His Cinderella Mistress

by Carole Mortimer

  ‘I really wasn’t meaning to sound insulting just now when I likened your concern to my elder sister’s.’ She burst into speech in an effort to hide the confused emotions welling up inside her. ‘I—it was rather—endearing,’ she added awkwardly, at the same time glancing across to where her car was parked, quickly gauging how much longer it was going to take to reach it. Not long now, thank goodness. ‘As the youngest of three, I’ve always come in for the biggest amount of sisterly advice. Even March sometimes gets in on the act.’ She grimaced. ‘And she’s known as the more impetuous one of us!’

  ‘January. March. And May,’ Max repeated slowly. ‘Three months of the year,’ he added speculatively.

  ‘Oh, that’s easily explained.’ January came to a grateful halt beside her little car, at the same time searching in her bag for her keys. ‘You see—’

  ‘All I can see at the moment, January, is the most beautiful woman I have ever set eyes on,’ Max cut in harshly. ‘It’s all I’ve been able to see for the last thirty-six hours!’

  January looked up at him sharply, becoming suddenly still as she found herself drowning in the fathomless depths of his eyes.

  ‘January!’ he groaned throatily even as his head lowered and his lips claimed hers, at the same time as his arms moved about the slenderness of her waist to pull her close to the warm hardness of his body.

  Drowning must be something like this, January guessed dreamily a few minutes later; the initial fight against the inevitable, before the complete surrender to a force of such strength it was impossible to fight it any longer.

  She knew nothing about this man but the little he had told her—the little he had chosen to tell her. She didn’t even know his surname, she realized with a shocked jolt, and yet—

  She couldn’t think any more, couldn’t formulate two words together in her brain, could only breathe and feel Max, her body on fire with the desire his kisses engendered.

  Her arms moved up to his shoulders as she held on to him, one of her hands becoming enmeshed in the dark thickness of his hair, that hair silky to the touch.

  Max groaned low in his throat, evidence of his own pleasure at her touch, his mouth moving more fiercely against hers now as he deepened the kiss, his tongue moving searchingly over the sensitivity of her inner lip before probing deeper.

  January had never felt such oneness with another person before, as if she were a part of Max, and he a part of her, having no idea any more where Max began and she ended.

  It was—

  Tiny pinpoints of icy cold were falling against the warmth of her face, January’s eyes opening wide in puzzlement as the unwanted intrusion persisted, blinking dazedly as she looked up to see the snow gently falling down on them.

  Max broke the kiss reluctantly, his arms remaining firmly about her waist as he gave a rueful grimace at the steadily falling snowflakes. ‘Almost as good as a cold shower,’ he murmured self-derisively, his gaze warm as he turned back to January. ‘Probably as well,’ he conceded ruefully. ‘I would like the first time I make love to you to be somewhere a little more—comfortable than a hotel car park!’

  The first time…? That statement implied it would only be the first time of many…!

  January pulled gently out of his arms, turned away to hide her confusion, determinedly turning her attention to a renewed search in her handbag for her car keys. Where on earth were they? What—?

  ‘January…?’ Max reached out a hand to lift up her chin, his gaze becoming searching as he saw the paleness of her face.

  ‘I really do have to go now, Max,’ she told him awkwardly, sighing her relief as she at last located her keys at the bottom of her bag. ‘It’s very late—’

  ‘Or early,’ he put in lightly. ‘Depends on your point of view, doesn’t it?’ he teased. ‘I want to see you again, January,’ he told her firmly. ‘Tomorrow,’ he added determinedly. ‘Will you have lunch with me?’

  Would she? Could she? Dared she?

  Because she was in no doubt that if she agreed to see this man again there would be a repeat of the kisses they had just shared, that the next time there might be no pulling back—that even now her body still burned for the touch of his!

  But could she not see Max again? Could she just walk away from him, from the totally new emotions she had known just now in his arms, and calmly get on with the rest of her life? Could she do that? Did she want to do that?

  ‘Lunch tomorrow would be nice,’ she accepted huskily, not quite able to meet his gaze now, afraid that he might be able to see the hunger still burning in her eyes if she did. A hunger that seemed to consume every part of her…

  ‘Nice isn’t quite the way I would have put it.’ Max’s mouth twisted ruefully. ‘But I suppose it will have to do,’ he accepted self-derisively. ‘Are you going to be okay driving home in this weather?’ He frowned up at the snow that was falling more heavily than ever.

  What was the alternative? To stay the night with him in his hotel suite? Somehow she didn’t think so! She might respond to this man in a way that was totally new—and a little frightening?—to her, but that didn’t mean she was about to fall willingly into his arms at the first opportunity.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she dismissed, willing her hand not to shake as she unlocked her car door. ‘This is the north of England, Max; it often snows here. If you allowed your life to be dictated by the weather you would never do anything,’ she assured him.

  ‘Okay,’ he agreed with obvious reluctance. ‘Where shall we meet for lunch?’ he prompted as January got into her car.

  She looked up at him. ‘How about here? At twelve-thirty? There’s a nice pub a couple of miles away where they serve a great Sunday lunch.’ Working at the hotel, she did not want to be seen by Peter Meridew eating lunch here with one of the guests. Especially a guest like Max!

  ‘Okay.’ Max nodded slowly, bending down so that he filled the doorway, making it impossible for January to close the car door. ‘You won’t change your mind?’ he prompted huskily.

  She already had—several times! But, no…she wouldn’t change her mind.

  ‘I’ll be here at twelve-thirty,’ she promised, giving an involuntary shiver as the piercing wind and snow entered the car. ‘Brr.’ She grimaced pointedly.

  ‘Sorry,’ Max murmured ruefully, stepping back so that she could close the car door.

  January wound down the window. ‘You should get inside,’ she advised lightly, grateful when her car started the first time she turned the key; it was an old car, and prone to letting her down at inconvenient moments. ‘You’re getting very wet!’ As were his tailored suit and expensive-looking leather shoes.

  Now where had she—?

  ‘I’ll wait here until you’ve driven off, if you don’t mind,’ Max told her grimly. ‘It’s the least I can do!’

  He so obviously wasn’t accustomed to having his wishes overridden in this way that January couldn’t help but smile. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she told him as she drove off with a wave of her hand.

  She passed John on his way to his own car as she drove out of the car park, giving him a friendly wave too before accelerating out onto the deserted road.

  She would be lying if she said it was an easy drive home, because it was far from that, the drive on the untarmacked cart-track that led up to the farm the worst part of it. But at last she arrived in the farmyard, relieved to switch off the car engine and get out of the car, flexing the tension from her tired shoulder muscles.

  Tension not just caused from the difficult drive home, January conceded ruefully. There was Max, her response to him, to worry about, too.

  But the tension left her completely as she stood looking at the surrounding countryside, at the snow-covered hills, slowly becoming filled with an inner peace. The land, as far as her eye could see, belonged to them. It might be a tough life sometimes, a lot of hard work, often with no obvious return, the weather and circumstances unkind to them occasionally, too, but it was all theirs.


  Nothing—and no one—was ever going to change that…

  She was late for their luncheon appointment, by precisely ten minutes, Max realized, scowling after yet another glance at his gold wrist-watch as he strolled restlessly up and down the reception area of the hotel.

  Always a stickler for being on time for appointments himself, Max found January’s tardiness doubly frustrating. Firstly, because of that abhorrence of lateness in others as much as in himself; secondly—the fact that January hadn’t arrived at twelve-thirty, as she had said she would, might mean that she wasn’t coming at all!

  It was that second reason that was the most frustrating.

  Maybe he had come on a little strong with her again last night? Maybe he shouldn’t have kissed her quite that passionately?

  But once he’d held January in his arms, not to have kissed her in the way he had had been totally beyond his control. In truth, he had wanted to do a lot more than just kiss her!

  Her body had been warm and fluid, her breasts pressed invitingly against his chest, her thighs moulding perfectly against his; it had taken every ounce of his will-power not to sweep her off her feet and carry her up to his hotel room. Where he had wanted to explore every delectable inch of her body with his hands and lips!

  Stop it, Max, he instructed himself firmly. Wasn’t it enough that he had spent a sleepless night, initially worrying in case she hadn’t got home safely, and wishing that he had asked her to call him when she’d got in, followed by a hunger just for sight or touch of January, without repeating that discomfort now? He couldn’t remember the last time he had hungered for a woman in this way—if he ever had!—let alone got up in the middle of the night to take a cold shower in an effort to deal with the problem.

  He glanced at his watch again. She was fifteen minutes late now—

  ‘Er—sir? Mr Golding, isn’t it?’

  He turned to scowl in acknowledgement as the receptionist called hesitantly across to him.

  ‘I believe there’s a telephone call for you.’ She pointed to the telephone at the end of the desk, the flashing light indicating the call.

  Probably Jude, checking up on progress, Max realized frowningly as he moved to take the call. Just what he needed at this precise moment!

  ‘Yes?’ he snapped into the receiver.

  ‘Max?’ January returned uncertainly.

  He willed himself to relax, not to show how angry he was—and failed miserably. ‘Where the hell are you?’ he rasped; the fact that she was telephoning him at all meant that she wasn’t on her way here—or, in fact, intending to be!

  ‘Well, at the moment I’m at home—’

  ‘You should be here!’ he snapped, his hand tightly gripping the receiver.

  ‘But until a short time ago I was sitting in my car in a ditch,’ January continued, determined. ‘Max, I’m sorry,’ she added huskily.

  ‘I really am. I set out in plenty of time to get there at twelve-thirty, but the car skidded on some ice, I lost control, and—well, I ended up in the ditch. I telephoned as soon as I could—’

  ‘Are you hurt?’ Max cut in sharply, furious with himself now for having lost his temper with her initially. If she were hurt—! That possibility didn’t bear thinking about!

  ‘Just a little bump on the head,’ January dismissed. ‘But the car is probably a write-off—’

  ‘Forget the car,’ he cut in. ‘It’s easily replaceable. You aren’t.’

  ‘Well it might be easily replaceable to you.’ She laughed ruefully. ‘I’m not in such a healthy financial position, I’m afraid. But never mind that,’ she changed the subject. ‘There is no way I’m going to make it for lunch now, so could we make it dinner this evening, instead? March says she doesn’t need her car this evening, so I can borrow that. As long as I promise not to put that in a ditch, too,’ she added dryly.

  Max’s head was still full of horrifying visions of the first time she had landed in a ditch, at how nearly he had lost her, when he had only just found her!

  ‘Wouldn’t it be easier if I were to pick you up?’ he suggested tautly. ‘That way, if anyone ends up in a ditch, it will be me!’

  ‘No, that won’t do at all,’ she came back instantly.

  ‘January, could you just forget this idea you have that my meeting your family is tantamount to an engagement announcement,’ he interrupted impatiently, ‘and just look at the safety aspect instead? I do not want—’

  ‘Max, this has nothing to do with what my family may or may not think—’ The embarrassment could be heard in her voice ‘—and everything to do with the fact that I live in a very remote area, high up in the hills. Trying to direct you there would be a nightmare.’

  In that case, the thought of her driving down to him was a nightmare, too—for him. He—

  ‘Maybe we should just forget meeting up at all,’ January continued evenly. ‘The weather seems to be against us, and—’

  ‘No!’ Max cut in tautly. ‘No, January, to me not seeing you today is not an option.’ He simply couldn’t go through another night like last night!

  ‘To me, either,’ she came back softly.

  So softly, Max wasn’t sure he had heard her correctly, or whether it was just wishful thinking on his part. The former, he hoped!

  ‘Okay, dinner,’ he accepted huskily. ‘Here. At seven-thirty.’

  ‘Fine,’ she agreed breathlessly. ‘Oh, before you go, Max, there is just one little thing…’ she added teasingly.

  ‘Yes?’ he prompted warily, feeling his tension rising once again.

  ‘Don’t you think it might be helpful if I were to know your surname?’ she asked playfully. ‘It was a little embarrassing a few minutes ago when I telephoned and had to ask Patty if there could possibly be an irate-looking guest pacing up and down in Reception—because I had no idea how to ask for you by name!’

  That thought hadn’t even occurred to him. But, now that he thought of it, he didn’t know her surname either; it hadn’t seemed important at the time.

  It still wasn’t important; she was January to him, the woman he wanted with a fierceness that was totally consuming his every waking thought. Although he could see her point…

  ‘Golding,’ he supplied laughingly. ‘Maxim Patrick Golding.’

  Complete silence on the other end of the telephone line followed his announcement. A sudden, tense silence.

  ‘January…?’ he prompted as the seconds slowly passed with only that silence on the other end of the telephone line.

  ‘Did you say Golding?’ she finally asked in a hushed voice.

  ‘Yes, I did,’ Max returned warily. ‘January—’

  ‘You’re M. P. Golding?’ Her voice rose disbelievingly.

  Max’s hand tightened about the telephone receiver. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. ‘I just told you I am,’ he confirmed slowly, having no idea what the problem was with his name. Only knowing that there obviously was one.

  Why had January repeated his name in that formal way, M. P. Golding, as if he were the author of a book, or—? Or…!

  ‘January, what’s your own surname?’ he prompted with a wince of foreboding.

  ‘With first names like January, March and May? I’m sure, if you try, you can work that one out for yourself, Mr Golding! If there’s really any need for you to do so!’ she added scathingly. ‘Goodbye!’

  ‘January—’ Max broke off abruptly, realizing as he heard the clatter of the receiver being slammed down on the other end of the line that he was talking to himself.

  Max slowly replaced his own receiver, the colour draining from his cheeks as the truth hit him with the force of a sledgehammer. January, March, and May. All months of the year. All months in the Gregorian calendar.

  Calendar…

  It was all too much of a coincidence, January having two sisters, their names all months of the year; January’s surname had to be Calendar!

  Damn, damn, damn!

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘JANUARY, where on ea
rth are you going?’ May demanded incredulously as she followed her outside.

  January didn’t even pause in her long strides across the yard. ‘To get my car out of the ditch, of course,’ she dismissed impatiently.

  ‘But there’s no hurry to do that until the weather improves,’ May protested reasoningly as January climbed into the cab of the tractor. ‘After all, you said it’s probably a write-off, anyway.’ Her sister grimaced.

  It probably was, the whole of the front wing on the driver’s side of the car seeming to have concertinaed into itself as it hit the other side of the ditch.

  But it had at least stopped snowing, and January needed something to do, desperately needed to keep herself physically busy in an effort to stop herself from thinking too much. From thinking at all, if possible!

  M. P. Golding! She had recognized the name instantly, clearly remembered it as the signature of the lawyer at the bottom of the letter they had received before Christmas—from the Marshall Corporation, offering to buy their farm. The same name of the lawyer who had visited the farm yesterday and spoken to May on the same subject…?

  January still couldn’t believe it! Couldn’t stop thinking of it, no matter how much she tried…

  ‘It can’t just stay there, May,’ she insisted grimly.

  ‘It can stay there for a couple of days, until the snow clears a little,’ her sister insisted.

  January gave a firm shake of her head. ‘I’m going now.’

  ‘January, what’s happened?’ May looked at her concernedly. ‘You were bright and bubbly this morning, before the accident. Perhaps that bump on the head was more serious than we initially thought. Perhaps we should call Dr. Young—’

  ‘I don’t need a doctor, May.’ Not that sort of doctor, anyway! She forced herself to relax slightly, turning to smile at her sister. ‘It’s just a bump,’ she insisted lightly—the throbbing pain at her temple was nothing compared to the one in her heart. And a medical doctor could do nothing to cure that! ‘Look, I’ll just drive down and see if it’s possible to tow the car out of the ditch,’ she offered as a compromise. ‘The fresh air will probably do me good,’ she added encouragingly.