Hired: Mistress: Wanted: Mistress and Mother / His Private Mistress / The Millionaire's Secret Mistress. Carol Marinelli
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how she was contemplating! Despite her attempts at indifference, despite her brave words before, she wanted him. But unlike Dante, it wasn’t just bed she wanted but the prelude to it and the postscript afterwards, the parts of him he wasn’t prepared to give.
For the first time she took in her surroundings. The summerhouse was certainly comfortable—in fact, it was gorgeous. A cedar attic-shaped building, tucked away at the rear of the property, no doubt it had once been a rather impressive shed, but it had been lovingly refurbished, the attention to detail quite amazing. A small kitchenette as you entered, and to the left a small en suite with a shower, the rest of the floor space taken up by a large bed and a television and CDs. Janet, the rather prim housekeeper, came over with her bags and filled up the fridge with produce, explaining that the previous owners had used it as a bed and breakfast, but since the Costellos had owned it, for the most part it had remained empty.
‘Mr Costello wanted to know if you’ll be joining him for dinner,’ Janet said, once she had stocked up the fridge with enough food to feed a small army. ‘It’s served at seven-thirty once young Alex is in bed, except for Tuesdays and Thursdays. I have my bible class on those nights…’
‘No,’ Matilda quickly answered, then softened her rather snappy response with a smile. ‘I mean, tell him, no, thank you,’ she added.
‘I’ll bring your dinner over to you,’ Janet offered, but Matilda stood firm.
‘There’s really no need. I’ll just have a sandwich or something, or go out to one of the cafés.’
‘As you wish.’ Janet shrugged as she headed out the door. ‘But if you need anything, just ring through.’
Alone, Matilda changed into her working clothes—a pair of faded denim shorts that had seen better days and a flimsy T-shirt, topping the rather unflattering ensemble off with a pair of socks and her workboots. She poked her tongue out at her reflection in the mirror—at least Katrina would be pleased! Grateful for the diversion of the garden to take her mind off Dante, she turned on her mobile, winced at the rather full message bank, then promptly chose to ignore it, instead ringing the various people she would be needing, firming up a time with Declan to bring his bob-cat and confirming the large number of skips she had ordered to be delivered at Dante’s in the morning. Then she headed off to the garden armed with a notebook and tape measure, ready to turn her vision into the plans that would become a reality. She lost herself for hours, as she always did when a project engrossed her, only downing tools and heading for the summerhouse when the last fingers of light had faded, hot, thirsty and exhausted, ready for a long, cool drink, followed by a long cool shower…
But not a cold one!
Yelping in alarm, Matilda fiddled with the taps, but to no avail, realising with a sinking heart that no amount of wishful thinking was going to change things: the hot-water system really wasn’t working. Grabbing a towel, Matilda wrapped it around her and sat shivering on the bed, trying and failing to decide what on earth to do. If she had been here for a couple of weeks to type up notes or fix some accounts then somehow she’d have struggled through, but even if her business cards screamed the words ‘landscape designer,’ at the end of the day gardening was a dirty job—filthy at times. And a fortnight of black nails and grit in her hair wasn’t a prospect Matilda relished. Of course, the obvious thing to do would be to ring Janet and explain the situation but, then, there was nothing obvious about this situation—the absolute last place she wanted to be was crossing Dante’s manicured lawn clutching her toiletry bag! Eyeing the kettle, Matilda rolled her eyes, the irony of her situation hitting home as she filled the tiny sink and swished a bar of soap around to make bubbles—here she was in a multi-million dollar home, and washing like a pauper!
CHAPTER FIVE
GOD, it was hot.
Matilda filled up her water bottle from the tap and surveyed the barren scene.
The morning had been crisp—par for the course in Melbourne. Used to the elements, she’d layered her clothing—gallons of sunscreen, followed by boots and shorts, a crop top, a T-shirt, a long-sleeved top, a jumper and a hat. Up at the crack of dawn, she’d greeted the workers and given her directions. Money wasn’t the problem, time was, so a small army had been hired for the messy job of clearing the site. They all worked well, the skips filling quickly. As the day warmed up the jumper was the first to go, followed an hour or so later by her cotton top, and as each layer of clothing came off Matilda, so too did the garden start to emerge—until finally, long since down to her crop top, the late afternoon sun burning into her shoulders, Matilda surveyed her exhausting day’s work. The subcontractors had finally gone, the skips noisily driven away, leaving the site bare and muddy apart from the gorgeous willow. At last she had her blank canvas!
Gulping on her water bottle, Matilda walked around the site, checking the fence, pleased to see that it was in good order. All it needed was a few minor repairs and a spraypaint but there was nothing that could be done this evening—she was too tired anyway. All Matilda wanted to do now was pack up her things and head for her temporary home. Actually, all Matilda wanted to do was leave her things and head for home, but mindful of safety she reluctantly headed over to the pile of equipment. She splashed some water from her bottle onto her face and decided more desperate measures were needed. Taking off her hat, she filled it and sloshed it onto her head, closing her eyes in blessed relief as the water ran down her face and onto her shoulders. Feeling the sting of cold on her reddened face and catching her breath, Matilda delighted in a shiver for a moment, before the sun caught up.
‘Matilda.’ The familiar voice made her jump. She’d been so sure she was alone, but here she was, soaked to the skin at her own doing, face smeared with mud, squinting into the low sunlight at the forebidding outline of Dante. ‘I startled you. I’m sorry to barge in.’
‘Not at all!’ She shook her head and tried to look not remotely startled. ‘It’s your garden after all—I was just packing up.’ Brutally aware of the mess she looked and with two nipples sticking out of her soaking top, thanks to the halflitre of water she’d just poured over herself, Matilda busied herself clearing up her tools as Dante came over.
‘I thought I’d bring Alex to see the garden before she went to bed.’ He was carrying her, which was just as well. It was rather more a demolition site than a garden at the moment. Dante picked his way around the edge and let Alex down on the one grassed area left—under the willow tree. It was only patchily grassed, but at least it was clean and dry—and given that the little girl was dressed in her nighty and had clearly had her bedtime bath, it was just as well. Matilda gave up in pretending to look at her tools and watched him as he came over. He was wearing shorts and runners—and no socks, which just accentuated the lean, muscular length of his brown calves. His whole body seemed incredibly toned, actually—and Matilda momentary wondered how. He didn’t seem the type for a gym and he spent an immoderate time at the office.
‘Hi, Alex.’ Matilda smiled at the little girl, not remotely fazed by the lack of her response, just enchanted by her beauty. ‘I know it looks a terrible mess now, but in a few days it will look wonderful.’
Alex didn’t even appear to be looking—her eyes stared fixedly ahead. A little rigid figure, she stood quite still as Matilda chatted happily to her, explaining what was going to happen over the next few days, pointing out where the water features would be, the sand pit and the enchanted castle.
‘You’ve got a lot done today,’ Dante observed. ‘What happens now?’
‘The boring stuff,’ Matilda answered. ‘I’ve got the plumber and electrician coming tomorrow and then the concreters, but once all that’s out the way, hopefully it will start to take shape a bit.’ And though she longed to ask about his day, longed to extend the conversation just a touch longer, deliberately she held back, determined that it must be Dante who came to her now—she’d already been embarrassed enough. But the silence was excruciating as they stood there, and it was actually a relief when Dante headed over to his daughter and went to pick her up.
‘Time for bed, little lady.’ Something twisted inside Matilda