The Rich Man's Royal Mistress

‘It had better be,’ he said uncompromisingly.

Silently they walked beside the lake until she indicated the screen of trees that hid the staff quarters from the main lodge. ‘My temporary home. Thank you for a very pleasant evening.’

In spite of the prosaic subject, her voice sounded too low and breathy.

A breeze swept over the lake, bearing the scent of this uplifted land with it—the cool savour of green rainforest, of ancient rocks and snow, of distance and isolation. Illyrian mountains had been traversed by men for untold thousands of years; humankind had left their stamp on their flanks, wearing tracks, cutting forests, making farms. Until less than a thousand years previously these southern mountains had known only the call of birds and the sounds of wind and water.

Melissa shivered, awed by the sublime indifference of the natural world to the small creatures who thought they ruled it.

‘You’re cold,’ Hawke said, and released her so he could shrug out of his jacket. Before she realised what he intended to do he dropped it around her shoulders.

‘No, no,’ she said, confused and charmed, trying to struggle free of its warmth and that sexy, purely male scent that set her pulse skipping. ‘It’s only a short distance—I’ll be fine.’

Hard hands clamped onto her shoulders. He didn’t hurt her, just showed her his strength. ‘Don’t be silly,’ he said as though speaking to a child.

‘But you’ll get cold,’ she protested, adding foolishly, ‘And you’re a guest here!’

He laughed softly, the reflected starshine from the lake highlighting the forceful contours of his face.

‘Under this sky that doesn’t matter at all,’ he said, uncannily echoing her thoughts of a few minutes previously.

Something in his tone stopped the breath in her throat. With a stripped, ruthless smile that set her heart pounding, he finished, ‘To the mountains I’m just a man. And you’re a woman.’

Astonishment and a keen, fierce anticipation froze Melissa. Wide-eyed and incredulous, she watched him bend his head, only closing her eyes when she was certain that he was going to kiss her.

His mouth was warm and seducing. Unable to think, she held her breath, her lips softening without volition under the light pressure of his.

Later she thought that neither of them moved during those first seconds. She was aware of a turmoil of sensation—the comfort of his jacket around her shoulders, the heat of his mouth on hers contrasting with the freshness of the air, the subtle clamour of desire in her blood.

And then everything was consumed in a surge of frantic, almost agonised need.

Hawke lifted his mouth, but only for a fraction of a second. Before she had time to anticipate rejection he gathered her close against his big, athletic body and his mouth came down on hers again.

He took the kiss with an intensity of hunger that plunged her into a world she’d never experienced—a place of stark, raw passion that shut down everything but the primal urge to lose herself in it. For the first time in her life Melissa understood desperation.

Everything dwindled, narrowing to focus on this man and the heated, dangerous sensations his kisses summoned from her eager body. She couldn’t have resisted even if she’d wanted to; her bones had dissolved and the only thing she wanted was to stay locked like this in Hawke’s arms.

But eventually he raised his head and rested his forehead on hers. The sound of his breathing mingled with hers, harsh and impeded as though they’d run a marathon.

In a rough, driven voice, he said, ‘If we don’t stop this right now I’m going to make a huge mistake.’

CHAPTER THREE

DAZED, Melissa lifted heavy eyelids to stare into Hawke’s face. His striking features were honed by hunger into a starkness that sent a frisson of fear through her. For the first time she understood the power of her femininity.

But that cowardly flash of fear was banished by bold, elemental satisfaction because she had done this to him.

Of course he noticed. His eyes narrowed, but his hold relaxed so that she wasn’t clamped so tightly against the formidable power of his aroused body. He didn’t release her entirely; against her taut, expectant breasts his chest lifted and fell when he took and released a deep breath.

‘Princess, you pack a hell of a punch,’ he said, his cheek against her forehead.

In his raw, intense voice, princess sounded like the most erotic endearment ever spoken in any language. And in his arms Melissa felt dangerously safe. Nothing, she thought dreamily, nothing in the world could ever hurt her again.

But pride drove her to unscramble her brain and assemble her thoughts into something like order. However, she couldn’t think of anything to say beyond a lame, ‘So do you.’

Then she cringed at her muted, shocked tone.

His voice was cool and self-possessed. ‘You’d better get inside. You’re shivering.’

But not from the cold! Nevertheless she made no protest when he dropped his arms, although she felt bereft, as though something precious had been torn from her.

Grimly she drove herself to step away from him, to turn on the path, to head towards the door, so acutely conscious of him beside her that she felt his presence in every cell.

Just concentrate on getting there, she told herself fiercely. You can think about it all you like soon, but now you need to shut the door on him so you can find yourself again.

Because although they had been the most sensuous, shattering kisses she’d ever experienced, she could see that they hadn’t been anything so earth-shaking to Hawke. Oh, he’d enjoyed it, and he’d wanted her, but in spite of her inexperience she knew that most men responded in a physical fashion to a warm female body against them and a seeking, hungry mouth beneath theirs.

The gravel under their feet crunched loudly; every sense was still stretched to its limit, so that her ears picked up the hushed lap of water against the lakeshore, and her skin tingled at the soft wind on her face.

She could taste Hawke on her lips, and her tongue, and her body was hot and eager, every nerve throbbing with frustration.

At the doorway he said abruptly, ‘I’m leaving tomorrow.’

A kind of sick panic hollowed out her stomach. She bit back the words that threatened to tumble out and betray her.

Squaring her shoulders, she said in a voice that she hoped sounded nothing more than amused, ‘Not on my account, I hope.’

‘No,’ he said, his tone echoing hers. ‘The phone call just before we left.’

An excuse, but nicely done.

Melissa’s head weighed heavy on her neck as she nodded. ‘I know about emergencies—my brothers Gabe and Marco spend a lot of time dealing with them,’ she said, forcing a wry note into the words. She turned and held out her hand, hugely relieved when it didn’t waver. ‘Goodbye. I hope yours turns out to be not too big a problem.’

He took her outstretched hand with a humourless smile. ‘So do I,’ he said, and hauled her into his arms.

For a second he looked down into her startled face, his eyes gleaming in the most basic of challenges before he bent and kissed her again, claiming her mouth with hard, fierce possessiveness.

Eventually he lifted his head and gave her a narrow, dangerous look. ‘This isn’t goodbye, Melissa.’

She gazed into his smouldering eyes and felt her heart tumble endlessly in space, infinitely joyous because Hawke wanted to see her again.

‘Then safe journey,’ she managed.

‘I’ll catch up with you soon.’

Cold, reliable common sense returned to blot out her anticipation with uncompromising logic. She shrugged out of his jacket and held it out, knowing in her innermost heart that his vague promise—if that was what it was—meant nothing. However much he’d enjoyed those few kisses she was no sophisticated beauty, not at all the sort of woman Hawke would pursue.

When he took the jacket she managed a smile. ‘Goodbye,’ she said again, and turned and let herself inside, moving quickly because if she stayed he might see the desolation in her eyes.