The Disobedient Mistress

When the press identified Misty Carlton as Sargent’s illegitimate child, her father’s political career would go down the tubes for no man had been more sanctimonious about his moral principles than Oliver Sargent. His good-living childless wife might well pull the plug on him too but Leone had no interest in that possibility. He already knew what Sargent valued most: his power, his ambitious hopes of higher office in government, his adoring coterie of female supporters. And when the scandal broke, Oliver Sargent was going to be stripped bare of his pride and his power and his influence. It would be a brutal punishment for a man who revelled in his own importance and lived for admiration. Once Sargent’s cover was blown all the other dirt would eventually surface too: his financial double-dealing and questionable friendships with dishonest businessmen. He would be ruined beyond all hope of political recovery.

It wasn’t enough, though, it wasn’t nearly enough to compensate for Battista’s sweet life cut off in its prime, but when the axe fell Leone would be sure to let his victim know why he had destroyed him. Sargent was already nervous around him although the older man did not yet suspect that Leone knew that he had been in that car the night his kid sister had died. But then Battista’s sleazy seducer had covered his tracks too well and, no matter how hard Leone had tried, proof of that fact had been impossible to obtain.

He watched Misty Carlton, who was the very picture of her late mother, marshal her staff. Unless he was very much mistaken, Oliver Sargent would begin sweating and fearing exposure the very instant he saw her and heard her name…

Misty wondered if she had ever hated anyone as much as she hated Leone Andracchi.

He had dismissed her as though she were a servant speaking up out of turn but this was the last day but one of her temporary contract and she had yet to be told whether or not it was going to be renewed for the next year. If it wasn’t, she would be bankrupted. Perspiration beading her short upper lip, Misty got on with her work but, no matter where she was in the gracious room with its oppressive clubby male atmosphere, she was conscious of Leone Andracchi’s brooding presence.

A real Sicilian tycoon, fabulously wealthy and famously devious and unpredictable to deal with. He dominated the room like a big black storm cloud within which lurked the threat of a lightning strike. His own executives were nervous as cats around him, eager to defer to him, keen to impress, paling if he even began to frown. Yet he was only thirty years old, young indeed to wield such enormous power. But then he was supposed to be absolutely brilliant in business.

Shame about the personality, Misty thought bitterly. It was just her luck that she should be forced to kowtow to a sexist dinosaur, who had taken her attentions quite as his due. My goodness, he had loved it when she’d brought him those special pastries and had practically purred like a jungle cat while she’d sugared his blasted coffee for him. Her strong pride had stung with every obsequious move, for boot-licking did not come naturally to her. Perhaps the Sicilian baking had been overkill but, really, what did she have left to lose? Beggars couldn’t be choosers. She had crawled for Birdie’s sake, Birdie who was going to lose her home if Misty didn’t manage to pull her own irons out of the fire and get that contract confirmed. And when it came to Birdie, there was no limit to the efforts Misty was willing to make.

‘That Andracchi guy is so gorgeous,’ her friend and employee, Clarice, groaned in a die-away voice as she stacked cups into containers by Misty’s side. ‘Every time I look at him I feel like I’ve just died and gone to heaven.’

‘Shh.’ Misty reddened with annoyance, for a waitress casting languishing lustful glances at the big chief would hardly qualify as professional behaviour.

‘You’re always looking at him out of the corner of your eye,’ the chirpy and curvaceous brunette whispered back cheekily before she walked away.

All right, so she looked, but not because she was a mug for those serious dark good looks of his! No, she looked the way one looked to check a lion was still in a cage with the door safely locked. Leone Andracchi unnerved her. It had to be her imagination that she felt that he was always watching her for she had yet to catch those brooding dark golden eyes doing so, but in his radius she felt hideously self-conscious.

And yet in any normal business empire the size of Andracchi Industries, she would never even have got to meet a male as hugely important as Leone Andracchi. After all, she was only a caterer on a short trial contract to just one of his companies and surely far beneath his lofty notice. Furthermore, Brewsters was not in London but based on the outskirts of a country town in Norfolk. Yet, on a visit to Brewsters, Leone Andracchi had taken the trouble to interview her personally. He had also sent her jumping through a line of mental hoops like a circus animal he was training for his own nasty amusement.

As her wan face stiffened at the recollection, she scolded herself for the resentment that lingered. In accepting her bid for the contract and very much surprising her in so doing, Leone Andracchi had given her what had seemed to be the opportunity of a lifetime. It was hardly his fault that that opportunity had turned sour or that she had bitten off more than she could chew.

‘Andracchi is what I call a real man,’ Clarice stressed in a feeling sigh of infuriating appreciation as she shoved past again. ‘All muscles and rampant energy. He just reeks of sex in the raw. You know he’d be a wicked fantasy in bed—’

‘He has love rat written all over him and a lousy reputation with women!’ Misty gritted in a driven undertone. ‘Will you please drop the subject?’

‘I was only trying to give you a laugh.’ Her friend pulled a surprised grimace. ‘Lighten up, Misty.’

Feeling guilty, Misty reddened, aware her nerves were jumping like electrified beans. But even her friend had no idea just how precarious her business, Carlton Catering, had become. It was ready to crash and go to the wall. If she did not get that all important contract from Andracchi Industries, the bank would refuse to extend her loan and she would not even have sufficient funds left to pay her employees at the end of the month, never mind her suppliers. Shame drenched her in a tidal wave. How had she got into such a mess?

A blond male in a smart suit approached her. ‘Mr Andracchi will see you now in his office.’

She could see the man’s barely concealed surprise that Leone Andracchi should be involving himself yet again in such a minor matter. But then as the great man himself had drawled in explanation almost four months earlier, ‘Lunch is an art to a Sicilian and I want the executives here to benefit from a new experience. I’m tired of watching people scoff sandwiches at their desks. I believe that a proper meal will increase productivity throughout the afternoon.’

So every day she had provided a light lunch in the executive dining room that had been set up and on afternoons like this, when a major business powwow concluded, she had been asked to stay on to serve refreshments as well. Visiting the cloakroom first, she washed her hands and checked that she was still tidy. She wasn’t looking her best and she knew it, which didn’t help. Sleepless nights and constant worry had left their mark.

Her own fault, she told herself bitterly. She had taken a risk on Leone Andracchi’s whim and on what might yet prove to be an experiment he had no intention of even continuing. Furthermore, even if he had decided to retain the lunches, there was no guarantee whatsoever that her business would win the contract. He was going to kiss her off. She knew it, could feel it in her bones. Her punishment for borrowing from the bank to expand was coming. What was it to him if her piffling little firm went into receivership? He would probably like to see her beg. Could she do it for Birdie? Beg that big, muscle-bound, arrogant jerk for mercy? She shuddered at the prospect but her only alternative was even less appetizing: Flash would haul her out of trouble without hesitation. Only it would be for a price this time and the price would be her body and she hoped to heaven that she would never, ever sink that low…

A secretary who looked suitably cowed by the effect of a week-long visit from the tycoon boss of Andracchi Industries opened the door of a big office for her. Straightening her slight shoulders, Misty breathed in deep and walked in, striving for a look of calm confidence, which was in no way echoed by her churning tummy and her damp palms. Please, please don’t let him try to shake hands, she prayed inwardly.

‘Sit down, Miss Carlton.’

Leone Andracchi was on the phone, standing by the sunlit windows of the spacious office. She listened to him talking in soft, liquid Italian, the way a real smoothie talked to a lover. Phone sex, sleazebag, Misty thought loftily and her upper lip curled in disgust. But, unfortunately, Clarice was right on one score. He was drop-dead fantastic to look at. Luxuriant black hair that just begged to be disarranged by a woman’s fingers, stunning high cheekbones, stunning everything, really, she conceded grudgingly. Classic arrogant nose, well-defined ebony brows, really masculine strong jaw, beautifully shaped mouth. As for the eyes, those eyes of his were a revelation on their own. Black as pitch in certain moods, all lustrous, dazzling, sexy gold in another. And he knew how to use them all right to signify just about everything that other people used words to convey.

She had seen those eyes, in bully mode, freeze employees in their tracks. Send female office staff fluttering with the same sense of threat as hens scenting a fox. He got off on women fussing round him. He was the ‘Me Tarzan, you Jane’ type and he went for fluffy busty little blondes who giggled and gasped and clung. Pathetic, really. In her opinion, a real man would have wanted a real woman, one with a brain, one capable of fighting back and putting him in his place. And if ever a guy had needed putting in his place, it was Leone Andracchi. He was so full of himself he set her teeth on edge.

Finishing his call, Leone flicked a glance at his waiting victim, wondered why she had that curious little scornful smile hovering on her lips and that faraway, almost smug look in her eyes. He strolled with fluid grace over to the desk and realised that she was genuinely miles away, one of those individuals whose imagination was strong enough to blank out all sense of time and surroundings.

Misty was acquainted with that old chestnut about imagining intimidating people naked to bring them down to human size, only she wasn’t even a little tempted to picture Leone Andracchi shorn of his exquisitely tailored suit. But just as suddenly she was seeing Leone Andracchi in her mind’s eye and her mind had developed a dismaying life all of its own, imagination running riot on that tall, well-built physique of his. Her own embarrassing thoughts shocked her rigid, shocked her right back to awareness again, cheeks hot, skin tight over her bones.

‘Welcome back, Miss Carlton,’ Leone Andracchi murmured with sardonic bite.

‘Mr Andracchi…’ Heart beating so fast, she felt as if it were banging at the foot of her throat, Misty forced herself to raise her head high.

‘I’m sorry I kept you waiting,’ he added.

No, he wasn’t. She didn’t know how she knew that, for that lean dark angel face was uniquely uninformative, but she sensed it. He lounged back in galling relaxation against the desk, the indolent angle of his sleek, taut, muscular frame pronounced. He had to be about six feet four at least, she calculated, and not for the first time.

‘Naturally you want to know my thoughts on the contract due to be awarded. Although I’m really not obligated to give you that information,’ Leone Andracchi pointed out smoothly. ‘However, in the light of the excellent standard of service you have pioneered over the past eight weeks, I feel it’s only fair to tell you why your bid has been unsuccessful.’

Her tummy flipped at the confirmation of the refusal that she had most feared. The blood drained from her set features and her hands laced together on her lap. ‘I don’t need empty compliments,’ she said tightly. ‘If Carlton Catering hasn’t been awarded the contract, then you obviously weren’t satisfied with the service at all.’

‘It’s not that simple,’ Leone drawled. ‘You’re over-extended and it would be very unwise to take the risk that your business will stay afloat for the duration of a year long agreement.’

Her silvery grey eyes were now widened to their fullest extent. For the first time she ditched her caution and connected direct with his brilliant dark golden eyes. ‘May I ask you where you received that information?’

‘My sources are private.’

Meeting that steady, fathomless gaze, she could feel her head beginning to swim and the breath catching in her throat. ‘It’s quite untrue.’

‘Don’t lie to me. I have no time for lies,’ Leone told her smoothly. ‘My information is always accurate. I know that the only way your bank will extend your loan is if you bring them the contract for the next year’s catering here signed, sealed and delivered.’

‘If someone at the bank has been making allegations about the viability of my business, I will be sure to make an official complaint.’ Misty threw her head back, silver eyes blazing challenge. ‘I assure you that were you to give me that contract I would deliver the service required for the period specified and I would not have any problems in doing so.’

‘I’m impressed by your optimism,’ Leone countered levelly, ‘but let’s cut to the chase. You have talent and you’re great at organisation but you fell down when it came to the bid for the first contract. Your price was ludicrously low. Yet you’re in a labour-intensive industry, saddled with high staff turnover, crippling insurance costs and public health regulations that are very expensive for a small business to meet. As a result, you have barely recouped your costs.’

‘I wanted the job. I priced that bid to win in the obvious hope of recouping costs over the next year,’ Misty informed him. ‘You said you liked to support new local businesses—’

‘Not when the captain at the helm is a woman who refuses to acknowledge when she’s in over her head. How you can sit there and argue with me when I know for a fact that you’re behind with the rent on your business premises, behind with your bank loan and up to your pretty throat in debt—’

‘Leave my throat…pretty or otherwise…out of this, please.’ Misty rose to her feet, no longer able to tolerate being looked down on by him. How dared he speak to her in such a way? How dared he? It was bad enough learning that the contract on which she had placed all her hopes was to be awarded elsewhere, but that he should add insult to injury by enumerating what he deemed to be her mistakes was more than flesh and blood could bear.

‘And losing your temper with me will impress me even less,’ Leone informed her with a derisive look at her aggressive stance. She might be around five feet ten tall, but she was as slender as a willow wand. What on earth was the matter with her? She was useless at bluffing. Her eyes gave her away every time. Did she really expect him to waste time listening to her trying to convince him that she wasn’t on the edge of a financial abyss?

In the space of a second, rage almost ate Misty alive. The temper that she had long since mastered threatened to overflow like lava. She wanted to take a swing at him. She wanted to wipe that derisive slant off his lean, strong face with a well-placed fist and that simple awareness disconcerted her enough to put a brake on her anger.

‘You’ve brought me in here, given me the bad news, but you didn’t need to personalise the issue,’ Misty stated with curt dignity. ‘So why would you think I want to impress you now?’

An ebony brow elevated. ‘I could be thinking of throwing you a lifeline.’

A shaken and involuntary laugh escaped Misty. She was grateful that he had not given her an opening in which to beg. She was even grateful that he had made her furious. For if she were forced to stop and consider the appalling consequences of losing that contract, she might well come apart at the seams and embarrass herself. He liked playing games with people, she decided. Or maybe it was only women he liked toying with.

‘Is that really a possibility?’ The tip of her tongue came out to moisten her dry lower lip as she wondered if it was remotely likely that, in spite of what he had so far said about her business acumen, he might have some other job to offer her.

The silence hummed like a circular saw on her straining nerves. His attention had dropped to her lips, the too wide, too full mouth she hated. No doubt he was noticing that it was out of proportion to her face. Men were supposed to think about sex, what was it…at least once every five minutes? She reckoned he would be challenged to keep his mind clean for sixty seconds. He had an aura of potent virility that no woman could avoid noticing. She studied him, the lush black lashes screening his gleaming scrutiny, and her lips actually tingled with her awareness of him, her rebellious body stirring with the sensations she had grown to fiercely resent experiencing in his vicinity. The sudden tense, full sensation lifting her breasts inside her cotton bra cups, the utterly demeaning throb of her nipples tightening.