The Tycoon's Trophy Mistress

‘Then, mark my words, he’ll be a pushover.’

CHAPTER TWO

HER brain stuck on a mental treadmill, thinking, planning, analyzing, unable to rest, Charlotte lay awake for most of the night. She got up the next morning heavy-eyed and headachy, and pulled on her old woollen dressing-gown.

Outside it was grey and gloomy, with lingering patches of mist. Her father would have referred to it as ‘one of the dark days before Christmas’.

When she trailed through to the kitchen Carla, fully dressed and ready for her usual early start, was making toast and coffee.

‘You look like something the cat dragged in,’ she remarked bluntly.

‘I feel like it,’ Charlotte admitted.

‘No beauty sleep?’

‘Not much.’

‘You’ll have to do a lot better than that. If Daniel Wolfe could see you now, he’d run and hide.’

While they ate breakfast together she remarked thoughtfully, ‘I reckon your best bet would be to appeal to his protective instincts, supposing he’s got any. In my experience most macho men like the “wide-eyed and helpless” bit.’

‘I’m not sure I can do wide-eyed and helpless,’ Charlotte objected.

‘Try. It feeds their egos, believe me.’

‘I do believe you, but—’

‘How far do you intend to go? To hook him, I mean. You don’t plan to go to bed with him?’

A shiver running down her spine at the very thought, Charlotte said vehemently, ‘No I most certainly don’t!’

‘Not that you couldn’t use a spot of fun in your life…’

‘That kind of excitement I can do without.’

‘Well, if his reputation is anything to go by, he must be pretty good in bed and in your place I’d give it a whirl.’

‘With a man like that?’

‘As far as I’m concerned, life’s a bowl of cherries. You have to spit out the stones and enjoy the flesh.’

‘I don’t seem able to,’ Charlotte admitted. ‘I often wonder if there’s something wrong with me.’

‘The only thing wrong with you is your pride. And pride builds a lonely house. But a word of caution… If you do mean to keep saying no, just watch yourself. Don’t let the big bad Wolfe get you alone. From all accounts he’s a born seducer and you never know, if he’s used to getting his way, he may turn nasty…’

After issuing a spate of last-minute warnings and advice Carla gave her a quick hug. ‘I’d better go. Fridays are always busy and so close to Christmas it’s bound to be hectic.

‘Oh, by the way, I’ve left your Christmas present on the bookcase. I haven’t had time to wrap it, so you can use it as soon as you like.’

At the door she turned to say, ‘Keep in touch. I’ll miss you.’

When Charlotte went through to the living-room she found one of the boutique’s elegant black and gold bags on the bookcase.

It contained three pairs of pure silk stockings and a bottle of Dawn Flight, her favourite perfume.

Smiling fondly at the other girl’s absurd generosity, she went to fetch the Carillon Trilogy, which Carla had wanted.

Enquiries had proved it to be out of print, but after weeks of searching Charlotte had been lucky enough to find the set in a second-hand bookshop.

After she had showered, made-up with care and twisted her dark red-gold hair into a shining coil, she put on the sage-green suit and oatmeal blouse she had left ready and zipped up her case. Then, feeling tense and jumpy, she went to stand by the window of the basement flat.

She was looking up at the damp street when a sleek dark blue limousine with tinted windows stopped by the spiky wrought iron railings.

A moment later a uniformed chauffeur descended the steps and knocked at the yellow-painted door.

She hurried to open it.

Young and smart, he touched his peaked cap. ‘Morning, Miss Michaels.’

‘Good morning.’

‘May I take your luggage?’

‘Thank you.’

While he dealt with her case, Charlotte locked the door and put the key through the ornate letter-box, before following him up the area steps.

Having closed the boot he sprang to open the door of the limousine.

He couldn’t have been more on the ball if he’d been chauffeuring Daniel Wolfe himself, she thought, secretly amused by his super-efficiency.

Head down, she had started to climb in before she realized that a man with dark hair, wearing a charcoal-grey business suit and a muted shirt and tie was already sitting there.

Surprise making her miss her footing, she stumbled and ended up almost in his lap, her face only inches from his, the warmth of his breath on her lips.

Steadying her until she was properly seated, he picked up the shoulder-bag she had dropped and handed it to her. ‘I’m afraid I startled you.’ He had an attractive voice.

‘I just wasn’t expecting…’ As she realized who her fellow passenger was, the words tailed off.

No, it couldn’t be.

But it was.

Although she had only seen pictures of him, there was no mistaking that tough, charismatic face and the arrogant tilt of that dark head.

In the flesh he was even more sexy than his pictures had led her to believe, and Carla had been quite wrong. His breath was fresh and sweet and the eyes that looked straight into hers were amazing—a brilliant silvery grey, their heavy lids fringed with dense, sooty lashes.

Her heart started to race and her breathing became shallow and impeded, while a quiver of pure hatred ran through her.