No Mistress But Love

No Mistress But Love
Kate Proctor

Some women are slow reaching sexual maturity - it was just your bad luck to be around when I reached mine!Nick Leandros thought he was such a big shot, just because he happened to own the island - well, Lindy Hall had had enough! He thought he could play with her feelings as and when he chose. How would he like it if she turned the tables on him for a change?Only, Lindy thought hesitantly, the fact that he was convinced she was married to another man did complicate the matter somewhat. But she would find a way out of that, too… .

Table of Contents

Cover Page (#uae2bbbde-1b53-5954-ab07-986bc287d455)

Excerpt (#u20417165-034c-535f-b20b-2463910b7097)

About the Author (#uce4a8f1c-c352-5b79-9b04-4e84b6b9ed40)

Title Page (#uc418efd0-5206-5e77-9c31-c632c06d01ef)

Chapter One (#u6808a0e7-79c8-5398-8c6e-185f05b64f7a)

Chapter Two (#uddf58096-995f-5cef-8268-e075bb62a320)

Chapter Three (#u69f53b54-a908-56b0-a4b5-1419c9ee4e3b)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Lindy froze suddenly. “What did you say?” she just about managed to croak.

“I’ve just told you that I won you in a poker game last night,” he informed her indifferently, turning and strolling to the door. He paused as he reached it. “By the way, when your husband turns up—tell him he’s fired. I did mention it to him last night, but he was probably too worse for drink to remember…I dare say the fact his wife is now mine to enjoy has also slipped his memory, so perhaps you’d be good enough to remind him of that, too. And by the way—I’ve had your things moved into my suite.”

KATE PROCTOR is part Irish and part Welsh, though she spent most of her childhood in England and several years of her adult life in Central Africa. Now divorced, she lives just outside London with her two cats, Florence and Minnie (presented to her by her two daughters who live fairly close by).

Having given up her career as a teacher on her return to England, Kate now devotes most of her time to writing. Her hobbies include crossword puzzles, bridge and, at the moment, learning Spanish.

No Mistress But Love

Kate Proctor

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_d7f971ea-6786-5438-9b88-0885432c2e73)

THE very first time Lindy Hall had seen Niko Leandros her breathing mechanism had all but seized up on her; and on subsequent meetings, despite decided reservations as to his character, she had found her fingers itching to reach out and ascertain for themselves whether or not that vision of male perfection comprised actual flesh and blood.

‘Where is your husband?’

And that was another thing about him, reflected Lindy, lack of sleep dulling her normally alert mind—his voice: its unmistakably English, and markedly upperclass drawl would unexpectedly soften with the slightest of Greek accents on the odd word, rendering it one of the sexiest voices she had ever heard.

‘Am I to take it you don’t wish to tell me where your husband is?’ enquired Niko, his tall, statuesque form gliding past Lindy’s desk and to the window behind her.

‘I really do wish you’d call me Lindy.’ She sighed involuntarily, and was immediately cursing both herself, for inviting yet another glacial rebuff, and Tim Russell for never being around when he was needed.

And where on earth was Tim? she wondered irritably. He had sloped off early yesterday afternoon and, as far as she knew, hadn’t set foot inside the hotel since—a fact which, coupled with last night’s abnormally oppressive heat, had guaranteed her a virtually sleepless night.

‘Yes, I suppose I should—under the circumstances,’ murmured Niko in that soft, drawling voice of his as he parted the slats of the blind to peer out into the dazzle beyond, where sea and skies merged into a single shimmering blue.

‘I beg your pardon?’ croaked Lindy, scarcely able to believe her ears.

She swivelled round her chair in order to see him, a small frown creasing her brow as her eyes caught sight of the still-livid scar running from within the gleaming black of his hairline right down to the elegant arch of his right eyebrow. Though admitting it brought her a decided pang of guilt, she realised that she found something almost comforting in the sight of that one blemish on the otherwise chiselled perfection of his features—no one had any right to look as good as this man did.

‘Perhaps it is best if I start calling you by your first name,’ he reiterated, his gaze still on the view beyond the window.

Lindy’s eyes rolled heavenwards. What was she supposed to do—get down on her knees and thank him for the favour he was bestowing on her? He might be the most gorgeous-looking man she had ever clapped eyes on, but his downright arrogance more than cancelled that out! From the moment he had arrived he had treated both herself and Tim to a brand of polite disdain that left neither of them in any doubt as to who was the master and who the servants.

‘And you may call me Niko.’

Had the chair not been of the solid, figure-hugging variety Lindy felt sure she would have fallen from it in shock.

‘You’ve obviously misunderstood me,’ she managed coolly. ‘I wasn’t implying I wanted to be on first-name terms with you…it’s just that…well, to be honest, it makes me feel ancient when people refer to me as Mrs Russell.’ And nine times out of ten she failed to respond to that bogus name, she added miserably to herself—there having been nothing in the least honest in her stammered excuse.

‘Under the circumstances,’ murmured Niko, turning from the window to face her, ‘it would be rather ludicrous for us to be on anything other than first-name terms.’

Lindy leaned back against the chair, willing herself not to react to the taunting tone of those words and willing her eyes to keep their appreciation to themselves as they surveyed the broad-shouldered muscularity of the body beneath the heavy white silk of the shirt encasing it.

‘You keep saying ‘under the circumstances",’ she muttered, hastily removing her unreliable eyes from the muscled tautness of the well-shaped thighs they were now graphically envisaging beneath close-fitting, immaculately tailored black trousers.

‘True—I keep saying ‘under the circumstances",’ he concurred, taking a couple of unexpected strides towards her and hauling her to her feet. ‘And almost every time you look at me your eyes begin eating me,’ he added inconsequentially, his fingers biting painfully into her flesh.

Momentarily stunned by the complete unexpectedness of both his actions and words, Lindy gazed up blankly into the face now scant inches from her own, her widespaced blue eyes widening in shock as they discovered just how cold brown eyes could be, even brown ones flecked with gold, as she now discovered his to be, and which should rightly have been the embodiment of nothing but warmth.

‘I’m afraid you suffer from a seriously over-inflated ego, Mr Leandros,’ Lindy informed him with all the coolness she could muster, given that her pulses seemed intent on breaking the sound barrier. ‘Because what you’ve seen in my eyes and misread is pity—pure and simple! Though I’m sure that, given time, the terrible disfigurement on your head will fade to little more than a barely noticeable scar.’

Had her own common sense not already told her how utterly pathetic that spur of the moment excuse had been the expression of amused disbelief flickering across Niko Leandros’s handsome features would have quickly brought it home to her.

‘My, my—so you’re compassionate as well as beautiful,’ he drawled, his words husky with laughter as he sank his fingers none too gently into the shoulder-length thickness of her sun-streaked dark blonde hair and tilted back her head. ‘Perhaps I’m a far luckier man than I’d realised.’

‘Would you mind letting go of me, Mr Leandros?’ demanded Lindy frigidly, his taunting reference to her looks touching a raw nerve in her that put a merciful break on her racing pulses.

‘Why? Surely you don’t object to a man—even one as grossly disfigured as I am—telling you that you’re beautiful?’ he enquired silkily, an openly predatory gleam in his eyes as he tugged her body against his.