One Man's Mistress: One Night with His Virgin Mistress / Public Mistress, Private Affair / Mistress Against Her Will

The thought of him was simple misery—like a stone lodged in her chest.

But she had to get over it. Had to draw a line and prepare for her future, even if it wasn’t the one she would have chosen.

Yet how many people are actually that lucky? she wondered drearily as she let herself into the flat, pausing to listen to the silence. Ensuring once again that she had the place to herself.

She dumped her bag in her room, kicked off her shoes and went straight to the bathroom for a long and recuperative shower, thoroughly scrubbing her skin and shampooing her hair until all lingering creepy-crawly memories were erased and she felt clean again.

She put on her cotton robe, bundled up her discarded clothing, and left the bathroom, only to walk straight into Mark Benedict in the passage outside, tall and dark in a business suit, his silk tie wrenched loose by an impatient hand.

‘Oh, God.’ Tallie recoiled with a gasp. ‘It’s you.’

He looked at her, brows raised. ‘And why wouldn’t it be? I do live here, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

‘Yes, of course,’ she said shortly, annoyed at her overreaction, and wishing with all her heart that she too was fully dressed, with her hair dry, and definitely not clutching an armful of stuff that included her damned underwear. ‘I was just … startled, that’s all.’

‘Well, not for much longer.’ He paused. ‘As I’m sure you’re aware.’

‘How could I forget?’ Tallie tried a nonchalant shrug and found herself grabbing at her slipping bundle instead. Insouciance was never going to work for her with Mark Benedict around, she thought crossly. ‘But please don’t worry. I shan’t exceed my deadline.’

‘You’ve found another flat?’

‘I have somewhere to go, yes.’ She added with deliberate crispness, not wishing to be questioned further in case she let slip some hint that she was going home in defeat, ‘If it’s any business of yours.’

‘You don’t think I’m bound to be just a little concerned? Under the circumstances?’

‘I think it’s unnecessary.’ Tallie lifted her chin. ‘And please spare me any more references to abandoned puppies.’

‘At the moment,’ he said, his mouth twisting, ‘a half-drowned kitten seems more appropriate.’ He reached out and pushed a strand of wet hair away from her cheek with his fingertip. It was the lightest of touches, but Tallie felt it shiver all the way down to her bare feet. Found herself staring at him, suddenly mute with shock at her body’s unwonted—and unwanted response.

‘If you’re still wondering why I’m home at this hour,’ he went on casually, apparently unaware that she’d been turned to stone before his eyes, ‘I have some friends coming to dinner tonight.’

‘Oh.’ She took a steadying breath, thankful that she hadn’t been guilty of squeaking, jumping back in alarm or any other embarrassing giveaway. ‘In that case, I’ll eat early. Leave the kitchen free for you.’

‘I shan’t be slaving over a hot stove myself.’ His voice held faint amusement. ‘I use a firm of caterers—Dining In—but they’ll probably be glad of some room to manoeuvre.’

‘Naturally.’ She managed a smile of sorts. ‘Consider it done.’

‘And when I have more time,’ he said, his glance thoughtful, ‘you can tell me all about your new place … Tallie.’

She was at her bedroom door, but she turned defensively. ‘How did you know I was called that?’

‘Because someone left a message for you on my answering machine earlier, and that’s the name she used instead of Natalie.’

She flushed with vexation. ‘Oh, heavens, my mother …’

‘I don’t think so. The name she gave was Morgan—Alice Morgan. She wants you to call her.’ He looked at her curiously. ‘You do know who she is?’

‘Yes, she’s the agent who’s going to try and sell my book when it’s finished.’ Tallie took another deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. I—I haven’t mentioned to her yet that I’m moving, but I’ll warn her … not to call here in future. You won’t be bothered again.’

‘For God’s sake.’ The amusement was tempered with exasperation. ‘It’s hardly a problem, if she needs to contact you. And why shouldn’t I know that you’re called Tallie? I’ve no objection to you addressing me as Mark.’

‘Because Tallie’s a private name,’ she said coldly. ‘Used only by my family and friends.’

Whereas, on your lips, it sounds as intimate as a touch, and I can’t cope with that. Not again.

‘From which I infer that I shall not find myself on your Christmas card list this year.’ Back at a safe distance, he leaned a shoulder against the wall, folding his arms. ‘Not very grateful when you’ve been granted a stay of execution.’

‘But the sentence is still going to be carried out. Besides,’ she went on hurriedly, ‘I think it’s much better if we remain on … formal terms.’

‘However, even you must admit that formality’s slightly tricky—under the circumstances.’ His tone was sardonic and the green eyes held a glint that reminded her without equivocation that he knew exactly what her thin cotton robe was concealing.

She felt her face warm and cursed him under her breath. When she spoke, she kept her voice level. ‘Circumstances that I did not choose, Mr Benedict. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m sure we both have other things to do.’

Head high, she went back into her room, closing the door behind her with firm emphasis, then leaning back against its panels with a slight gasp as she tried to control the harsh thud of her heartbeat.

How did he do that? she wondered helplessly. How was it possible for someone she hardly knew to … wind her up with such ease? And why did he bother, anyway?

I’m still raw over Gareth, she told herself, which has made me more vulnerable than I should be. I ought to be able simply to shrug off Mark Benedict’s crude, sexist jibes, instead of letting him see he can get to me.

But I can get back at him, and I will. While he’s entertaining his friends this evening, I shall be busy with yet another encounter between Mariana and the revolting Hugo, and she’ll be triumphing all over again.

She was smiling to herself as she dressed. In spite of her housing problems, she had to admit that the book seemed to be going really well, as she would be able to tell Mrs Morgan. And one of the reasons was clearly the introduction of Hugo the Bastard. In fact, she was enjoying Mark Benedict’s character assassination by proxy so much that she might have to rein it in a little. Not allow him quite such a prominent role in case the gorgeous William appeared a little dull by contrast, which she could already see might be a danger, she thought regretfully.

But the battle of Salamanca was approaching, and he could play a starring role in that—leading a cavalry charge maybe, except that Hugo was probably the better horseman …

She bit her lip. Well, no need to mention that, and some judicious editing might be needed in other scenes. However, she thought more cheerfully, another couple of weeks and she’d have almost enough to show Alice Morgan as work in progress.

Or she would have done, if only the weeks in question remained at her disposal.

Come on, don’t be negative, she adjured herself. At least you’ve got a long, uninterrupted evening ahead of you.

As she popped bread into the toaster and heated up a small can of beans for her supper, she found herself wondering if the snippy Ms Rest and Recreation would be among those present tonight. Not, of course, that it was any concern of hers. And even if the lady stayed over afterwards, the bedrooms were quite far enough apart to avoid any awkwardness.

Although any embarrassment would undoubtedly be all on my side, she admitted, chewing her lip again. What I have to learn is to be more relaxed about these things.

Not that it would matter once she was back under her parents’ roof. They were old-fashioned about morality, and she supposed she’d inherited their attitude. Or thought she’d done so before Gareth had entered her life, she added with a faint sigh. If only he’d wanted her in return …

She ate her meal at the breakfast bar, then washed her plate and cutlery and put them away, making sure the kitchen was immaculate before she poured herself a mug of freshly brewed coffee to take to her room.

As she walked out into the passage, Mark was approaching from the sitting room, talking on the cordless phone.

‘Look, don’t worry about that,’ he was saying. ‘I’m just thankful that you and Milly are all right. No, it’s fine. I can handle it. I’ll book a table somewhere.’ He listened for a moment, then nodded. ‘Make sure you both get properly checked over. Goodnight, Fran. I’ll be in touch.’

He saw Tallie and grimaced ruefully. ‘My caterers,’ he said. ‘A car came out of a side street without stopping and ran straight into them. They’re not badly injured, they reckon, just bruises and shock, but their van’s a write-off and so, of course, is tonight’s meal.’

‘Oh.’ Tallie stared at him. ‘So what will you do?’

He shrugged. ‘Try and find a restaurant that can feed six of us, although frankly I haven’t much hope at this short notice.’