The Saxon Brides: Mistaken Mistress

She was conscious of his gaze taking in her dishevelled hair, her sleep-mussed face and the comfortable terry robe that was a world away from the glamorous, sophisticated image she preferred to present.

As the self-consciousness spread within her, she became aware of how isolated they were from the rest … how hidden and sheltered under the cover of night. Her pulse picked up, she breathed slowly, trying to hide her agitation. How could this man have such an effect on her?

“Okay, I’m going.” Her voice was hoarse, a croak of sound in the night.

His gaze darted over her wind-ruffled hair, to where the robe gaped in front. Alyssa yanked the sash tighter. He stilled. She sensed his tension, knew he’d picked up on what she was feeling. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry you were woken.”

“It’s not a problem. I should catch another couple of hours sleep if I go back to bed now.”

Immediately she wished she hadn’t used the word bed. It brought an intimacy that she didn’t want. And Joshua was aware of it, too. The utter stillness that surrounded him told her that. For one wild moment she felt herself swaying toward him, inching closer. Then she caught herself.

This was madness.

Joshua believed she’d been his brother’s mistress.

Spinning away, she hurried back to the homestead, nerves of apprehension fluttering like drunken butterflies in her stomach when she heard his footsteps crunching on the gravel path behind her.

Alyssa set her bare foot on the first step and paused, not daring to look back. “See you at breakfast.” She tried for a casual, throwaway tone, and knew she’d fluffed it up when he stepped closer.

“Not so fast.”

She froze. Her chest rose and fell, and her toes curled into the cold stone stairs. She was eternally grateful for the fans, for the drone of the rotors. Hopefully Joshua wouldn’t hear the thunder of her heart.

He stopped beside her. And touched her face. Gently. His fingertips cupped her cheek, turning her head toward him.

The thunder of rushing blood grew loud in her ears. She caught a whiff of his aftershave, the same scent that clung to his jacket. To her intense horror all the emotion she’d experienced in his bedroom welled up inside her. Joshua grew blurred. The tears she’d been suppressing since Roland died spilled over.

“Hey, don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying.” She wiped frantically at her eyes. “I’m not.” She faced him, blinking furiously.

His features softened in the light from the salon behind her. “Come here.”

“I’ll be okay,” she choked out.

“Hush.” He reached out and took her into his arms.

The storm of sobs caught her unawares and caused her shoulders to shake and her stomach to ache. His arms were strong and he cradled her against his chest, rocking her slightly. The merino lambswool sweater he wore was soft and warm under her cheek, and she could feel his heart beating steadily under her hand. It was comfortable and safe. Alyssa wished she could stay in his arms forever.

The tears fell faster.

Simply holding her, he let her cry, saying nothing.

The tempest subsided. Her sobs quietened.

And in the silence of the pre-dawn it all changed. Suddenly Joshua’s hold wasn’t only about comfort. There was something else, too. In slow degrees she became aware that the steady beat of his heart under her fingertips had picked up, that his breathing had become irregular. A sense of expectancy hung over them.

A moment of indecisiveness. To snuggle closer? Or push him away? She was desperately tempted to move closer.

Whatever she did now would change their relationship irrevocably.

But he made the decision for her, easing his grip. “My touch has never had that effect on a woman before. I’ve never made a woman cry before.”

Alyssa knew he was trying to lighten the moment, trying to make her smile. But she couldn’t.

She hiccupped. Mortification set in. How could she have dissolved into weak, womanly tears in his arms?

After a little silence, she said awkwardly, “I’m sorry, I’m crying like a baby.”

“It’s been a hell of a week.” He pulled her closer again and rested his cheek against her hair. The unexpected contact was achingly tender. The pulsing sensuality had evaporated. “Cry all you want.”

She regretted the loss of whatever it was that had stirred between them. She ached. But his tenderness made the tears flow afresh. Alyssa sniffed, furious with herself for appearing so vulnerable. “You must think I’m so dumb.”

His arms tightened around her. “I don’t think you’re dumb at all.” After a moment, he added huskily, “I miss him, too.”

Six

A little awkwardness from her emotional meltdown still lingered when Alyssa entered the sunny glass-walled breakfast room later that morning. But she gradually relaxed once she realised the room was empty until Joshua strolled in from the kitchen.

“Oh, you startled me.” Her heart started to race and not only from the shock of his sudden appearance. He looked utterly, heart-wrenchingly gorgeous. He’d changed. A black shirt and blue jeans replaced the sweats. The lambswool sweater that had been so soft against her skin earlier was gone.

“Where is everyone?” Her voice was annoyingly breathless as she fixed her attention on his face.

“Working. We rise early. No city hours at Saxon’s Folly.” His eyes scanned her, making her aware of how out of place her boutique-chic, pin-striped pantsuit and suede shoes must seem. At once she wished she’d worn the jeans she’d bought yesterday morning.

Today’s early-morning encounter with Joshua had put her on the defensive, forcing her to don corporate armour to withstand the devastating effect he had on her. Off balance, she said with a touch of acerbity, “Oh, then what are you still doing here?”

The beautiful bone structure tightened, and his mouth firmed into a sculpted line and all affability vanished.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” There was not an ounce of gentleness in his narrow-eyed inspection.

“Why?” she asked baldly, tensing for a confrontation.

“Have you forgotten? You’re accompanying me today. So eat up, I need to get moving.”

She had forgotten all about it. Her brain had been short-circuited by the nightmare, then jolted by the siren. The crying jag and Joshua’s show of sympathy had only deepened her turmoil. She met that granite gaze. “I don’t need a guard dog.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

His way or hit the highway. His flinty eyes and the rocklike set to his jaw warned her that there would be no point in arguing. Not if she wanted to stay at Saxon’s Folly.

No hint of the gentle pre-dawn Joshua remained. She’d been duped into believing that he was empathetic. Nurturing. Safe.

Mistake.

This was the real Joshua Saxon. Too arrogant. Too sure of himself. Too darn everything.

But even knowing all that, she couldn’t stop the sensual awareness that prickled under his penetrating regard. What a pity her body was so out of sync with her brain about the kind of man that was good for her.