The Rich Man's Royal Mistress

He defied any man to look at that mouth and not imagine just what it would feel like on his body. His reacted to the thought with violent appreciation not unmixed with a dangerous craving.

Possibly she’d noticed, because the dimple disappeared. She said primly, ‘The lodge specialises in hearty meals because so many of the guests spend their days on the mountains or fishing the river. But because they often bring their wives, it also caters for the appetites of those who decide to spend the day in the spa.’

The soup was delicious, as he’d expected, but although it disappeared from his plate he barely tasted it; he was too busy enjoying the open, delicate greed with which she demolished hers. Did that frank appetite denote an equal enjoyment of sex?

Hawke reined in his enthusiastic body. She had an untouched air; with two heavyweight brothers he suspected that any suitor had been met with an intensive grilling that would put off all but the most determined. Even during the fuss last year when Gabe Considine’s broken engagement had occupied the front pages of every tabloid in the world, little had been printed about her.

So—no lovers?

A heated pleasure caught him by surprise. Last night he’d detected a latent sensuality, an aura of unrealised—and possibly unsuspected—passion in her.

Pity he wasn’t going to be the one to tap into it.

He said casually, ‘How long do you plan to be here?’

‘I leave at the end of the week.’

‘Snap. I’m staying until then too.’

Melissa’s heart jolted, and the knot of anticipation in her stomach tightened. Was that a decision he’d just made?

It was probably part of his charm to keep his full focus on his dinner partner, but Melissa found it intoxicating. Her confidence flowered, spiced by sharp awareness and his interest. She drank very little of the superb Riesling he poured to accompany the next course, a meatloaf surprisingly redolent of Asian flavours and scents, but excitement burned through every cell in her body.

Candlelight flickered lovingly over his bronze face as he leaned back in his chair and surveyed her with an ironic quirk of his brows. ‘So where do you want to be in five years?’

She laughed. ‘Probably working in some hotel chain to get the practical knowledge I’ll need to make a success of Gabe’s vision.’

‘Aim high,’ he advised. ‘You should be at executive level by then, or managing your own tourist venture in Illyria. And I thought it was your vision, not your brothers’?’

Without hesitation she said, ‘It was my idea. I don’t think Gabe is quite sure I’ll make it happen, but I will.’

Yes, she would, he thought, noting the determined angle to her jaw. ‘Would you have thought of making a career in that field if it hadn’t been for Illyria?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. We were brought up to believe that it was our duty to help the principality in any way we could. My father never forgave himself for being out of Illyria when the prince was overthrown; all his life he did what he could for his country and his people.’

Did that include marrying a half-French, half-American heiress, Hawke wondered cynically, to keep him in the style to which he’d been accustomed? Not that it had been an ideal match; although there had never been any prospect of divorce, it was fairly common knowledge that her mother had indulged herself with a string of lovers.

He watched Melissa sip the wine, and that disturbing, rash attraction geared up another notch. She’d been brought up in a milieu where both parents had pragmatically made the best of an unsatisfactory marriage, staying together while seeking what private happiness they could in discreet affairs.

Did Melissa have the same outlook?

She looked up and caught him scrutinising her. Colour burned along her cheekbones and her tawny-gold eyes darkened. A hot satisfaction took him by surprise as he watched the muscles in her slender throat quiver.

When he looked at her with those half-closed green eyes and an enigmatic smile, Melissa’s mind shut down. Summoning her best imitation of her mother’s social manner, she asked, ‘Did you grow up in this area of New Zealand?’

‘No,’ he said, and the iron control was back like a slap in the face. ‘I come from north of Auckland.’

Determinedly Melissa asked questions about the country’s northernmost area, slowly relaxing while they picked up the strands of conversation.

By the end of the evening those oddly tense moments had been smoothed over, although Melissa knew she wasn’t ever going to forget them. He fascinated her, his incisive intelligence stimulating her into a conversation that almost—but not quite—blotted out her overwhelming physical response to his formidable, almost arrogant male authority.

But she took the first chance to get away, saying with what she feared was a too obviously regretful note in her voice, ‘I’ve had a lovely evening, but I should be going.’

He didn’t try to dissuade her, rising to his feet in a swift, lithe movement. ‘I’ll see you to your room.’

‘Oh, no,’ she protested. ‘There’s no need. It’s not far away—just in the staff quarters on the other side of the building, and I can walk through the lodge to get there.’

‘So?’ he said, and smiled at her, and the urgent, driving beat of sexual attraction blazed bright and hungry through her body.

Because she didn’t trust her voice, she contented herself with a half-shrug and a nod of acceptance.

The summons of the telephone startled both of them. He frowned. ‘Excuse me. That will be an emergency.’

‘I’ll wait outside.’

‘Nonsense.’

But she walked through the door into the wide corridor that joined the suite to the rest of the lodge. The lighting was muted to showcase the immeasurable splendour of the scenery, so she pretended to study the mountains while she waited.

Hawke joined her less than a minute later, carrying her jacket. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, dark eyes unreadable.

‘I hope it wasn’t a real emergency.’

He shrugged and said obliquely, ‘Time will tell.’

Instead of handing her the jacket, he held it out for her to put on. Swift blood scorched her skin and she felt profoundly grateful for the dim lights. How many other women had shivered with pleasure and heady anticipation at the closeness the small, intimate courtesy allowed?

Plenty, she thought scornfully.

He said, ‘Are you cold? I’d rather walk outside than through the lodge.’

So they wouldn’t be seen?

Stop this right now, she commanded that cynical little voice inside her. He’s been perfectly polite the whole evening and now he’s going to make sure you get back to your lonely bed because he’s a protective alpha male. That’s all.

‘I’m not in the least cold,’ she told him brightly.

Together they walked out into the night, its spring crispness tempered by a hint of the summer to come. Melissa glanced up, startled to see Hawke scan the grounds with the swift, far-from-cursory survey of a warrior.

‘It’s perfectly safe here,’ she protested.

‘Nowhere is perfectly safe,’ he told her as he took her arm. ‘The world is full of predators.’

She shivered, partly because his touch fired every nerve cell in her body, but also because she knew he was right. Although she’d never been forced to endure a bodyguard’s constant presence, after Gabe and Sara cancelled their engagement her life had been made hideous by importunate reporters and photographers whenever she’d set foot outside the campus.

She loved the feeling of anonymity in this distant corner of the world.

‘The security is excellent,’ she reassured him.