The Tycoon's Trophy Mistress

Though he still didn’t know what kind of voice she had, what her smile was like, or what pleased her most when she was being made love to.

But it would be fun finding out, he told himself with anticipation.

As he watched her through the blind he noticed that she waited quietly for Telford, without fidgeting or showing obvious signs of impatience.

Yet a certain tension in the slim shoulders told him she was nowhere near as calm as she had first appeared. That the outcome of this interview mattered to her.

She glanced down and, with the first hint of nervousness she had betrayed, brushed an invisible speck from the lapel of her charcoal-grey jacket.

Just watching her hand lightly brush the curve of her breast brought a sudden rush of desire that surprised him with its strength and urgency. It sent his blood surging through his veins, clawed at his insides and urged him to walk out and chance his arm at once, rather than have to endure another endless period of waiting.

But at this point, as she had readily walked into the trap he had set with such care, it would be idiotic to risk losing the game. Though when she had officially been offered the transfer it might be possible to hurry things along a bit.

While Charlotte waited for Mr Telford she made an effort to calm her nerves and concentrate on the coming interview. If only she could get this transfer to the States…

After fruitlessly racking her brains for a way forward the memo suggesting the exchange of personnel had come as a heaven-sent opportunity.

Of course she might be nowhere near Daniel Wolfe’s office. She might not even be based in the same building. But, as he lived in New York, she had more chance of meeting him there than she did on one of his infrequent visits to the UK.

She knew when he visited Wolfe International’s London headquarters by the stir his arrival inevitably caused amongst the rest of the staff, but she had never set eyes on him in person. All she had seen were pictures of him in glossy magazines or the society pages.

Tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair that curled a little, a bony nose and light, piercing eyes set deep beneath well-marked brows, he was undeniably handsome.

Though not in the film star sense.

His was a lean face, tough and attractive, with a cleft chin and a mouth that had affected her strangely, always managing to send little shivers down her spine.

In the more sensational sections of the press he was often referred to as a latter-day Lothario, and frequent stories appeared about him and his latest ‘conquest’, some of which verged on the scurrilous.

Until a matter of months ago, repelled by such blatant sexuality, her instinct had been to avoid him at all costs.

Now things had altered completely. Meeting him, getting close to him, had become her only aim in life. Her mission.

On his last visit, despite all her efforts, she hadn’t even managed to catch a glimpse of him. When she had finally thought of a reason to go up to the top floor executive suite it was to discover he had just that minute left for the airport.

Instead of making her give up her failure only served to stiffen her resolve.

During the following weeks, while trying to work out some practicable strategy to achieve her goal, she had kept an eye on the papers and learnt all she could about him.

A top-flight Anglo-American entrepreneur from a wealthy background, he was known in the business world for his ability and in the outside world for his philanthropy.

A man who was said to work hard and play hard, Daniel Wolfe was today’s hottest news, the centre of media attention on both sides of the Atlantic.

With an English mother and an American father, he had been educated at Columbia and Cambridge and, after graduating, had taken over the running of his godfather’s ailing software company.

When that was firmly on its feet he had diversified, buying up other rocky companies and doing the same for them.

Now, at barely thirty, he was a multi-millionaire. Admired. Envied. Feared. Respected. Occasionally reviled.

In spite of so much coverage, he managed to keep his private life private. So, though Charlotte was soon familiar with his public image, she was able to glean little about the man himself.

In a recent article in Top People he’d been described, more temperately, as an unrepentant bachelor. But a bachelor who liked women. Especially beautiful women.

When, after each London visit, pictures of him appeared in the newspapers, there was always a willowy blonde or a redhead clinging to his arm.

Cursed with the kind of looks that attracted the opposite sex like a magnet, Charlotte had often wished she were plain. It would have saved a great deal of hassle, and made life so much simpler.

Entranced by her face and figure, men had been pursuing her since she was fifteen. Their unwanted, unlooked-for attentions, their sheer persistence, had driven her to hide behind a cool, impenetrable façade that only Peter had ever managed to breach.

And then it had been for all the wrong reasons.

Poor Peter.

But if her despised beauty could seriously attract Daniel Wolfe it would be worth all the problems it had caused in the past.

She had never imagined herself using her looks to try to ensnare a man, but knowing she was the type of woman he went for was an unexpected bonus and helped to bolster her determination.

But if he invariably went in for the kind of casual relationships where no feelings were involved the whole thing might well be impossible.

To succeed in what she was hoping to do, not only had she got to make him want her, somehow she had to make him fall in love with her…

As the office door opened and Mr Telford came in she looked up, a mite flustered, her cheeks growing hot as though he could read her thoughts.

Crossing to his desk, the tall, grey-haired MD said, ‘Charlotte, my dear, do sit down. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I got held up at lunch.’

Taking a seat opposite, she strove to look cool and collected, as though the outcome of the interview didn’t matter all that much.

His light blue eyes kind, Telford asked, ‘So you’re still interested in the move to New York?’

‘Yes.’ She hoped she didn’t sound as breathless as she felt.

‘Quite sure? It might mean having more contact with Mr Wolfe.’ It was as far as he could go by way of warning.

‘Absolutely.’ She answered steadily.

It seemed that she had decided to put the past behind her. Relieved, he asked, ‘Perhaps you’d like to tell me why?’

She had expected the question and rehearsed her reply. ‘Apart from the fact that a firsthand knowledge of American market trends could prove to be invaluable, it would be a good chance to compare the way different teams work. I understand the New York team are usually extremely accurate with their predictions. I thought I might learn something.’

‘A text-book answer,’ he remarked with a smile. ‘Though I rather suspected you had a more personal reason for wanting this move?’

She froze. It seemed he knew.

But he couldn’t possibly know.

‘How do you mean, a more personal reason?’

A twinkle in his eye, he said, ‘Didn’t you once tell me you’d like a chance to live in New York?’