His Permanent Mistress: Mistress Under Contract

Damn.

She climbed the stairs ahead of him. He kept that close eye on the way her curves filled out the denim jeans, on the way her hips swayed as she smoothly mounted each step.

Double damn.

Had he, for the first time in his life, just made a decision using his body rather than his brain? His brain was telling him to let her go and get on with it, but his body was telling him to grab hold and see what magic she could do. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach out and stroke her.

She walked into the middle of the floor space, the heels of her boots clicking on the wooden floor. He went to the bar and flipped the lights. Wanting rid of the late-night, fun feel. Back to business. She paid him no attention. Instead she took in the fridge behind him, noting the lack of stock.

‘When did you want this open again?’

‘I was hoping for Friday.’

He saw her swallow as she looked around some more. ‘We have a lot to do by then.’

He turned the screws a little. ‘No. You have a lot to do. I have work of my own to be getting on with.’

She turned to him. ‘Accountancy or law?’

He wondered which she viewed as the lesser evil. From the way she’d covered the question in sarcastic flavouring he guessed she regarded both as less than marvellous options. ‘Law.’

‘Hotshot, huh?’

Modesty stopped him from answering that one honestly. ‘Hard-working.’

She nodded. More to herself than him. As if he’d confirmed her worst suspicions.

She focused on the room again. ‘Where are the current staff?’

‘I’m really not sure. There’s a list in the office at the back of the bar. I rang them to let them know it was closing for a couple of days and that the new manager would be in touch.’

‘I’ll get onto that right away.’ She picked up a stained coaster from the nearest table. ‘It could do with a little freshening.’

‘Freshen away. Just don’t do anything drastic.’

She raised her brow at him and he didn’t like the cunning in her smile.

He glanced at his watch. He needed to get back to the office before Sarah thought he’d run out for ever. But he didn’t want to leave this woman alone in the club. Not yet. He needed to get to know her a little. He was used to reading people. It was part of his job. Not only did he have to understand the law and be able to apply it, but he had to understand people as well—under-stand the motivations, desires and reasons behind drastic action. But he’d yet to get a handle on her. She seemed a contradiction. Edgy on top, eager underneath. ‘I have to get back to the office to grab some files.’

‘Files?’

‘I thought I’d catch up on work here while you start to get things sorted. Be here to answer any questions you may have.’

‘I thought you didn’t know anything about running a club.’

‘I’m a good guesser.’

Lucy stood firm and stared down her new employer—again. He didn’t trust her.

‘Sure.’ She smiled. ‘Go get them. I’ll chase up the bar staff.’

He hesitated.

She gave him a withering glance. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to hock off all the furnishings in the half-hour you’ll be gone.’

The thing was, he seemed to think she actually might do just that. She couldn’t for the life of her think why he’d just employed her. Not when it was so obvious he thought she was a flake. It must have been a spontaneous decision and one he was already regretting. She could see it a mile off. He didn’t even want to leave her in the club on her own for five minutes for fear she’d what—run off with the remainder of the stock?

She felt annoyed. Really annoyed.

OK, so she’d never held a job for more than three months. That wasn’t because she wasn’t a good worker. It had always, always been her decision to leave. Usually because she was bored. Because there was somewhere else she thought she wanted to be. And, OK, she mouthed off a bit. Sometimes. Most of the time. Like always. That way she could keep people at bay. Keep their expectations low. Keep herself protected.

She eyeballed him. Damn his judgments. He could stand there in his immaculate suit with his immaculate face that she was not noticing; he could stand there and just watch her.

He didn’t think she could do this. Well, screw him. And that, she conceded, was the problem. She wanted to. Lust like you wouldn’t believe. She wanted to strip him, lay him bare and watch the frozen look go up in flames. Utter foolishness. Lucy had learned long ago to at least try to put the brakes on foolish notions.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. ‘Call me if there’s any problem. I’ll lock the door behind me on the way out.’

She reached out, the casualness of her gesture totally undermined by the intensity of their sparring stares. Again, she had to look away first. It was like staring into the eyes of a lion—and she couldn’t help feeling he was capable of the kill. She watched him leave. Listened to his sure steps heading down. Waited for the sound of the door closing firmly behind him. Then she expelled the breath she’d been holding onto for what felt like hours.

This was huge. Huge. How on earth was she going to pull it off?

She needed help. She flipped out her mobile, wincing at the single bar left on the battery indicator. Knowing she’d already IOU-ed the pre-pay provider and had about thirty seconds’ worth of time left. She pressed the number and hoped for the best. Fortunately Emma picked up straight away. ‘It’s me. I need your help. Phone me back on this number, will you?’ She rattled off the number, thankful her sister had scarily good mental recall.

A minute later the phone in the club rang.

‘Lucy, is everything OK?’

‘Yep. Actually things are great. I got a job.’

‘Another one? Where are you now?’

‘Wellington.’

‘What happened to Nelson? I thought you liked it there.’

‘Oh. All those hours of sunshine. I started to go crazy.’

Emma’s laugh floated down the line. ‘Stir crazy, huh, Luce. When are you going to stick at something longer than a few weeks?’

‘When it rains men. This is a big job though—bar manager.’

‘Really? Fab. What do you need me for?’

‘I’ve got to get up to speed with the stock management systems and pay rolling and spreadsheets, Emma. Spreadsheets.’ She hated the things.

Emma laughed. ‘What systems are they using?’

Lucy looked at the computer and read out the programs on the desktop.

‘Piece of cake, Luce, you’ll crack them in no time,’ Emma encouraged. ‘Look, I’ve a spare laptop. I’ll load the software on and send the guide with it by courier tomorrow.’

‘You’re a lifesaver.’ Lucy gave her the club address. ‘Con-trolling the ordering out front is no problem, it’s the backroom stuff I need the handle on.’

‘Good Lord, Luce. You know what?’

‘What?’

‘You sound motivated. Actually motivated.’

Lucy stared at Daniel Graydon’s business card. ‘I guess I am. I’m going to nail this job, Emma.’ Because it was the last thing he expected. Three weeks was time enough to prove a point. She wouldn’t just do the job, she’d shine. And once she had? Why, then she’d have a holiday.

‘Good for you.’

She hung up, buoyed by the brief conversation. She walked back into the bar and stood in the middle—surveying her new domain. The club was up one flight of stairs, darkened windows overlooking the busy downtown street. A large pool table stood in one corner. Cosy nooks and comfy seating scattered around the edges, a small dance floor on one side of the bar with the DJ stand on the far wall. The space was small, intimate. It was made for selected entrants. It should be exclusive. Hip. She’d target the young, urban, wealthy—fashion designers, media lovies, movie technicians—and mingle them with the up-and-coming darlings of the political and judicial worlds. Wellington—New Zealand’s city of power and privilege, flavoured with a touch of Hollywood.

And cool. Undeniably cool. Lucy understood the power of cool. Not that she was, but she could fake it as well as the rest of them. She could spot a trend. She’d suggested themes and altered décor a little in many of the bars and hotel restaurants she’d worked at over the years—and been successful.

Back in the little office she rooted amongst the chaotic paperwork for a list of staff details and started dialling. An hour later and she’d contacted all but one of them. A couple had already found other work, thinking the club was to be closed for a while, but the others were keen to get back to it. It meant she was short, though—and missing a doorman. But she could work long hours to cover the gap and she knew of the perfect bouncer. She might have been out of town for a year but she had some old friends she knew she could call on. She’d do all the calling necessary to make this work.

Her new employer provided premium incentive. For whatever reason—probably desperation—he’d offered her the chance. More to the point he’d laid down a challenge. Now it was up to her. And her appreciation of his stud factor was going to have to take a back seat to her proving him wrong.

CHAPTER THREE

You find putting things in order satisfying

‘PULL together the files on the Simmons case, will you?’ Daniel watched as Sarah, his junior, jerked up from contemplating her computer screen.

‘I’m going to work off site for a few hours. Maybe a few days.’ He could keep an eye on what was happening down at the club—just to be sure Lucy was going to be able to do the job she said she could.

‘Off site?’Sarah echoed in disbelief. ‘As in not in your office?’

He grimaced, her incredulity hitting a nerve. So he spent long hours in his office. Month after month he racked up the most billable hours in the firm. On top of that he did his pro bono work. Then he tutored and guest lectured at the university—they were nagging him to join the faculty full-time. He achieved—at a cost. The price was long days, every weekend. But he’d made the decision years ago to dedicate his energy to his career.

Sarah gathered the relevant documents while he ensured his laptop had the data necessary. He could always download more remotely if he had to.

‘Are you needing me to come with you?’ Sarah looked right into his face. He had the suspicion those brown eyes of hers were offering a little more than her legal services. He grimaced again. No. Daniel never needed a woman. He might want one, in which case he’d have her, and then he’d move on, certainly never stopping to develop anything resembling a relationship. His parents had pointedly proved there was no such thing as for ever. No such thing as dependability or reliability. So Daniel had chosen career. He was focused and loving it.

He shook his head at Sarah. ‘I can email you with any requests I may have.’

Early evening he climbed the stairs to the club, with an increasing sense of trepidation. She appeared at the top before he’d hit halfway. The hint of anxiety tightening her face faded as she saw it was him.

He raised his brows. ‘Everything OK?’

She nodded. ‘Staff are all organised and I’m just starting the clean-up.’

‘You want a hand with that?’

She looked amazed.

He clarified. ‘You could call in one of the bartenders to help you.’

‘No. It’s not that big a job and if I do it myself then I know it’s done and I know exactly what’s there and where it is.’

He heaved his bag onto the corner of the bar. It landed with a thud. ‘A good manager delegates.’

‘A good manager leads by example and is capable of doing everything herself that she asks her staff to do.’

She was in position behind the bar and he had to admit it looked as if she were made for it. Her hair hung almost to her waist. Long brown locks streaked with sun-kissed honey strands. Neither straight nor curly, it seemed in imminent danger of turning into DIY dreadlocks. It looked as if she’d been swimming for hours and then let it dry in the sun without bothering to brush it through. He had the crazy urge to reach out and grab it, wanting to see if it did smell of sea and salt and holiday. Behind the bar she was as relaxed as if she’d been parked on a beach all her life. Given her tan she probably had.

She picked up a cleaning cloth. He leaned over the bar and he saw the bucket of soapy water on the floor. Steam rose from it together with the smell of lemon-scented cleaning product. She looked at the bag he’d put on the bar, the files spilling from it.

‘So you’re a lawyer.’

He nodded.

‘Commercial or criminal?’

‘Criminal.’

‘Prosecution or defence?’

He started to wonder if she’d had up-close experience with either. ‘Defence.’

‘So you’re out to fight the cause for the wrongly accused. Justice for the underdog—’

‘No.’ He stopped her mid-flight. ‘Actually, sometimes my clients are guilty. But they’re still entitled to decent representation.’

‘You’re an idealist—the Atticus Finch of Wellington.’ She caught his flash of surprise before he masked it. ‘What, you think I can’t read?’

‘Why would I think that? You have a university degree. I know you can read. Whether you can think and apply is another matter.’

She gave him an evil stare. ‘I’ll have you know To Kill a Mockingbird was one of my favourite books in school.’

‘So underneath all the mouth you’re the idealist.’

She looked put out.

‘What were your other favourite books?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t remember.’

She turned to the glass shelves behind the bar and reached up on tiptoe to empty the top one of its bottles. Her body showed off to perfection as she stretched it out, only just getting her fingers round the base of the bottles. He couldn’t stand to watch it.

‘I’ll get those for you.’

Her eyes flashed surprise but she said nothing.

It took him only a minute to get the bottles down for her.

Every cell in his body aware of how close she was as she worked to clear the next shelf down. He stood back and rested against the bar behind him, unashamedly appreciating her tanned figure. Broad shoulders framed a generous bust, tapering to a trim waist before flaring out again to round hips and a bottom that begged to be used as a cushion. Shapely thighs closely clad in faded denim—also perfect for cushioning a lover. She’d be soft, and hot and…he really shouldn’t be thinking this way.

He couldn’t stop.

He looked back down to her feet again. The cowboy boots amused him. Then he amused himself further by slowly looking back up her body with appreciation. While she wasn’t plump, she certainly wasn’t a stick figure—soft in all the right places. Smooth curves. Daniel liked curves.

The speed with which she spun round caught him by surprise. The move brought her closer and he found himself staring right at her breasts.

Oh. Yes.

He blinked and with a little reluctance brought his focus up to her face.

She looked defensive. ‘You don’t think I can do this, do you?’

‘Why would I have given you the job if I thought that?’

‘You tell me.’ Her chin was tilted high in a challenge and all he could do was admire the long column of her neck—smooth, olive skin leading down to collar bones that begged to be kissed.

‘You think I fancy you?’ Damn. He did. He’d have to bluff. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, darling, but you’re not my type.’ That was the truth. Really. She wasn’t.

‘Really?’

‘I prefer a more…finished…look.’

‘You mean plastic. Petite. Perfect. Arm candy for the hotshot lawyer.’

He didn’t even try to argue. She could think what she liked so long as he was covered. And, yeah, maybe his dates usually were pretty perfect-looking things.

‘Rankles, does it?’ He leaned closer, resisting the urge to get close enough to touch her. Hell, he really wanted to grab and haul her to him. Regressing to prehistoric man minute by minute. Irritated, he went a step too far. ‘By finished, I mean at least combed.’

The flash of hurt in her eyes had him instantly regretting it. Since when was he mean? He was like a kid in school picking on the girl he secretly fancied. God, he was never usually so gauche.

She blocked his glimpse to her soul by lowering her eyelids to half-mast, but her smart mouth and tilted chin were firmly up again. ‘For the record. You’re not my type either.’

‘Really?’ His muscles tightened.

‘I prefer more…wild. Not square or…boring.’

‘Bad-boy type who treats you mean, huh?’

‘No need to be patronising. I’m not stupid, you know.’

No. She wasn’t. She was smart—mouthed at least. He needed to back off. She was getting under his skin in a way he wasn’t comfortable with. Having sex with her wouldn’t be wise. Maybe when Lara was back and the responsibility for the club wasn’t on him, he’d consider it. ‘OK. So we’re not each other’s types. I’m glad we got that sorted out.’

She gave him one last look that swam in lack of interest and turned back to her shelves. He stayed exactly where he was and kept watching her.

Boring? She thought he was boring? What, because he wore a suit and practised law? She should learn not to judge a book by its cover.

She bent down and pulled up a trigger bottle. Sprayed frothy liquid on the glass and started to wipe it. She looked at him in the mirror behind the glass shelving. He didn’t look away. Nor did she and after a moment her hand stopped ineffectually wiping the smears from one end of the mirror to the other. They stared.

What he’d love to do right now to show her he wasn’t a square.

She must have grasped some hint of what he was thinking because suddenly she looked away and her wiping of the mirror resumed—a little frantically.

‘I thought you had work to do.’

‘Yeah.’

He pushed away from the bar and walked round to the other side, took the last seat at the bar and pulled out the relevant material from his bag. He put his laptop to the side and ignored it, opting for the paper files. Pen in hand, he bent to his reading. Determined to focus on the facts. Not be distracted by the beach-blown beauty doing the Cinderella act in the corner.

Lucy found cleaning the cooler cabinet a perfect way of working off the extra energy she seemed to have accrued. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. Half aggravated, half attracted.

So definitely not her type.

But so definitely gorgeous.

His head hadn’t lifted from the pages he’d been intently studying for the last forty minutes. Good concentration. She could believe it. When he’d focused his attention on her she’d felt the full force of that intensity. He had the kind of look that went right through outer layers and into the heart of the matter. The heart of her. She wouldn’t want to be on a witness stand and on the end of one of those penetrating golden-eyed stares. For a second there he’d had the look of a predator in his eye, out to conquer. Well, no one conquered Lucy, thanks very much. Especially not arrogant suits who made the rules without regard to the feelings and needs of others.

She couldn’t stand the silence any more. ‘Big case, huh?’

He lifted his head. ‘Reasonably.’

‘Are you going to get him off?’

‘I’m going to do my best.’

He looked back to his pages. OK. It was like trying to get information out of the Kremlin. Mr Closed Shop. She had the urge to open him up. What would he be like out of the suit? What would he be like in bed?

Serious. Strong. Intense. Her whole body was on edge just from having him over five feet away. How fierce would her tension be if he were to get even closer—as close as a man and woman can physically get? And how complete would the relief be when that tension snapped?

Intuitively she knew it would be incredible.

She finished the area behind the bar and checked and double-checked the inventory of stock. She was tired from a long day walking round temp agencies and she was hungry but it looked as if Daniel was settled in for a long night over the books. How late did he expect her to work? She decided to give him a status report and wow him with her efficiency.

‘I’ve organised the staff for Friday—they’re coming in for a meeting tomorrow afternoon. Will you want to be here for that?’

He looked up, his eyes taking a moment to focus on her. When they did it was with deadly accuracy. ‘I might be around—what time?’

‘Three p.m. Meanwhile I’m looking into a replacement bouncer for the Thursday to Saturday shifts. I know someone perfect for the job.’

He didn’t look impressed. He looked sceptical. ‘Is he qualified?’

‘Of course.’ She couldn’t wait to see his face when he saw her bouncer. Her imp of disobedience must have been obvious because he stared hard at her but refrained from comment. Lucy was disappointed; she’d wanted to tell him all about the black belt in ju-jitsu and six-foot-two physique. Instead he started the interrogation about everything else.

‘What about the stock?’

‘I’ve done an inventory and cleaned the shelves at the same time. I’ll start contacting the reps first thing in the morning.’

‘DJ?’

‘Looking into it. Again, I thought I’d use my contacts.’

‘What about the fire extinguishers and escape routes—got those sorted?’

She stared at him. ‘Rules and regulations all you can think about?’

‘We’re not talking some small café here. We’re talking a bar—late licence, heaving dance floor on the weekend. Health and safety is paramount.’

Well, for him it would be. He’d never see this place as a place to have fun. It was obvious it was all one huge headache to him. He was probably a refined wine-club kind of guy. All the law students she’d known when she was at university were going on about vintage and method and paying outrageous sums for a tiny glass of something sublime down at the exclusive bars on the fringes of the power enclave in central Wellington. ‘OK, I’ll check the fire exits.’

‘I expect you to drill the staff in that. The last thing I’m having is some disaster on my watch.’

‘Yes, boss.’ There were risks to health and safety in any bar at any time. And she wasn’t thinking fire or earthquake. There were other battles to wage and she’d ensure her staff were au fait with defence weaponry because that was one thing she did know about—firsthand.

He reached into his pocket. ‘I got a key cut for you.’He handed her a slip of paper at the same time. ‘This is the code for the alarm.’

‘You’re sure about this? You don’t want to meet me outside?’ She couldn’t help the little bite.

His eyes flashed a warning but he spoke as if her tone hadn’t registered. ‘I have an important meeting tomorrow. I can’t say how long it will go for. You’ll just have to get on with it.’

She eyed him, very nearly clicking her heels and saluting.

He looked down at his spread files; she could see the way the contents were calling to him. The challenge of the earlier part of the evening had faded beneath his preoccupation. She reached behind the bar and retrieved her bag and violin case. Both felt heavy. She was tired and she wasn’t looking forward to a restless night’s sleep in the company of strangers.

He stood and stretched out his shoulders. ‘You’ll be OK getting home?’

She nearly laughed aloud. ‘No problem.’

He nodded. ‘Thanks.’

Maybe she had impressed him a little with the effort she’d put in tonight. Her sudden smile was warmer than she intended. ‘See you tomorrow.’

He sat again, no sign of any softening in return. In fact, he frowned a little. ‘You’ll pull the door right behind you on the way out?’

‘Sure.’ Stupidly she was disappointed. She’d thought the least he could manage was a smile. Didn’t smile much, Daniel. And why not see her out down the stairs? He couldn’t even manage that small act of politeness. He really was as typical as she’d first thought. Arrogant and uncaring. His head was back down. She didn’t think he even noticed that she was heading out the door.