The Unlikely Mistress (London's Most Eligible Playboys #01) Page 2

  He pushed open the door to let her inside and Sabrina had to stifle a small cry of astonishment as she walked into a high-ceilinged sitting room. Because, yes, of course, she’d known that places such as these existed, but it was something so outside her own experience that it was like stepping into a parallel world.

  The room was full of furniture which even an idiot could tell was very old. Antique, in fact. And priceless too, she imagined.

  Sabrina looked around her. The light was muted because all the shutters were closed, but that made the contents of the room stand out even more.

  Silken rugs in jewel-bright colours were scattered on the marble floors, on which stood spindly-legged chairs and tables. There was a faded sofa of crimson and gold and a couple of chairs which matched, all strewn with cushions of the same rich colours. She slowly turned to see an oil painting of a long-dead doge, set against the timeless Venetian backdrop, one of many paintings hung on the crimson walls.

  ‘Oh, but it’s beautiful,’ she breathed. ‘So beautiful.’

  Guy watched her slow appraisal, her uninhibited pleasure making her look curiously elegant, despite the damp and dirty clothes.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ he said softly, but he wasn’t even looking at the painting.

  And the lack of light was far too intimate, he decided suddenly, striding over to the window to push open the shutters, so the reflected light from the Grand Canal gleamed and glittered back into the room at them.

  A view like that was worth a king’s ransom, thought Sabrina, suddenly feeling as out of place as some scruffy urchin who had come seeking shelter from the storm.

  It brought her quickly to her senses. She wasn’t here to enjoy the view. Or to make small-talk. She had better just clean up and be on her way.

  She cleared her throat. ‘Could you show me—?’

  He turned around, noting the sudden pinkness in her cheeks, the two high spots of colour making her look like some flaxen-plaited doll. ‘Sure. The bathroom’s that door over there.’ He pointed. ‘Take as long as you like. Oh, and throw your wet clothes out and I’ll send them down and have them laundered.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Sabrina was glad to lock the bathroom door behind her and peel off the freezing clothes from her shivering flesh. They smelt so dank!

  The jeans were first, and then the T-shirt, and she dropped the sodden garments onto the marble floor. But her bra and panties were damp with canal water, too. Should she risk…?

  Risk what? she asked herself impatiently. She couldn’t keep sodden underwear on, and this pair of sensible cotton briefs was hardly likely to have him trying to beat the door down!

  Sheltering behind the screen of the door, she picked the bundle up.

  ‘Guy?’

  ‘Leave them outside,’ came a muffled sort of voice, and she did as he asked, quickly slamming the door shut and sliding the lock home before stepping into the shower, with its industrial-sized head.

  Outside, Guy gingerly picked up the deposited items as if he were handling a poisonous snake.

  Had it really been necessary for her to take everything off? he wondered uncomfortably, while asking himself why some women chose to wear knickers which looked as if they were armour-plated.

  He knew almost nothing about Sabrina Cooper, and would never see her again after today, but what he did know was that she certainly hadn’t come to Venice with seduction in mind.

  Not unless she was intending to appeal to the type of man who got turned on by the frumpy gym-mistress look!

  Biting back a smile, he wandered over to the telephone and picked up the receiver.

  ‘Pronto!’ he drawled for courtesy’s sake, and then immediately switched to English, in which most of the staff were fluent. His Italian was passable—but in a case concerning a strange woman’s underwear he needed no misunderstandings! ‘How long will it take to get some clothes laundered?’

  There was a short pause. ‘Certainly within a couple of hours, sir.’

  Guy frowned. That long? And just what were they supposed to do while Sabrina’s jeans and T-shirt and bra and panties whizzed around in the washing machine? His time was precious, and his leisure time especially so. There were a million things he would rather be doing than being forced to sit and chat to someone with whom he had nothing in common other than that they both hailed from the same country.

  Damn!

  ‘Let’s try for half that time, shall we?’ he suggested softly. ‘And can you have some coffee brought up at the same time?’

  Bearing a tray of coffee, the valet came and collected the damp garments and Guy heard the sound of the shower being turned off. He walked over to the bathroom door.

  ‘I’m afraid your clothes won’t be back for an hour,’ he called.

  ‘An hour?’ Sabrina’s heart plummeted as she stood behind the locked door. What was she supposed to do in the meantime? Stay wrapped in a towel inside this steamy bathroom?

  He heard the annoyance in her voice and felt like telling her that the idea pleased him even less than it did her. But he hadn’t been forced to bring her back here, had he? No, he’d made that decision all on his own—so he could hardly complain about it now.

  ‘Why don’t you use that towelling robe hanging up on the back of the door?’ he suggested evenly. ‘And there’s some coffee out here when you’re ready.’

  Squinting at herself in the cloudy mirror, Sabrina shrugged on a towelling gown which was as luxuriously thick and fluffy as she would expect in a place like this. She slipped it over her bare, freckled shoulders, and as she did so she became aware of the faint trace of male scent which clung to it.

  Guy had been wearing this robe before her, she realised as an unwelcome burst of sexual hunger grew into life inside her. Guy’s body had been as naked beneath this as her own now was. She felt the sudden picking up of her heart as the evocative muskiness invaded her nostrils, and she wondered if she might be going slightly mad.

  How could a complete stranger—however attractive he undoubtedly was—manage to have such an incapacitating and powerful effect on her? Making her feel like some puppet jerked and manipulated by invisible strings. Was this what the death of her fiancé had turned her into—some kind of predator?

  Guy glanced up as she walked in and his grey eyes narrowed, a pulse hammering at his temple. Maybe the robe hadn’t been such a good idea after all, he conceded. Because wasn’t there something awfully erotic about a woman wearing an oversized masculine garment like that? On him it reached to just below his knees—but on this woman’s pale and slender frame it almost skimmed her ankles.

  ‘How about some coffee?’ he queried steadily.

  ‘C-coffee would be lovely,’ she stumbled, suddenly feeling acutely shy. She perched on the edge of a sofa on the opposite side of the room, telling herself that she had absolutely nothing to worry about. The circumstances might be bizarre, but for some reason she trusted this man. Men of Guy Masters’s calibre wouldn’t make a clumsy pass at a stranger, despite that brief, hungry darkening of his eyes.

  He poured them both coffee and thought that conversation might be safer than silence. ‘First time in Venice?’

  ‘First time abroad,’ she admitted.

  ‘You’re kidding!’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I’m not. I’ve never been out of England before.’ Michael hadn’t earned very much, and neither had she—and saving up to buy a house had seemed more important than trips abroad. Though a man like Guy Masters would probably not understand that.

  ‘And you came here on your own?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  He looked at her curiously. ‘Pretty daring thing to do,’ he observed, ‘first time in a foreign country on your own?’

  Sabrina stared down at the fingers which were laced around her coffee-cup. ‘I’ve never done anything remotely daring before…’

  ‘What, never?’ he teased softly.

  Sabrina didn’t smile back. Hadn’t she decided that life was
too short to play safe all the time? ‘So I thought I’d give it a try,’ she said solemnly, and shifted her bottom back a little further on the seat.

  Guy sipped his coffee and wished that she would sit still, not keep shifting around on the sofa as if she had ants in her pants. And then he remembered.

  She wasn’t wearing any.

  Dear God. A shaft of desire shot through him, which was as unexpected as it was inappropriate, and he took a huge mouthful of coffee—almost glad when it scalded his lips. He risked a surreptitious glance at his watch. Only forty-five minutes to go. Less if he was lucky. Much more of this and he would be unable to move.

  ‘So why Venice?’ he queried, a slight edge of desperation to his voice.

  ‘Oh, it’s one of the world’s most beautiful cities, and I—I had to…to…’

  Something in the quality of her hesitation made him stir with interest. ‘Had to what?’

  She had been about to say ‘get away’, but that particular statement always provoked the questions to ask why, and once that question had been asked then the whole sad story would come out. A story she was weary of telling. Weary of living through. She had come to Italy to escape from death and its clutches.

  ‘I had to see St Mark’s Square.’ She smiled brightly. ‘It was something of a life’s ambition. So was riding in a gondola.’

  ‘But not taking a bath in the Grand Canal?’

  She actually laughed. ‘No. Not that. I hadn’t bargained on that!’

  He thought how the laugh lit up her face. Like sunshine glowing from within. ‘And how long are you staying?’

  ‘Only a couple more days. How about you?’

  He felt a pulse begin to beat insistently at his temple. Suddenly Venice was getting more attractive by the minute—rather uncomfortably attractive, actually. ‘Me, too,’ he said huskily, and risked another glance at his watch.

  The room seemed much too small. Much too intimate. Again Sabrina shifted self-consciously on the sofa.

  ‘How old are you?’ he demanded suddenly, as she crossed one pale, slender thigh over the other.

  Old enough to recognise that maybe Guy Masters wasn’t completely indifferent to her after all. The quiet, metallic gleam in the cool grey eyes told her that. But that wasn’t the kind of answer he was seeking.

  ‘I’m twenty-seven,’ she told him.

  ‘You look younger.’

  ‘So people say.’ She lifted her eyebrows. ‘And you?’

  ‘Thirty-two.’

  ‘You look older.’

  Their eyes connected as something primitive shuddered in the air around them.

  ‘I know I do,’ he murmured.

  His words caressed her and Sabrina stared at him, unable to stop her eyes from committing every exquisite feature to memory. I will never forget you, she thought with an aching sense of sadness. Ever.

  They sat in silence for a while as they drank their coffee. Eventually, there was a rap on the door and the valet delivered an exquisitely laundered set of underwear, jeans and T-shirt. Guy handed them over to her. ‘There you go,’ he said gravely.

  She took them, blushingly aware that his fingertips had actually been touching the pressed cotton of her bra and panties. ‘I’d better go and get changed.’

  And if he’d thought that she’d looked exquisite before, that was nothing to the transformation which had taken place when she emerged, shimmering, from the bathroom. Guy didn’t know what the laundry had managed to do with her clothes, but they now looked as if they were brand-new, and her hair had dried to a glorious strawberry-blonde sheen which spilled over her shoulders.

  ‘You’d better take this,’ he said as he dug deep into the pocket of his trousers and withdrew a wad of money, seeing her eyes widen in an alarmed question as he gave it to her.

  ‘What’s this?’ she demanded.

  ‘Didn’t you drop your purse into the water?’ he queried softly. ‘And don’t you need to get home?’

  ‘I can’t take your money,’ she protested.

  ‘Then don’t. Think of it as a loan. Pay me back tomorrow if you like.’

  Sabrina slid the notes thoughtfully into the back pocket of her jeans. ‘OK. I will. Thanks.’

  He went down with her in the lift to the foyer, telling himself that he would never see her again.

  And wondering why that thought should make him ache so much, and so badly.

  CHAPTER TWO

  DESPITE telling herself that she was being crazy and unrealistic, Sabrina couldn’t help the decided spring to her step next morning as she set off to return Guy’s money, nor the flush of anticipation which made her cheeks glow. And why had she dressed up for him in an ice-blue sundress which very nearly matched her eyes and peep-toed sandals which made her legs look longer than they really were?

  Surely she didn’t imagine for a moment that he would take one look at her and decide that she was the woman of his dreams?

  She put the stack of lire in an envelope. He probably wouldn’t even be there, she reasoned. She would just have to leave the money for him at Reception.

  The buildings soared up all around her and the water—which was everywhere—seemed to glimmer and glitter with some unspoken promise. As her steps drew her closer to Guy’s hotel, she felt the slow prickle of nerves.

  She told herself that even if he was there he would probably just take the money with that cool, enigmatic smile and thank her. Then say goodbye, his faintly quizzical expression mocking her if she was foolish enough to linger hopefully over their farewells.

  Drawing a deep breath, she walked into the foyer, surprised that the man behind the desk with the movie-star looks should raise his eyebrows in recognition the moment he saw her. He quickly picked up the telephone and started speaking into it.

  By the time she had reached the desk he had finished his call and was glancing down at a notepad in front of him. He smiled at her.

  ‘Ah, Signorina Cooper,’ he purred.

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘You know my name?’

  The smile widened. ‘But of course! Signor Masters asked me to telephone him the moment you arrived.’

  Well, that was something. At least he hadn’t imagined that she’d just disappeared into the sunset with his money.

  She quickly took the envelope from her handbag. ‘Can I just leave this here for him?’ she said breathlessly. ‘I won’t stay. I’m—’

  ‘Not planning on running away from me, are you, Miss Cooper?’ came a deep voice from just behind her, and Sabrina turned round to find herself caught in the hard, grey crossfire of his eyes. And she was lost. Utterly lost.

  ‘Hello, Guy,’ she said weakly.

  ‘Hello, Sabrina,’ he mocked, his gaze running over her with pleasure, thinking that she had dressed up for him, and the rapid beat of his heart told him exactly what that meant.

  ‘I brought your money back.’ She held the envelope out.

  ‘So I see.’

  ‘I can’t thank you enough for coming to my rescue. I don’t know how I would have managed otherwise.’ She swallowed down the constricting lump which was affecting her ability to breathe. ‘Anyway, I’d better go—’

  But he cut her words short with the restraining touch of his fingertips on her bare arm—a feather-light and innocent enough touch, but one which made sensation skate erotic little whispers all over its surface. He felt suddenly breathless. Reckless.

  His eyes darkened. ‘Why go anywhere?’ he questioned softly. It’s a beautiful day. We’re both on our own. Why don’t we go sightseeing together?’

  ‘Together?’

  He paused for a dangerous beat, giving her the unthinkable opportunity of saying no. ‘Unless you’d rather be on your own?’

  Well, that was why she had come to Venice, wasn’t it? To get away and escape. To throw off the shackles of anxious eyes which followed her every move.

  But Sabrina didn’t want to get away. Not from Guy. She tried to keep her voice casual. ‘Not especially.’

>   Guy almost laughed aloud at her lukewarm response. He wondered if she did this all the time—sent out these conflicting messages so that while that flushed look of anticipation and the bright sparkle of her eyes were like a sweet invitation to possess her, the somewhat indifferent responses to his questions were a slammed door in the face. Perplexing. And he hadn’t been perplexed by a woman in a long time.

  ‘So is that a yes or a no?’

  It was an I’m-not-sure-whether-I’m-doing-the-right-thing, Sabrina thought, but she smiled anyway. ‘It’s a yes,’ she said.

  He watched the way she flicked her hair back over her shoulder. The movement made her breasts dance beneath the thin cotton dress, and Guy felt the primitive urge to take her somewhere and impale her and make her his. He hardened his mouth, appalled at himself.

  ‘Why don’t you tell me what you’ve seen already?’ he suggested unevenly. ‘And where you’d like to eat lunch?’

  Sabrina noticed the sudden tension around his mouth, the way his eyes had darkened into a hungry glitter, and while she knew that she ought to be intimidated by the sheer potency of his masculinity she had never felt less intimidated in her life.

  ‘I’ve seen the Basilica di San Marco,’ she said. ‘Of course! And the Golden House and the Doges Palace. But that’s all. Lunch—I wouldn’t have a clue about.’ Her budget was tight and she’d been skipping lunch. But that had been no hardship.

  Guy noticed the shadowed hollows beneath the high sweep of her cheekbones and wondered if she had been eating properly. ‘Then let’s go and find the rest of Venice,’ he suggested softly.

  But it took an effort for Sabrina to concentrate on her surroundings as they walked out into the sunshine. Yesterday the city had seemed like the most magical place on the planet, while today it was difficult to think about anything other than the man at her side.

  At least she had some idea of what she was supposed to be looking at. She’d spent the preceding weeks reading every book about Venice that she could lay her hands on—it had been a good kind of displacement therapy—but Guy could more than match her.

  ‘Did you know that the humorist Robert Benchley sent a telegram when he arrived in Venice?’ Guy murmured. ‘Saying, “Streets full of water. Please advise.”’