His After-Hours Mistress. Trish Wylie
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wanted to pull her hand free. But of course she couldn’t do that; she couldn’t give away the fact that his touch sent shivers of apprehension rushing through her limbs. So she looked him squarely in the eye and said, ‘It’s not what I’m getting paid for.’
‘What are you, a workaholic?’ he asked harshly, letting his hand drop back to his side. ‘Don’t you believe in a little pleasure?’
‘I thought you wanted the job done as quickly as possible,’ asserted Lucinda. Pleasure was the last thing she wanted. Pleasure in her surroundings, yes, in the warmth of the sun, in the glorious blue skies, but not in Zane Alexander’s company. He was too discomfiting by far. ‘And I can’t believe that you’re willing to waste time like this. If anyone’s a workaholic it’s you.’
‘I agree,’ he said with a shrug, ‘but there’s a time and place for everything. I declare today an official holiday. Lucinda Oliver, you are not allowed to work.’
She couldn’t help smiling. This was a side to Zane that she hadn’t seen before. Relaxed, cheerful, teasing. And she couldn’t deny that she liked it. ‘In that case I think I’d like to change into something more relaxing,’ she announced and headed indoors.
She chose a gypsy skirt and a cool camisole top and as she had popped in a bikini at the last minute—just in case—she donned that as well and rejoined Zane on the sun deck.
He had moved to a reclining chair and still wore the black shirt and trousers. Lucinda had half expected him to change too, and she had listened carefully while in her room but heard no movement next door. For the moment he appeared to be a different man but she did not altogether trust him and knew that she still needed to be on her guard.
Zane patted the reclining chair he had placed near to his and reluctantly Lucinda slid on to it. It felt intimate, far too cosy for comfort. She lay back and closed her eyes but he was impossible to ignore. She could hear his breathing, she could smell the faint tang of his cologne, and knew that he was looking at her.
When the silence ran into minutes Lucinda could stand it no longer. She shot open her eyes, ready to lambaste him, or at the very least to jump to her feet and return indoors. To her amazement his lids were closed and when she looked closer she could see by his deepened breathing that he was asleep.
He had undone the buttons on his shirt and as expected his skin was firm and bronzed and she had the irrational urge to touch. Her eyes skimmed over the rest of him, over the hard flatness of his stomach and the long length of his legs. He was an extremely sexy man, even fully clothed, and it was going to be hard denying the fact.
‘Like what you see?’
Lucinda hadn’t noticed Zane open his eyes and swift heat shot through her, though she did her best to appear undisturbed. ‘You have a good physique. Do you work out?’
He nodded. ‘I have a gym in my London home.’
‘And was a swimming pool a requisite here?’
‘Of course.’
‘Do you have other homes?’ There was a lot about Zane that she didn’t know. Not that it was any business of hers, but sitting here in his relaxed company it didn’t feel like an intrusion of privacy.
He nodded. ‘LA, Australia, the south of France.’
Lucinda shook her head. ‘How can you warrant them?’
Zane’s lips tugged wryly up at the corners. ‘What else do I have to spend my money on?’
Your women friends, she felt tempted to say, but wisely kept her own counsel. ‘Why have you never married?’ she asked instead. ‘Or is that a stupid question? I guess you’re too busy making money.’
‘Not the right answer,’ he informed her tersely, his eyes flashing almost silver. ‘I’ve simply never met anyone I want to spend the rest of my life with.’
‘Let me guess,’ she dared to say. ‘Most girls are only ever interested in the state of your bank balance?’
‘Something like that,’ he agreed.
‘Are you resigned to staying a bachelor?’
‘It doesn’t worry me, though it does worry my mother,’ he admitted. ‘My parents live in Australia and my mother is for ever nagging me to get married. She wants more grandchildren.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Here am I almost telling you my life story and I know nothing about you. Except that you don’t have a boyfriend. Which I find extremely odd because you’re a very attractive lady.’
As he spoke he looked at her appreciatively, just as she had looked at him earlier. Only he did it blatantly, not caring that she watched. Every part of her responded! Nerves tingled; hormones leapt into life; nipples tautened and strained against her soft cotton top—and he missed nothing.
‘So—tell me about yourself,’ he said, his eyes finally moving up to her face, narrowing sharply when he observed the tip of her tongue moistening her lips.
Lucinda hoped that he didn’t take it as a sign of encouragement. Her mouth had gone nervously dry and the butterflies in her stomach intensified. Heaven knew how much she wanted to dislike this man, so why didn’t she? What was it about him that caused every one of her senses to go into overdrive?
‘There’s not much to tell,’ she answered, alarmed to hear how husky her voice sounded. Damn the man! Why was he confusing her like this? Or, more importantly, why was she allowing it? Why was she letting him affect her?
Because he was one hell of a sexy man, that was the answer. She couldn’t help herself. She didn’t want to like him but was constantly pulled towards him in a cycle that would be difficult to break.
Zane probably took it for granted that most women, if not all, would fall at his feet. He could bed any woman he liked. But she didn’t have to be one of them! Without any shadow of doubt she would need to be on her guard at all times.
‘Your mother’s remarried. What happened to your father?’
‘He died,’ she answered bluntly, trying to hide the pain that still shot through her whenever she spoke about him.
‘I’m sorry. How did that happen?’
‘He’d been ill a long time. It was inevitable,’ she told him, while knowing that he didn’t really care.
‘I’m genuinely interested,’ he assured her, reading her expression. ‘I’m interested in people. I like to find out what motivates them. I already know that you don’t like your stepfather.’ Lucinda frowned and sat up just a little bit straighter. ‘I didn’t tell you that.’
‘No, but you gave the impression.’
‘Actually, it’s true.’ Her shoulders relaxed a little. ‘I hate him, and the feeling’s mutual—except that he doesn’t let my mother know it. And I hate my mother for marrying him simply for his money,’ she added bitterly.
‘She did that?’
‘It’s what many women do,’ she retorted, her eyes shooting sparks of angry fire. ‘Not that I have any intention of falling into that same trap! I’ll make my own money, thank you.’
Zane pursed his lips and nodded his head. ‘Wise woman! We’re two of a kind, you and I.’
Lucinda frowned. She knew what he meant but she didn’t like being lumped into the same category. She would never spend her money on lavish houses all over the world, not if she had a thousand million in the bank. Such extravagances didn’t appeal. The fact that people did it, and needed the likes of her to improve their interiors, was a different matter altogether.
‘So—tell me about your father,’ he said encouragingly. ‘How old were you when he died?’
Lucinda pursed her lips and her eyes grew sad. ‘Fifteen. I was heartbroken. He’d spent most of his life in and out of hospitals; we didn’t have any money, but he