Savas' Defiant Mistress

“Max,” she said with a sappy maternal smile. “It’s lovely he’s finally getting a life.”

* * *

If Max was finally getting a life, Seb didn’t envy him.

Life—the “relationship” sort—as Seb knew from a lifetime of experience, was messy, unpredictable and fraught with chaos. That Max, the most focused of men, should be tempted by it, simply meant he was deep in a midlife crisis.

And with Neely Robson—a woman half his age, for God’s sake! It was a disaster waiting to happen.

Max had always had what Seb thought was an ideal life. Satisfaction through work, through creating magnificent buildings, a life of order, clear and controllable. Not messy, unpredictable and tangled.

If Max was getting a life, Seb pitied him. He was doomed to disappointment.

Seb shook his head, then shoved away the thought of Max’s idiocy and tried to concentrate on the Kent school project.

It was after six. He could have quit. But why? There was work to do here and certainly no reason to go home.

Talking about messy and uncontrollable, by now he was sure his penthouse condo would be teeming with half sisters. There would be panty hose in all the bathrooms, cell phones ringing at every minute, toast crumbs and marmalade on the countertops, half-eaten yogurts in the refrigerator and bridal magazines littering every horizontal surface.

Even worse they would all be talking at once—about the wedding, about Evangeline and Garrett, about how perfect it all was, about how they were going to live happily ever after, about how everyone should live happily ever after. And then they would begin comparing their own love lives.

And speculating about his.

Ever since they’d been in junior high school his sisters had been pestering him about the women in his life. Who was he dating? Was it serious? Did he love her?

Love! Titter, titter. Giggle, giggle.

It made Seb’s jaw muscles twitch every time he thought about it.

He didn’t have a love life. Didn’t intend to have one. Not one like they meant, anyway—not that he could get it through their romantic fluffy-brained heads.

He had needs, of course. Hormones. Testosterone, for God’s sake. He was a red-blooded male with all the right instincts. But that didn’t mean marriage or happily ever after.

And it certainly didn’t mean he believed in fairy tales.

On the contrary, he believed in giving his hormones exactly what they wanted in a sane, sensible fashion. And he had done so over the years through a series of discreet liaisons with women who wanted exactly what he did. No more, no less.

And if his last discreet liaison had ended a few months ago because the pretty blonde software engineer with whom he’d been satisfying those hormones had taken a job in Philly just after the first of the year, that simply meant he needed to find another woman to take her place.

It didn’t mean he had to get a love life or get serious.

But his sisters thought he should. And they were never hesitant to say so.

And since Evangeline had foisted them on him for the next month—and he knew he wasn’t going to be able to turf them out—they would feel entitled to express their opinions. At length.

God help him.

He needed a bolt hole, a bachelor pad. A tiny hideaway of his own—just for the month—where none of them could find him. He could appear and be big brotherly when the mood suited him, but generally he could play “least in sight.”

He toyed with the idea of moving into the empty studio apartment in the building he’d bought two years ago. It was tempting. But it was only three blocks from where he lived. And Vangie knew about it. They’d all know about it if he went there.

It wouldn’t be a bolt hole for long.

He’d like to stick them there, but that would never work. One room plus one bathroom and the four of them? It didn’t bear thinking about.

Maybe he could buy a futon for his office and sleep here. A few months ago Max would have applauded the idea. Now, in his new “isn’t playing hooky wonderful?” mode, he would have a fit.

But damn it, Seb wasn’t having a midlife crisis. And if he wanted to work 24-7 why shouldn’t he? At least here at the office, he could still focus.

Deliberately Seb shoved the thought away and focused once more on the Kent school designs. Almost everyone else had gone home now. It was close to six-thirty. Max had breezed out half an hour ago.

He’d stuck his head in on his way to the elevator. “Still here? It’s Friday night. No hot date?”

Seb just looked at him.

Max grinned and shook his head. “Learn from me, man. There’s more to life than work.”

Like hot dates with a woman half his age? Seb sucked in his cheeks. “I have some work to do for Reno, then I want to think a bit about the Kent project.”

Max gave him a wry look that said he recognized the guilt being offered him, but then, pure Max, he shrugged it off. “Up to you.” He started away, then returned to stick his head round the door again. “We’re going sailing on Sunday. Come along?”

Oh, yes. That was exactly how Seb wanted to spend his Sunday—watching Max make a fool of himself over Neely Robson—and watching Neely Robson gloat. Seb gritted his teeth. “Thanks, but I’m busy. My sisters are in town.”

If he was stuck with them, the least they could do was be useful.

Max nodded. “Right. You have a big family. I always forget that.”

Seb wished he could.

“Lucky you. I’m glad you’ll have some distraction,” Max said. “You won’t make the same mistake I did.”

No, he wouldn’t! There was no way on earth Seb was going to go all ga-ga over an unsuitable conniving woman. “Have fun,” Seb said drily.

Max flashed him a grin. “I intend to.”

And he sauntered away. Whistling, for God’s sake!

Seb thrust his fingers through his hair and kneaded his scalp and tried to focus again.

He tried for another half an hour after Max left. But his stomach began growling, and he needed to get something to eat. At least he didn’t have to go home for that. He could get takeaway, bring it back here, stay and work until it was time to go to bed.

Like the triplets ever went to bed.

He shoved back his chair and grabbed his suit jacket off the back of his chair, then stepped out into the common room.

There was only one other light still on. Four doors down in Frank Rodriguez’s office. Frank, who was doing the Blake-Carmody office space, would be happily burning the midnight oil. And as he walked toward the office on his way to the elevator, he could hear Frank and Danny Chang in deep conversation.

Seb felt a prick of envy, then tamped it down. He didn’t want Frank’s job. Or Danny’s. And it wasn’t their fault he hadn’t got the job he did want.