His Cinderella Mistress

by Carole Mortimer

  “Don’t look at me like that!” he finally groaned harshly.

  She breathed shallowly, her tongue moving to moisten suddenly dry lips. “Like what?” Was that husky rasp really her voice? It had sounded completely unlike her usual confident tones—like the voice of a stranger.

  Max continued to look down at her, frowning, for several long, searching seconds before flinging himself back on the pillow to stare up at the ceiling. “As if I’m some sort of monster you need protecting from!” he rasped coldly.

  Had she really looked at him in that way? If she had, then it was totally unfair—because the only person she needed protecting from was herself!

  They’ve got a date—at the altar!

  International bestselling author Carole Mortimer has written more than 115 books, and now Harlequin Presents® is proud to unveil her sensational new CALENDAR BRIDES trilogy.

  Meet the Calendar sisters:

  January—is she too proud to become a wife?

  March—can any man tame this free spirit?

  May—will she meet her match?

  These women are beautiful, proud and spirited—and now they have three rich, powerful and incredibly sexy tycoons ready to claim them as their brides!

  Available January (#2370), March (#2382) and May (#2394)

  Carole Mortimer

  HIS CINDERELLA MISTRESS

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘WOULD you allow me to buy you a drink?’

  Sitting at the bar, sipping a glass of sparkling water, taking a well-earned rest after an hour of singing, January turned to politely refuse the offer. Only to have that refusal stick in her throat as she saw who it was doing the offering.

  It was him!

  The man who had been seated at the back of this hotel bar for the last hour as she sat at the piano and sang. The man who had stared at her for all of that time with an intensity that had made it impossible for her not to have noticed him in return.

  She should refuse his offer, had learnt to keep a certain polite distance between herself and the guests who stayed at this prestigious hotel, transient people for the most part, here for a few days, never to be seen again.

  Remember what happened on the farm last year, her sister May would have told her. January did remember—only too well!

  Remember what you told me—afterwards, her sister March would have said; taking people at face value only brings trouble!

  ‘That would be lovely, thank you,’ January accepted huskily.

  The man gave an inclination of his dark head, ordering a bottle of champagne from John, the barman, before standing back to allow her to precede him to his table in the corner of the luxuriously comfortable room, made even more so at the moment because, although Christmas had come and gone, the decorations wouldn’t be taken down for several more days yet.

  January was aware of several curious glances coming their way as they walked by the crowded tables, could see their reflection in one of the mirrors along the walls. She, tall and willowy in the long black spangly dress she wore to perform in, her dark hair cascading down over her shoulders, eyes a mysterious dark smoky grey, fringed by sooty black lashes. The man walking so confidently behind her, the epitome of tall, dark and handsome in the black dinner suit and snowy white shirt he wore, his eyes a deep, unfathomable cobalt-blue.

  It was those eyes, so intense and compelling, that had drawn her attention to him an hour ago, shortly after she began her first session of the evening. Those same eyes that even now, she could see in the mirror, were watching the gentle sway of her hips as she walked.

  He stood to one side as January sank gracefully into one of the four armchairs placed around the low table, waiting until she was seated before lowering his considerable height into the chair opposite hers, that intense gaze having remained on her for the whole of that time.

  ‘Champagne?’ January prompted throatily a few minutes later—when it became apparent he wasn’t going to make any effort to begin a conversation, seeming quite happy to just stare at her.

  He gave a slight inclination of his head. ‘It is New Year’s Eve, after all,’ he came back softly.

  End of conversation, January realized a few seconds later when he added nothing further to that brief comment, beginning to wish she had listened to those little voices of her sisters’ earlier inside her head.

  ‘So it is,’ she answered dismissively, smiling up at John as he arrived with two glasses and the ice-bucket containing the bottle of champagne, deftly opening it before her anonymous companion nodded his thanks—and his obvious dismissal.

  John turned to leave, but not before he had given January a speculative raise of his eyebrows.

  Well aware that she always kept herself slightly aloof from the guests staying at the hotel, John was obviously curious as to why this man should be so different. Join the club!

  ‘January.’ She turned back to the man determinedly.

  He gave the semblance of a smile as he leant forward to pour the two glasses of champagne himself, competently, assuredly, not a single drop of the bubbly liquid reaching the top of the glass to spill over. ‘That’s what usually follows December,’ he drawled dismissively.

  ‘No, you misunderstood me.’ She shook her head, smiling. ‘My name is January.’

  ‘Ah.’ The smile deepened, showing even white teeth against his tanned skin. ‘Max,’ he supplied as economically.

  Not exactly a scintillating conversationalist, she decided, studying him over the rim of her champagne glass. The strong, silent type, maybe, the sort of man who only spoke when he had something significant to say.

  ‘Short for Maximillian?’ she asked lightly.

  His smile faded, leaving his face looking slightly grim. ‘Short for Maxim. My mother was a great reader, I believe,’ he added scornfully.

  Her eyes widened at his tone. ‘Don’t you know?’

  His gaze narrowed. ‘No.’

  Obviously not a subject to be pursued!

  ‘And are you in the area on business, Max?’ she prompted curiously; after all, it was New Year’s Eve, a time when most people would be with family or friends.

  ‘Something like that.’ He nodded tersely. ‘Do you work at the hotel every night, or just New Year’s Eve?’

  She found herself frowning slightly, unsure whether he had meant the question to sound insulting—as it did!—or whether it was just his usual abruptness of manner.

  She shrugged, deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt—for the moment. ‘I work here most Thursday, Friday and Saturday evenings,’ she added the last pointedly.

  ‘And as this is a Friday—’

  ‘Yes,’ she confirmed huskily. ‘Look, I’m afraid I have to go back on in a few minutes,’ she added with a certain amount of relief; this man was more than a little hard going!

  He nodded. ‘I’ll wait for you at the end of the evening.’ He had so far made no effort to drink any of his own champagne, merely continued to look at January with that almost blinkless stare.

  Which was just as unnerving close up as it had been from the distance for the last hour while she sang!

  She had accepted his invitation on impulse—curiosity?—and now she was regretting it. Okay, so his brooding stillness made Heathcliff and Mr Rochester, two of her favourite roman
tic heroes, seem almost chatty by comparison, but it was also extremely uncomfortable to be stared at in this single-minded fashion.

  She gave a brief shake of her head. ‘I don’t think so, thank you.’ She smiled to take some of the bluntness out of her own words; after all, he was a guest at the hotel, and she just another person employed here. ‘Usually I finish about one-thirty, two o’clock, depending on how busy we are, but as tonight is New Year’s Eve I’m here until three o’clock.’

  And by the time she had driven home it would be almost four o’clock, by which time she would be physically shattered but mentally unable to relax, which meant she would stay up until her sisters woke shortly before six. Not an ideal arrangement by any means, but she knew she was lucky to have found this job so close to home at all, so beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  ‘I’ll still wait,’ Max answered her evenly.

  A perplexed frown furrowed her brow; this was exactly the reason she had always kept a polite, if friendly, distance between herself and the male guests staying at the hotel. What had prompted her to make an exception in this man’s case…?

  She felt a shiver run down the length of her spine—of pleasure or apprehension?—as that deep blue gaze moved slowly down over the bareness of her shoulders in the strapless dress, the gentle swell of her breasts, the slenderness of her waist. Almost as if those long, artistically elegant hands had actually touched and caressed her!

  ‘I’ll wait,’ he repeated softly. ‘After all, what’s a few more hours…?’ he added enigmatically.

  Very reassuring—she didn’t think! In fact, there was a decidedly unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach, accompanied by mental flashes of those recent newspaper articles about lone women being attacked in this area late at night.

  Not that this obviously wealthy and assured man gave the impression of being in the category of the Night Striker—as the more lurid tabloids had dubbed him—but then, what did an attacker actually look like? The other man probably appeared perfectly normal during the day, too—it was only at night that he turned into a monster! She didn’t—

  ‘Tell me, January—’ Max sat forward intently now, that dark blue gaze once again unfathomable as he looked at her face ‘—do you believe in love at first sight?’

  The hand holding her champagne glass shook slightly at the unexpectedness of his question, her movements carefully deliberate as she placed the glass down on the table in front of her.

  What had happened to the social pleasantries? The ‘hello, how are you?’ The ‘do you have any family?’ The ‘when you aren’t singing what do you like to do?’ How did you go straight from ‘how often do you work at the hotel?’ to ‘do you believe in love at first sight?’ The obvious answer to that was—you didn’t!

  January’s features softened into gentle mockery. ‘In a word—no,’ she dismissed derisively. ‘Lust at first sight—maybe. But love? Impossible, don’t you think?’ she scorned softly.

  He didn’t so much as blink at her mocking reply. ‘I was asking you,’ he reminded softly.

  ‘And I said no.’ She was beginning to feel slightly rattled by this man’s sheer force of will. ‘How can you possibly fall in love with someone without even knowing them? What happens when you discover all those annoying little habits that weren’t apparent at first sight?’ she attempted to lighten the conversation. ‘Like not squeezing the toothpaste from the bottom of the tube? Like reading the newspaper first and leaving it in a mess? Like walking around barefoot whenever possible? Like—’

  ‘I get the picture, January,’ he cut in dryly, something like warmth lightening the intense blue of his eyes. ‘Are you telling me that you do all those things?’

  Was she? Well…yes. And the toothpaste thing annoyed March to the point of screaming. And May was always complaining about what a mess she made when she read the newspaper. As for walking about barefoot—that was something she had done since she was a very small child; it was also something that was totally impractical when you lived in a working farmhouse. Once she had stepped on a plank of wood and ended up with a nail stuck in her foot, followed by a trip to the hospital for a tetanus injection, and another time she had stepped on a hot coal that had fallen out of the fire, again followed by a trip to the local hospital.

  ‘I’ve been assured that love is supposed to nullify things like that,’ Max continued dryly at her lack of reply. ‘After all, no one is one-hundred-per-cent perfect.’

  She had a feeling that this man might be, had a definite intuition that he would never squeeze the toothpaste tube in the middle, or leave the newspaper in a mess, and as for walking about barefoot—! No, this man gave the impression that everything he did was deliberate, carefully thought through, without fault. But perhaps that was a fault in itself…?

  Although why she was even giving his question any serious thought she had no idea; it was simply ridiculous to suggest you could fall in love with the way someone looked!

  ‘It may do, Max—but it doesn’t stop hundreds of couples arriving in the divorce courts every year claiming incompatibility because of “unreasonable behaviour” by one or other partner,’ she derided.

  He smiled, his gaze definitely warmer now. ‘I don’t think they’re referring to how you do or do not squeeze a tube of toothpaste,’ he drawled.

  ‘Probably not.’ She shrugged. ‘But I believe I’ve adequately answered your initial question.’ Although why he had asked it at all was beyond her.

  Next time she had an impulse like this, she would ignore it—no matter how handsomely intriguing the man was!

  ‘More than adequately,’ he confirmed derisively. ‘And I have to say, January, it’s very unusual to meet a woman with such an honest view to what everyone else chooses to romantically call love.’

  January eyed him warily; she didn’t think she had actually said that was the way she felt towards falling in love! ‘It is?’

  ‘It is,’ he confirmed softly. ‘But—’

  ‘January, I’m really sorry to interrupt.’ John, the barman, appeared beside their table.

  ‘Not at all.’ She turned to him with a certain amount of relief. ‘Is it time for me to go back on?’ she asked hopefully; she really had had enough of this conversation. And Max…

  John grimaced. ‘I just thought I should let you know Meridew is on the prowl again,’ he warned, referring to the over-efficient manager of the hotel who had just strolled into the lounge bar, his gaze sweeping critically over the room.

  Strictly speaking January wasn’t exactly a member of the hotel staff, but that didn’t stop Peter Meridew, the hotel manager, having his say if he was displeased about something. January had never tested him before on having a drink with one of the hotel guests, but perhaps that came under the heading of ‘displeasing’ him? Whatever, January needed this job too much to risk losing it over a man she would never see again after this evening.

  ‘Thanks, John.’ She smiled up at him before turning back to Max. ‘I really do have to go.’ She managed to keep her voice evenly unemotional as she prepared to leave.

  Max’s gaze narrowed. ‘Would you like me to have a word with him?’

  ‘Who—? Certainly not,’ she protested frowningly as she saw he was now looking at the hotel manager. Although no doubt a word in Peter’s ear from this assuredly arrogant man would ensure that no word was ever mentioned to her about sitting down to have a drink with him! ‘It’s time for me to go back on, anyway,’ she dismissed lightly.

  Max nodded. ‘I’ll be waiting here when you’ve finished.’

  January opened her mouth to protest for a third time, and then thought better of it; what was the point? Besides, she was quite capable of slipping quietly away at the end of the evening without this man even being aware she had done so…

  She stood up. ‘Thank you for the champagne.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ He nodded.

  January was aware of him once again watching her as she crossed the room to the piano, knowing he
would see a tall, beautiful brunette in a sexy black dress. But that was all he would see—because he knew nothing else about her but her name.

  Max should see her at half-past six tomorrow morning, up to her wellington-booted ankles in mud, as she trekked through the farmyard to the cow shed for early milking!

  What on earth did he think he was doing? Max remonstrated with himself with an inward groan.

  Was he trying to frighten the woman away before he even had chance to get to know her? Or—more importantly!—her him? If he was, he was certainly succeeding!

  He hadn’t wanted to come on this particular business trip at all, would have been quite happy to stay where he was until after the New Year, had been enjoying the mild, if unsuccessful, flirtation with the actress April Robine, a woman at least ten years older than his own thirty-seven, but looking at least twenty years younger than her actual age.

  But it had been pointed out to him quite strongly, by his friend and employer, that these negotiations needed to be settled as quickly as possible, and it was his job, after all. Never mind the fact that Jude was as interested in April Robine as he was—and probably with more success, if he knew Jude. Which he did. Only too well.

  How could Max possibly have known that a chance drink in the piano-bar of the hotel he was staying in would completely erase April, and every other woman he had ever known, from his mind, would result in his seeing the one woman he knew he had to have for his own?

  Well…for a time, anyway; if he was honest with himself there wasn’t a woman in the world he wanted permanently in his life. No matter how beautiful. And January was incredibly beautiful.

  She was perfect, from the top of her ebony head to the soles of her delicate feet in those ridiculously strappy sandals she was wearing.

  So perfect that he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her the whole time he had been sitting here. So perfect that he had been uncharacteristically tongue-tied in her company. Except when he had asked her if she believed in love at first sight…