The Unlikely Mistress (London's Most Eligible Playboys #01) Page 11

  Guy thought about it. She was certainly less intrusive than he would have imagined. She kept out of his way in the mornings. She didn’t drift around the place in bits of provocative clothing—and she didn’t leave panties and tights draped over the radiator, which he understood was one of the major irritations when sharing with a woman.

  ‘Seven out of ten,’ he drawled, his smile not quite easy. ‘And how’s the bookshop surviving with its newest member of staff?’

  Sabrina wished he wouldn’t stretch his legs out like that. ‘The shop is f-fine,’ she stumbled. ‘In fact, it’s very similar to the Salisbury branch—’

  ‘So living in the big city doesn’t scare you, Miss Cooper?’ he mocked softly, cutting right through her stumbled reply.

  ‘I don’t scare easy,’ she said, raising a glittering blue gaze, and thinking that it was all too easy to be scared. Scared of her susceptibility to Guy Masters—especially when he looked at her like that. Scared of what might happen if he should happen to lazily make a pass at her—because surely most men who had already slept with a woman would make a pass. Even if they’d said that they wouldn’t.

  But Guy, of course, hadn’t.

  In fact, he’d spent the last five evenings behaving as though he had a piece of radioactive equipment in the room with him—keeping a wary and observant distance and occasionally glancing her a look from beneath those sensationally long black lashes. But tonight he seemed edgy.

  ‘Do you want to go out for a drink before supper?’ he asked suddenly.

  Sabrina snapped her book shut with nervous fingers. ‘What, now, tonight?’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s Friday night—it’s what people do.’

  Anything would be better than having to spend another whole evening watching while she managed to turn reading a book into a very erotic art form indeed. It was all getting a little too cosy for comfort. And Guy had found that leafing through art-world journals had lost most of its allure when he had the infinitely more distracting vision of Sabrina flicking that bright red-gold hair back over her slim shoulders.

  But it was a challenge he had set himself and Guy thrived on challenges. He was determined to resist her—and resist her he damned well would. Unwittingly he had taken advantage of her once before, but once had been enough. ‘How about it?’ he asked.

  She thought about the fine wines he had crowding the vast rack in the dining room. Maybe he wanted to go out because he was bored, just sitting here alone with her night after night. And it was just politeness which had made him invite her to go with him.

  ‘You go out if you like,’ she offered. ‘I’ll stay in. You don’t have to have me tagging along with you.’

  ‘You can’t sit in here all on your own,’ he objected.

  She forced a smile. It would do her good. After five evenings she was beginning to enjoy his company a little too much. ‘Go on! You go, Guy—I’ll be fine here. I’ll probably have an early night.’

  Guy felt an infuriating urge to stay home, yet he hadn’t been out a single night this week—and this from the man who was the original party animal. ‘Sure?’ he asked reluctantly.

  ‘Who else is going?’

  ‘Tom is, and a couple of guys who work with him. Oh, and I expect that Trudi and Jenna might turn up.’

  Jenna. Sabrina’s smile didn’t slip. ‘I think I’ll pass, if you don’t mind. Honestly, Guy, I’m tired.’

  Guy rose to his feet, strangely reluctant to move. ‘Maybe we should go out for dinner some time?’

  She felt a little stab of pleasure, until she reminded herself that it wasn’t a date. He was simply making sure that she wasn’t bored.

  ‘Dinner?’ she asked casually.

  ‘Yeah. There are a couple of clients I need to take out—you might as well come with me.’

  ‘Oh. Right,’ she said, her heart sinking despite her intention not to let it. No, it definitely wasn’t a date—he couldn’t have phrased it more unflatteringly if he’d tried. The token female at a client dinner!

  He paused by the door and shot her a quick glance. ‘Any plans for tomorrow?’

  ‘Not really. I’m working. I work every third Saturday.’

  He nodded. ‘Me, too. Well, actually, I work most Saturdays.’

  Sabrina stared at him. ‘Why?’

  He frowned. ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why do you work on Saturdays?’ She gave him a slightly waspish smile. He left at the crack of dawn each morning and didn’t put in an appearance until at least eight o’clock. Even after five days she had decided that he drove himself too hard. ‘You do happen to own the company, don’t you, Guy?’

  ‘Yes, I do, and I like to make sure that I stay one step ahead of my competitors,’ he retorted softly. ‘And the only way to do that is to work hard. Number-one lesson in life. Build yourself so high that no one can knock you down. Ever.’

  She lifted her eyebrows. He sounded almost ruthless. ‘Try to be invincible, you mean?’

  There was an unmistakable flicker of tension around his mouth. ‘It’s an achievable goal,’ he answered, in a voice which was suddenly harsh.

  She was tempted to tell him that he was already top of the heap. And that it didn’t look as if anyone was going to knock him anywhere, least of all down, but there was a distinctly warning glitter hardening his slate-grey eyes.

  She thought of him as polished and sophisticated, a man who had everything, with his dark good looks and his enormous flat and wealthy lifestyle—and that wasn’t even taking into account his consummate skill as a lover. Yet something just now had frozen his face into granite. Had made him look almost savage. Was Guy Masters a man of never-ending ambition—and, if so, then why, when he seemed to have more than most men could only dream of?

  ‘What’s so good about being invincible?’ she queried softly.

  Guy’s face tightened. Because it was the opposite of how his father had operated, with his easy come, easy go attitude to life and all the devastation that attitude had brought in its wake. But he had never shared that devastation with any woman and he wasn’t about to start now. Even with Sabrina Cooper and her warm, trusting smile and tantalising blue eyes which the devil himself must have given her.

  ‘It all comes down to personal choice,’ he said coldly. ‘And that’s mine.’

  Sabrina could recognise a brush-off when she heard one—and more than a reluctance to open up. From the daunting expression in those dark, stormy eyes, it was more like a refusal to talk.

  Tactically, she retreated.

  ‘Have a nice time,’ she said placidly. ‘I think I’ll have a bath and that early night.’

  Guy had to stifle a groan as some of the tension he’d been feeling was replaced by a new and different kind of tension. Images of her long, pale limbs submerged beneath the foaming bubbles of his bathtub crept tantalisingly into his mind as his photographic memory recalled them with breathtaking accuracy. Did she really need to share something like that with him?

  ‘Yeah,’ he clipped out. ‘Do that.’

  ‘Shall I leave you some supper?’ she asked. ‘I thought I’d make some risotto—I got some amazing oyster mushrooms cheap at the market.’

  Guy scowled. Just five days and she seemed to have taken over most of the cooking and most of the shopping—and she insisted on shopping around to save him money—even when he’d told her that she didn’t need to. With her, it seemed pride as much as parsimony—and she could be so damned stubborn.

  ‘You don’t have to cook for me every night,’ he said shortly. ‘I told you that.’

  ‘But it’s no trouble if I’m cooking for myself—’

  ‘I’m perfectly capable of fixing myself some eggs when I get home!’ Guy snapped, and turned and walked out of the room, because that hurt little tremble of her mouth was enough to crumble a heart of stone.

  Sabrina could hear him slamming around in his room; then the telephone began to ring. She waited to see whether Guy would answer it, but it carried on ringing and so
she picked it up.

  ‘Hello?’

  There was a pause, and then a rather flustered-sounding woman’s voice said, ‘I’m sorry—I think I must have got the wrong number.’

  ‘Who did you want to speak to?’ enquired Sabrina patiently.

  ‘Guy Masters. My son.’

  ‘Your son? Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs Masters, I didn’t realise—I’ll just get him for you.’

  ‘No, no, wait a minute—just who might you be?’

  Sabrina cleared her throat. ‘I’m Sabrina,’ she said. ‘Sabrina Cooper.’ And then, because the voice seemed to be waiting for some kind of clarification, she added, ‘I’m staying here. With Guy.’

  ‘Are you now?’ enquired the voice interestedly.

  ‘Er, just a minute, I’ll get him for you,’ said Sabrina hastily, but when she looked up it was to find Guy standing in the doorway, his face a dark and daunting study.

  Wordlessly, he came and took the phone from her, and Sabrina quickly left the room, but not before she heard his first responses.

  ‘Hi, Ma. Mmm. Mmm. No, no. No—nothing like that.’

  A few minutes later, he came and found her in the kitchen, chopping up her mushrooms.

  ‘Don’t do that again!’ he warned.

  She put the knife down. ‘Do what?’

  ‘Answer my phone—especially when I’m around.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said stiffly. ‘I didn’t realise I was breaking some unwritten rule, but of course it is your flat.’ His flat, his territory, his control.

  But he didn’t appear to be listening. ‘And now my mother’s asking me eight hundred questions about you. Move a woman in and suddenly everyone’s thinking rice and confetti!’

  ‘Well, I can assure you that I’m not,’ she told him acidly.

  ‘Me, neither!’ he snapped.

  She turned her back on him and heard him go out, slamming the door behind him, and she viciously decapitated a mushroom. He was bad-tempered and unreasonable, she told herself. And she must have been crazy to agree to come here.

  Guy walked into the Kensington wine-bar where his friends had been congregating on Friday evenings for as long as he could remember, surveying the dimly lit and crowded room with an unenthusiastic eye. He asked himself why he had bothered to come out to fight his way to the bar for a glass of champagne when he could have drunk something colder and vastly superior at home. And maybe given Sabrina a glass, too.

  He shook his head. What the hell was he thinking of? He always went out on a Friday night!

  ‘Guy!’ called Tom Roberts, from the other side of the room, and Guy forced himself to smile in response as he wove his way through the crowded room.

  ‘It’s obviously been a bad day!’ joked his cousin, as Guy joined him.

  ‘On the contrary.’ Guy took the proffered glass of champagne and gave it a thoughtful sip. ‘I think I may have negotiated a deal on that old schoolhouse over by the river. It’s going to make someone a wonderful home.’

  ‘So why the long face?’ teased Tom.

  ‘I guess I’m just tired,’ said Guy, and that much was true. Sleep didn’t come easily when all you could think about was moon-pale flesh and banner-bright hair and a naked body in the room just along the corridor.

  Tom topped up his glass. ‘So how’s the new flatmate working out?’ he asked casually.

  Guy could recognise a leading question when he heard one. ‘Sabrina?’ he stalled, equally casually.

  Tom smiled. ‘Unless you’ve moved another one in.’

  ‘I must have needed my head examined!’ groaned Guy.

  ‘That bad, is it?’ Tom threw him a sympathetic glance. ‘She seemed sweet.’

  ‘Yeah, she is.’ Too damned sweet. Sweet as honey. That night in his bed—all clinging and sticky like honey. A honey trap, he thought with a sudden heat, and drained his glass in one. ‘Where’s Trudi tonight?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s on a sales conference in Brussels,’ explained Tom. ‘She’s not coming back until tomorrow.’

  Guy nodded. Good. Good. ‘Fancy going out for a meal in a while?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh!’ Tom started grinning. ‘Diversionary tactics to keep you out of the flat, you mean?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Guy shrugged.

  ‘Oh, we’ve all been there, mate,’ said Tom obscurely. ‘There’s bound to be a woman sooner or later who gets underneath your skin. It’s about time it happened to you!’

  ‘Sorry.’ Guy’s voice was cool but firm. ‘You’ve lost me.’

  Tom put his glass down and narrowed his eyes. ‘And you still haven’t told me anything about Sabrina Cooper…’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘The obvious. Like, is she a friend, or is she a lover?’

  Guy opened his mouth and then shut it again. What was the point in trying to explain the whole bizarre situation, even to a man who had known him nearly all his life? Sabrina’s reputation wouldn’t emerge from it unscathed. And neither, he realised grimly, would his own.

  ‘We’re men, Tom,’ he said flippantly, ‘so we never talk about things like that, right?’

  In Guy’s high-tech kitchen, Sabrina unenthusiastically cooked her risotto, and then picked at it without interest. She had made plenty. Enough for two…just in case. But Guy still wasn’t back. Should she pop the rest into the fridge and cover it with clingfilm? Or would Guy go mad if she did that? Probably. He’d blanched with horror when she’d suggested frying up some leftover potato for breakfast.

  After supper she forced herself to relax in a long, deep bath, and when she came out she looked at the clock to see that it was getting on for ten. So, his ‘quick’ drink was taking longer than he’d anticipated.

  She put her bedroom light out and tried to sleep, but sleep infuriatingly refused to protect her with its mantle of oblivion. In the end she gave up trying and snapped on the light and tried reading her book.

  ‘Tried’ being the operative word. The words danced like tiny black beetles in front of her and all she could think about was that it was now nearly midnight and all the bars would be closed.

  And Guy still wasn’t back.

  She pulled on her dressing gown and went to pace up and down the sitting room.

  By twelve she was getting frantic, and by one she was just about to pick up the phone and call the hospital when she heard the sound of a key being turned in the lock. She flew out into the hall to find Guy with his back to her, shutting the door with exaggerated care and hanging up his overcoat with the other hand.

  Sabrina didn’t even stop to think about it. She just blazed right in there. ‘Where the hell have you been?’ she demanded.

  He turned round, the grey eyes narrowing to cold chips of slate as he saw Sabrina in her satin dressing gown, her tiny breasts heaving, a look of complete fury on her face. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  That frosty little question should have been enough to stop her in her tracks, and normally it would have done, but, then, this didn’t feel normal. None of it did. Surely ‘normal’ would have meant a complete numbing of her senses until she was properly over Michael?

  ‘You told me you were going out for a quick drink!’ she stormed, her breathing coming through in great ragged bursts.

  Guy felt torn between incredulty and irritation. ‘And?’

  ‘And it wasn’t, was it? Not quick at all. It’s way past midnight—what time do you call this?’

  ‘It’s none of your damned business what time it is!’ he roared. ‘I’ll live my own life, the way I always have done! I’ll go out when I want and where I want and with whom I want—and I’ll do it without your permission, thank you, princess!’

  Through her shuddering breaths Sabrina stared at him, realising just how preposterous she must have sounded. And realising that if she didn’t get away from him pretty quickly, she risked making even more of a fool of herself.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said tightly. ‘I spoke out of turn.’ She half ran
along the corridor and into her room and then pressed her forehead to the door, her eyes closed, her breath still shuddering.

  He’d seen the awful whitening of her face and the brief glimspe of terror which had iced the blue of her eyes, and in an instant he’d begun to comprehend just what had motivated her reaction.

  ‘Damn!’ he swore softly. Swiftly following in her footsteps, he went and banged his fist on the door. ‘Oh, damn!’

  Behind the door, Sabrina froze. Just keep quiet, some instinct of preservation told her. Keep very quiet and just don’t answer and he might go away.

  ‘Sabrina! Open the damned door. We both know you can’t possibly be asleep.’

  She shook her head. ‘Go away.’

  ‘I’m not moving from this spot until you open the door and come out and talk to me. That way neither of us will get to sleep and that means we’ll both be bad-tempered at work tomorrow.’

  You and your precious work, thought Sabrina, trying to concentrate on something—anything—other than how she wanted to open the door and fall into his arms, and…and…

  ‘Alternatively, I could kick it down,’ he promised in a voice of silky intent.

  It was such an outrageous proposal that Sabrina very nearly smiled. ‘You wouldn’t do that,’ she sniffed.

  ‘Not unless you make me,’ he agreed mockingly. ‘So, are you going to open the door now? Or not?’

  Slowly, she complied, her fingers clutching onto the handle as if they were petrified, gearing herself up to withstand Guy’s fury at her presumptuous behaviour. But when she dared to look up into his face it was to see a look of bitter regret written there, and Sabrina felt the trembling approach of tears. If she weren’t careful, she was in terrible danger of exposing all her desperate insecurities to him.

  ‘I’m s-sorry,’ she said shakily. ‘I had no right—’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. It was the most stupid and insensitive thing to do and, oh, God, Sabrina…’ His voice deepened to a caress as he saw her face crumple. ‘Princess, don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.’