The Master's Mistress

His brows rose. ‘How much money?’

‘Probably several hundred thousand pounds. And there are several others: a couple of Dickenses and a Chaucer. They’re also very collectible.’

‘I’m really not that interested, Elizabeth,’ Rogan rasped.

Her cheeks became flushed. ‘Then why bother to ask?’

He gave a shrug. ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’

‘And is your interest usually this fleeting?’

A slow smile curved those sculptured lips even as the dark eyes once again openly laughed at her. ‘It depends what that interest happens to be…’

There was no mistaking the deliberate innuendo in Rogan’s tone. Nor Elizabeth’s longing to wipe that smile from his ruggedly handsome face!

What was it about Rogan Sullivan that brought out these uncharacteristic feelings of violence in her? That caused her to be constantly antagonised by him?

The answer to that was easy! Everything about him made her feel defensive, while at the same time making her feel vulnerable and very feminine in a way that was totally unfamiliar to her. As well as uncomfortable…

Elizabeth Brown was defensive, nosy and confrontational, Rogan recognised as he continued to look at her admiringly from between narrowed lids. An interesting combination for a university lecturer in History who read steamy vampire novels when she was alone in bed at night and didn’t like surprises in her personal life.

Whereas Rogan was an adrenaline junkie who lived for the challenges in his own life, personal and otherwise!

Elizabeth’s mouth firmed. ‘Obviously your…interest doesn’t lie in rare books.’

‘Obviously not,’ Rogan agreed, inwardly starting to regret deliberately baiting her.

She had arrived two weeks ago to catalogue Brad’s library—Rogan had checked that out with Mrs Baines earlier—and, pleasurable as it might be, he shouldn’t be taking out his present frustration with the situation he found himself in on her.

Because his father’s sudden death had completely removed any possibility of the two men ever coming to any sort of understanding…

The two Sullivan men had never had the easiest of relationships. When the family had lived in the States Brad had owned and run one of the most prestigious advertising companies in New York, and his hours of work had been long and frantic. The family home had been in the suburbs, often meaning that Brad had spent weekday nights at the apartment he’d kept in the city. Not much had changed after the family had moved to England twenty years ago, so his father could open an office there. Brad had stayed in London during the week, only returning to Sullivan House for the weekends.

Consequently Brad hadn’t been around much, and had never attended any of the school events to which parents were invited—meaning Rogan’s mother, the Irish/American Maggie, had been the one to attend rugby matches, sports days, and the school plays in which Rogan had appeared.

Maggie had always been the bridge between Rogan and Brad, and when she had died so unexpectedly the two men had found they had absolutely nothing in common. Added to which, Brad had been furious when Rogan had refused to take up his place at Oxford University and instead returned to America and joined the army there.

Rogan straightened abruptly. ‘Continue to catalogue the library, by all means,’ he said brusquely. ‘Whoever inherits will no doubt consider selling them if some of the books are as valuable as you say they are.’

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. ‘You aren’t expecting that to be you?’

Rogan Sullivan’s laugh lacked all humour. ‘I have an appointment with Desmond Taylor, Brad’s lawyer, later this morning, so no doubt all will be revealed then. But I’d think it doubtful, wouldn’t you?’

Elizabeth no longer knew what to think. About this situation. Or, indeed, about Rogan Sullivan…

Chapter Three

‘THIS is very kind of you,’ Rogan said as he sat beside Elizabeth as she drove her Mini Cooper into town.

Elizabeth briefly turned her attention from driving along the narrow coast road to shoot him a narrow-eyed glance.

Kindness on her part had nothing to do with the two of them being here together. How could it, when Rogan had more or less commandeered both Elizabeth and her car so that he might keep his appointment in town this morning with Desmond Taylor, his father’s lawyer?

Having flown into England late the previous night, and feeling tired after a long flight, it appeared that instead of hiring a car Rogan had simply got in a taxi and asked the driver to take him to Sullivan House. Consequently, he had no transport of his own.

As Elizabeth now worked for him—for the moment at least—Rogan had very generously given her permission to take a couple of hours off so that she could drive him into town!

‘Don’t push your luck,’ she warned him tersely.

He arched dark brows. ‘Is that what I’m doing?’

‘You know you are.’ Elizabeth’s only consolation in being coerced in this way was that her car was obviously too small for a broadly muscled man of well over six feet in height. It was extremely unlikely that Rogan was at all comfortable in the passenger seat! Although his close proximity—those muscled arms and long, powerful legs were only inches from her own—was a little disturbing, to say the least…

Rogan glanced out of the side window, down the cliffs to where the sea was currently lapping gently onto the golden sand. ‘I’d forgotten how ruggedly beautiful it is here…’

‘I expect it’s a lot different from New York?’

‘Yes.’ Except Rogan wasn’t always in New York…

He didn’t really live anywhere on a permanent basis, was never in one place long enough to put down any roots. Anyone important who needed to get in contact with him urgently had his private mobile number. Anyone else could use the PO Box.

Including his father.

Rogan had no idea yet how he felt about his father’s death; he was still coming to terms with the finality of it. Dealing with emotions had never been Rogan’s strong point—especially when those emotions were so ambivalent.

Although he sensed that Elizabeth Brown disapproved of his reticence on the subject.

Well, she would just have to go on disapproving!

Rogan would deal with his father’s death in the same way he dealt with everything. Alone. He had been alone for so long now that he simply didn’t know how to be any other way. Didn’t want to know, either.

‘I shouldn’t be too long,’ he told Elizabeth once she had parked the Mini and he could at last uncurl his cramped body from inside the small confines of the car.

‘Take your time,’ she answered distractedly. ‘I have a little personal shopping to do anyway.’

‘Fine.’ He nodded. ‘I suggest we meet back under the clock-tower here in the square in an hour or so, and then find somewhere to have lunch.’

‘Lunch?’ Elizabeth echoed sharply, and she straightened so suddenly from locking the car that her head briefly swam.

‘Lunch,’ Rogan reiterated firmly. ‘We’re in town anyway, and it’ll be almost lunchtime, so why not?’

Why not? Because Elizabeth didn’t want to have lunch with this compelling and disturbing man. In fact, she was quickly coming to realise that she wanted as little to do with Rogan Sullivan as humanly possible!

Not an easy thing to do when for the moment, they were actually staying in the same house…

‘Okay, lunch in an hour,’ she conceded.

‘Or so,’ Rogan added.