Sara Craven - Mistress At A Price

Collecting the hairdryer, she seated herself on the broad cushioned seat under the window while she finger-dried her hair into its usual sleek shape. The view below was of formal gardens, with gravelled paths bordered by teeming summer flowers.

The local Lothario seemed to know a lot about his job, too, she thought with an inward grimace, her eyes straying half-unconsciously to the golden gleam of the lake in the distance. He’d certainly created the perfect romantic backdrop for a little intimate adventuring.

So it would do him good to find himself ditched and left high and dry.

And it would make her feel better too, knowing that her moment of weakness had passed and she was back in control again.

She dressed, added a touch of blusher to her face and a hint of lustre to her mouth, slid her feet into low-heeled navy pumps, then collected her bag and jacket and went downstairs.

The place seemed deserted, she thought, looking around her. Everyone had disappeared, off in their different directions, and Belinda’s wedding was well and truly over at last.

There was no one at the desk either, so she rang the small silver bell. After a minute a girl in a dark suit emerged from the inner office, looking harassed.

She checked when she saw Cat. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Are you the lady from Room Ten who wants her bill?’

Cat’s brows lifted. ‘Yes,’ she acknowledged. ‘Is there some problem?’

The girl’s colour deepened. ‘We’re having problems with the computer. It’s a new system, and it’s swallowed some of our data. We’ve got an engineer coming, of course, but we can’t make your bill up just yet.’ She moved her hands awkwardly. ‘I—I’m very sorry.’

Not half as sorry as I am, Cat thought, glancing at her watch with inner dismay. Time was passing rapidly and she needed to be gone.

‘Don’t you have some kind of back-up?’ she asked. ‘Or couldn’t you just calculate what I owe you with a paper and pencil? Anything?’

‘I’m afraid not, but I hope we won’t have to keep you too long. The engineer is on his way.’ The girl hesitated, looking uncomfortable. ‘Would you like to wait in the lounge?’ she suggested. ‘Or the bar, maybe?’

‘No,’ Cat said. ‘I think I’ll go back to my room.’ She paused. ‘And if anyone enquires, will you tell them I’ve checked out and gone, please?’

The receptionist looked wary. ‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘I suppose we can.’

Well, don’t knock yourself out, Cat thought, torn between annoyance and amusement.

‘And can you send up a tray?’ she requested. ‘Just coffee and some sandwiches. A selection of what’s available would be fine,’ she added, with a shrug.

‘Certainly, Miss Adamson.’ The girl spoke more confidently. ‘I’ll see to that right away.’

This has not been my luckiest day, Cat told herself ruefully, as she let herself back into her room.

She found the paperback novel she’d brought to read in bed, and curled up with it on the window seat, trying to relax. It was going to be a glorious sunset, she thought, promising more fine weather tomorrow. She might go out somewhere—to Kew, perhaps, or on the river.

She returned her attention to the book, but found it difficult to focus. She felt too edgy—too restless to give it the concentration it deserved.

She got up and walked round the room, eyeing the telephone and wondering if Reception would have the wit to tell her once the computer was working again.

She kicked off her shoes and lay across the bed on her stomach, her chin propped on one hand while she flicked the remote control through the TV channels with the other. But there was little to engage the attention there either, so it was almost a relief when a tap on the door announced the belated arrival of her coffee and sandwiches.

She called ‘Come in,’ and as the door opened added, ‘Put the tray on the table by the window, please.’

Liam said, ‘I cancelled the food order. I was afraid you’d spoil your appetite for dinner.’

Cat heard herself yelp. The remote control skittered out of her hand to the floor as she flung herself upright, her eyes blazing.

She said, breathlessly, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘I just told you.’ He sounded mildly surprised. ‘I came to explain about the food.’

‘Damn the food,’ she said tautly. ‘You’re the gardener, for God’s sake. So who gives you the licence to roam into guest bedrooms with any kind of message?’

He propped himself against the dressing table. ‘I don’t confine myself to the great outdoors.’ He had the gall to sound faintly amused. ‘My talents are many and varied.’

Even though she was furiously angry, it occurred to her, as she stared haughtily back at him, that if he hadn’t spoken she might not have recognised him. The scruffy jeans and shirt, she saw with growing amazement, had gone, and been replaced by a pair of elegantly cut charcoal pants. His crisp white shirt, open at the neck and with the cuffs turned back over his forearms, accentuated his tan.

The dark hair was neatly combed, and he’d clearly shaved. She could breathe the tang of some expensive citrus cologne in the air.

He’d gone from extremely attractive to seriously glamorous in one stride, she thought, swallowing.

She, on the other hand, was desperately at a disadvantage, barefoot, flushed and dishevelled, kneeling in the centre of a large bed.

All this, she thought, is really bad news.

He sent her a mocking grin, as if he’d guessed the tenor of her thoughts. ‘Do you still want to wait until eight o clock?’ he queried softly. ‘Or are you hungry now?’

She took a deep breath. ‘Look,’ she began, ‘it was kind of you to offer me a meal, but I really have to get back to London tonight. I’m just waiting for the computer to produce my bill.’

‘Well, it’s not ready yet,’ he said. ‘So you may as well eat—with me.’

‘I think,’ Cat said, keeping her voice steady, ‘that you’re going to have to learn to take no for an answer. Starting now. So, will you please leave my room?’

He settled himself more comfortably against the dressing table, making her disquietingly aware of the lean strength of his body. And that he had the air of a man prepared to wait, as well.

‘Tell me something,’ he invited. ‘What are you so afraid of?’

‘Oh, that’s an old ploy,’ Cat said scornfully. ‘I’d have expected better of you.’

Liam shook his head. ‘It’s a positive request for information. You had a room booked for the night, yet you were so keen to run out on me that you asked the receptionist to lie for you. Why?’

‘I had second thoughts,’ she said curtly. ‘And I considered you might be troublesome about them.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I certainly got that right, didn’t I?’

‘What in hell,’ he said slowly, ‘do you imagine I’m going to do to you?’

‘Now you’re being ridiculous,’ Cat said, ignoring the fact that the imagination in question was currently running riot. Her stomach was churning in turmoil and her mouth was dry.

He said, ‘You seem—uneasy, that’s all. A trifle—on edge.’

‘Nonsense,’ she said, too quickly. ‘As I said, I have—stuff waiting for me in London. I decided I should make a start on it—that’s all.’

‘Even if it meant breaking a promise?’ His eyes met hers. Held them.

‘It wasn’t a firm arrangement.’ Cat bit her lip, aware that her breathing had quickened. ‘I—I didn’t think you could be serious—or that you’d believe that I was.’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Because I’m merely part of the hired help and you’re a lady from London with appointments to keep and deals to be made?’