His Live-In Mistress

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Adrian snapped as she swept past his chair instead of heading for the door.

‘I thought I’d fix the fire. It’s nearly out and it’s chilly in here. I’ll try not to disturb you.’

Didn’t she know that that was impossible? Adrian thought with profound irritation. She was wearing that fragrance again, the one that seemed to wind itself round his senses and interrupt his train of thought like some kind of confounded will-o’-the-wisp. It seemed to mock and tease him, and tempt him to become far more aware than was wise of the woman who wore it. As if compelled, he lifted his gaze helplessly to her hair, noting the soft but precarious bun she’d fashioned, with a few silky red-gold tendrils floating loose to frame her lovely face. She really had the prettiest cornflower-blue eyes he’d ever seen, Adrian realised. What had he been thinking of, hiring such a looker for his housekeeper? He’d told himself hiring her had been the path of least resistance—Kate was leaving and he couldn’t interrupt his work to ring round agencies to find other people to interview. She’d said she was hardworking and for some reason Adrian had believed her. She didn’t look the type whose lips would lie easily. But now he couldn’t help wondering if he’d made a serious mistake in taking her on.

It had been four and a half years since his disastrous short-lived affair with Petra Collins—the one that had hit the tabloid headlines and hastened his decision to retreat from the world for a while. But clearly, if the way his libido was acting up around Liadan was any indication, he had been without a woman for too long.

‘Leave it.’

‘Why?’ Her heart racing, because suddenly she seemed to have his full and disturbing attention and she was ill-prepared for it, Liadan came to an abrupt standstill.

‘Because I’m working and I don’t want to be disturbed any more than is strictly necessary! I can’t have you clattering about in here while I’m trying to concentrate.’

‘Clattering about?’ Her cheeks growing pinker by the second as indignation cramped her throat, Liadan stared. ‘I was concerned for your comfort, that’s all. I wasn’t trying to make a nuisance of myself. Have you any idea what the temperature is outside?’

‘When I want a weather report I’ll switch on the news.’

Tearing her gaze from his stony expression, Liadan headed straight for the double doors, her heart pounding so hard inside her chest that for a moment she was hardly aware of where she was, let alone her destination. ‘Fine!’ she burst out before she left. ‘Freeze to death for all I care!’

Back in the kitchen, her appetite gone, she pushed away the small decorative sideplate with her sandwiches on to stare miserably down at the small bumps and grooves on the big pine table, willing herself to calm down. Just who did he think he was, speaking to her like that? They weren’t back in the Middle Ages as far as she knew and she wasn’t some serf to be bossed about at will, as if her life were not her own! It would serve him right if she walked out right this minute. See how he would cope if he had to do his own cooking and cleaning and make up fires! If there were any justice in the world he’d starve and get hypothermia very quickly…

She took her frustration out on the table and thumped it. Why did she have to recall just then that Michael had disliked it immensely when she lost her temper? It had pointed to a wild nature, in his opinion, one that he wasn’t altogether certain he could handle. Liadan groaned. Michael had been wary of anything emotional that might tip the precarious balance of an existence where order and restraint were paramount, so obviously losing one’s temper was a complete no-no. When he’d finally admitted he couldn’t commit to Liadan because his faith was calling him in another direction, one that she couldn’t be a part of, she’d been relieved but angry too. She’d long realised that the relationship hadn’t been going anywhere but she’d stupidly put her own life on hold for eighteen months while Michael had wrestled with his own decisions about the future.

And then two months after the break-up—to add insult to injury—Liadan had learned that she no longer had a job because her employer had gone bankrupt. Now it looked as if she’d be unemployed again very soon…

‘Liadan.’

Glancing up at her name, she rested her wary gaze on Adrian’s tall, imposing figure in the doorway.

‘What?’ She steeled herself to hear the worst. Without a doubt he was going to give her her marching orders. The only consolation was that she would see her cat sooner than she’d anticipated and be able to make a fuss of her tonight. Oh, well…‘always look for the gift,’ as Jennie, the owner of Moonbeams, had wisely counselled on more than one occasion.

‘I’d be grateful if you’d come back into the study and make up the fire. You’re right. It’s bloody cold in there and even I can’t type with frozen fingers.’ He was smiling and suddenly Liadan found her breathing and her power of speech seriously impeded. Having the power of that smile trained on her was like diving for seashells and coming up with diamonds. Did the man have any idea how much that simple act humanised him? It made him seem much less like the coldly distant character she was getting used to and so much…dared she say it? Warmer.

‘You’re not going to fire me?’

‘Now why would you think that?’ Apparently bemused, Adrian leant his shoulder against the doorjamb as if the imperative to get back to work was no longer relevant.

‘Because I lost my temper.’ She heaved a sigh and Adrian’s already engaged glance was drawn to the shapely swell of her breasts beneath her black ribbed sweater. Because her waist was so small, it highlighted her well-endowed chest, and, before he knew what he was about, Adrian imagined those same shapely breasts filling his palms. He imagined his thumbs brushing sensuously across her nipples, urging them to tight, hard, sexy peaks, and suddenly his vivid daydreaming led him into deep hot water when he found himself irrevocably and heavily aroused.

‘As far as I’m aware that’s hardly a sacking offence—particularly when I provoked it.’ His desire had made his voice unwittingly smoky.

Unable to tear her gaze from his, Liadan urged herself to her feet, willing herself to wake up from the trance she seemed to be in.

‘I’ll go and see to the fire, then.’

Alarmed by the sudden, dangerously provocative turn of his thoughts, Adrian dropped his glance guiltily to the table, seeing the small plate of sandwiches she had made. ‘Eat your lunch first. A few more minutes won’t make much difference. Thank you, Liadan.’ And with that, he was gone from the doorway before she even had a chance to reply.

Closing the curtains in her room, Liadan went suddenly rigid when she spied torchlight moving stealthily down the front steps towards the gardens. Adrian? She squinted hard to try and see. What was he doing out at this hour? The small old-fashioned clock on her mantelpiece had just struck midnight so it was a bit late for going for a walk, wasn’t it? Shivering in her velour robe because the heating had gone off for the night, she quickly moved away from the window and glanced disconsolately at the thick, hard-backed biography on her bed. Right now, reading held no appeal whatsoever and she didn’t feel much like sleeping, either. Astonishing when she considered how dog-tired she had been this morning. For some reason her whole body was restless, thrumming with energy and the need to expend it somehow.

If she was honest, she had been feeling that way since Adrian had smiled at her at lunchtime. His changes of mood were disconcerting and she didn’t know whether to allow herself to believe he did possess a more amenable side after all, or whether he’d simply decided to make an effort in case Liadan decided staying wasn’t worth the trouble. His work was obviously all-consuming—he wouldn’t want to have to break off from it to start searching for a replacement housekeeper, no matter how disappointing his present one seemed. And yet…When all was said and done the man was definitely an enigma, and the main reason that Liadan couldn’t sleep was that she was becoming more curious about her ill-tempered, good-looking employer than was probably wise.

Walking through the gardens, his feet sliding and crunching on the snow-covered earth, Adrian finally felt he could breathe unencumbered once more. It didn’t matter how big the house was or how many rooms it had—at times like these he simply needed the unconfined space of the outside. Only then would the prickling discomfort in his chest ease and his ensuing panic start to subside. It had been that way ever since Nicole’s death and after eight years he wasn’t holding out much hope for a change. What made him furious was that he didn’t seem to have any control over his claustrophobia. It wasn’t as if he spent every day dwelling on the terrible event that had indelibly shaped his future, but still the condition seemed to descend on him out of the blue. His psychologist friend, Andrew, had told him he mustn’t blame himself and had tried to teach him strategies for coping. But Adrian hadn’t wanted strategies, or advice—no matter how well meant. He simply wanted the ability to turn back time: to sit in the Jeep for a few minutes longer with Nicole on that mercilessly hot day and prevent her from going anywhere near the embassy gates.

Turning in the dark to stare at the huge house in front of him, with just one or two lights on downstairs and one shining from the first floor—Liadan’s room—Adrian knew he didn’t really want to stay here for the rest of his life. However long that was. On this freezing winter’s night, when the only sound to disturb the silence was the distant, repetitive hooting of an owl, Adrian yearned for warmer climes and the hot tropical nights of Kenya, his boyhood home. Instead of owls hooting, he suddenly longed for the sound of rasping cicadas and the short, warm rains that fell from October to December. Anything but this dead, lifeless snow that made him feel as though he were encased in a tomb…

‘Can I help you?’

Dropping her basket of laundry in the hall behind her, Liadan pushed some hair out of her eyes, smoothed a hand down her jeans and smiled pleasantly at the smartly dressed blonde who stood on the doorstep.

‘I’d like to see Adrian, if I may?’

The woman was clearly about to step inside without being invited, her too-heady perfume was as pushy as she was, and as Liadan’s eyes locked on her brittle blue gaze she suddenly recalled Kate’s dire warning about reporters trying to inveigle their way in to get interviews with Adrian. Resolved to do everything in her power to prevent any unwanted invasion of her boss’s privacy, Liadan quickly stood in front of the woman to block her entrance, her heart missing a beat at this unexpected confrontation.

‘Do you have an appointment with Mr Jacobs?’

‘He’ll see me. My name is Cheryl Kendall. Tell him I’ve had some new information about his affair with Petra Collins. Tell him I’m going to go ahead and print it unless he gives me an interview.’

Two reactions hit Liadan simultaneously. First, how much she despised the woman’s blackmailing tactics, and second, the name Petra Collins. Five years ago she had been one of the hottest properties in Hollywood, a beautiful raven-haired actress with a widely publicised taste for high living and seriously wealthy men. It was well known that since then her career hadn’t prospered. Her last film had been three years ago, and that had been a resounding flop at the box office. If the papers were to be believed, the latest news was that she was in some fancy drying-out clinic in California, getting help for her alcoholism. Liadan didn’t read the papers much herself but her friends Jennie and Mel were avid consumers of the gossip columns.

‘I’ll tell him no such thing! Now, please just go. Mr Jacobs is working and he doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s—’

‘It’s okay, Liadan. I’ll speak with Ms Kendall.’

She spun round in surprise at his voice, and her limbs went strangely weak at the sight of her employer. He was dressed in his usual black; the silver in his hair seemed even more eye-catching against his otherwise sable locks and his eyes were very dark and grave. Weary, almost. The wave of sympathy that rushed through Liadan couldn’t be tamped.

‘I’ll give you five minutes, ten at the most. Come into my study.’ His voice curt, Adrian waited briefly for Cheryl Kendall to step inside before striding ahead of her down the corridor.

The stop-start hum of the dryer resounding in her ears, Liadan folded the pile of clothing she had already dried on top of the washing machine, her movements automatic and efficient even as her mind was distracted. Both curious and concerned about the conversation that was going on upstairs right now in Adrian’s study, she prayed that Cheryl Kendall’s paper or magazine, whatever it was, was not going to print anything injurious or wounding to him. How had Adrian come to meet the famous actress in the first place, and why had their affair ended? Had Petra found him as cold as he appeared? Had she ever managed to get past some of those impenetrable layers that Adrian so obviously protected himself with?

The thought made Liadan stop what she was doing and stare unseeingly ahead. How had she known that? Adrian Jacobs had been deeply wounded—maybe beyond repair—and now strove to do everything in his power to prevent himself from ever being so badly hurt again. One only had to read his books to know that he was a man who had delved deeply into the realms of his own shadow. You’d have to have spent a lot of time exploring the darker side of the human psyche to come up with some of the twisted and terrifying plots that Adrian came up with in his work. And Liadan’s summing-up of what she’d read had been right. There were no redeeming solutions for the human condition in his stories. Not even the merest flicker of light.

‘Liadan? Where are you?’

Hearing him call her name, Liadan put her hands up to quell the sudden rush of heat in her cheeks, took a moment to compose herself, then ran up the back stairs into the open hallway to find him waiting for her.