His Pretend Mistress. Jessica Steele
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she accepted this caretaking job it would mean that she wouldn’t have to go and intrude on her mother and John Frost at this start of their married life together. She…
‘Apart from the fact that this kitchen is about the most comfortable room in the house, there is no catch,’ Harris Quillian replied. ‘You and I have a mutual need…’
‘Where would I sleep?’ Mallon interrupted him suspiciously.
Grey eyes studied her for a second or two. ‘You don’t trust men, do you?’ he said quietly.
‘Let’s say I’ve had my fill of men who seem to think that I just can’t wait to get into bed with them!’
‘You’ve had bad experiences apart from Phillips?’
Mallon ignored the question. Her experience with Roland Phillips was the worst, but she had no intention of telling Quillian of her ex-stepfather, ex-stepbrother nor her fickle-hearted ex-boyfriend.
‘Where would I sleep?’ she repeated stubbornly, vaguely aware that she must be seriously considering the job offer.
‘At the moment there are only two bedrooms habitable—and they’re not yet decorated. One should be sufficient for you,’ Quillian stated. ‘Though at present only one of the bedrooms has much furniture. Obviously it’s my bedroom for when I stay weekends.’ Again she darted a quick look to the door. ‘But I’ll be returning to London this evening, so it would be all yours until I can get another bed sent down—probably tomorrow or Tuesday.’ She relaxed slightly, and he asked, ‘You wouldn’t mind being here on your own?’
‘I’d welcome it!’ she answered bluntly, truthfully, hardly able to believe this sudden turn of events.
‘Good,’ he said, and she warmed to him a little that he appeared not in the slightest offended that she had just as good as said that she wouldn’t mind if he left her on her own right now—that she’d rather have his space too, than his company. ‘Should you accept, I’ll get my PA to arrange some furniture first thing in the morning. By the end of the week you would be comfortably set up in your own bedroom.’
‘You’ll be—here again next weekend?’ she questioned stiltedly, and found herself on the receiving end of his steady grey-eyed look.
‘Are you always this cagey?’
‘Apparently not—or I wouldn’t be in the situation I’m in now!’
He took that on board, then documented, ‘So you’re worried about me staying overnight in the same house with you?’ Mallon made no answer, and after a moment he informed her, ‘The reason I bought this place was so that, eventually, I’d have somewhere away from London to unwind at the weekends. Harcourt House is obviously far from finished, but if you’d agree to stay on, ready to contact me or my PA with any problems—more ceilings coming down, builders needing chasing, that sort of thing—then, should I come down on a Friday evening, or on a Saturday, I’d undertake to drive you to a hotel and come and collect you shortly before I go back to London again. How does that sound?’
‘How long would it be for?’ she enquired, realising she should be snatching at his offer, but traces of shock from the terrible fright she’d had were still lingering. ‘When I get my head back together I shall want to look around for something more permanent,’ she explained.
‘I can’t see the builders being finished in under three months. Though I wouldn’t hold you to that length of time if you find the right job sooner.’
Mallon took a deep breath. ‘I’d like to accept,’ she said, before she could change her mind. And, the die cast, she suddenly again became aware of the way she was dressed. ‘My clothes!’ she exclaimed. ‘I can’t go around wearing your shirt and trousers for the next three months!’
‘Then I suggest I drive you to Almora Lodge to collect your belongings,’ Harris Quillian said coolly.
‘You’d come with me to…?’ she began fearfully.
His jaw jutted. ‘I wouldn’t contemplate letting you go on your own,’ he grated positively, and took his eyes from her to glance at his watch. When he looked at her again, Mallon could not help noticing that there was a steel-hard glint in his eyes all at once. Then, to her absolute amazement, he icily announced, ‘Apart from anything else, I think it’s more than high time I went and had a word with my brother-in-law.’
Mallon stared at him speechlessly, her brain refusing to take in what it was he was saying. ‘Brother-in-law?’
Harris Quillian moved to the kitchen door, all too obviously keen to be on their way. ‘Roland Phillips,’ he stated quite clearly, ‘happens to be married to my sister Faye.’
Mallon looked at him open-mouthed. She could not remember just then all that she had said to Harris Quillian. But what she did know was that she had told him, exceedingly plainly, that his sister’s husband had assaulted her with violating, adulterous intent!
Anger started to surge up in her—anger against Quillian. How dared he allow her to tell him all she had? He must have known that she would never have said a word to him about Roland Phillips had she know he was Roland Phillips’s brother-in-law!
More, she realised, Harris Quillian had deliberately kept that information to himself to get her talking. Must have! He’d purposely…He…How dared he?
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