The Tycoon's Mistress: His Cinderella Mistress

The mischief faded from her eyes, leaving them as cold and hard as the jewels they resembled. ‘Stay away from my sister,’ she told him flatly. ‘And please don’t pretend not to know which sister I’m talking about,’ she added as he would have spoken.

‘I wasn’t going to,’ he assured her bleakly. ‘But, unless I’m mistaken, after this evening January will never come near me, through choice, ever again!’ Hadn’t she said as much?

May looked at him with narrowed eyes for several long minutes. ‘What makes you say that?’ she finally murmured slowly.

‘That isn’t for me to say,’ he bit out tautly; was it possible the sisters hadn’t already spoken this evening, that May was here on some crusade of her own that had nothing to do with what had happened between January and himself earlier…?

May’s mouth twisted humourlessly. ‘Isn’t it a little late in the day for you to be acting gentlemanly?’

He stiffened at the deliberate insult. ‘You know, Miss Calendar, I believe I’ve already taken quite enough insults from your family for one day!’ he rasped.

That impish humour flickered once again in the depths of her green eyes. ‘That’s good.’ She nodded unrepentantly. ‘But, unless I’m mistaken, March hasn’t even started yet!’

Max gave a heavy sigh. ‘Tell her not to bother,’ he muttered tautly. ‘You know…’ he sat on the side of the long conference table ‘…I came here thinking this was just going to be another routine job, the usual buying and exchanging of contracts—no one warned me I was going to have to deal with the Calendar Mob!’ He shook his head self-disgustedly.

May gave a throaty chuckle. ‘We try to keep that one quiet!’

‘Your secret is out,’ Max informed her dryly. ‘And for some reason my employer, Jude Marshall, thinks you’re three little old ladies who sit and knit bedsocks in front of the fire on cold winter evenings!’ He shook his head derisively.

‘Really?’ May said interestedly. ‘Perhaps Mr Marshall should come here and do his own dirty work,’ she suggested grimly.

‘Perhaps he should.’ Max nodded; the same idea had occurred to him during the last few hours!

‘In the meantime—’ May’s gaze had became suddenly intent ‘—don’t hurt my sister, Mr Golding,’ she told him softly. ‘January has already been hurt enough, without adding you to the list!’

Max looked at her sharply. ‘What do you mean?’ Had there already been someone in January’s life, some man, who had let her down and hurt her? Somehow the thought of that did not please him one little bit!

‘Never mind.’ May gave an enigmatic shake of her head. ‘Unless your intentions are serious—Are they?’ She looked at him with narrowed eyes.

His mouth tightened. ‘No,’ he bit out harshly.

‘As I thought.’ She gave an acknowledging inclination of her head, picking up her bag in preparation of leaving. ‘Then my advice to you is to leave January alone.’

‘And if I don’t?’ he challenged warily.

May shrugged. ‘Then the Calendar Mob will have to pay you another visit!’

Max couldn’t help it, he smiled. ‘I wish I had had a sister like you to look out for me when I was younger!’ Instead he had been an only child, brought up alone by his father, a man who had also never trusted in love again.

But who, by that single act, had died alone, too…?

May gave him a rueful grimace. ‘Somehow, Max, I doubt you’ve ever let anyone do that,’ she murmured enigmatically. ‘Now, if you will excuse me? I’ve said all I came here to say.’ She walked over to the door, quietly letting herself out.

Now exactly what had she meant by that last remark? Max wondered frowningly. Had May guessed at the barrier he kept firmly around his heart? If so, how had she guessed?

Not that it particularly mattered; her message concerning January had come across loud and clear.

Well, May Calendar needn’t worry herself on his account; he had no intention of ever putting himself in a position of being close to January again. She was a definite no-no as far as he was concerned.

Except he couldn’t stop himself wondering about the implication May had given of some man having hurt January in the recent past…

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘WHAT do you want?’ January gasped, having opened the farmhouse door to find Max standing on the doorstep beside her muddy boots.

It was barely thirty-six hours since she had last seen this man, the memory of Sunday evening not even having begun to fade from her mind—in fact, she doubted it ever would. Although she was certainly going to try to erase it!

She certainly didn’t welcome the fact that Max had turned up at the farm when she was alone, March out at work, May having an appointment in town.

‘I asked what you want,’ she repeated hardly as Max made no effort to answer her, just standing on the doorstep staring at her, his face grim, a guarded look in those deep blue eyes.

‘Are you okay?’ he finally murmured harshly.

January gave him a scathing look. ‘Why shouldn’t I be okay?’ she scorned derisively.

Surely he didn’t think she would still be visibly upset about Sunday evening? If he did, he was going to be sadly disappointed! She had made a mistake, had totally humiliated herself as far as she was concerned, but there was no way she was going to let anyone see that. Certainly not Max. She had more pride than that.

Max thrust his hands into his denims pockets, the grimness of his expression not having eased in the slightest. ‘It was on the television, on the local news, that there was another attack late last night,’ he bit out tautly.

Her eyes widened. She hadn’t heard anything about that. But then, she didn’t have time to watch television in the day, and it was too early for March to have returned from work with any local gossip.

‘And?’ she prompted hardly.

He swallowed hard, grimacing. ‘They are being particularly cagey about this one, not giving out any names, or other details, just that the latest victim had been badly beaten but was recovering in hospital.’

January glared her impatience. ‘And?’ Really, why didn’t he just say what he had come here to say—and then leave? ‘I’m really sorry there’s been another attack, hope that the woman will be okay, but if you’ve come here to discuss buying the farm—’

‘I haven’t come here for that!’ he cut in harshly, a nerve pulsing in his tightly clenched jaw.

She gave a puzzled shake of her head. ‘Then why are you here?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ he snapped frustratedly.

Not to her, no. He had made it clear on Sunday evening—painfully clear, she recalled with an inner wince—that other than wanting to buy the farm he had no personal interest in her than as a possible casual bed-partner. A role she had made clear was completely unacceptable to her.

‘I’m afraid not.’ She gave a puzzled shake of her head.

Max gave a sigh of impatience. ‘Haven’t you been listening to a word I said?’

She gave a humourless smile. ‘When usually most people hang on your every word?’

He scowled darkly. ‘January, I’m more than aware of your opinion of me—’

‘I doubt that very much!’ she scorned; he couldn’t possibly know how angry she still was. With him. But more so with herself.

She had been so careful after the mistake she had made the previous year, been friendly but distant to any man who might have shown an interest in her, hadn’t even been out on a date since Ben had let her down so badly—only to end up making a complete idiot of herself over a man who was ten times more dangerous—to her heart!—than Ben had ever been!

Max gave the ghost of a smile. ‘Oh, I think I am. But I heard that radio announcement and I—Where are March and May?’