The Tycoon's Trophy Mistress

‘You sound disappointed.’

He seemed able to pick up the slightest inflection she thought uncomfortably, and hastened to deny. ‘Not at all. It’s just that for some reason I’d expected you to have a penthouse on Fifth Avenue.’

‘I did for a while but it didn’t really suit me, so I moved… Sure you’re not disappointed?’

‘No, of course not. Why should I be?’ Then, seeing he was far from convinced, she added, ‘I’m just surprised. I can’t imagine anyone not enjoying living on Fifth Avenue.’

‘I did, in a way, but as well as being relatively run-of-the-mill the penthouse always seemed a touch impersonal, like living in a hotel.

‘Now I have a house that’s different, as well as being very personal. It’s in an area usually referred to as The Villages.’

‘The Villages?’ she echoed uncertainly.

‘They’re a collection of neighbourhoods just west of Broadway.’

‘Isn’t that quite a way from your headquarters?’

‘Not too far, as the crow flies.’

‘Do you go in every day?’

‘Yes, unless I’m away on business.’

‘And you don’t find the traffic a pain?’

‘It can be, of course, but a chauffeur-driven car does a great deal to mitigate it.’

‘Is that where I’ll be working?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, if I’m living on the spot I won’t have far to travel,’ she remarked with a smile.

‘Unfortunately, because of the very short notice, the accommodation there is still occupied.’

‘Oh…’

‘It should be vacated in the next two or three days, and then you’ll be able to move in and get settled before Christmas.

‘In the meantime, I thought you could stay at my place.’

‘Stay at your place?’ she echoed, knowing she should be pleased, but momentarily horrified and sounding it.

‘Like most big cities, New York can be a bit lonely and unnerving,’ he went on smoothly, ‘especially if you’re on your own and don’t know the ropes. So, rather than book you into a hotel, I thought you could have the small self-contained suite that my housekeeper used to occupy… Unless, of course, you have any serious objections to living under my roof for a short time?’

Recovering a little, and somewhat reassured that he’d described it as a self-contained suite, she stammered, ‘W-well… No.’

Delighted by the relative lack of opposition, he remarked quizzically, ‘I thought the press might have managed to convince you that no woman is safe when I’m around?’

She didn’t need convincing, Charlotte thought bitterly, she already knew that he was a ruthless womanizer.

Managing to look amused, she said coolly, ‘I don’t believe all I read.’

‘In that case, we’ll call it settled.’

‘Thank you.’

‘It’s my pleasure, I assure you.’ He smiled into her eyes, a personal communication that emphasized the fact that he was already interested in her as a woman rather than just an employee.

Returning his smile, Charlotte reflected with a surge of triumph that things seemed to be going her way. Thanks to the company flat being occupied, she might have several more days of what should be fairly close contact to try and increase that interest.

His grey eyes were still looking into hers and, afraid he might read her thoughts, she said quickly, ‘Won’t you tell me about The Villages?’

‘They’re wonderful places to live, with first-class restaurants, good theatre and a great variety of night-life. The best known is undoubtedly Greenwich Village, with Washington Square as its heart…’

He talked knowledgeably about The Villages and their history until they reached an area where the streets no longer conformed to the rigid grid system and had a friendly, small-town feel to them.

The main thoroughfare, with its boutiques and cafés, its bookstores and art galleries, was busy and bustling with Christmas shoppers.

Snow was piled along the edges of the sidewalks, white and uneven, like miniature mountain ranges and, despite the sunshine, a row of icicles hung from an upper storey windowsill.

The stores were bright with decorations and tinsel. In one window a red-coated Santa rode on a loaded sleigh pulled by prancing reindeer, while in another elves and furry woodland creatures tied a green scarf around the neck of a carrot-nosed snowman.

Leaving the main shopping centre and most of the traffic behind them, they reached a quieter residential area and turned left into Carver Street.

A cul-de-sac lined with bare snowy trees and elegant brownstones, Carver Street meandered a little, like an amiable drunk.

At the end, standing detached and fronting on to the street, was a small three-storey house with a steeply-pitched roof and overhanging eaves.

It was built of pink and blue bricks in a herringbone pattern and its garden was surrounded by a high brick wall.

Five steps, an iron handrail on their right, led up to a central front door with a black wrought iron lantern hanging over it.

On either side of the door were two long windows with rounded tops and small square panes of uneven glass that picked up the light. Above the polished brass knocker, shaped like a lily, hung a holly wreath with a scarlet bow.

The whole thing was so totally unexpected that Charlotte wanted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

‘This is where I live,’ Daniel told her. ‘As you can see, it’s really quite small.’

In a city like New York this charming little house should have appeared totally incongruous, an anachronism, but somehow its aura of calm serenity, its air of belonging here, made it look as much at home as the Statue of Liberty.

Stopping by the kerb, the chauffeur sprang to open the car door.

‘Thank you, Perkins.’ Daniel stepped out first into several inches of snow.

Turning to take Charlotte’s hand, he said, ‘Mind you don’t slip.’

She heeded his warning and descended carefully.