The Rich Man's Royal Mistress

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.

‘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.

For the rest of the week Melissa waited for him to come back. Of course he didn’t, and after days of echoing silence and slowly fading hope she told herself desperately that it was all for the best.

Kisses meant little, except that her response had been embarrassing enough to send him running. Her heart wasn’t broken—slightly cracked, maybe, but still intact; sinking into a decline like a gently-bred Victorian maiden simply wasn’t an option to a woman of the twenty-first century.

And the erotic dreams that ambushed her in the night were just figments of her sex-starved imagination.

Viewing the situation sensibly, she should be glad she’d learnt something more about the complexity of relationships—if dinner and a few kisses could be called a relationship!—between men and women.

With a last glance at the mountains, she settled back into her seat on the plane. Half an hour from now she’d have left behind her time at the lodge, with its memories of a job she’d enjoyed and a man she’d never forget. She thought bleakly that she now understood what had led her tough brother Gabe into his catastrophic affair with Sara Milton.

Sex had a lot to answer for!

The plane banked, turned away from the lakes and the mountains and set a purposeful course for the North Island. Melissa closed her eyes and tried to convince herself that Hawke’s kisses had not changed her fundamentally, as though he had the power to alter her basic cellular construction.

The thought was utterly ridiculous.

So she wouldn’t consider it. She’d sink herself into her life and not ever think of him again.

But first she’d have a week in Northland, a long, narrow peninsula thrusting towards the tropics, where spring was edging into summer and white beaches warmed under a hot sun.

‘Why?’ Gabe had demanded when she’d rung him the previous night.

‘You might be able to work twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, but I can’t. I’m taking time out to collate my notes for the paper I’m doing on the internship while the whole experience is fresh in my mind.’

‘You could go to the house in Honolulu.’

‘I want to see a bit more of New Zealand. I’ve been told Northland is just as stunning as the southern lakes district, but in an entirely different way.’

‘It is.’ He sounded resigned. ‘Where will you be staying?’

She told him the name.

‘That sounds like a backpackers’ lodge.’

‘It is, but an upmarket one—I’ve reserved a room to myself.’

‘If you need money I’ll organise—’

She broke in without compunction. ‘You were the one who decided that I should live on my allowance. And you were right—it’s not only extremely good for me to stick to a budget, but I also enjoy doing it. I’m fine, Gabe, don’t fuss.’

After a moment’s silence, he said reluctantly, ‘New Zealand’s safe enough, I suppose, but take care.’

‘I always do,’ she said, smiling.

‘E-mail me the address,’ he commanded. ‘And your room number.’

‘Yes, sir!’

He laughed. ‘All right, I know you’re a big girl now. Have fun.’

Sometimes big brothers—even adored ones—could be a darned nuisance, but although their protectiveness rubbed her independence the wrong way, neither Gabe nor Marco would ever change.

The little town of Russell in the Bay of Islands was busy with tourists and holidaymakers drawn to the region by its rich history, both Maori and European, and its beauty. Built along a beach, its small wooden houses were constrained by hills covered in dark, vigorous forest that Melissa knew was always referred to as ‘the bush’. Neither the vegetation nor the setting reminded her in the least of Hawke Kennedy.

No memories here.

In her small, sparsely furnished room she set up her laptop on the desk and settled down to work. For the next two days she resisted the temptations of cruises with dolphins, of sightseeing and diving, of wine and heritage tours. Every evening she went for a walk along the beach then up a steep hill topped by a flagpole.

And every night in bed she lay awake staring into the darkness.

Soon she’d be over this undignified infatuation. It was just a matter of refusing to surrender to it; she was being obsessive and stupid and girly, but at least no one else knew how silly she was.

The third morning bloomed in soft, fresh splendour, the sun beaming down from a sky so blue and bright it made her blink. However, a tentative dabble in the sea convinced her that it was too cold to swim, so she celebrated the good weather with breakfast at the café along the road and settled down with her notes.

Towards midday she pushed them aside and got up to stretch. ‘A walk,’ she said out loud. ‘I need a walk before lunch.’

She craved solitude, so of course she met a family on the beach—a smiling, vociferous group who engulfed her when she snatched one small daughter out of the way of a particularly boisterous wave. Tourists from Peru, they sorted out into a middle-aged couple, their very handsome son called Jorge, and a married daughter with her husband and two enchanting little girls.

Melissa knew she wasn’t looking her best; unlike the South American women she hadn’t bothered with make-up that morning, and she’d set out without changing her T-shirt and jeans.

Not that it seemed to matter. Jorge gave her a dazzling smile and fell in beside her as they began to move along the beach. By the time they’d reached the other end of the bay he’d invited her to lunch with them at one of the restaurants, an invitation eagerly seconded by his mother.

Her first instinct was to refuse, but why not? Defiance mightn’t be a pretty emotion, but it was better than a nagging sense of humiliation. She was tired of her constant fixation on Hawke. This cheerful, noisy family would keep the useless memories at bay for an hour or so.

So she said, ‘That sounds lovely—thank you very much.’

The Lopez clan wouldn’t hear of her leaving them to change her clothes for something a little more elegant.

‘No, no,’ the señora said briskly. ‘Here is very casual, so we all wear our beach clothes.’

Melissa hid a smile. Their beach clothes had been bought, she was sure, in the most elegant boutiques in Lima. Beside them she must look a peasant.

Lunch was protracted and happy and delicious, and by the end of it the children were sweetly nodding and Melissa also was ready for the siesta that so clearly beckoned the rest of the family.

They insisted on escorting her back to the lodge, then waved goodbye and trooped off in the direction of their hotel. The son lingered, however, just inside the gate.

‘Perhaps you would like to have dinner with us also?’ he suggested, examining her with such open interest and pleasure that a tinge of heat coloured her cheeks.

Melissa was opening her mouth to refuse tactfully when a voice from behind her said, ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’

The deep, even tone displayed no emotion whatsoever, but each word was buttressed by steel. Heart jumping, Melissa turned to meet eyes as green and cold as glacier ice. Hawke, she thought, and a wave of pure happiness overwhelmed her.

The South American looked from her face to Hawke’s; with a wry smile he said courteously, ‘But of course. It has been a pleasure meeting you, Melissa.’

And symbolically relinquishing any claim to her, he gave a slight bow and turned away.

Struggling to control her wayward heartbeat, Melissa asked crisply, ‘You had no right to refuse an invitation for me.’

Hawke lifted an arrogant eyebrow. ‘Then go after him.’

‘I will not,’ she returned, furious yet wondering whether he was jealous. Or overly possessive. ‘I was about to refuse him myself. And this is the second time you’ve gone over my head.’

Silence burned between them, taut and filled with unspoken emotions. All she could think of was that if only she’d known he was coming she’d have worn clothes that suited the occasion. Festival gear, she thought with a touch of hysteria, because skyrockets were exploding in the pit of her stomach and she was sure she could hear fairy music—dangerous, seductive, wildly irresistible—in her ears.

Hawke didn’t pretend not to understand what she was referring to. ‘At Shipwreck Bay I consulted the manager before I asked you to dinner because I thought you might have been working again that night,’ he said coolly. ‘As for today—you’re perfectly correct, I had no right to answer for you. I’m sorry.’

‘I should think so.’ She angled her chin at him. ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but I met the whole family—mother, father, sister and husband as well as Jorge, plus two sweet little girls—late this morning and had lunch with them all. What are you doing here?’

This time both straight brows went up. In a voice that held more than a little impatience he said, ‘I came here because you’re here. Why the devil did you leave Shipwreck Bay?’

A car started up with a series of minor explosions that effectively killed the fairy music. Woodenly Melissa said, ‘I told you I was due to leave at the end of the week.’

‘And I told you I’d be back.’ He frowned down at her. ‘Why didn’t you wait?’

‘You didn’t ask me to, which was another assumption,’ she said, much more calmly than she felt. Anticipation pierced her, and an exhilarating pleasure. ‘How did you find me?’

Narrow-eyed, he said harshly, ‘If you hadn’t booked this place through Shipwreck Bay Lodge I might not have.’

‘I know that judicious amounts of money, carefully targeted, can buy almost anyone, but I’d have thought the staff at the Bay would show some loyalty.’

He gave a short, mirthless laugh. ‘They did. I own Shipwreck Bay.’

Stunned, she said, ‘You what?’

‘I thought you knew.’

‘No.’ She drew in a sharp breath, wondering why it was important to convince him of that. ‘No,’ she repeated, ‘I didn’t know.’

Did he believe her? Or did he think she’d wanted him to run after her as some kind of sick, thoughtless ploy to keep him interested? It was impossible to tell from his expression; he was an expert at hiding his thoughts and his emotions.

And what, she wondered feverishly, did he want from her? She didn’t even know how to ask. If only she had some idea of how this game between the sexes was played.

Without thinking, she blurted, ‘Do you own this one too?’

‘No.’ He gave her an edged smile that reinforced the flinty note in his voice. ‘I have a house a few kilometres away. Is Northland living up to your expectations?’

‘It’s glorious.’ She sent him a sideways glance and finished demurely, ‘But I suppose you prefer the mountains.’

Hawke wondered if she had any idea just how provocative he found those occasional slanting glances—the flash of topaz fire between the thick lashes, and the tiny smile that accompanied each one.

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