Mistress by Agreement. HELEN BROOKS
Читать онлайн книгу.
like me, do you? He’s used to the celebs and model types who have been everywhere and done everything for sure.’
‘Rosalie, you’re a very beautiful woman, and no one in his right mind would describe you as a mouse,’ Mike said matter-of-factly. It was always amazing to him that she seemed so completely unaware of her effect on the opposite sex. What did she see when she looked in the mirror, for crying out loud? It was a question he’d asked himself many times, and now he answered it as he usually did; she saw something different from everyone else for certain. And she had Miles Stuart to thank for that. ‘Anyway, all I’m saying is watch him, okay? I’d say the same to Wendy in a similar situation, you know that.’
‘Yes, I know, Mike.’ She put out a hand and touched his jacket sleeve. ‘And I appreciate it, but, really, there’s no need.’
Nevertheless, that conversation of a few weeks ago was now on Rosalie’s mind as she finished the last item in the bill of quantities and settled back in her seat in front of the word processor. Kingsley had asked her to contact him once she had this ready and before she sent copies to various contractors to put a cost on each part of the work. She had got the impression he was the type of man who liked to keep his finger on even the tiniest pulse. She would try the English number he had given her first and ask his secretary where he was in the world. Since the conversation with Mike she had made it her business to find out everything she could about Kingsley Ward, and she had discovered he had hotels in the Caribbean as well as the States and was constantly on the move. She had also found out that Mike had not exaggerated about Kingsley’s love life.
She dialled the number herself; she had come into the office very early to finish off the list of materials and, as it was now still only eight o’clock in the morning, Jenny hadn’t arrived. Undoubtedly her call would be intercepted by an answer machine in Kingsley’s new English office in Oxford, but that was all right. It was another thing off the multitude of jobs she’d got lined up for the day, and his secretary could call Jenny later.
‘Kingsley Ward.’
Rosalie almost dropped the telephone at the sound of the deep cold male voice, her heart giving a resounding thump. It was a moment or two before she could say, ‘K…Kingsley?’ Oh, don’t stutter, girl, for goodness’ sake, she told herself in the next instant, hearing her breathless voice with utter contempt. Her voice was stronger as she continued, ‘It’s Rosalie Milburn here from Carr and Partners.’
There was a pause, and then, ‘Yes, Rosalie?’
She gulped. She preferred the first abrupt cold voice to the warmer, faintly sexy burr with which he’d spoken her name. And then she told herself not to be so darn ridiculous and to get on with it. ‘I’m sorry to bother you so early,’ she said politely. ‘I was expecting to just leave a message on your secretary’s answer machine to say that the bill of quantities is ready that you wanted to look over, and to ask where to send it. I wasn’t sure if you were in England or America.’
‘That was quick,’ he said appreciatively. ‘I’m in London today, I’ll call in for it. There were a couple of things I wanted to discuss with you anyway. Are you free for lunch?’
‘L…Lunch?’ She was doing it again! Her brain scrambled. She wasn’t doing anything for lunch but the last thing she wanted was to spend a couple of hours in close proximity to Kingsley Ward with no hope of escape. And then logic and reason took over. This was a massive job, she was going to have to liaise with Kingsley considering he was the type of man who insisted on overseeing everything. She forced her voice into neutral. ‘Lunch would be fine.’
‘Great.’ If he’d sensed her hesitation he gave no sign of it when he said, ‘I’ll pick you up round noon, okay?’
‘Yes. Thank you.’
The phone went click. No goodbye, no social pleasantries. A man of few words, obviously. Rosalie sat staring at the receiver for some seconds, aware that she was feeling rail-roaded but that it wasn’t really fair on Kingsley. She could have said no to lunch, but if he needed to talk to her there was no point, added to which she had to make herself get on enough with him for them to establish a working relationship.
She looked down at what she was wearing. She had dressed for an unremarkable day in the office—pencil-slim grey trousers and a wrapover white buttoned shirt, with a pearl-grey bouclé wool jacket for later in case the May evening turned chilly on the walk home. Her flat was only half a mile from the office and she always travelled on foot, enjoying the wake-up in the morning and the wind-down at night. The only time she drove was when she needed to call on site or visit an architect or contractor or something similar.
She wrinkled her nose at her clothes. Kingsley Ward would be used to women who dressed to kill, for sure. And then she caught the errant thought, horrified at herself. What did it matter what he was used to? This was a business lunch with a client, that was all. As long as she was presentable that was all that mattered, and Kingsley probably wouldn’t notice what she was wearing anyway.
Kingsley did. He arrived to collect her just before noon, his gaze going over her steadily as Jenny ushered him into Rosalie’s office. Rosalie made a huge effort to act as she would with a man who wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, smiling brightly and forcing herself to extend her hand this time as she said, ‘Kingsley, how nice to see you again.’
His smile was lazy, with a mocking quality that suggested he knew she was lying. ‘Likewise.’
‘I’ve got everything ready if you’d like to glance through before we leave?’ she asked briskly, once her flesh had left contact with his. The tingling in her hand she could do nothing about.
‘Later. I’m hungry.’ His gaze hadn’t left her face, his eyes like blue crystal.
‘Fine.’ She busied herself in collecting the wool jacket and her handbag, hoping her bustle hid her agitation. She had forgotten what a startlingly deep blue his eyes were; if it were anyone else but Kingsley Ward she would have suspected they were wearing cosmetic contact lenses.
‘I hope you had nothing pressing this afternoon? I would like to visit the site after lunch. The architect will be there and it would be good for you to meet him.’
‘Of course.’ Rosalie thought of her work schedule and prayed for calm. ‘I’m all yours.’
The carved lips twitched. ‘How generous.’
It was, actually. She had already visited the site twice and didn’t really need to meet the architect today, Rosalie thought aggressively. There would be time enough for that once the tenders were returned, a builder selected and the work began. It would be her job to see the chosen builder kept to his prices, and she would be visiting the site frequently to value the work done for interim payments.
‘Shall we?’ He had taken her arm and whisked her out of the office before she had time to reflect further, and it was with dark amusement that Rosalie noticed Jenny’s expression of envy. If her secretary had but known it she would have swopped places with her for the lunchtime like a shot!
Carr and Partners was situated in a row of terraced houses, and once out on the pavement Kingsley led the way to a nifty little silver sports car that would have done credit to James Bond. Rosalie was eternally grateful to her guardian angel that she’d decided to wear trousers that day; the car’s low interior was not conducive to entering and exiting in anything else. As it was she slid into the leather interior with more than a measure of aplomb. This faded somewhat when Kingsley climbed into the driver’s seat. He was close, very close, and he smelt nothing short of delicious.
Rosalie hit her traitorous libido a sharp crack on the knuckles and swallowed deeply a few times. Her voice higher pitched than usual, she said, ‘Is it far? Where we’re eating?’
Damn it, but she was like a cat on a hot tin roof. Was it him or was she like this with the whole male race? ‘No, not far,’ he said easily as he pulled out into the traffic, the car’s engine growling softly. ‘A friend of mine owns a little place near Finsbury Park where I often eat when I’m in London. Unless there’s somewhere