Mistress Under Contract

by Natalie Anderson

  She was in position behind the bar and he had to admit it looked as if she were made for it. Her hair hung almost to her waist. Long brown locks streaked with sun-kissed honey strands. Neither straight nor curly, it seemed in imminent danger of turning into DIY dreadlocks. It looked as if she’d been swimming for hours and then let it dry in the sun without bothering to brush it through. He had the crazy urge to reach out and grab it, wanting to see if it did smell of sea and salt and holiday. Behind the bar she was as relaxed as if she’d been parked on a beach all her life. Given her tan she probably had.

  She picked up a cleaning cloth. He leaned over the bar and he saw the bucket of soapy water on the floor. Steam rose from it together with the smell of lemon-scented cleaning product. She looked at the bag he’d put on the bar, the files spilling from it.

  ‘So you’re a lawyer.’

  He nodded.

  ‘Commercial or criminal?’

  ‘Criminal.’

  ‘Prosecution or defence?’

  He started to wonder if she’d had up-close experience with either. ‘Defence.’

  ‘So you’re out to fight the cause for the wrongly accused. Justice for the underdog—’

  ‘No.’ He stopped her mid-flight. ‘Actually, sometimes my clients are guilty. But they’re still entitled to decent representation.’

  ‘You’re an idealist—the Atticus Finch of Wellington.’ She caught his flash of surprise before he masked it. ‘What, you think I can’t read?’

  ‘Why would I think that? You have a university degree. I know you can read. Whether you can think and apply is another matter.’

  She gave him an evil stare. ‘I’ll have you know To Kill a Mockingbird was one of my favourite books in school.’

  ‘So underneath all the mouth you’re the idealist.’

  She looked put out.

  ‘What were your other favourite books?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t remember.’

  She turned to the glass shelves behind the bar and reached up on tiptoe to empty the top one of its bottles. Her body showed off to perfection as she stretched it out, only just getting her fingers round the base of the bottles. He couldn’t stand to watch it.

  ‘I’ll get those for you.’

  Her eyes flashed surprise but she said nothing.

  It took him only a minute to get the bottles down for her. Every cell in his body aware of how close she was as she worked to clear the next shelf down. He stood back and rested against the bar behind him, unashamedly appreciating her tanned figure. Broad shoulders framed a generous bust, tapering to a trim waist before flaring out again to round hips and a bottom that begged to be used as a cushion. Shapely thighs closely clad in faded denim—also perfect for cushioning a lover. She’d be soft, and hot and…he really shouldn’t be thinking this way.

  He couldn’t stop.

  He looked back down to her feet again. The cowboy boots amused him. Then he amused himself further by slowly looking back up her body with appreciation. While she wasn’t plump, she certainly wasn’t a stick figure—soft in all the right places. Smooth curves. Daniel liked curves.

  The speed with which she spun round caught him by surprise. The move brought her closer and he found himself staring right at her breasts.

  Oh. Yes.

  He blinked and with a little reluctance brought his focus up to her face.

  She looked defensive. ‘You don’t think I can do this, do you?’

  ‘Why would I have given you the job if I thought that?’

  ‘You tell me.’ Her chin was tilted high in a challenge and all he could do was admire the long column of her neck—smooth, olive skin leading down to collar bones that begged to be kissed.

  ‘You think I fancy you?’ Damn. He did. He’d have to bluff. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, darling, but you’re not my type.’ That was the truth. Really. She wasn’t.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I prefer a more…finished…look.’

  ‘You mean plastic. Petite. Perfect. Arm candy for the hotshot lawyer.’

  He didn’t even try to argue. She could think what she liked so long as he was covered. And, yeah, maybe his dates usually were pretty perfect-looking things.

  ‘Rankles, does it?’ He leaned closer, resisting the urge to get close enough to touch her. Hell, he really wanted to grab and haul her to him. Regressing to prehistoric man minute by minute. Irritated, he went a step too far. ‘By finished, I mean at least combed.’

  The flash of hurt in her eyes had him instantly regretting it. Since when was he mean? He was like a kid in school picking on the girl he secretly fancied. God, he was never usually so gauche.

  She blocked his glimpse to her soul by lowering her eyelids to half-mast, but her smart mouth and tilted chin were firmly up again. ‘For the record. You’re not my type either.’

  ‘Really?’ His muscles tightened.

  ‘I prefer more…wild. Not square or…boring.’

  ‘Bad-boy type who treats you mean, huh?’

  ‘No need to be patronising. I’m not stupid, you know.’

  No. She wasn’t. She was smart—mouthed at least. He needed to back off. She was getting under his skin in a way he wasn’t comfortable with. Having sex with her wouldn’t be wise. Maybe when Lara was back and the responsibility for the club wasn’t on him, he’d consider it. ‘OK. So we’re not each other’s types. I’m glad we got that sorted out.’

  She gave him one last look that swam in lack of interest and turned back to her shelves. He stayed exactly where he was and kept watching her.

  Boring? She thought he was boring? What, because he wore a suit and practised law? She should learn not to judge a book by its cover.

  She bent down and pulled up a trigger bottle. Sprayed frothy liquid on the glass and started to wipe it. She looked at him in the mirror behind the glass shelving. He didn’t look away. Nor did she and after a moment her hand stopped ineffectually wiping the smears from one end of the mirror to the other. They stared.

  What he’d love to do right now to show her he wasn’t a square.

  She must have grasped some hint of what he was thinking because suddenly she looked away and her wiping of the mirror resumed—a little frantically.

  ‘I thought you had work to do.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  He pushed away from the bar and walked round to the other side, took the last seat at the bar and pulled out the relevant material from his bag. He put his laptop to the side and ignored it, opting for the paper files. Pen in hand, he bent to his reading. Determined to focus on the facts. Not be distracted by the beach-blown beauty doing the Cinderella act in the corner.

  Lucy found cleaning the cooler cabinet a perfect way of working off the extra energy she seemed to have accrued. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. Half aggravated, half attracted.

  So definitely not her type.

  But so definitely gorgeous.

  His head hadn’t lifted from the pages he’d been intently studying for the last forty minutes. Good concentration. She could believe it. When he’d focused his attention on her she’d felt the full force of that intensity. He had the kind of look that went right through outer layers and into the heart of the matter. The heart of her. She wouldn’t want to be on a witness stand and on the end of one of those penetrating golden-eyed stares. For a second there he’d had the look of a predator in his eye, out to conquer. Well, no one conquered Lucy, thanks very much. Especially not arrogant suits who made the rules without regard to the feelings and needs of others.

  She couldn’t stand the silence any more. ‘Big case, huh?’

  He lifted his head. ‘Reasonably.’

  ‘Are you going to get him off?’

  ‘I’m going to do my best.’

  He looked back to his pages. OK. It was like trying to get information out of the Kremlin. Mr Closed Shop. She had the urge to open him up. What would he be like out of the suit? What would he be like in bed?

  Serious. Strong. I
ntense. Her whole body was on edge just from having him over five feet away. How fierce would her tension be if he were to get even closer—as close as a man and woman can physically get? And how complete would the relief be when that tension snapped?

  Intuitively she knew it would be incredible.

  She finished the area behind the bar and checked and double-checked the inventory of stock. She was tired from a long day walking round temp agencies and she was hungry but it looked as if Daniel was settled in for a long night over the books. How late did he expect her to work? She decided to give him a status report and wow him with her efficiency.

  ‘I’ve organised the staff for Friday—they’re coming in for a meeting tomorrow afternoon. Will you want to be here for that?’

  He looked up, his eyes taking a moment to focus on her. When they did it was with deadly accuracy. ‘I might be around—what time?’

  ‘Three p.m. Meanwhile I’m looking into a replacement bouncer for the Thursday to Saturday shifts. I know someone perfect for the job.’

  He didn’t look impressed. He looked sceptical. ‘Is he qualified?’

  ‘Of course.’ She couldn’t wait to see his face when he saw her bouncer. Her imp of disobedience must have been obvious because he stared hard at her but refrained from comment. Lucy was disappointed; she’d wanted to tell him all about the black belt in ju-jitsu and six-foot-two physique. Instead he started the interrogation about everything else.

  ‘What about the stock?’

  ‘I’ve done an inventory and cleaned the shelves at the same time. I’ll start contacting the reps first thing in the morning.’

  ‘DJ?’

  ‘Looking into it. Again, I thought I’d use my contacts.’

  ‘What about the fire extinguishers and escape routes—got those sorted?’

  She stared at him. ‘Rules and regulations all you can think about?’

  ‘We’re not talking some small café here. We’re talking a bar—late licence, heaving dance floor on the weekend. Health and safety is paramount.’

  Well, for him it would be. He’d never see this place as a place to have fun. It was obvious it was all one huge headache to him. He was probably a refined wine-club kind of guy. All the law students she’d known when she was at university were going on about vintage and method and paying outrageous sums for a tiny glass of something sublime down at the exclusive bars on the fringes of the power enclave in central Wellington. ‘OK, I’ll check the fire exits.’

  ‘I expect you to drill the staff in that. The last thing I’m having is some disaster on my watch.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’ There were risks to health and safety in any bar at any time. And she wasn’t thinking fire or earthquake. There were other battles to wage and she’d ensure her staff were au fait with defence weaponry because that was one thing she did know about—firsthand.

  He reached into his pocket. ‘I got a key cut for you.’ He handed her a slip of paper at the same time. ‘This is the code for the alarm.’

  ‘You’re sure about this? You don’t want to meet me outside?’ She couldn’t help the little bite.

  His eyes flashed a warning but he spoke as if her tone hadn’t registered. ‘I have an important meeting tomorrow. I can’t say how long it will go for. You’ll just have to get on with it.’

  She eyed him, very nearly clicking her heels and saluting.

  He looked down at his spread files; she could see the way the contents were calling to him. The challenge of the earlier part of the evening had faded beneath his preoccupation. She reached behind the bar and retrieved her bag and violin case. Both felt heavy. She was tired and she wasn’t looking forward to a restless night’s sleep in the company of strangers.

  He stood and stretched out his shoulders. ‘You’ll be OK getting home?’

  She nearly laughed aloud. ‘No problem.’

  He nodded. ‘Thanks.’

  Maybe she had impressed him a little with the effort she’d put in tonight. Her sudden smile was warmer than she intended. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  He sat again, no sign of any softening in return. In fact, he frowned a little. ‘You’ll pull the door right behind you on the way out?’

  ‘Sure.’ Stupidly she was disappointed. She’d thought the least he could manage was a smile. Didn’t smile much, Daniel. And why not see her out down the stairs? He couldn’t even manage that small act of politeness. He really was as typical as she’d first thought. Arrogant and uncaring. His head was back down. She didn’t think he even noticed that she was heading out the door.

  Daniel felt as if he’d been reading the same line for about three hours. He listened as those teasing cowgirl boots started to trudge downstairs. He checked his watch. Just past ten-thirty. His frown deepened. He moved quickly.

  ‘Lucy?’

  She was halfway down already. She turned to look up at him, her hair hanging long down her back, her face shadowed by the overhead light.

  ‘You’re sure you’re OK to get home?’

  He saw the flash of her smile. ‘Yeah. Thanks.’ She paused. ‘Thanks for the job, Daniel.’

  ‘OK.’

  He waited for her to descend, for the door to snib behind her. Then he walked slowly back to his work. That smile was a knockout. He’d seen it—what, twice in the whole evening? Not the sarcastic, smart one that had edges sharp enough to cut glass. This smile had been huge and genuine and very attractive. He was in for a long, sleepless night and suddenly that smile was all he could see on the pages in front of him. Concentration obliterated.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  You think that rational analysis is the best approach in all situations

  LUCY woke early after another restless night. She hated listening to the sound of others sleep. Always had. Even boyfriends. In fact she preferred her lovers to leave late in the night, giving her a few hours’ uninterrupted attempted sleep time—alone, in silence and safety. Insomnia sucked.

  Years of boarding-school had been a torment. Space and security were what she’d love. But the hostel in central Wellington was never going to offer either. A zillion backpackers made sure of that. She dragged herself out of bed, wishing sleep came easy. She’d had a fantastic dream at one point. Very fantastic. She’d been in the arms of one big, strong male and loving it. Then his features had firmed into those of her new employer. Daniel. Right at that moment three English girls had arrived loudly in the room. Good thing too. Explicit dreams about Mr Lawyer should not be happening. No way. He was so straight. So wrong. Not her type at all. But he made a suit more attractive than she’d ever have thought possible. And having him feature in her dreams was infinitely preferable to the shadowy figure who still haunted her periodically—turning her sleep time into terror time.

  Fighting off the fuzzy features, the fuzzy memories that she’d never be able to fully recollect, she saw the queue for the bathroom in the hall and abandoned the idea of showering there. Pulling on her jeans and a tee, she grabbed her bikini together with her towel and toilet bag, stuffing them into her backpack. She wound her unruly mess of hair into a loose knot on the top of her head and quickly tripped down the stairs and out to the street below.

  On the waterside of Wellington stood a fabulous swimming pool. An indoor haven for government workers and hip students wanting a complete workout. Lucy didn’t really want to work out. She liked to walk along the waterfront but you’d never catch her running along it like the Lycra-clad bunnies and yummy mummies jogging with their baby buggies. Swimming, however, was different—a pleasure, a relaxant. Splashing in warm water, striking out with her arms and legs, the silky feeling of her hair as it fanned out. She loved the freedom of feeling her body floating—weightless, worriless. She could spend hours in a pool and often had. It was her second favourite thing next to dancing.

  She scrabbled in her pocket for enough coins to gain entry to the pool, darted to the women’s facilities, stepped out of her clothes and into her bikini. She didn’t bother putting her bag in an automate
d locker—it wasn’t as if she had anything of value to worry about losing. Her goggles hung loosely from her wrist and she padded barefoot to the poolside, dropping her bag on the bottom row of spectator seating. Swimming lanes were set up and general speed signs posted. On the far side a couple of men were striking out with great pace. Relentlessly they traversed the length of the pool, turning and heading back again, time after time, no pause for breath or thought. Like a duel they were chasing each other, one going up as the other came down the pool, and for a second she wondered who was chasing whom. They were a sight, with their strong arms powering through the water with ease, their faces obscured by the close-fitting goggles and the spray of the water. She shook her head a little to let her hair tumble free and then she quickly twisted it into a plait. Untied, the plait would work loose in the water after a few lengths, but that was part of the feeling of freedom she enjoyed.

  The middle lanes were slightly more crowded—a greater number of average-speed swimmers. She chose the one with the fewest number of swimmers. Waiting for the last swimmer to be a decent distance she dived in, loving that split second between jump and splash where for that instant she pretended she was a dolphin diving in delight.

  She swam a few lengths and after a time paused at the end for some deep breaths and time to float. The blood pumped through her body and she felt alive again—despite that lack of sleep. She stretched out her arms, laughing at herself. The number of times she’d gone to a day’s work on little or no sleep must surely be in the hundreds, but it had never seemed to matter before. Today was different. Today she didn’t just want to do her job, she wanted to do a good job.

  She trod water at the deep end, checking the time on the clock, and replaited her hair. Then she struck out again for the far end, and with every stroke she tried to think about the club. For once in her life she was determined to do well. She wanted to prove she could—to Mr Type A himself. He’d given her the chance but perversely seemed doubtful she’d be able to pull it off. Well, she’d show him. And it was to Daniel that her thoughts turned time and time again. Instead of drink orders and duty rosters it was the man with the golden eyes. His height and physique thrilled her but those golden eyes threatened to be her undoing. If she wasn’t careful they’d see right through her. Her aggression channelled into adrenalin and energy and she swam harder and faster than she had in ages. She tried to swim him out of her mind, forcing her focus back to the job again and again but failing each time. After a few more lengths, another couple of plaits, she was breathless and ready to get on with her day. She didn’t want to be late. She reached up with her hands and with a push heaved herself up to sit on the edge of the pool, waiting for most of the water to slide from her body before she’d step over to her towel-covered bag.