The Tycoon's Mistress: His Cinderella Mistress

‘It’s on its way.’ Max spoke softly behind her.

Too close behind her, she discovered when she spun round sharply, stepping back as she found Max standing only inches away from her.

He looked at her quizzically. ‘You were miles away.’

‘Wishing myself…’ she came back tautly.

He gave a pained wince. ‘Then that makes two of us,’ he murmured huskily. ‘I was wishing the same thing a short time ago,’ he explained at her questioning look.

January’s breath caught in her throat at the burning intensity of his gaze. ‘And now?’

‘Now?’ he echoed with a self-derisive grimace. ‘Now I wish it would just keep snowing. Snowing. And snowing. I wish, January—’ he took a step closer to her ‘—that the rest of the world would just go away, that the two of us could get marooned alone together in here. For a week. A month!’ he concluded heavily.

She looked up at him uncertainly, her breath now coming in short, shallow gasps. ‘Can you get snowed in in a hotel room?’ she breathed huskily.

‘Probably not,’ he conceded ruefully. ‘But—’ He broke off as a knock sounded on the door. ‘That will be the coffee,’ he acknowledged disgustedly.

‘So much for being marooned alone together,’ January pointed out softly.

He gave a derisive inclination of his head. ‘Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea, after all,’ he rasped before moving abruptly away to open the door and admit the maid with their tray of coffee.

He seemed different this evening, January acknowledged frowningly. Apart from that brief lapse just now, he was more distant. More remote. His gaze no longer burning with that intensity, but wary.

Of course he was different, she instantly admonished herself; his cover was blown, which meant he no longer needed to act like a man who was besotted with her.

‘Cream and sugar?’

She turned sharply, blinking to clear her head as she saw Max was waiting to pour her coffee, the maid having already quietly departed. ‘Black. Thank you,’ she added stiffly.

What was she doing here? she asked herself once again. Had she secretly hoped? Had a part of her still thought that perhaps there had been some sort of mistake—

‘Thank you.’ She moved to take the cup out of his hand, her gaze not quite meeting his as he looked down at her probingly.

January, careful not to let their hands touch as she took the cup from him, moved away from him abruptly to once again look out of the window, blinking back the sudden tears that blurred her vision.

She had been so angry earlier, at the realization of exactly who he was, at what she believed to be his duplicity; now she just felt miserable. Because it was all over? Because for that brief forty-eight hours she had felt wrapped in Max’s interest in her? Had known a feeling of being cared for that she hadn’t felt since her father had died? Was that why she so desperately wanted to cry?

How stupid she was. She should have known, should have guessed, that having a man like Max interested in her just couldn’t be real. After all, what was she really but a part-time farmer and singer? Hardly the sort of woman Max could ever be serious about. For all she knew about him, he could already be a married man! The very thought of that was enough to stiffen her backbone.

‘Max—’

‘January—’

They both began talking at once, January giving Max a rueful grimace as she turned to face him. ‘You first,’ she invited huskily.

His expression was bleak, eyes icy blue, letting her know that whatever he was going to say, she wasn’t going to like it.

Whatever he said now, Max knew January wasn’t going to like it. If he mentioned Jude and renewed his offer to buy the farm, January wasn’t going to like it. If he tried to explain—once again!—that he really hadn’t known she was one of the Calendar sisters, he knew she wasn’t going to like that, either. Or, indeed, believe him.

Besides, what was the point in even trying to convince her that he was telling the truth about that when he had already decided to back away from that particular situation himself? Back away—he was back-pedalling so fast he was surprised she couldn’t hear the pedals going round!

God, she was beautiful, he inwardly acknowledged achingly.

Yes, she was.

But now that he knew who she was, the closeness of her family, he also knew that whatever she might have said about love the night they’d first met, she was actually the sort of woman who wouldn’t settle for anything less than marriage—and, no matter how attracted he was to her, the very thought of being married, to anyone, gave him an icy lump of panic in the pit of his stomach.

His mouth thinned grimly. ‘I spoke to Jude Marshall earlier,’ he bit out forcefully. ‘He’s willing to increase his offer.’

January recoiled as if he had actually struck her, and it took every ounce of Max’s will-power not to take her in his arms, to tell her that everything would be okay, that while he was around no one would ever take the farm away from her, or anything else, if she didn’t want them to.

But who was he kidding? He had known Jude most of his life, might be a trusted friend as well as employee, but he also knew the other man well enough to know that what Jude wanted, he got, usually by fair means, but if those means ultimately failed…! Jude had left him in absolutely no doubt earlier that he wanted the Calendar farm, and that he intended getting it.

Max’s own inner feelings of a conflict of interest simply wouldn’t come into the other man’s equation!

Max thrust his hands into the pockets of his denims, his fists tightly clenched. ‘My advice to you all is to seriously consider this second offer,’ he told January harshly.

Her eyes widened indignantly as she snapped, ‘I wasn’t aware I had asked for your advice!’

He shrugged with seeming unconcern, hating himself for talking to her in this way, but at the same time knowing that he couldn’t back down now from the stance he had taken. Couldn’t? More like daredn’t, he acknowledged self-disgustedly. Conflict of interest, be damned; he had made his choice in Jude’s favour the moment he’d realized just how deeply involved he already was with January. Having her hate him for that choice was the price he had to pay.

‘I’m offering it anyway,’ he drawled dismissively. ‘Jude isn’t a man to take no for an answer.’

Her eyes flashed deeply grey. ‘Then the two of you must have a lot in common.’

She meant to be insulting, and she succeeded. Although there was no denying, Max accepted hardly, that she unwittingly told the truth. The two men were similar in lots of ways, both successful at what they did, both still bachelors at thirty-seven, and both intending to stay that way.

If not for the same reasons.

Jude made no secret of the fact that although women fascinated him, they as quickly bored him in a one-toone relationship, claimed that if he ever met the woman who didn’t bore him after a few days’ acquaintance he would marry her. Whereas Max had no intention of marrying ever, for any reason, least of all love.

He had looked at January on New Year’s Eve, and known he wanted her. But it was nothing more than that, he told himself determinedly. He wouldn’t allow it to be.

Women, he had learnt at a very young age, were fickle creatures at best, took a man’s love and used it as a weapon against him.

His expression was bleak now. ‘Resorting to insults isn’t going to help resolve this situation,’ he rasped.

‘Maybe not,’ she accepted heavily. ‘But it certainly makes me feel better!’

He gave a rueful shrug. ‘Then feel free.’

She gave him a searching look. ‘Max, can I ask you a question?’

He stiffened warily, not liking the look in her eyes now. ‘Go ahead,’ he invited tensely.

‘How do you sleep at night?’ she scorned.

The last two nights—very badly. Usually—very well. But he knew that wasn’t what she was really asking!