Hired: Mistress: Wanted: Mistress and Mother / His Private Mistress / The Millionaire's Secret Mistress

‘He looks familiar…’

He looked familiar because he was perfection—a man that normally glowered from the centre of the glossiest of glossy magazines, a man who should be dressed in nothing more than a ten-thousand-dollar watch or in the driver’s seat of a luxury convertible.

He certainly wasn’t the type of man that Matilda was used to dining with…

And certainly not alone.

Please, Matilda silently begged, please, let a waiter appear, breathlessly dragging a table over, and preferably, another waiter, too, to hastily turn those two table settings into three. Please, please, let it not be how it looked.

‘Matilda.’ His manners were perfect, waiting till she was seated before sitting down himself, patiently waiting as she gave her drink order to the waiter. She was pathetically grateful that she’d chosen to walk to the restaurant—no mean feat in her fabulous new shoes, but there was no chance of a punctual taxi this time on a Friday evening, and by the time she’d parked she could have been here anyway.

Good choice.

Good, because she could now order a gin and tonic, and hopefully douse some of the rowdier butterflies that were dancing in her stomach

‘Hugh sends his apologies.’ Dante gave her a very on-off smile as Matilda frowned. The Hugh she knew would be the last person to have bailed—no matter how important the diversion. After all, he’d practically begged her to do the garden.

‘He had a headache after the opening. He didn’t look well, so I walked him back to his office where he had…’ Dante snapped his fingers, clearly trying to locate his word of choice. ‘He had a small turn,’ he said finally, as Matilda’s expression changed from a frown to one of horror.

‘Oh, my goodness…’

‘He’s OK,’ Dante said quickly. ‘His blood pressure has been very high for the past few months, the doctors have had him on several different combinations of tablets to try to lower it, but it would seem the one they’d recently given him has brought it down too low—that’s why he had a small collapse. Luckily we were in the hospital when it happened—all I had to do was pick up the phone.’

‘You’re not a doctor, then.’

Dante gave a slightly startled look. ‘Heavens, no. What on earth gave you that impression?’

‘I don’t know,’ Matilda shrugged. ‘You seemed to know your way around the hospital…’

‘I’ve spent rather too much time there,’ Dante said, and Matilda could only assume he was talking about Alex. But he revealed absolutely nothing, promptly diverting the subject from himself back to Hugh. ‘He’s resting at home now, but naturally he wasn’t well enough to come out. Hugh feels terrible to have let you down after you were kind enough to accommodate him at such short notice. I tried many times to contact you on your mobile…’

‘My phone isn’t on,’ Matilda said, flustered. ‘I never thought to check.’

Fool, Matilda raged to herself. He’d been frantically trying to cancel, to put her off, and because her blessed phone hadn’t been turned on, Dante had been forced to show up and babysit her when he hadn’t even wanted her to do the garden in the first place, when clearly he wanted to be at home with his daughter.

Taking a grateful sip of her drink, Matilda eyed the proffered menu, her face burning in uncomfortable embarrassment, utterly aware that here with her was the last place Dante either wanted or needed to be tonight.

‘I’ve agreed to the garden.’ Dante broke the difficult silence. ‘Hugh said that I had to see you to give my consent. Do I need to sign anything?’

‘It isn’t a child custody battle.’ Matilda looked up and for the first time since she’d joined him at the table actually managed to look him in the eye. ‘I don’t need your written consent or anything. I just wanted to be sure that you were happy for me to work on your garden.’

‘It’s not a problem,’ Dante said, which was a long way from happy.

‘I have brought along the plans for you to look at—I’ve highlighted the area Hugh discussed with you.’ Glancing up, Dante nodded to the waiter who had approached, giving him permission to speak.

‘Are you ready to order, sir?’

The waiter hovered as Dante turned to Matilda, but she shook her head.

‘Could you give us a minute?’ Dante asked and the waiter melted away. Clearly assuming she was out of her depth, he proceeded to walk her through the menu. ‘I will be having my usual gnocchi, but I hear that the Tasmanian salmon is excellent here—it’s wild—’

‘I’m sure it’s divine,’ Matilda interrupted. ‘I do know how to read a menu, Dante. And there’s really no need to go through the charade of a meal…’

‘Charade?’

Matilda resisted rolling her eyes.

‘The pretence,’ she explained, but Dante interrupted her.

‘I do know how to speak English, Matilda.’ He flashed her a tight smile. ‘Why do you call it a charade?’

‘Because we both know that you don’t want the garden, that you’ve probably only agreed because Hugh’s unwell…’ He opened his mouth to interrupt but Matilda spoke on. ‘You tried to contact me to cancel. I’m sorry, I never thought to check my phone. So why don’t I save up both an uncomfortable evening? We can drink up, I’ll take the plans and ring tomorrow to arrange a convenient time to come and look at your property. There’s really no need to make a meal out of it—if you’ll excuse the pun.’

‘The pun?’

‘The pun.’ Matilda bristled then rolled her eyes. ‘It’s a saying—let’s not make a meal out of things, as in let’s not make a big deal out of it, but given that we were about to have a meal…’

‘You made a pun.’

God, why was the English language so complicated at times?

‘I did.’ Matilda smiled brightly, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

‘So you don’t want to eat?’

‘I don’t want to waste your time.’ Matilda swallowed hard, not sure whether to broach the subject that was undoubtedly on both their minds. ‘I saw you arrive…’ Taking a gulp of her drink, Matilda waited, waited for his face to colour a touch, for him to admit to the problem he had clearly faced by being here, but again Dante revealed nothing, just left her to stew a moment longer in a very uncomfortable silence. ‘Alex seemed very…upset; so I’m sure that dinner is the last thing you need tonight.’

‘Alex is often upset,’ Dante responded in a matter-of-fact voice, which did nothing to reassure her. ‘And given it is already after eight and I haven’t stopped all day, dinner is exactly what I need now.’ He snapped his fingers for the waiter and barked his short order. ‘My usual.’

‘Certainly, and, madam…?’

Matilda faltered, desperate to go yet wanting to stay all the same.

‘Madam?’ Dante smiled tightly, making her feel like one.

‘The salmon for me. Please,’ she added pointedly as the waiter took her menu. Then, remembering that as uncomfortable as she might feel, this was, in fact, a business dinner, Matilda attempted an apology. ‘I’m sorry if I was rude before,’ she said once the waiter had left. ‘It’s just I got the impression from Hugh that this meeting tonight was the last thing you wanted.’

‘Funny, that.’ Dante took a long sip of his drink before continuing, ‘I got the same impression from Hugh, too…’ He smiled at her obvious confusion.

‘Why would you think that?’ Matilda asked.

‘Hugh gave me strict orders not to upset you.’ He flashed a very bewitching grin and Matilda found herself smiling back, not so much in response to his smile, more at the mental picture of anyone giving this man strict orders about anything. ‘He told me that you were booked up months ahead, and that you’d agree to come in and do this job during your annual leave.’

‘Yes…’ Matilda admitted, ‘but—’

‘He also told me that you were doing this as a favour because he’d backed your tender, that you felt obliged—’

‘Not all obligations are bad,’ Matilda broke in, rather more forcibly this time. ‘I did agree to work on your garden during my holiday and, yes, I did feel a certain obligation to Hugh because of the faith he showed in my proposal for the hospital garden, but I can assure you that I was more than happy to do the work.’