Ruthless Tycoon, Inexperienced Mistress

IT WAS lunch time before Jude emerged from her office, where she had spent her time redoing her sketches for a loft conversion which, according to the couple who had employed her, had to make them feel as though they were somewhere by the sea. It was a tall order for a Victorian house on the outskirts of a city.

The first thing that greeted her was the sight of Cesar, bare-backed, with a stack of freshly cut logs next to the open fire, which was in full swing.

‘Just in case the power goes,’ he explained. ‘If it can snow like this out here, then anything’s possible.’

Jude nodded. The sight of his bare skin flickering in the glow from the open fire seemed flagrantly intimate, although he looked at her innocently enough before walking across to the bay window and nodding at the leaden yellow-grey skies outside, barely visible through the now heavy snowfall. ‘The Internet connection’s still AWOL so I figured I might as well make myself useful. Manage to get much work done?’

‘Work?’

‘You’ve been cooped up in there for four hours!’

She thought of the discarded drawings tossed into the waste-paper bin because her thoughts wouldn’t leave her alone. ‘Yes. It was very useful.’ She made a big effort to stop gaping and actually walked into the sitting room, which was wonderfully warm.

‘I’ve switched off the central heating in the room,’ he told her. ‘Hope you don’t mind.’ Cesar had been stared at before. Many times. But never like this, never by a woman who so obviously didn’t want to look at him and yet couldn’t help herself. It was fiercely erotic. He had, and he hadn’t mentioned this, also hand-washed his socks, his boxers and his shirt. At the moment his nakedness against the zipper of his trousers was threatening to need adjustment.

‘How did you know where to find the wood?’

‘Little shed at the back of the house. Not that tricky, really.’ He prodded the fire with the poker, making sure that his back was towards her so that he could give his body time to cool down. Eventually, when he had himself under control, he strolled towards the chair and wiped his face on one of her T-shirts—the very one she had thrown at him the night before.

‘Well, thank you. There was no need. The central heating’s very efficient in this house. I make sure of that. Shall I get you something to put on? One of my T-shirts?’

‘I’m not sure they would fit,’ Cesar drawled, ‘unless it’s one of those baggy ones you seem to like sleeping in.’

Jude refused to be goaded by his remark. Instead, she hurried upstairs and snatched the biggest of her T-shirts out of the chest of drawers because the sooner he covered himself up the better. He obviously hadn’t stripped on purpose. He had stripped because chopping logs and starting a fire was a sweat-inducing job, especially once the fire really got going. He wasn’t to know that his semi-nudity was just fuelling all sorts of unwanted thoughts in her head. She could swear that her eyesight had gone bionic because she had even been able to make out a trickle of perspiration along his ribcage.

‘Well, at least it’s not pink,’ he said, reaching out and casually brushing her outstretched hand in the process. ‘I don’t think my male pride could have stood it.’

‘Stood what?’

Keep your eyes focused on his face, my girl, and you’ll be allright. Definitely don’t give in to the temptation to stare at the wayhis muscles ripple whenever he moves his arms. Or the fact thathe has flat brown nipples and a tangle of dark underarm hair.

‘Being on public display wearing a girlie colour.’

This was a different Cesar to the grim-faced one who laid down laws and issued threats. This one was smiling at her. A crooked, amused smile that made her toes curl.

‘Real men aren’t afraid to wear pink,’ she said automatically, and Cesar kept her eyes locked to his.

‘Trust me. I’m all man.’

‘I should go and get us both something to eat. You must be famished after a morning chopping wood. I have some…er…pasta…’ she gabbled, taking a step back towards the kitchen. ‘I can rustle something up. I’m not great, I have to warn you…but I do a good carbonara…spaghetti…nothing fancy…’ The pale blue T-shirt sported a cartoon character but somehow he didn’t look silly in it. If anything, it made him more frighteningly masculine, accentuating his biceps and the lean hardness of his stomach.

‘Carbonara…spaghetti…nothing fancy…will do just fine, and yes, I’m famished, but I didn’t want to start rummaging in your kitchen for food. I know how territorial women can be about men rummaging through their cupboards…I’m surprised you managed to work with your hand bandaged…’

‘It doesn’t hurt.’ She stumbled over her words, instinctively flexing her fingers to prove her point. ‘You made a big deal over nothing.’

‘Maybe I enjoyed it,’ he came back, quick as a flash. ‘Don’t you know that there’s nothing a man finds more appealing than a damsel in distress…?’