The Tycoon's Trophy Mistress

After being whisked through the formalities, they were served with a tray of excellent coffee before boarding the big jet and being shown to a pair of First Class seats.

Charlotte was staggered. Surely it hadn’t happened by chance? She shot him a puzzled glance.

He raised a dark brow. ‘Something wrong?’

‘No…I just didn’t think… I mean, I hadn’t expected that we’d be on the same plane, let alone sitting together.’

His silvery eyes on her face, he queried mildly, ‘I hope the prospect of having me sitting next to you during the flight doesn’t seriously bother you?’

‘N-no, of course not. I’m just surprised.’

‘As we were travelling at the same time, I told my secretary to book adjacent seats. I found the thought of a little company welcome. I hope you do?’

‘Very welcome,’ Charlotte assured him with her most fetching smile.

So was the unaccustomed luxury.

Used to being crowded into economy, she was staggered by how very comfortable and spacious the First Class area was.

In spite of her tension, or maybe because of it, almost as soon as they were airborne she found herself having to stifle a yawn.

‘Tired?’ he queried, proving he missed nothing.

‘I didn’t get much sleep last night,’ she admitted.

‘Over-excited?’

‘Probably.’

‘Then why not have a little nap before lunch?’

She shook her head. ‘I have been known to fall asleep in cars and buses, but never on planes.’

Taking off his jacket he queried, ‘Any particular reason?’

Without intending to she found herself telling him the truth. ‘I can’t relax enough. I’m never really happy flying. My father was killed in a plane crash.’

‘I’m sorry. How long ago was that?’

‘Six years.’

‘I’m sorry. And what about your mother?’

‘My mother died when I was quite young and my father married again.’

‘His dying like that must have been hard on both you and your stepmother.’

Her generous mouth tightening, she said shortly, ‘My stepmother didn’t care.’

‘Oh?’

‘She was playing around with another man when it happened.’

Her companion waited, his eyes on her face.

Though she had had no intention of revealing any more, Charlotte found herself saying, ‘He was an oil company executive and barely a month after my father’s funeral she married him and went to live in the Middle East.’

Knowing Tim Hunt must have been just a schoolboy at the time, Daniel waited for her to go on. But once again she said nothing about her stepbrother.

After a moment, he probed, ‘I guess you were still at college?’

Wondering vexedly why she had told him so much, Charlotte answered briefly, ‘Yes, I was.’

Seeing she didn’t want to carry on the conversation and watching her smother another yawn, he said, ‘Nap time, I think.’

He adjusted the angle of the seats so that they were reclining comfortably and gathered her close.

‘Put your head on my shoulder.’ He settled her head at the comfortable juncture between chest and shoulder, adding, as he might have done to a child, ‘I’ll keep you safe.’

For an instant everything seemed to stop—her heartbeat, her breathing, her very lifeblood—and she froze into stillness.

Then, with a kind of backlash, she felt an almost uncontrollable urge to tear herself away and cry Keep your hands off me, you swine!

But the last thing she must do was let her true feelings show. She had to play-act for all she was worth.

Though for the moment any acting ability seemed to have totally deserted her.

Recalling Carla’s advice, she knew she should be snuggling against him, doing the ‘wide-eyed and helpless’ bit, but somehow she couldn’t.

Breathing in the clean freshness of his shirt, the faint suggestion of shower-gel and the masculine scent of his aftershave, all she could do was stay quite still, every muscle in her body taut.

‘Relax,’ he urged softly.

Only too aware of his overpowering maleness, the firmness of bone and muscle beneath her cheek, the sureness and strength of his arm holding her, she knew it would be impossible to relax.

But after a while, with a weight of warmth and tiredness lying over her body like a cashmere shawl, her tension drained away and she slept.

When she finally stirred and resurfaced for a second or two she had no idea where she was, or who was holding her so closely.

‘Feeling better, Miss Michaels…?’ a pleasant male voice queried.

‘Yes, thank you,’ she mumbled.

Looking into forest-green eyes still dazed with sleep, he added, ‘Or may I call you Charlotte…?’

‘Please do,’ she replied automatically as she gathered her wits and struggled to sit up.

His smile teasing, he said, ‘Somehow, I feel that watching over you while you slept has moved our relationship on to a more…shall we say…personal footing.’

Flustered by the thought of Daniel Wolfe watching her sleep, she drew hastily away.

Removing his arm and readjusting the seats, he pursued, ‘You must have been absolutely shattered. You’ve slept for almost two hours.’

A glance at her watch confirmed the truth of his statement. ‘I—I’m sorry,’ she stammered. ‘I haven’t been much company.’

In truth, he had enjoyed the chance to just hold her quietly and watch her sleeping face.

When Glenda, his younger sister, married and became a mother, she had once remarked how much time she and her husband had spent just looking at the cherished new arrival.

Finding it difficult to take his eyes off his companion, Daniel now knew exactly what his sister had meant.

Studying that glorious hair, the silky brows and thick, naturally-dark lashes that curled so enticingly, the pure curve of her cheek, he had felt a fierce desire.

Then noticing how, in repose, her soft mouth drooped a little at the corners, as though she’d forgotten how to be happy, he had felt an odd kind of tenderness mingling with desire.

Now seeing her look of genuine concern he shook his head. ‘There’s nothing to be sorry for, I do assure you.’

Tucking in a tendril of silky, red-gold hair that had escaped from its neat coil, Charlotte sighed inwardly. Though he sounded quite laid back about the lack of company she was vexed with herself. She should have been using that time to amuse him, rather than just sleeping.

Once they reached New York and went their separate ways, it would be too late…

‘About ready for some lunch?’ His voice broke into her thoughts.

Finding herself unexpectedly hungry, she nodded.

‘What do you fancy?’ He handed her a menu that bore little resemblance to the kind of airline food she had been served in the past.

Seeing her hesitate, he asked, ‘Something wrong?’

‘I’m just bowled over by the choice,’ she admitted. ‘I usually travel economy class.’

He grinned. ‘Oh yes, I remember it well.’

‘You do?’ She failed to hide her surprise.

With a kind of wry self-mockery he told her, ‘After graduating, to see what I was made of, I spent a couple of years working my way round the globe. At times cash was so tight that even those ubiquitous plastic containers were welcome…’

While they ate a leisurely lunch followed by coffee and brandy they talked about his travels and the various places he’d visited.

‘Have you travelled much?’ he asked at length.

‘Not as much as I would have wished.’

‘Even though you dislike flying?’

‘I wouldn’t have let that stop me. At one time I’d planned to go round the world when I finished college, but…’ She stopped speaking abruptly.

‘But?’

‘I had commitments.’ She still felt unbearably desolate and sad when she thought of Tim. Poor Tim. And it was all this man’s fault.

A fresh wave of anger and hatred shook her.

Watching her, Daniel waited.

When she said nothing he queried carefully, ‘Is there anywhere in particular you’d still like to go?’

Taking a deep steadying breath she answered, ‘Quite a lot of places. But until earlier this year Carla—the girl I share the flat with—has been lighting candles for my financial status.’

‘It doesn’t sound as if we’re paying you enough.’

‘As I said, I had commitments.’

It seemed as if Sheering had been right when he suggested that Charlotte had been supporting her stepbrother, Daniel thought, and once again he waited, hoping she would go on.

But her face had that still, controlled look he was coming to recognize and, sighing inwardly, he decided to back off and change the subject.

Leaving the more emotive topics, he began to talk about international finance and how it affected current business interests.

After a moment, appearing cool and collected now, she joined in and held her own in a conversation that, though general, was deep and wide-ranging.

He moved easily from money issues and world trade to global warming and the preservation of natural resources. All the time testing her knowledge, seeking her reaction, asking her opinion, which, greatly to her surprise, often seemed to coincide with his.

If they touched on a subject that she was more familiar with than he was he saluted her superior knowledge. Generously.

Used to being talked down to by the men on her team who seemed to think brains and beauty were incompatible, she found it stimulating to be taken seriously and treated as an equal.

By the time they reached New York and came in to land at busy JFK Airport she had almost forgotten her reason for being there.

Almost.

Once again, with a light but firm hand at her waist, Daniel Wolfe took charge of everything. In no time at all, it seemed, the formalities were completed and their luggage was being ferried to a waiting limousine by a smartly uniformed chauffeur.

Instead of being dull and damp, as it had been in London, to Charlotte’s surprise there was a fresh cover of snow. Overhead the sky was a cloudless cornflower-blue, and the sun shone coldly bright.

As they drove through Queens, which seemed to be mainly residential, she queried, ‘How far is it?’

‘About fifteen miles to mid-Manhattan. It’ll take about an hour, depending on the traffic.’

Though aware that she should be using the time to advantage Charlotte could think of nothing else to say, and once again very conscious of the man by her side she looked resolutely through the car window.

For his part, his first surging excitement now leashed by his better judgement, Daniel was content to simply have her by his side.

Earlier, on the plane, the urge to hold her in his arms had been so great that he had thrown caution to the winds.

He had felt her momentary withdrawal, her tenseness and, expecting the worst, had braced himself for an open rejection.

When it hadn’t come he had been both pleased and puzzled. Either she had decided to forgive and forget or she was playing some deep game of her own.

Whichever, it seemed that, in the short term at least, life was going to be far from dull.

CHAPTER THREE

AS THEY approached Manhattan, though Charlotte had seen enough pictures to make it reasonably familiar, she still caught her breath at the sight of the city decked all in sparkling white.

‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ she exclaimed.

‘I think so,’ he agreed.

Her reason for being there momentarily forgotten, she turned to him in excitement. ‘I thought I knew what to expect, but I hadn’t imagined anything quite like this.’

Pleased and relieved that she liked his city, he said, ‘New York has so many different faces, so many moods, that it’s always able to surprise even the people who call it home. That’s one of the reasons I enjoy living here.’

His comment reminded her of something she still wasn’t sure about, and she asked, ‘Perhaps you can tell me where I’ll be living? Mr Telford mentioned a company flat, but I’ve no idea where it is.’

‘The company flat is at our headquarters in the Lloyd Wolfe building, which is situated Uptown on Central Park East.’

‘Is that where you live?’

‘No. I live in Lower Manhattan.’

‘Oh!’ It would have suited her purpose better if he’d been living in the same building.

‘You sound disappointed.’

He seemed able to pick up the slightest inflection she thought uncomfortably, and hastened to deny. ‘Not at all. It’s just that for some reason I’d expected you to have a penthouse on Fifth Avenue.’

‘I did for a while but it didn’t really suit me, so I moved… Sure you’re not disappointed?’

‘No, of course not. Why should I be?’ Then, seeing he was far from convinced, she added, ‘I’m just surprised. I can’t imagine anyone not enjoying living on Fifth Avenue.’

‘I did, in a way, but as well as being relatively run-of-the-mill the penthouse always seemed a touch impersonal, like living in a hotel.

‘Now I have a house that’s different, as well as being very personal. It’s in an area usually referred to as The Villages.’

‘The Villages?’ she echoed uncertainly.

‘They’re a collection of neighbourhoods just west of Broadway.’

‘Isn’t that quite a way from your headquarters?’

‘Not too far, as the crow flies.’

‘Do you go in every day?’

‘Yes, unless I’m away on business.’

‘And you don’t find the traffic a pain?’

‘It can be, of course, but a chauffeur-driven car does a great deal to mitigate it.’

‘Is that where I’ll be working?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, if I’m living on the spot I won’t have far to travel,’ she remarked with a smile.

‘Unfortunately, because of the very short notice, the accommodation there is still occupied.’

‘Oh…’

‘It should be vacated in the next two or three days, and then you’ll be able to move in and get settled before Christmas.

‘In the meantime, I thought you could stay at my place.’

‘Stay at your place?’ she echoed, knowing she should be pleased, but momentarily horrified and sounding it.

‘Like most big cities, New York can be a bit lonely and unnerving,’ he went on smoothly, ‘especially if you’re on your own and don’t know the ropes. So, rather than book you into a hotel, I thought you could have the small self-contained suite that my housekeeper used to occupy… Unless, of course, you have any serious objections to living under my roof for a short time?’

Recovering a little, and somewhat reassured that he’d described it as a self-contained suite, she stammered, ‘W-well… No.’

Delighted by the relative lack of opposition, he remarked quizzically, ‘I thought the press might have managed to convince you that no woman is safe when I’m around?’

She didn’t need convincing, Charlotte thought bitterly, she already knew that he was a ruthless womanizer.

Managing to look amused, she said coolly, ‘I don’t believe all I read.’

‘In that case, we’ll call it settled.’

‘Thank you.’

‘It’s my pleasure, I assure you.’ He smiled into her eyes, a personal communication that emphasized the fact that he was already interested in her as a woman rather than just an employee.

Returning his smile, Charlotte reflected with a surge of triumph that things seemed to be going her way. Thanks to the company flat being occupied, she might have several more days of what should be fairly close contact to try and increase that interest.

His grey eyes were still looking into hers and, afraid he might read her thoughts, she said quickly, ‘Won’t you tell me about The Villages?’

‘They’re wonderful places to live, with first-class restaurants, good theatre and a great variety of night-life. The best known is undoubtedly Greenwich Village, with Washington Square as its heart…’

He talked knowledgeably about The Villages and their history until they reached an area where the streets no longer conformed to the rigid grid system and had a friendly, small-town feel to them.

The main thoroughfare, with its boutiques and cafés, its bookstores and art galleries, was busy and bustling with Christmas shoppers.

Snow was piled along the edges of the sidewalks, white and uneven, like miniature mountain ranges and, despite the sunshine, a row of icicles hung from an upper storey windowsill.

The stores were bright with decorations and tinsel. In one window a red-coated Santa rode on a loaded sleigh pulled by prancing reindeer, while in another elves and furry woodland creatures tied a green scarf around the neck of a carrot-nosed snowman.

Leaving the main shopping centre and most of the traffic behind them, they reached a quieter residential area and turned left into Carver Street.

A cul-de-sac lined with bare snowy trees and elegant brownstones, Carver Street meandered a little, like an amiable drunk.

At the end, standing detached and fronting on to the street, was a small three-storey house with a steeply-pitched roof and overhanging eaves.

It was built of pink and blue bricks in a herringbone pattern and its garden was surrounded by a high brick wall.

Five steps, an iron handrail on their right, led up to a central front door with a black wrought iron lantern hanging over it.

On either side of the door were two long windows with rounded tops and small square panes of uneven glass that picked up the light. Above the polished brass knocker, shaped like a lily, hung a holly wreath with a scarlet bow.

The whole thing was so totally unexpected that Charlotte wanted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

‘This is where I live,’ Daniel told her. ‘As you can see, it’s really quite small.’

In a city like New York this charming little house should have appeared totally incongruous, an anachronism, but somehow its aura of calm serenity, its air of belonging here, made it look as much at home as the Statue of Liberty.

Stopping by the kerb, the chauffeur sprang to open the car door.

‘Thank you, Perkins.’ Daniel stepped out first into several inches of snow.

Turning to take Charlotte’s hand, he said, ‘Mind you don’t slip.’

She heeded his warning and descended carefully.

The sun had disappeared, leaving a sky of icy pearl, and the air was decidedly chill.

Conditions underfoot serving as a good excuse, he put an arm around her waist while they crossed the sidewalk and climbed the steps.

Just for a moment it gave her the perilous illusion of being cared for.

Taking an ornate iron key from his pocket, he opened the door and, standing aside, ushered her in. ‘Welcome to The Lilies,’ he said with grave courtesy.

‘Thank you.’ She stepped over the threshold and wiped her feet on the doormat.

Ducking his head to follow her, he felt a surge of pure elation. The woman he’d wanted for so long was in his house at last and he couldn’t wait to get her into his bed.

But he couldn’t afford to rush things a warning voice reminded him. In the past it had never mattered if a woman refused—there was always another one in the offing—but Charlotte Michaels was different, and this time it did matter.

As Daniel closed the door behind them Charlotte gazed around the living-room with unfeigned delight. It was old-fashioned and utterly charming, with period wallpaper and white plaster cornices decorated with sheaves of lilies.

The minimum of furniture, all of it glowing with the patina of age, stood on dark oak polished floorboards and on the right a small graceful staircase curved up to the second floor.

A bright fire burnt in the grate of a purply-blue ceramic fireplace adorned with garlands of white lilies, and a thick white sheepskin rug lay in front of the hearth.

Grouped nearby was a trug-shaped log basket, a hexagonal coffee table, a single wing-backed chair and a settee covered in dull gold velvet and piled with cushions.

Various other rugs and curtains tied back with bows picked up and echoed the indigo-blue of the fire-surround.

Between the long windows a tall beautifully decorated Christmas tree with a star on top stood in a tub. It was a fresh one and Charlotte could smell the pungent scent of pine needles and resin.

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