, ‘No—no—I don’t. I—really can’t do that.’

She was expecting him to demand another explanation, but instead he said with a kind of damning finality, ‘Then you’ll have to find somewhere else, and quickly. Because you certainly can’t remain here.’

She’d known it would almost certainly come to that, but hearing it said aloud was still a blow. Not that she intended to meekly acquiesce, of course. This had been the perfect haven until he’d turned up, and she wasn’t giving up without a fight.

She said, ‘But there is nowhere else. Besides, I was invited by your brother. I was relying on him. Does that make no difference to you?’

‘None at all,’ he said brusquely. ‘And if you’d known him better—or used a little common sense—you’d have saved yourself a lot of trouble. Because Kit had no right to make such an arrangement with you, or anyone else. And, in future, he certainly won’t be staying here either,’ he added grimly. ‘So Veronica can go hang herself.’

He’d mentioned the name before. ‘Is that Kit’s mother?’

‘Unfortunately, yes.’ His tone was clipped.

‘Then perhaps I could speak to her about all this. Ask her to contact Kit and get it sorted out. After all, she must know that the flat doesn’t belong to him, and she might help.’

His mouth curled. ‘I don’t recommend it. For one thing, Kit is the apple of her eye, and therefore can do no wrong. She would simply blame you for misunderstanding one of the dear boy’s misguided acts of kindness.’ His voice was cynical. ‘Besides, she’s always regarded anything with the name Benedict attached to it as communal property and encouraged Kit to do the same.’

He paused. ‘And she would almost certainly regard you as some female predator in pursuit of him, and decide that he’d gone to Australia simply to get away from you.’

Tallie stiffened. ‘That’s ridiculous.’

He shrugged. ‘Undoubtedly, but that won’t stop her, and I can promise you that a penniless would-be writer isn’t at all what she has in mind for her only chick. So I’d steer well clear, if I were you.’

‘If you were me,’ she said, ‘you wouldn’t be in this mess.’

His smile was reluctant. ‘No, I wouldn’t.’

‘So what happens now?’ She tried for nonchalance, and missed. ‘Do I get thrown—bag and baggage—into the street?’

He was silent for a moment, his mouth compressed into grimness. ‘How long have you been living in London?’

‘A year,’ she returned defensively, guessing what was coming.

‘Long enough to make friends who might put you up on a temporary basis?’

She didn’t look at him as she shook her head. She must seem absolutely pathetic, she thought. A genuine Natalie No-mates. Yet several of the girls she’d worked with had invited her for a drink after work, which might have been a first step to friendship. But she’d always been obliged to refuse because she’d been working and she needed to keep every penny of her earnings for the future.

And, of course, there was Lorna, friend from her school days, who’d help if she could in spite of the inconvenience, especially if she discovered Tallie was in dire straits. Only it simply wasn’t fair to impose that kind of pressure on her, she told herself. No, she had to find her own solution.

‘And before London?’ He sighed abruptly. ‘No, don’t tell me. You lived at home with your parents, probably in some nice village full of nice people.’

‘And if I did?’ she demanded, stung by the weary note in his voice. He looked tired too, she realised for the first time, with the scar deepening the strained lines beside his mouth and the shadows beneath those amazing eyes, reminding her of the ordeal he’d just returned from.

My God, she thought. In a moment I’ll be feeling sorry for him—if I’m not careful.

She rallied herself. ‘What’s wrong with village life?’

‘Nothing, in theory,’ he said. ‘In practice, it’s not the ideal way to equip yourself for life in the big city. Too big a jump to reality. Which is why I can’t simply get rid of you, right here and now, as I’d like to do, because it would be like throwing a puppy out on to the motorway.’

Tallie gasped indignantly. ‘How bloody patronising is that? Kindly don’t treat me like a child.’

‘Well, you certainly didn’t appreciate my willingness to treat you like a woman,’ he said softly. ‘If you remember …’ His voice died into tantalising silence and the green eyes swept insolently over her, as if the protection of the thick folds of towelling suddenly no longer existed. Making it hideously, indelibly clear that he hadn’t forgotten a thing about their initial encounter, and might even be relishing the memory.

‘So while you’re still under my roof,’ he resumed more briskly, ‘patronage might be an altogether safer attitude for me to adopt. Agreed?’

Her shocked gaze fell away from his. Her brave words were forgotten.

She said in a stifled voice, ‘I suppose …’

He nodded. ‘And I know …’

There was another silence—tingling—charged.

Tallie’s heart was thundering. She said quietly, ‘Believe me, if I had anywhere—anywhere—to go at this moment, I’d already be on my way …’

‘In that case, why not spend some of your savings on a train fare back to the village? Or don’t you get on with any of your family?’

‘Yes, of course I do. My parents are lovely.’ She swallowed. ‘But, even so, they wouldn’t understand what I’m trying to do. Why I so badly need to see if I can finish this book and get it published. Actually make a career for myself as a writer.’

Mark Benedict frowned. ‘Surely, if you explained to them …’

‘It wouldn’t work.’ She spread her hands. ‘They’d think I was being silly—living in a dream world—and want me to slot right back into the old life, treat the writing as a hobby—something I do when I’ve finished the day job. And that I can also put down at the drop of a hat when I’m needed for something else. Which I would be—constantly.’

She paused. ‘But it just isn’t like that,’ she added passionately. ‘That’s why I know I have to stick to my original plan and stay in London. Although I promise I won’t trouble you any longer than I have to.’ She lifted her chin. ‘There must be somewhere affordable I can live, and I’ll find it, no matter how long it takes.’

‘I wish you luck,’ he said. ‘I must also warn you that it had better not take longer than a week, my little intruder. Don’t overestimate my capacity for philanthropy.’

She glared at him. ‘Not,’ she said, ‘a mistake I’m likely to make.’

‘Good,’ he said, unmoved ‘And, on that understanding, I want you and your belongings—all traces of you, in fact—out of my bedroom and bathroom within the hour. We’ll discuss the other house rules later.’

Tallie bit her lip. ‘I’ve been using your office to write in,’ she said. ‘Because there’s a printer there.’

‘Have you now?’ His tone was cold. ‘Egged on by Kit, no doubt?’

‘Well, yes.’ She looked down at her hands, clasped together in her lap. ‘I have to admit a real work room was one of the flat’s major attractions.’ She sighed. ‘I suppose he thought it was safe. That by the time you got back from Africa, I’d be gone.’

‘No,’ he said, ‘he would have thought nothing of the kind. Even without the civil war, we’d have been on our way home within a few weeks. The project was nearly finished and he knew it. He also knew I wasn’t expecting to find him here when I returned, because I’d already made it damned clear that I’d had more than enough of his freeloading and he could sling his hook.’

He shook his head. ‘So I’d bet good money that he set the whole thing up quite deliberately. A serious piece of aggravation to await my arrival.’

‘But I still don’t understand,’ she said. ‘Why drag me into your private conflict? If that’s what it is.’

‘Oh, it wouldn’t have been personal.’ His tone was casual. ‘I don’t suppose he ever considered your feelings at all. You were just … a means to an end. A spiteful valediction to me before he removed himself out of harm’s way.’

Tallie drew a breath. She said in a low voice, ‘I’ve never been used like that before.’

‘Well, don’t worry about it.’ He shrugged. ‘Kit’s just made you a member of a not very exclusive club.’ He looked at his watch. ‘And now I’d like to reclaim the more personal areas of my home, so perhaps you’d start moving your things. I’d like it all done before I go out tonight.’

‘You’re going out?’

‘Yes.’ He stretched indolently and got to his feet. ‘As I mentioned before, I feel in urgent need of some rest and recreation.’

‘But aren’t you exhausted?’ The words were uttered before she could stop them and she paused with a gasp of embarrassment as she encountered the glint of unholy amusement in his eyes.

‘Not yet, sweetheart,’ Mark Benedict drawled, ‘but I certainly hope to be before the night is over. Any more questions?’

‘No,’ Tallie mumbled, her face on fire.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘So maybe you’ll shelve your gratifying concern for my well-being and do as you’ve been asked—please.’

Tallie rose too, her teeth gritted. There, she berated herself, that’s what happens when you’re stupid enough to feel sympathy for the bastard. So don’t fall into that trap again.

She turned, heading for the door with an assumption of dignity completely spoiled by her unwary stumbling over the hem of the folds of towelling that shrouded her.

‘Oh, and I’ll have my robe back too.’ Her tormentor’s voice reached her softly. ‘At some mutually convenient moment, of course.’

She found herself wishing with all her heart that she had the nerve to take it off right then and throw it at him, but such a gesture required far more chutzpah than she possessed, she realized, as she trailed, still flushed and furious, to the door.

Discovering, too, that some previously unsuspected female instinct was telling her without fear of contradiction that his mouth would already be curling in that nasty sardonic grin as he watched her departure.

Yet knowing at the same time that all hell would freeze over before she looked back over her shoulder to check.