The Tycoon's Mistress: His Cinderella Mistress

Max’s gaze narrowed shrewdly as he continued to watch her. He hadn’t missed May’s complete puzzlement at his mention of a check-up, or the fact that her gaze hadn’t quite met his when she’d answered him; if May Calendar had been to the dentist then his name wasn’t Maxim Patrick Golding!

Which begged the question, where had May really been? And why had she lied to January about it?

Not that it was really any of his business, but—

‘May!’ January greeted more than a little selfconsciously as she came back into the kitchen and found her sist er there. ‘How did—?’

‘We’ve already done the dentist bit,’ Max cut in derisively. ‘Your sister’s teeth are as healthy as yours,’ he added huskily, knowing as he saw January’s confused blush that his barb had hit home, that she remembered as well as he did the nip she had given him on the shoulder on Sunday evening with those healthy teeth, as he’d kissed and caressed her breasts.

What January couldn’t know was that he still had a bruise on his shoulder as proof of those healthy teeth!

The blush deepened in January’s cheeks even as she shot him a warning look.

Ah, so the protective May still didn’t know what had happened between January and himself on Sunday evening!

Not that he was exactly proud of himself for the way things had got so out of hand that evening. Or the way he had deliberately made light of it to January afterwards…!

Because, no matter what he might have said to her, he hadn’t slept at all on Sunday night. Last night either, for that matter. Instead he had lain awake both those nights arguing with himself. Half of him had wanted to tell January that he hadn’t meant any of the hurtful things he had said to her, that it had been pure defence on his part. But the other half of him knew that he would be admitting so much more than that if he were to tell her those things. And that he simply couldn’t—wouldn’t!—do.

The television announcement this morning about yet another attack had been his undoing, though; the thought that it might be January lying in that hospital bed, battered and bruised, had been enough to throw him into a panic.

Not that coming to the farm had been his first instinct. No, he had telephoned the police first, who had refused to give out any information whatsoever about the attack, least of all the victim’s name. The hospital had been no more forthcoming, either. Leaving him no choice—unless he wanted to just sit and go quietly out of his mind with worry!—but to come to the farm.

But now that he was here, could see for himself that January was unharmed, he really had no idea what he was still doing here.

Or how to make a dignified exit!

‘I should be going—’

‘Don’t feel you have to leave on my account,’ May drawled as she leant back against the Aga, coffee mug in her hand as she looked across at him with mocking green eyes.

His mouth tightened. ‘I’m sure I’ve kept you both from your work enough for one day,’ he insisted hardly.

‘It can wait.’ May shrugged. ‘No matter how hard or how long you work on a farm, Max, there’s always more to be done,’ she added ruefully.

He frowned. ‘In that case—’

‘That doesn’t mean we’re interested in selling it,’ January told him harshly.

Max looked across at her calmly. ‘I was actually going to say, why don’t you get someone in to help you if there’s so much to do?’

‘Good question,’ May derided.

‘It isn’t good at all!’ January corrected snappily. ‘There’s the little problem of paying someone to help.’ She turned on Max sharply. ‘Something, it must be obvious even to you, that we aren’t in a position to do.’

‘January…’ May rebuked softly. ‘Max was only asking,’ she reasoned gently before turning to give Max a rueful smile. ‘We did have some help last year after—after our father died,’ she explained huskily. ‘It didn’t work out.’ She shrugged.

He couldn’t help noticing that January looked rather pale now, May’s gaze once again evasive, making him wonder in what way it hadn’t worked out.

He shrugged. ‘It was just a thought.’

‘A totally impractical one,’ January snapped scornfully. ‘Although that must be rather good for you to hear,’ she continued scathingly. ‘After all, it would suit your plans perfectly if we were forced into selling the farm because we simply couldn’t manage it any more!’

‘January—’

‘Don’t be fooled by him for a minute, May,’ January harshly interrupted her sister’s reasoning tone. ‘Max—and the Marshall Corporation—would like nothing better than for us to fall flat on our faces! Well, dream on, Max!’ she told him forcefully. ‘You will never get your mercenary hands on our farm! Now, if you’ll excuse me,’ she added hardly, grabbing her coat from the back of one of the chairs. ‘You can stay and talk to him if you want to, May, but I have work to do!’

The room seemed to reverberate as she slammed the door behind her, May’s wince matching Max’s as he glanced across at her ruefully.

‘What did you do to upset her this time?’ May mused with a grimace.

‘Do I need to “do” anything in order to upset January?’ he came back wryly.

‘Probably not,’ May sighed.

‘That’s what I thought.’ He nodded, his gaze narrowing. ‘What was his name?’ he rasped.

May looked at him undecidedly for several long seconds, and then she gave a rueful shrug. ‘Ben,’ she supplied economically.

His admiration for this woman seemed to grow by the minute. She had obviously taken over the role of mother to her two younger sisters while only aged five or six, still a baby herself, in fact, was possessed of a lively intelligence, and her beauty was of the inner as well as outer kind.

‘Thank you.’ He gave an acknowledging inclination of his head.

May frowned. ‘For what?’

‘For not insulting my intelligence by denying there was a “he”,’ Max drawled. ‘That “he” was the hired help you had here last summer. I’m also guessing it’s the same “he” who hurt January. The same “he” who prompted your warning me off her on Sunday evening,’ he added ruefully.

‘What would be the point in my denying any of that?’ May shrugged. ‘I realized on Sunday evening that I had probably said more than I should have done.’ She sighed self-disgustedly. ‘You’re an intelligent man—’

‘Thank you again,’ he drawled dryly.

‘That doesn’t mean I like you!’ she snapped, green eyes flashing a warning.

‘That’s a pity…’ he smiled ruefully ‘…because I like you,’ he explained at her questioning glance. ‘Oh, not in that way,’ he assured her as her glance became sceptical. ‘One Calendar sister, I’ve discovered, is one too many!’

‘I’m glad about that,’ May drawled. ‘Max, what are you doing with my little sister?’

He sighed, that sigh quickly becoming a grimace. ‘How the hell should I know?’ he murmured heavily.

She laughed incredulously. ‘Well, if you don’t know I certainly don’t!’

What was he doing? January had made it more than clear when they’d parted on Sunday that she never intended seeing him again through choice, and he knew her well enough to believe she meant it.

So instead the mountain had come to Mohammed. Because he had feared for January’s safety after hearing about the latest attack.

But he could have picked up the telephone, called the farm, then any one of the sisters could have given him that information.

Instead he had chosen to drive out here in order to see for himself that January was safe and well.