by Maggie Cox
‘Well, now you will make time for a relationship, Anna. You’ve dropped the bombshell that I am father to a daughter and now you will have to accept the consequences.’
‘What consequences?’ The colour seemed to drain out of her face.
‘What do you think?’ Dante snarled, his hands curling into fists down by his sides. ‘What do you think will happen now that I know I fathered a child that night? Did you think I would calmly walk away, saying Oh, well? From this moment on I fully intend to be a father to our daughter—and that means I want a legalised relationship with her mother…’
About the Author
The day MAGGIE COX saw the film version of Wuthering Heights, with a beautiful Merle Oberon and a very handsome Laurence Olivier, was the day she became hooked on romance. From that day onwards she spent a lot of time dreaming up her own romances, secretly hoping that one day she might become published and get paid for doing what she loved most! Now that her dream is being realised, she wakes up every morning and counts her blessings. She is married to a gorgeous man, and is the mother of two wonderful sons. Her two other great passions in life—besides her family and reading/writing—are music and films.
MISTRESS,
MOTHER…WIFE?
MAGGIE COX
www.millsandboon.co.uk
To my singing teacher, Jeanette Barnes,
who has become a good friend and
makes the most comforting cup of tea in the world!
CHAPTER ONE
IT WAS a pastime she liked to employ when things got a little slower towards the end of the evening. She’d scan the remaining customers who were lingering over their drinks at tables or at the bar and conjure up a tale about them. Making up stories was meat and drink to Anna… it was the thing that had kept her sane and protected when she was a child. Her little made-up worlds had all been so much safer and fulfilling than reality, and there were many, many times she’d sought refuge there.
Now, as though tugged by a powerful magnet, yet again she considered the handsome, square-jawed individual staring into space in the furthermost corner of the room. He’d occupied the stylish burgundy armchair for at least two hours now, had neither removed his coat nor glanced interestedly at the other well-heeled patrons even once. It was as though they were completely off his radar. All he seemed to be focused on was the inner screen of his own troubled mind.
There was definitely an intense, preoccupied air about him that intrigued Anna. After all, what dreamer with a yen for making up stories wouldn’t be intrigued or provoked by such fascinating material? Making sure she was discreet, she studied him hard. She hadn’t personally looked into his eyes yet, but already she guessed they would have the power to hynotise whoever was caught in their gaze. A small shiver ran down her spine.
Having checked the room to see if she was needed anywhere, she let her gaze return to the mystery man. He had straight mid-blond hair, with hints of silver in it, and appeared to be growing out a cut that had probably been both stylish and expensive. Everything about him exuded wealth and good taste, a well as the sense of power and entitlement that often accompanied those attributes. Although his eye-catching broad shoulders appeared weighed down by his concerns, he also wore a fierce need for privacy that was like an invisible electronic gate, warning all comers that they encroached upon his space at their peril. Had an important deal gone sour? Had someone deceived him or seriously let him down in some way? He didn’t look like a man who suffered fools gladly.
Anna sighed, then studied him again. No…she’d got it all wrong. The black coat he was wearing suddenly sang out to her. He’d lost someone close. Yes, that was it. He was grieving. That was why his expression was so haunted and morose. As she studied his formidable chiselled profile, with the deep shadow of a cleft centred in that square-cut chin, it seemed almost impertinent to speculate about him further if she’d guessed the truth. Poor man… He must be feeling totally wretched.
The third Scotch on the rocks he’d ordered was drained right down to the bottom of the glass, Anna noticed. Would he be ordering another one? Bitter personal experience had taught her that alcohol never solved anything. All it had done for her father was make his black moods even blacker.
The hotel bar closed at eleven-thirty and it was already a quarter past, she saw. Collecting a tray, she circumnavigated the tables with her usual light step, her heart thudding like a brick dropped into a millpond as she overrode her natural inclination to stay well clear. In front of the man, she schooled her lips into a pleasant smile.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but will you be requiring another drink? Only, the bar will be closing soon.’
Glittering blue-grey eyes that contained all the warmth of a perilous icy sea swivelled to survey her. For a startled second Anna told herself it served her right if she received a frosty reception, when his body language clearly signalled that he wanted to be left alone. But just then a corner of the austere masculine mouth lifted in the mocking semblance of a smile.
‘What do you think? Do I look like I’m in need of another drink, beautiful?’
There was the faintest Mediterranean edge to his otherwise British accent. But in any case he was wrong. She wasn’t beautiful. If it weren’t for the rippling waistlength auburn hair that she freed from her workday style every night when her shift ended, Anna would consider herself quite ordinary. Yet the unexpected compliment—mocking or otherwise—was as though he’d lit a brightly burning candle inside her.
‘I wouldn’t presume to think I knew what you needed, sir.’
‘Call me Dan,’ he said, giving her the commonly abbreviated form of his name which he went by in London, not wanting to hear Dante, the name his mother had gifted him with, tonight of all nights.
The invitation almost caused her to stumble. She dipped her head beneath the glare of his riveting gaze because it was almost too powerful to look into for long.
‘We’re not supposed to address the customers personally,’ she answered.
‘And do you always follow the rules to the letter?’
‘I do if I want to keep my job.’
‘This establishment would be extremely foolish if they were to get rid of a girl like you.’
‘You don’t even know me.’
‘Maybe I’d like to.’ His smile was slow and deliberate. ‘Get to know you better, I mean.’
That roguish grin was like a guided missile that hit all her sensitive spots at once. Inside, the implosion almost rocked Anna off her feet.
‘I don’t think you do,’ she remarked, serious-voiced. ‘You’re probably just looking for a handy diversion, if the truth be known.’
‘Really? A diversion from what, exactly?’ A dark blond eyebrow with tiny glints of copper in it lifted in amusement.
‘From whatever unhappy thoughts that have been bothering you.’
The smile vanished. His expression became as guarded as though a wall made of three-foot-deep granite had thundered down in front of it.
‘How do you know I’m disturbed by unhappy thoughts? What are you…a mind-reader?’
‘No.’ Anna’s teeth nibbled anxiously at her lip. ‘I just observe people and—and sense things about them.’
‘What a dangerous occupation. And you’re compelled to do this why? You don’t have any of your own material to contemplate? You must be a rare human being indeed if that’s the case…to have managed to negotiate your way through life without any problems at all.’
‘I haven’t…gone through life without any problems, I mean. How would I have learned anything or be able to empathise with other people if I’d been problem-free? I’d also be quite superficial…which I’m not.’
‘And here I was, thinking
you were just a simple, uncomplicated barmaid, when in fact you’re clearly quite the little philosopher.’
Anna didn’t take the comment as an insult. How could she? As well as the pain glittering in his wintercoloured eyes, locked inside his scathing tone was the suggestion of the blackest kind of despair.
A heartfelt desire to help ease it in some way swept passionately through her.
‘I’m not looking for trouble. You just seemed so alone and sad, sitting there, that I thought that if you wanted to talk…well, I’d be a good listener. Sometimes it’s easier to tell your troubles to a stranger than someone you know. But anyway, if you think that’s impertinent of me, and another drink would help more, then I’ll gladly get you one.’
The man who’d told her to call him Dan raised a shoulder, then dropped it again dismissively.
‘I’m not the unburdening kind, and if you were hoping I might be then I have to tell you that you’re wasting your time. What’s your name? ‘
‘Anna.’
‘That’s it… just Anna?’
‘Anna Bailey.’
A cold sweat broke out across her skin, where previously his disturbing glance had kindled the kind of heat that made dry tinder burst into flames. Was he going to report her or something? She hadn’t meant to insult him. Her only desire had been to help if she could. Was he an important enough customer for a complaint from him to help her lose her job? She prayed not.
The comfortable family-run hotel in a quiet corner of Covent Garden had become her home for the past three years, and she loved everything about it—including her work. She didn’t even mind if she sometimes had to work long hours. Her employers were so kind—generous to a fault, in fact—and her recent pay-rise had helped make life a whole lot more comfortable than when she’d worked at jobs she’d hated and for too little money. Lord knew she didn’t want to go back to struggling again.
‘Look, Mr, er…’
‘I told you to call me Dan.’
‘I can’t do that.’
‘Why? ‘ he snapped, his expression irritated.
‘Because it wouldn’t be professional. I’m an employee here and you’re a guest.’
‘Yet you offered me a shoulder to cry on. Is that on offer to all your guests, Anna?’
She flushed. ‘Of course not. I just wanted to—’
‘So the only thing that prevents you calling me by my first name is that you’re a stickler for the rules and you work here, while I’m a paying customer?’
‘I’d better go.’
‘No—stay. Is there any other reason you can’t be more informal? Like the fact that you’ve got a husband or boyfriend waiting for you at home, perhaps?’
Anna stared helplessly.
‘No.’ She cleared her throat, then glanced round to see if anyone was observing them.
Brian—her young, dark-haired colleague—was wiping down the half-moon-shaped bar and chatting to a customer at the same time, whilst a smartly dressed middle-aged couple sat tenderly holding hands as they lingered over their after-theatre drinks. They’d regaled Anna earlier with tales of the play they’d been to, and their infectious enjoyment was contagious. Twenty-five years married and they were still like young lovers around each other.
Sighing, she turned back to find him broodingly examining her. The sudden jolt of her heartbeat mimicked another heavy brick splashing into a pond as his glance interestedly and deliberately appraised her figure. His gaze lingered boldly on the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts, trailing sensuous fire in its wake. There was nothing provocative about the purple silk blouse with its pretty Chinese collar and the straight grey skirt that denoted her uniform, but when he studied her like that—as if he were imagining her naked and willing in his bed—Anna felt as if there was nowhere to hide.
A trembling excitement soared through her blood at his near-insolent examination. An excitement that was like a gargantuan powerful wave dangerously poised to sweep her into uncharted waters she’d never dared visit before.
‘In that case…I’ve had a change of heart,’ Dante drawled, smiling. ‘Maybe sharing my troubles with a sweet girl like you is just what I need tonight, Anna. What time do you finish?’
‘Around midnight, by the time Brian and I have cashed up.’ How was it possible for her voice to sound so level when inside a roaring furnace was all but consuming her?
‘And how do you normally get home? Do you get a cab?’
‘I live in, actually.’
Just like a popped balloon, her last defence deflated and it was no longer possible for her to pretend that the handsome, hard-jawed stranger hadn’t affected her deeply. The truth was that he held a dangerous fascination for her. She was hypnotised by the simmering aura of sensuality implicit in his rough velvet voice and in the twin lakes of his troubled haunting eyes. As a result, her bones seemed to be held together by running water instead of strong connective tissue. Unable to think straight, Anna knew her returning glance was nervous as she gathered the round wooden tray up close to her chest as though it were a shield.
‘Have you made up your mind about the drink? Only I’ve got to get back to the bar to work.’
‘Another drink can wait.’
Unbuttoning his coat for the first time that evening, Dante handed her his empty glass with another long, slow, meaningful glance. His lean fingers brushed hers. Did she imagine that they lingered there against her skin much longer than necessary? His touch was like being grazed by lightning—deliberate or not.
‘I’m staying here too tonight, Anna. And I think that we should have a drink together when your shift ends… don’t you?’
A definite refusal was on the tip of her tongue, but inside the dogged belief clung that perhaps she really could help him by being a good listener. Her lips pursed tight to prevent it. But when she turned away it was as if some kind of aftershock from their encounter had seized her, because her limbs were shaking almost violently as she crossed the room to rejoin Brian.
There was no understanding such alternating and violent sweeps of emotion, thought Dante. He had just flown into London from his mother’s funeral—the funeral of the one person in the world he had truly loved, who had always been there for him no matter what, who had been like a beacon of light he turned to when he ached to remember that beauty, grace and selfless kindness existed in the world.
Now that she was gone he was heartbroken…truly heartbroken. But another woman also occupied his thoughts right now. His body had somehow acquired a compelling desire to know the touch of a red-haired young witch with sherry-brown eyes that glinted beguilingly like firelight—a girl he had only just met whom he had all but mocked disparagingly when she’d shyly offered him a listening ear. Was it so rare that he met up with a genuinely nice girl that he had to punish her when he did?
His mother would turn in her newly dug grave! Bitterness and despair rising in his gorge, Dante ripped off his wristwatch to discard it onto the nearby polished side-table. His coat followed suit, but he let it fall carelessly onto the bed instead. Several hundred dollars’ worth of the finest cashmere—but what did it signify? His wealth had neither made him a better man nor a more generous one.
His personal assessment was brutally frank. All the businesses and property he had accumulated through mergers and acquisitions had demonstrated to him was how driven and ruthless he’d become. Yes, driven and ruthless—because of an underlying fear of losing it all. An impoverished childhood and a father who had deserted him had seen to that. He’d been so poor in the small mountain village in Italy where he’d grown up that his mother had been forced to earn their bread by dancing and singing for men in seedy bars in the nearby town, and Dante had long ago set his hungry intention for any career he might settle upon to make him wildly and disgustingly rich so that he might rescue them both.
His wealth would act as an insulating buffer between him and the rest of the world, he’d told himself. Then no one would have the chance to hurt him or
his mother again, and neither would she have to humiliate herself by parading her beauty in front of men for money. Dante had carried that insulation with him into his marriage and into any other romantic relationship he’d briefly flirted with, forever seeking to protect his emotions. He’d become cold…not to mention a little heartless.
‘No wonder they call you the ice man of the business world,’ his American ex-wife, Marisa, had taunted him.
‘You’re so dedicated to the title that you even bring it home with you!’
At first his mother had been fiercely proud of his rocketing success. He’d bought her the house of her dreams in Lake Como, and made sure she always had plenty of money to buy whatever she wanted. But lately whenever he’d visited her she’d started to profess concern. With one failed marriage and a string of unhappy relationships behind him, it had only seemed to Renata that her son had lost all sense of priority.
It should be the people in his life who were important, she’d told him—not his business or the grand houses he bought—and if he continued in this soulless way then she would sell the richly decorated house on its exclusive plot by the lake and purchase a hut in the hills instead! After all, she’d been raised as a shepherd’s daughter, and she wasn’t ashamed to go back to where she’d begun even if he was. Someone had to show him what values were.
Dante grimaced at the hurtful memory of her distressed face and quavering voice when she’d said this to him in the hospital.
To diffuse his despair he deliberately brought his mind back to the titian-haired Anna Bailey. His reaction was purely male and instinctive, and his body tightened instantly. It was as though someone had stoked a fire beneath his blood and set it ceaselessly simmering. Reaching for his discarded watch, he impatiently scanned the time, all but boring a hole in the door with his naked, hungry glance as he waited for her to arrive—not once allowing himself to think that she wouldn’t…
