Reluctant Mistress

‘You bastard!’ Liza seethed through white lips. She would have got to her feet and slapped his supercilious face if she’d had the strength, but his harshness and cruelty had sapped every gram of fight out of her.

‘I’m not, actually. I have a father, and he is alive and well.’

‘I’m not doubting your parentage,’ she parried. ‘I was using the adjective in its degenerate form, and even then it’s too good for you. How dare you muck-rake my past and fling it in my face so cruelly?’

‘I wasn’t aware I was doing any such thing. The point I’m trying to make is that you’re not some silly flighty female who allows her head to be turned by the male species. You won’t suddenly fly off and start breeding when the broody season comes.’

‘You really are a mega-chauvinist rat, aren’t you?’ Gradually her strength was edging back.

‘I’ve never been called that before but it certainly has a charming ring to it. Maybe you’d be better employed writing copy for some feminist rag, of which I own none, I might add.’ He stood up and pulled his waistcoat down.

‘In other words, you’re retracting the offer I’m determined to refuse,’ she shot back, getting to her feet and crashing the dirty plates together in a pile.

‘On the contrary, the offer still stands. I still want you—on my staff, not in my bed, so quash any notions in that direction.’

‘None exists,’ she slammed back, ‘and let me tell you, you have as much chance of getting into mine as a virulent flea.’

His grin was as wide as the ocean. ‘Good. So long as we both know where we stand we should get on famously. I’ll pick you up at eight-thirty in the morning, show you over your new office suite.’

‘Don’t bother. I won’t be here. I’ll be queuing up at the employment agency with all the other talent that you throw out on the slush pile!’

He picked up his jacket from the sofa, and turned to her with eyes glazed to coal-black hardness. ‘Don’t waste your energy, sweetheart; by the time I come off the phone tonight you’ll be lucky to get a job licking stamps in any publishing mail-house.’

‘Do what you will! But I’d rather stack shelves in a supermarket than work for you!’ She teetered down the stairs after him, ready to slam the front door behind him in a last gesture of defiant independence. He took the wind from her sails by turning at the door and raising his hand to cup her chin.

‘If it’s any consolation I think you had a narrow escape with Bond. He wasn’t man enough for you. And yet look what he’s done to you. It would take a giant of a male ego to soften you into suppliance now and keep you there.’

To her shock and horror his mouth swooped down to hers, claimed her lips and held them with force and yet such deep sensuality that her head reeled. When he’d taken his fill he wiped the moisture from her swollen lips with his thumb.

‘Don’t get any ideas. That’s my first and last show of weakness where you are concerned. I was just curious to know what you tasted like. If you did but know it, that glacial reserve of yours is totally transparent. You might have pulled up the drawbridge on your emotions but they are still there.’ He tilted her chin once again. ‘Soften up, Liza; I wouldn’t like to see my advertising director get hurt again.’

He turned and shut the door softly behind him, and for the first time in a very long time Liza Kay allowed a soft tear to trickle down her burning cheeks.

CHAPTER TWO

THE next morning when Liza awoke she knew she would take the job Robert Buchanan had offered. She’d be a fool not to, and yet she knew deep inside her that it wouldn’t be easy.

Cupping her hands behind her head, she lay in the downy softness of her bed and wondered how Buchanan knew so much about her private life; but was it so surprising when he was practically omniscient?

Later Liza showered, and tied her hair back from her face with a green velvet ribbon that picked out the green in her Paisley-print shirt. She was careful with her make-up as usual. Endowed with a pale creamy skin that went with her flame hair, she was skilled at concealing the mass of freckles that bridged her nose and scattered her cheekbones. Her lashes were pale gold and she stroked them liberally with dark brown mascara to accentuate her startling green eyes. Graham had adored her eyes...

‘To hell with Graham!’ she muttered under her breath, and clipped huge gold orbs to her ears.

She smoothed the narrow tailored skirt of her favourite taupe wool suit, adjusted the shoulders of the jacket, and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked every inch the successful executive, and yet inside she was trembling like a jelly.

‘And damn Robert Buchanan!’ she exhaled as she gathered up her Enny bag.

She was at the front door on the dot of eight-thirty, mildly disconcerted that Carl was the only occupant of the limousine that purred at the kerb-side. So what had she expected? The big white chief to pick her up in person?

‘Where are we going, Carl?’ she asked as she settled into the back seat.

‘Knightsbridge, Miss Kay. The new block Mr Buchanan has just refurbished for Magnum.’ He grinned in the rear-view mirror. ‘Beautiful building, miss, and just a stone’s throw from Harrods. Wonderful shopping in Knightsbridge...’

Liza was glad of his cheery conversation; it kept her mind off other things, namely Robert Buchanan. She still wasn’t convinced it was a good idea to take this job, but if she thought of working for Magnum Enterprises, not the man himself, it helped...a bit.

The building was indeed magnificent. Glass and chrome and cool marble. She was greeted in Reception by a welcoming blonde receptionist, who took her up to the fifth floor of the block and handed her over to a David Cassals. He gripped her hand warmly.

‘Pleased to meet you, Liza,’ he grinned, running his eyes over her in undisguised approval. ‘I’ll show you to your office. Robert will join you later.’

Not wanting to sound gauche, she hid her delight at the pale grey carpeted suite of offices with its profusion of green plants and red and black hi-tech furnishings. It was a dream of a place to work in, with a view over a delightful square; though dreary now in the winter, it promised lush green pleasure for the summer. A world away from her cramped drab office in Soho.

‘Coffee, tea or something stronger?’ David grinned.

‘Coffee would be nice,’ she smiled back.

‘My pleasure.’

He shut the door quietly behind him, and Liza was left alone in an insulated silence. She let out a long breath and lowered herself into a leather wing chair behind a matt black ash-wood desk. Her desk! It was almost too good to be true. Seconds later she jumped as the fax whirred. She leaned back and took the sheet of paper from the machine on the console behind her.

WELCOME

I’LL JOIN YOU FOR COFFEE

Robert

With a smile Liza balled the sheet of paper and tossed it into the waste-bin. Almost immediately the door opened and Robert Buchanan walked in with a tray of coffee and kicked shut the door behind him.

‘So what changed your mind?’ he asked, placing the tray down on the desk.

‘I’m not stupid,’ Liza commented and proceeded to pour the coffee. ‘Stacking shelves won’t pay the mortgage, will it?’

‘No second thoughts?’ He indicated the office suite with a nod of his dark head.

‘Many, but my good sense overruled them. I’m ambitious, and this seems a good place to be ambitious in.’ She handed him a coffee and pushed the sugar and cream towards him.

He perched on her desk and smiled at her. She glanced at his mouth, stemming the recall button on her mind: she didn’t want to bring back that frisson that had shaken her when his mouth had closed over hers the previous day. He’d made it clear it wouldn’t happen again. It was partly the reason she was here. She trusted him not to repeat it ever again.

‘You were very sure I would come,’ she said, and sipped her coffee.

‘Yes, I was. So sure I had your stuff moved from the Leisure Days offices last night.’

‘My stuff?’

He nodded to the desk drawer. Liza opened it. There was her folding mirror, a spare lipstick, a comb—nothing of great importance.

‘You needn’t have bothered.’ She slammed the drawer shut, slightly annoyed at his presumption that she would take this position.

‘I thought it would make you feel at home.’