HELEN BIANCHIN - Mistress By Contract

‘Mikayla.’

The voice startled her. The man to whom it belonged, even more.

Rafael Velez-Aguilera presented a formidable figure, his features shaded into angles and planes by the flashing multi-coloured neon sign.

‘What are you doing here?’

He slanted her a hard look. ‘Terminating your employment.’

Her mouth opened, then closed again. ‘You can’t—’

‘Watch me.’

He was gone only a matter of minutes, and when he returned his expression turned her to stone.

‘Get in your car. I’ll follow you home.’

Her chin lifted, and her eyes blazed brilliant green fire. ‘In two or three days you can tell me what to do. For now, you don’t have a snowflake’s chance in hell of ordering me around.’

‘Brave words, pequeña.’ His voice was deadly quiet. ‘Were you as brave last night when you were attacked?’

The doctor, she surmised, who’d questioned her bandaged forearm. ‘News travels fast.’

‘You checked into the hospital at midnight, and out of it at three.’

My, he was thorough. ‘Your sources of information are admirable.’

‘Next, you’ll tell me you can take care of yourself.’

‘I’ve been doing it for a while.’ She hadn’t meant to sound so cynical.

‘Get in the car, Mikayla.’

She did, and drove home, parked the car, then stood her ground on the pavement as his car slid into the kerb and he crossed to her side.

‘I’m too tired to conduct a post-mortem.’ If she didn’t get inside and sit down soon, she’d fall down.

‘Take a sedative. And call in sick tomorrow.’

‘Yes, and no.’ She began turning away from him, and offered a brief goodnight over one shoulder.

He let her go, aware there was little he could do to stop her.

He waited long enough to see the light in her room go on, then he slid in behind the wheel and fired the engine.

The weekend lay ahead. Monday, the test results would be available, and he’d ensure the documentation was signed.

Even as he cleared the street and gained the main road he had to wonder why he should be concerned about a slim slip of a thing with blonde hair and green eyes.

She meant nothing to him. He had every reason to dislike and distrust her. Dammit, his legal eagle thought he was certifiably insane to consider the deal he’d drawn up for him.

So why was he not only going ahead with it, but giving way to protective instincts he would have sworn he didn’t possess?

He drove home, garaged the car, then prowled the lower floor, made coffee, drank half of it and discarded the rest before entering his study, booting up the laptop, and working solidly until weariness forced him to bed.

Mikayla spent a restless night, waking several times as her arm continued to throb. At three she got up and took two more painkillers, then settled into a heavy sleep from which she didn’t stir until the alarm pealed at eight.

Breakfast comprised orange juice, cereal and coffee, then she wrapped her arm in plastic and did her best to keep it dry as she showered.

Dressed in jeans and a loose cotton top, she tied a purple scarf over her hair, wound a purple scarf round the bandage, added several silver bangles, then she drove to Maisie’s New Age shop at the Rocks, where her friend sold scented candles, earrings, CDs and crystals.

‘Darling, great fashion accessory,’ Maisie complimented. ‘Totally rad.’

Mikayla merely smiled and wondered if she’d started a new trend.

Her arm still ached, but not as badly, and by Sunday it felt measurably less painful. Another day at the Rocks in the New Age shop kept her busy.

Tonight there was no need to rush home and change in order to work at the café, and she joined Maisie in a salad and carrot juice at the health food counter.

There was a strong inclination to confide, but what did she say? Hey, Mais, I’m moving on and up. Out of the maisonette and into a mansion. Thing was, six months ago she’d moved from a comfortable apartment into a rented room. Not exactly riches to rags, but close. For the next fifteen months, she was reversing the process.

Better she kept silent. The deal wasn’t a deal until it was done, and she had yet to attach her signature to pertinent legal documents.

Her stomach executed a nervous somersault. How soon would Rafael Velez-Aguilera want to cement the relationship?

Tell it how it is, a small voice taunted. How soon will he want you to perform sexually? How often? Every night, Mikayla.

The thought of that large male body possessing her own stopped the breath in her throat. For the sort of money involved, he would want service. Hell, he’d want her to perform every trick in the book.

She pushed the partly eaten salad to one side, and discarded the carrot juice.

‘Not hungry?’

She looked from Maisie back to the salad, and felt ill. ‘No.’

She could still walk out. All she had to do was make a phone call.

‘Darling, listen to me. Eat; you can’t afford to lose weight.’

‘So I’ll have something later.’ She pulled a note from her purse and placed it beneath the half-empty glass. ‘I have to go.’

She drove straight to the hospital, moved through corridors, took the lift, and walked into the ward her father shared with three other patients.

And faltered as she saw Joshua Petersen had a visitor. Not a friend. None other than Rafael Velez-Aguilera.

Mikayla’s expression became fierce, protective, then changed in an instant as her father turned and caught sight of her.

Rafael watched beneath slightly hooded lids as she crossed quickly to her father’s side, caught each of his hands in hers and leaned forward to brush her lips against one cheek, then the other.

‘You’ve been helping Maisie,’ Joshua Petersen said in a slightly slurred voice. His smile was faintly crooked, and her heart tore at what illness had done to this once proud man. ‘Look who came to visit,’ he continued huskily.

She threw Rafael a glance that was intensely territorial. ‘Yes, so I see.’ If you’ve said anything to upset him… The warning was there, a palpable silent entity.

She was like a lioness defending a helpless cub, Rafael mused. Claws barely sheathed, and ready to spring.

‘I’m sure you’d prefer to be alone,’ he suggested smoothly. He inclined his head toward Joshua Petersen, then repeated the action to Mikayla as he moved to the end of the bed. ‘Goodnight.’

Then he was gone, and Mikayla was left to wonder at his motive.

She stayed for an hour, grateful that her father seemed quite bright, and visiting hours were almost at an end when she slipped from the ward.

She almost expected to see Rafael’s tall frame in the corridor or near the lift-well. But there was no sign of him, and she drove home, mixed two eggs together, added cheese and tomato, made toast, and ate while she checked the next day’s lessons.

MONDAY proved to be an anticlimax. Mikayla almost expected to see Rafael waiting beside her Mini when she finished school. She drove straight to the hospital, and he wasn’t a surprise visitor. That evening there was no phone call, and she spent another restless night, slept in, and was five minutes late for class.

At ten the office delivered a message for her to call Rafael Velez-Aguilera, and listed a number.

The students scrambled out the door the instant the bell rang for recess, and she collected textbooks, shoved papers into her satchel, then made her way to the pay-phone.

It was a mobile phone number, which ate coins at an alarming rate, and she must have caught him in a meeting for his tone was brief and to the point.

‘Can you make it to my lawyer’s office at four?’