The Unlikely Mistress (London's Most Eligible Playboys #01) Page 9

  Nothing more was said on the subject during the drive back to her house, and Sabrina felt an unwilling sense of emptiness as Guy said goodbye to her mother, then turned to her, his enigmatic grey eyes glittering darkly.

  ‘Goodbye, Sabrina.’

  ‘Goodbye, Guy. Thanks for lunch.’

  He gave a brief hard smile before climbing into his car.

  Sabrina and her mother stood and watched the powerful car move away.

  ‘You aren’t going to go, are you, darling?’ asked Mrs Cooper. Sabrina carried on looking, even though the tail-lights had long since disappeared.

  ‘I don’t know, Mum,’ she said honestly. ‘I just don’t know.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SABRINA’S pulse was hammering as she punched out the number, and it hammered even more when the connection was made and a rich, deep voice said, ‘Guy Masters.’

  She opened her mouth but no words emerged.

  The voice sounded impatient now. ‘Guy Masters,’ he repeated irritatedly.

  ‘Guy. It’s me—Sabrina.’

  There was a two-second pause which seemed like an eternity.

  ‘Sabrina Cooper,’ she rushed on. ‘Remember? We met—’

  ‘Yes, of course I remember you, Sabrina. How are you?’

  For a moment she was tempted to hang up and forget the whole stupid idea, but she had spent the last few weeks changing her life around. She couldn’t back out now.

  ‘I’ve managed to get a transfer!’ she said, and then, in case he had completely forgotten his proposal, rushed on, ‘To the London branch of Wells. They’ve said I can work there for six weeks. The bookshop,’ she added, just in case he had forgotten that.

  ‘Oh.’ There was a pause. ‘Good. So, when are you coming to stay?’

  He did remember. Thank God. ‘I can start first thing on Monday.’ Sabrina crossed the fingers of her left hand and pulled a ghastly grimace at herself in the mirror. ‘If it’s all right with you, I thought I’d come on Sunday afternoon.’

  ‘This Sunday?’

  ‘If that’s a problem—’

  ‘No.’ The deep voice sounded thoughtful. ‘No, that shouldn’t be a problem.’

  She thought he might make the effort to sound a little more convincing. Or pleased about it. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Have you got a pen?’ he asked tersely. ‘I’ll give you directions how to get here.’

  She scribbled down his home address, instantly noting that it was in Knightsbridge. So she would be staying in one of London’s most affluent areas.

  ‘What time will we see you?’

  ‘We?’ she questioned, feeling suddenly frozen by nerves.

  ‘I’m having a few friends for brunch—but they’ll probably have gone by teatime.’

  ‘Then I’ll come at teatime,’ she promised hoarsely.

  She struggled onto the train on Sunday with her two suitcases and then onto the tube, where she had to stand for the entire journey because it seemed that the whole world and his brother were heading for Knightsbridge and the museums.

  So by the time she reached the outrageously exclusive address which Guy had given her she felt as grimy and bedraggled as a cat which had been left out in the rain all night.

  His flat was situated in a quiet square, several streets back from the main thoroughfare of Knightsbridge. In the centre of the square was a gated garden, and Sabrina put her suitcases down and peered in through the railings.

  Beneath the trees, daffodils waved their sun-yellow trumpets, and she could hear the sound of birdsong. And despite her misgivings, Sabrina felt a sudden sense of freedom. Picking up her cases with a renewed determination, she walked up the steps of the house, rang the doorbell and waited.

  Sabrina glanced down at her watch as she waited. Four-thirty. Most people’s idea of teatime, surely? What if the unthinkable had happened and Guy had forgotten that she was coming? What would she do if he wasn’t in?

  She lifted her finger to the doorbell once more and just at that moment the door opened and there stood Guy. She swallowed down the lump which had risen in her throat.

  His dark hair was ruffled, and he wore an old pair of jeans with the top two buttons left undone, revealing a provocative downward arrowing of dark hair. He had clearly just dragged on a black T-shirt which clung to every perfectly defined muscle of his chest. He looked, Sabrina thought with a sudden stab of anxiety, as if he’d just got out of bed.

  His eyes narrowed with an unmistakable look of surprise as he stared down at her, and then he said, very steadily, ‘Sabrina!’

  Her heart thumped faster. ‘You had forgotten I was coming.’

  He didn’t miss a beat. ‘Of course I hadn’t forgotten.’ He stole a glance at his watch, which gleamed gold against the faint blur of hair on his wrist, and frowned. Hell, was that the time? ‘It’s later than I thought. Come on in. Let me take your cases. We’re just finishing brunch.’

  ‘At this time?’

  ‘Why not?’ he said softly. ‘It’s Sunday. No deadlines.’

  ‘If you’re busy I can go away and come back later,’ she said, although as soon as the words were out of her mouth she realised how ridiculous they sounded—because where on earth would she go on a late spring afternoon in a city where she knew nobody?

  He smiled as he took the suitcases from her, thinking how cold she looked. How she always looked as if she needed protecting. His protection. ‘Don’t be silly,’ he said softly. ‘Come on in. You look frozen.’

  Well, she was shivering, yes, but that had more to do with the reality of seeing him in the glorious, living flesh. Of hearing his rich, deep voice. It had only been a few weeks, but it seemed like a whole lifetime since she had last seen him. How could she have so easily forgotten the impact he had on her—as compelling now as when she had first set eyes on him?

  She followed him inside, but her nerves were jangled even further when she saw just how amazing his home was—all light and space and breathtakingly big windows.

  The walls were painted in some pale, cool colour with modern paintings which might have looked out of place in a period building but looked as though they had been designed to hang just there.

  He gestured towards a sweeping staircase. ‘I’ll show you your room in a minute. Come on up and meet the others first.’

  Oh, lord, and here she was looking all grubby and windswept. And whilst Guy looked pretty ruffled himself, he managed to look extremely sexy into the bargain.

  There was no time to do anything except hastily smooth down her hair, and she followed him upstairs, trying to look anywhere but at the denim which hugged his narrow hips as he walked.

  She could hear the muffled notes of lazy laughter—feminine laughter—and the chinking of glasses, and a sense of apprehension washed over her, even though she forced herself to pin a smile onto her lips. They can’t eat me, she told herself. They’re Guy’s friends.

  Guy glanced down at her as he put the cases down. She looked bushed. And fragile. And yet…yet…

  A pulse began a slow, heavy dance at his temple as he pushed the door open.

  ‘Come on in and say hi. This is Sabrina,’ he announced, as three faces looked up. ‘Sabrina Cooper.’

  The first thing that registered was that two of the three occupants of the room were female. And that one of them was a heart-stoppingly beautiful brunette who was stretched out on a huge lemon sofa, painting her toenails and wearing a lazy smile.

  She had on a pair of jeans which had been carefully constructed to emphasise every curve of her delectable bottom. As did the teeny-weeny T-shirt which came to just above her smooth brown navel. So, did she, wondered Sabrina with an unsteady thump of her heart, belong to Guy?

  ‘This is Jenna Jones.’ Guy smiled.

  Jenna gave a polite smile. ‘Hi,’ she said shortly.

  The other sofa was occupied by a man who was looking at Sabrina with interest. At his feet sat the second woman, her hair twisted into a topknot, and they were both drinki
ng champagne out of long, frosted flutes.

  ‘And this is Tom Roberts, my cousin,’ said Guy. ‘Our mothers are sisters.’

  Sabrina looked at Tom, trying to see any family resemblance, but she couldn’t. But, then, Tom’s face was neither so haughty nor so aloof as Guy’s. ‘Hello.’

  Tom crinkled her a smile. ‘Hello, Sabrina.’

  ‘And Trudi Herley—his fiancée.’

  ‘Come and sit down and have some champagne, Sabrina,’ said Trudi. ‘Have you eaten?’ She pointed to the remains of what Sabrina assumed had been brunch, which lay on trays scattered in the centre of the room.

  At least they seemed friendlier than Jenna, who hadn’t moved and was staring at Sabrina with a decidedly moody look on her face. She looked over at Guy.

  ‘You haven’t told us about Sabrina, Guy, darling.’

  ‘Haven’t I?’ For no good reason, Guy suddenly resented the implication that he should have done.

  He poured out a flute of champagne and handed it to Sabrina, putting his hand in the small of her back and propelling her towards one of the chairs. ‘Go and sit down over there.’

  Feeling a little like a marionette, Sabrina obeyed, gulping nervously at the glass of bubbly as he lowered his long-legged frame into a chair opposite her.

  Who were these people? And who was Jenna, for goodness’ sake? That possessive look she was currently slanting at Guy suggested that the two of them were more than just friends. He hadn’t brought that into the equation when he’d suggested she come and stay with him.

  ‘So where did you two meet?’ persisted Jenna.

  Ice-grey eyes glittered coolly in Sabrina’s direction. ‘We met in Venice,’ Guy said slowly, seeing her body stiffen in recollection and feeling his own slow, answering response.

  Sabrina studied her glass of champagne intently, feeling as naïve as it was possible to feel. Why had she said she would come here? Because there was a part of her which had been secretly hoping that they might fall into each other’s arms again? Why hadn’t she considered that he had a life she knew nothing about? With other women and other friends? Who obviously were not about to welcome her with open arms. Not if Jenna’s reaction was anything to go by.

  ‘Venice?’ echoed Tom, and threw him a curious look. ‘When you flew over to buy that painting?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Guy succinctly, and drained his glass.

  ‘But I thought you never mixed business and pleasure?’

  ‘I don’t,’ came Guy’s smooth retort. ‘Not usually.’

  Sabrina saw Tom raise his eyebrows in surprise.

  ‘And what were you doing in Venice, Sabrina?’ asked Jenna.

  ‘I was there on holiday.’

  ‘On your own?’

  Sabrina saw Guy frown at the question, and something in the quality of the brief, hard look he sent her gave her the courage to be truthful. Just for once she allowed herself to focus on the pleasure of their lovemaking, instead of the guilt, and a dreamy smile curved her mouth. ‘That’s right,’ she said softly. ‘It’s the most wonderful place to explore on your own—you never know what you might find there.’

  Guy’s eyes were arrowed in her direction, their dark glitter telling her that he shared the erotic memory.

  ‘So where exactly do you live?’ persisted Jenna.

  ‘In Salisbury.’

  ‘Really? Are you on an awayday, or something?’

  ‘Er, not exactly…’

  ‘Sabrina’s going to be…’ Guy paused, as if seeking an elusive word. ‘Staying…with me for a while.’

  ‘Staying here?’ Jenna’s mouth fell open as if he had just confessed to murder. ‘You mean she’s going to be living here?’

  ‘Sure.’ He shrugged, and gave a lazy smile. ‘Why not?’

  Sabrina couldn’t miss the swift look of amazement that crossed Trudi’s face before she narrowed her eyes, then slowly stood up and nudged Tom with her bare foot. ‘Good heavens,’ she said faintly. ‘Right. Time we were going, I think. Thank goodness Jenna is driving, and not me! Come on, Jen!’

  Sabrina drew a deep breath and raised her head, her gaze drawn to the unfathomable grey of Guy’s eyes, knowing that she needed to get out of there. Because if Jenna did belong to Guy, then she couldn’t bear to endure a tender farewell scene between the two of them.

  ‘Could you show me where I’ll be sleeping, please, Guy?’

  ‘Would that be the main bedroom, Guy?’ Jenna smiled spikily. ‘Or the junk room you call the spare?’

  There was a brief, frozen silence and then Guy stood up, his mouth tightening with an unmistakable look of irritation.

  ‘If that was intended to embarrass Sabrina, Jenna, then you’ve succeeded with honours,’ he said shortly. ‘This way, Sabrina.’

  There was a rather stunned silence as the two of them left the room. He picked up her suitcases, a thoughtful glint in his eyes as he observed her set expression.

  Neither of them said a word until he threw open a door right at the end of the corridor to reveal a small room cluttered with a desk, a filing cabinet, an exercise bike and, hardly visible beneath a heap of skiing clothes, a narrow, single bed.

  Sabrina turned to face him. ‘You weren’t expecting me,’ she observed, and tried to keep the disappointment from her voice as she took in the general chaos.

  He gave a half-apologetic shrug. He was letting her have the room, for heaven’s sake—was she expecting red-carpet treatment into the bargain? ‘I was snowed under when you rang last week, and I just didn’t get around to asking my cleaning lady to sort the place out. Let me go and see the others out, and then I’ll come and help you tidy up.’

  ‘I can do it myself!’

  ‘You don’t know where to store things,’ he said evenly, and walked out of the room before she had a chance to reply.

  Unable to do anything until he came back, Sabrina went and stood over by the window, gazing out at the darkening sky, at the city lights which were just beginning to flicker on. She thought of how her life had changed, and was changing still, in ways she had never imagined would happen to a girl like her. And there wasn’t, she realised, a single thing she could do to stop it. So, was that fate, or destiny?

  She was still standing there when he returned, and as he walked into the confined space she suddenly became stupidly aware of the fact that he had now done up the top two buttons of his jeans.

  And that they were alone.

  ‘What did your friends say?’ she asked him.

  Guy’s mouth twisted. ‘Let’s just say that they wanted to know more than I was prepared to tell them.’

  She dreaded having to ask, but she needed to know. ‘And is Jenna your…your…girlfriend?’

  He stared at her in disbelief. ‘You really think I’d invite another woman to stay with me, without telling her, if she was?’

  ‘I don’t know, do I? That’s exactly why I’m asking!’

  The challenging look was replaced by one of faint irritation. ‘I tend to go for a little more communication in my relationships than that,’ he said coldly.

  ‘So you don’t have one at the moment?’

  ‘One what, princess?’ he mocked.

  Suddenly she was aware that they were in a bedroom, and that the space between them yawned like a great, gaping chasm. It was the antithesis of the eager way they had fallen into each other’s arms back in Venice…No. She wasn’t going to put herself through that kind of torture.

  ‘Relationship,’ she said doggedly.

  God, but she was persistent! ‘No, Sabrina,’ he said deliberately. ‘I do not have a relationship at the moment.’

  She realised then that there was something else she needed to know, something which she really ought to have established before she’d come here.

  ‘And won’t I…’ she lifted her face to his ‘…cramp your style?’

  He looked down at her, momentarily disorientated by that fierce little look of pride. He frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’
>
  Her heart was in her mouth as she said it, but she managed to keep her voice steady. ‘Well, if you haven’t got a relationship, then presumably you’re in the market for one—’

  ‘Why, is that an offer?’ he questioned silkily, but the surge of blood to his loins made him wish he could take the question back again.

  ‘It most certainly is not!’

  ‘Pity. Actually, I’m not “in the market” for a relationship, as you so delightfully put it.’

  Was that a note of warning colouring his tone? A polite but efficient way of telling her not to start concocting any little fantasies of her own?

  ‘You might meet someone else,’ Sabrina rushed on. ‘And prospective girlfriends might be put off by the presence of another woman. Particularly one with whom…whom…’

  ‘With whom I’ve already had a relationship?’ he challenged coolly.

  She felt oddly defiant. ‘Do you really think that what we had could be called a relationship, Guy?’

  ‘Well, how would you like to describe it?’ he mused.

  As the most wonderful night of her life, that was how she would describe it, but tell Guy that and she would see his gorgeous face freeze with fastidious horror. Men judged events differently. A little light passion. No, scrub that. Very heavy passion.

  ‘Things just got out of hand,’ she said, trying not to think about the way he’d smiled a secret kind of smile as he’d bent his dark head to kiss her. ‘That’s all.

  As a blow to his sexual pride, it was quite the most exquisite thrust, and Guy very nearly smiled. But not quite. ‘They sure did,’ he agreed in a sultry murmur, watching with dark interest as the nipples of her tiny breasts sprang into glorious life beneath the sweater she wore. Almost as if they were reaching out to touch him.

  He leaned over the bed and scooped up an armful of ski clothes. ‘I’ll pack these away,’ he groaned. ‘And then I’ll think about throwing together some supper.’

  Guy’s idea of ‘throwing together some supper’ was not what Sabrina understood by the term. For a start, the contents of his fridge could have kept the most dedicated hedonist going for at least a week. Sabrina could see fancy chocolates, champagne and enough different cheeses to stock a delicatessen.