Mistress by Agreement

by Helen Brooks

  He was waiting for a response. She pulled herself together as the realisation hit, stitching a polite smile on her face with some effort. ‘We’ve still got a way to go before you give Carr and Partners the work, surely?’ she said evenly. ‘You haven’t asked the fee for my services.’

  She realised too late she could have put that better when the blue eyes flickered, just once, and he said, very dryly, ‘What exactly do you charge, Rosalie?’

  With anyone else she could have turned it into a joke or frozen the individual out with one of the icy looks she had perfected years ago, but Kingsley Ward wasn’t anyone else. And she was burning up with enough heat to spontaneously combust.

  Rosalie took the coward’s way out and acted dumb. ‘For a job of this kind we tend to estimate a cost,’ she said tightly. ‘It isn’t always possible to be specific when one is dealing with contractors and subcontractors, and things don’t always go according to plan. Materials might not be available when they ought to be, for example, or there may be a technical hitch which makes the job more difficult and therefore more time-consuming. Of course, this is not usually the case,’ she added quickly.

  ‘Quite,’ he said soothingly, making her aware she was gabbling.

  ‘The first thing I would need to do is to draw up a bill of quantities, which is a list of all the materials needed to complete the project right down to the smallest detail. This would extend to several hundred pages for a job of this nature.’

  He held up a restraining hand, his voice even dryer when he said, ‘You are telling me you don’t come cheap, is that it?’

  She had never met anyone she would like to punch on the nose more, or anyone who could make the most normal conversation sizzle with sexual undertones like this man. Or was it her? The thought kicked like a mule. Was she imagining all this? She didn’t like being confused and it sounded in her voice when she said, ‘It’s always worth paying for the best in the long run.’

  ‘My sentiments exactly,’ he drawled silkily, his American accent suddenly strong. ‘And that being the case I am sure I will hear from you shortly with a tidy breakdown, and some sort of ceiling cost, okay?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ He had opened the door before she realised she hadn’t thanked him for what was the most fantastic opportunity of her career to date, but even as the words hovered on her tongue he had gone without a backward glance or a goodbye.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ROSALIE worked harder than she had ever done over the next few weeks. Once she’d finished with the job she’d been engaged on when Kingsley Ward had made his amazing proposition, she began working on the bill of quantities for the Ward project, which was an enormous undertaking. It didn’t help that she was aware her three senior partners were a little anxious about it all.

  When she had told Mike Carr and the other two about the meeting with Kingsley Ward, Mike had called Kingsley the same day, after which he had come and perched on her desk in the late evening just as Rosalie had been thinking of going home.

  ‘There’s no doubt he wants you for the job.’ Mike looked at the slim, beautiful woman in front of him, whom he both respected and admired, and in whom he had taken a fatherly interest almost from the first day Rosalie had begun at Carr and Partners fresh from university ten years before. ‘Know much about him, do you?’

  Rosalie stared at him in surprise. Mike was more than a working colleague; shortly after she had been engaged by the firm she had discovered she had been at university with his daughter, Wendy, and after a reunion with the other girl it had become common for her to spend the odd weekend at the Carrs’ lovely old house in Harrow. The family’s friendship had come at a painful time in her private life and had meant the world. It still did, even though—with Wendy now married and living abroad, and Rosalie having been taken on as junior partner, which had doubled her workload and made for less socialising—she saw less of the family as a whole.

  ‘Not a thing, really,’ she admitted after a moment or two. ‘Why? Isn’t he creditworthy?’

  Mike smiled. ‘You really don’t know anything about him, do you? Oh, yes, he’s creditworthy, all right, Lee. Ward Enterprises was begun by his father over thirty years ago, but until Kingsley was old enough to come on board it was just a moderately successful little hotel chain comprising of some three or four fairly middle-of-the-road establishments. Kingsley changed all that. He had the vision to buy up land and make the Ward name synonymous with luxury hotels complete with a couple of golf courses, hundreds of acres of parkland and so on, the sort of places the rich and famous would go to to enjoy peace and seclusion where their every need is catered for. To put it crudely, my dear, Kingsley Ward is loaded.’

  Rosalie smiled, before raising her eyebrows as she said, ‘So why that note in your voice when you asked me if I knew anything about him?’

  ‘What note?’ And then Mike smiled himself at the expression on his junior partner’s face. ‘Oh, all right,’ he said a little shamefacedly. ‘It’s just that, along with the wealth and jet-set lifestyle the man now has, has come a certain reputation.’

  Rosalie’s eyebrows rose higher.

  ‘He’s partial to a well-turned ankle.’

  Dear Mike. Only he could use such a quaint old-fashioned phrase to describe a womaniser, Rosalie thought fondly, before she said teasingly in a mock American accent, ‘You mean he likes the broads?’

  Mike wasn’t smiling now. ‘He likes them, all right,’ he said quietly. ‘Lots of them.’

  ‘What’s that got to do—?’ Rosalie stopped abruptly. ‘Oh, come on, Mike,’ she said disbelievingly, ‘you don’t seriously think a man like the one you’ve just described would waste time trying to seduce a little provincial mouse like me, do you? He’s used to the celebs and model types who have been everywhere and done everything for sure.’

  ‘Rosalie, you’re a very beautiful woman, and no one in his right mind would describe you as a mouse,’ Mike said matter-of-factly. It was always amazing to him that she seemed so completely unaware of her effect on the opposite sex. What did she see when she looked in the mirror, for crying out loud? It was a question he’d asked himself many times, and now he answered it as he usually did; she saw something different from everyone else for certain. And she had Miles Stuart to thank for that. ‘Anyway, all I’m saying is watch him, okay? I’d say the same to Wendy in a similar situation, you know that.’

  ‘Yes, I know, Mike.’ She put out a hand and touched his jacket sleeve. ‘And I appreciate it, but, really, there’s no need.’

  Nevertheless, that conversation of a few weeks ago was now on Rosalie’s mind as she finished the last item in the bill of quantities and settled back in her seat in front of the word processor. Kingsley had asked her to contact him once she had this ready and before she sent copies to various contractors to put a cost on each part of the work. She had got the impression he was the type of man who liked to keep his finger on even the tiniest pulse. She would try the English number he had given her first and ask his secretary where he was in the world. Since the conversation with Mike she had made it her business to find out everything she could about Kingsley Ward, and she had discovered he had hotels in the Caribbean as well as the States and was constantly on the move. She had also found out that Mike had not exaggerated about Kingsley’s love life.

  She dialled the number herself; she had come into the office very early to finish off the list of materials and, as it was now still only eight o’clock in the morning, Jenny hadn’t arrived. Undoubtedly her call would be intercepted by an answer machine in Kingsley’s new English office in Oxford, but that was all right. It was another thing off the multitude of jobs she’d got lined up for the day, and his secretary could call Jenny later.

  ‘Kingsley Ward.’

  Rosalie almost dropped the telephone at the sound of the deep cold male voice, her heart giving a resounding thump. It was a moment or two before she could say, ‘K…Kingsley?’ Oh, don’t stutter, girl, for goodness’ sake, she told hers
elf in the next instant, hearing her breathless voice with utter contempt. Her voice was stronger as she continued, ‘It’s Rosalie Milburn here from Carr and Partners.’

  There was a pause, and then, ‘Yes, Rosalie?’

  She gulped. She preferred the first abrupt cold voice to the warmer, faintly sexy burr with which he’d spoken her name. And then she told herself not to be so darn ridiculous and to get on with it. ‘I’m sorry to bother you so early,’ she said politely. ‘I was expecting to just leave a message on your secretary’s answer machine to say that the bill of quantities is ready that you wanted to look over, and to ask where to send it. I wasn’t sure if you were in England or America.’

  ‘That was quick,’ he said appreciatively. ‘I’m in London today, I’ll call in for it. There were a couple of things I wanted to discuss with you anyway. Are you free for lunch?’

  ‘L…Lunch?’ She was doing it again! Her brain scrambled. She wasn’t doing anything for lunch but the last thing she wanted was to spend a couple of hours in close proximity to Kingsley Ward with no hope of escape. And then logic and reason took over. This was a massive job, she was going to have to liaise with Kingsley considering he was the type of man who insisted on overseeing everything. She forced her voice into neutral. ‘Lunch would be fine.’

  ‘Great.’ If he’d sensed her hesitation he gave no sign of it when he said, ‘I’ll pick you up round noon, okay?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  The phone went click. No goodbye, no social pleasantries. A man of few words, obviously. Rosalie sat staring at the receiver for some seconds, aware that she was feeling rail-roaded but that it wasn’t really fair on Kingsley. She could have said no to lunch, but if he needed to talk to her there was no point, added to which she had to make herself get on enough with him for them to establish a working relationship.

  She looked down at what she was wearing. She had dressed for an unremarkable day in the office—pencil-slim grey trousers and a wrapover white buttoned shirt, with a pearl-grey bouclé wool jacket for later in case the May evening turned chilly on the walk home. Her flat was only half a mile from the office and she always travelled on foot, enjoying the wake-up in the morning and the wind-down at night. The only time she drove was when she needed to call on site or visit an architect or contractor or something similar.

  She wrinkled her nose at her clothes. Kingsley Ward would be used to women who dressed to kill, for sure. And then she caught the errant thought, horrified at herself. What did it matter what he was used to? This was a business lunch with a client, that was all. As long as she was presentable that was all that mattered, and Kingsley probably wouldn’t notice what she was wearing anyway.

  Kingsley did. He arrived to collect her just before noon, his gaze going over her steadily as Jenny ushered him into Rosalie’s office. Rosalie made a huge effort to act as she would with a man who wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, smiling brightly and forcing herself to extend her hand this time as she said, ‘Kingsley, how nice to see you again.’

  His smile was lazy, with a mocking quality that suggested he knew she was lying. ‘Likewise.’

  ‘I’ve got everything ready if you’d like to glance through before we leave?’ she asked briskly, once her flesh had left contact with his. The tingling in her hand she could do nothing about.

  ‘Later. I’m hungry.’ His gaze hadn’t left her face, his eyes like blue crystal.

  ‘Fine.’ She busied herself in collecting the wool jacket and her handbag, hoping her bustle hid her agitation. She had forgotten what a startlingly deep blue his eyes were; if it were anyone else but Kingsley Ward she would have suspected they were wearing cosmetic contact lenses.

  ‘I hope you had nothing pressing this afternoon? I would like to visit the site after lunch. The architect will be there and it would be good for you to meet him.’

  ‘Of course.’ Rosalie thought of her work schedule and prayed for calm. ‘I’m all yours.’

  The carved lips twitched. ‘How generous.’

  It was, actually. She had already visited the site twice and didn’t really need to meet the architect today, Rosalie thought aggressively. There would be time enough for that once the tenders were returned, a builder selected and the work began. It would be her job to see the chosen builder kept to his prices, and she would be visiting the site frequently to value the work done for interim payments.

  ‘Shall we?’ He had taken her arm and whisked her out of the office before she had time to reflect further, and it was with dark amusement that Rosalie noticed Jenny’s expression of envy. If her secretary had but known it she would have swopped places with her for the lunchtime like a shot!

  Carr and Partners was situated in a row of terraced houses, and once out on the pavement Kingsley led the way to a nifty little silver sports car that would have done credit to James Bond. Rosalie was eternally grateful to her guardian angel that she’d decided to wear trousers that day; the car’s low interior was not conducive to entering and exiting in anything else. As it was she slid into the leather interior with more than a measure of aplomb. This faded somewhat when Kingsley climbed into the driver’s seat. He was close, very close, and he smelt nothing short of delicious.

  Rosalie hit her traitorous libido a sharp crack on the knuckles and swallowed deeply a few times. Her voice higher pitched than usual, she said, ‘Is it far? Where we’re eating?’

  Damn it, but she was like a cat on a hot tin roof. Was it him or was she like this with the whole male race? ‘No, not far,’ he said easily as he pulled out into the traffic, the car’s engine growling softly. ‘A friend of mine owns a little place near Finsbury Park where I often eat when I’m in London. Unless there’s somewhere else you’d prefer?’ He glanced at her.

  She shook her head, making the silky swirl of hair move and shimmer. Kingsley felt his loins tighten in response and turned his head, concentrating on the traffic.

  After a few tense moments during which Rosalie registered every single movement he made and the car’s interior seemed to shrink still more, she said carefully, ‘I’m really excited about this job, and I never did thank you for looking me up after the dinner party. Who mentioned I was a quantity surveyor, anyway?’

  He executed a manoeuvre that was totally illegal, receiving a few kindly gestures from passing motorists in the process, before he said, ‘What? Oh, I don’t remember. Is it important?’

  He turned to look behind him as he changed lanes and Rosalie glanced at the back of his head where his hair had been tapered into his neck. It was so sexy it wasn’t true. As the big body turned again her head shot to the front. She felt like a voyeur, for goodness’ sake, she admitted to herself crossly, willing each taut muscle to slowly relax. But she hadn’t expected to be cocooned in an inch-square box with him, that was the thing.

  Kingsley was clearly a man who didn’t go in for chatter when he was driving, and the short journey was accomplished in almost total silence. By the time they drew up outside a small neat restaurant Rosalie felt she’d got her act together, in spite of not quite being able to identify what it was about Kingsley Ward that threw her into such a spin.

  True, he was silver-screen handsome with the added authority that came with wealth and influence, but he was also hard, ruthless and possessed of a giant ego, from all the background she’d gathered on him. Women galore had been enjoyed and discarded if half the stories about him were true, and Rosalie didn’t doubt that they were, looking at the man. And she loathed men like him, individuals who took and never gave, plundered and demanded what they wanted as though it were their God-given right. In fact they disgusted her.

  ‘Don’t you like it?’

  ‘What?’ She spun round in her seat as the quiet voice registered on her, becoming aware in that moment that her face must have reflected her thoughts as she gazed out unseeing at the building in front of them. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I was thinking of something else,’ Rosalie said quickly. ‘This looks very nice.’

  ‘Don�
�t let the nondescript appearance fool you,’ he said evenly as he cut the engine. ‘Glen isn’t into glitz and glamour, but he has the punters fighting a path to his door now word has got out about the food here.’

  He exited the car in a smooth, controlled uncurling motion that Rosalie could but envy; she knew she was going to have far more trouble levering herself out of the low seat. As it was he had opened her door and extended a hand before she had to try, and once she was standing on the pavement she tried to ignore his towering height and the fact that she was all flustered again.

  Kingsley opened the door of the restaurant for her and then waved her through in front of him, thinking as he did so, Nice bottom. In fact nice everything. She was one hell of a woman and yet there was something so fiercely defensive about her it screamed disastrous love affair. Who had let her down and had it been recently? Certainly Jamie and one or two other of her friends who had been at the dinner party claimed they knew nothing. He wasn’t sure if he believed them. Whatever, she intrigued him. She’d intrigued him that night, enough for him to follow through and arrange for her to get the quantity surveyor’s job, after he had checked her credentials, of course. Much as he liked the idea of being the hunter for a change, he wasn’t about to endanger what was a very tasty business opportunity because he wanted a woman who had made it clear she didn’t want him.

  ‘King! My friend, my friend.’

  Rosalie hadn’t expected the said Glen to be foreign, somehow—Glen sounded too English for that—but the slim, wiry man who came rushing up as they entered was Italian or she’d eat her hat. He kissed Kingsley on both cheeks—something Kingsley had obviously been expecting and which didn’t phase him at all—before turning his attention to her, saying, ‘You have brought the most beautiful lady in London to grace my restaurant. How can I thank you, my friend?’