by Trish Morey
‘You don’t.’
Mackenzi shook her head. ‘You really are insane.’ She grabbed a box of paper, taking out the remaining reams before tossing items from her desk into it.
She reached for a photo but his hand stayed her, his fingers circling her wrist before she could grasp it. She looked down on it with disdain. ‘You might fancy yourself as a top-notch businessman, but you’ve got one hell of a lot to learn about romance.’
He didn’t let go. ‘Think about it,’ he said. ‘Do you really want to front your associates in a few minutes and tell them that you’d been offered a chance to save the hotel, and maybe their jobs, but you’d turned the opportunity down flat?’
‘It won’t be me fronting that meeting. You’ve already made me redundant, remember?’
‘Then I’ll tell them.’
She looked up at him in shock, unable to believe even he could be that cruel.
‘I’ll tell them that since I didn’t have the co-operation of the manager I had no choice but to make a decision to close it down.’
‘You wouldn’t dare.’
He smiled. ‘Try me.’
It was insane. He couldn’t mean it. She thought of the staff—of Natalie on Reception, who’d just bought her first home, of the chef, Con, whose wife was expecting their third child. Could she do it to them—deny them the one chance they might have to keep their jobs longer than three months?
It was wrong, so wrong, and yet the thought of making love to him again…and the knowledge that he wanted to make love to her…
The ancient clock on the mantelpiece chimed out the half-hour, and she looked over at it in panic.
‘It’s announcement time,’ he said, edging closer, touching the pads of his fingers to her cheek, trailing them down her neck, his touch electric. ‘So what’s it to be? Close down the hotel, or warm my bed and give your colleagues a fighting chance? It’s up to you.’
Mackenzi shied away from his hand, more to hide the tremors that resonated through her than from any revulsion at his touch. ‘With no guarantees, of course?’
‘Life doesn’t come with guarantees. Yet we still have to make decisions every day. This is just one more. The fate of Ashton House is up to you. Decide.’
She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could so easily block out the scent of him, and the acute awareness of his presence that fired her skin to simmering heat.
It was an outrageous demand, no kind of deal at all, and she should turn him down flat. But in standing up for herself she’d be letting the hotel down. And in agreeing to share his bed there would be just the glimmer of a chance that the hotel might be spared after all.
Did she really have a choice?
‘Yes,’ she whispered through lips suddenly ash-dry, while other parts of her body warmed and bloomed in certain knowledge of what was to come.
‘I didn’t hear you,’ he said, extracting every last shred of humiliation from her.
‘Yes,’ she repeated, louder this time. ‘I’ll sleep with you.’
Dante smiled then, a smile that simultaneously turned her thoughts to panic, and her nipples to bullets. ‘I knew you’d see reason.’
Was it reason she’d seen? As he came closer, all reason seemed to turn tail and flee, the fire ignited in his eyes melting any remaining hint of resistance. Fear mingled with anticipation as he stood before her. Was this the real reason he’d locked the door behind him? Surely he wouldn’t demand she commence her duties so soon?
‘We have a meeting—’
‘Turn around,’ he ordered.
‘What?’
‘Turn around!’
She dragged in air, needing oxygen desperately, but finding it infused with the rich pull of his scent, the rich heat of him, as she turned shakily towards the desk.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, but all too soon his purpose was patently clear as she felt her skirt being hitched up from behind, his hands scorching a trail up her thighs. She gasped and pushed herself closer to the desk, anything to increase the distance between them, but he only followed her, his fingers curling around her legs, pulling her back towards him at the same time he pressed himself close up behind her.
He laughed, a rough sound, like he was battling with himself. ‘You see how much I want you?’
She gasped, as through the bunched-up fabric of her skirt she could feel his hard length. Through the throbbing at the apex of her thighs she could feel her own need. Her own wants. But it was too soon, her agreement too raw, his needs too powerful.
‘Stop it,’ she pleaded. Meaning it. Not meaning it. ‘Please…’
His mouth took to her neck, moving over her in a liquid motion of pleasure, his body spooned behind hers as if they were almost one. As surely they soon would be.
‘You want this,’ he uttered, his lips and breath dancing over sensitive skin. ‘You want me.’
‘Not like this,’ she protested, even as her body bloomed with a desire so thick and languid it threatened to buckle her knees. And certainly not yet. ‘I said I would share your bed, not be taken like some Neanderthal’s woman.’
CHAPTER FIVE
DANTE’S MOUTH stilled and lifted from her throat, the exploration of his hungry hands arrested. ‘What did you call me?’
In the momentary respite, Mackenzi found reserves she’d never known she had and spun herself away, dragging her skirt back down to her knees in the process. ‘What do you expect? Your caveman tactics may have got you to where you are in business, but you can leave them behind when it comes to the bedroom.’
His nostrils flared, and his hands balled into fists at his hips. ‘Have you forgotten,’ he uttered through teeth tightly clenched, ‘that it was you who turned up naked in my bed? And it was you who agreed to become my mistress? And now you think you have a choice?’
She tossed him a throwaway shrug, the merest concession to the truth of his assertion. Because she had agreed to become his mistress, and she was as good as his—lock, stock and barrel. ‘I never agreed I’d like it.’
His eyes gleamed dangerously, as if she’d just issued him with some kind of challenge. ‘I promise you, if enjoyment is what you’re after, you’ll get it.’ Once again he moved closer, with his wild-looking eyes, and his breathing building, every bit as ragged as her own, when a knock at the door halted his progress.
‘Miss Keogh?’ the hesitant voice called uncertainly, the handle turning fruitlessly as their visitor found the door locked. ‘The meeting…The staff are waiting.’
Dante still held her eyes prisoner, and yet for the first time she felt like she’d won some kind of battle against this man—if only a battle to gain some time. She turned on a smile designed to reflect her small victory as she called out, ‘We’ll be right there.’
How she made it through the meeting, she didn’t know. Especially when Dante announced that Mackenzi would be stepping down from her direct-managerial position and be ‘assisting’ him with his deliberations while he assessed the credentials of the hotel. Every pair of eyes suddenly turned her way.
What must they all be thinking? There would be talk, she had no doubt—from the waitress at breakfast who’d heard his dig about her being in his suite, to the clerk who must have been wondering why voices were raised and her office door locked, from everyone here questioning her less-than-immaculate hair that she’d twisted and shoved a clip into before heading for this meeting. She could see the questions in their eyes. She could feel the heat of her own self-damning response as colour flooded her cheeks.
But then he announced that until a decision was made it would be business as usual, and she’d seen their attention turn back to him and their curiosity turn to relief. The relief that the axe they’d been expecting hadn’t yet fallen, and that their jobs were safe, at least for now. She was almost happy that she’d made the decision she had.
Almost.
Until someone asked how long the process would take, and Dante tossed off a careless, ‘A week, maybe two,’ br
inging home how little hope she had of changing his mind, bringing home how little she was worth. Two weeks at the most to make him realize the value of Ashton House before he discarded her. Two weeks where he would use her, peel her like an orange, devour her and spit out the pips.
He glanced at her then, his eyes like deep, dark pools of promise, and she shuddered at what she saw there: desire. Need. Hunger.
Her body responded in kind, her breasts firming, the fire in her belly sending flames licking dangerously lower, building an inexorable head of steam inside her.
How long would he wait to take her again? He’d already shown he was a man with a powerful appetite for sex. She’d thwarted him once by escaping from his room while he’d slept. She’d evaded him the second time by insulting him and halting him in his carnal tracks. But how long could she avoid the inevitable? How long could she hold him at bay?
How long did she really want to?
One week, maybe two, was all he’d estimated she’d last. After the sexual awakening she’d had last night, the extraordinary feelings unleashed within her, somehow one to two weeks didn’t seem anywhere near enough.
‘Pack your things,’ he told her once the last question had been answered and the staff had dispersed and returned to their duties, relieved that they still for now had duties to return to.
‘Excuse me?’
‘We’re leaving. After lunch.’
‘But you didn’t say anything about—’
‘I have a business to run. I need to be where my business takes me.’
While you can be my mistress anywhere.
The unspoken words hung in the space between them, as cold and hard as a slap in the face. If he’d wanted to make their respective positions more clear, he couldn’t have done a better job. But she’d agreed to this. He’d typecast her as a whore, and so far, even if reluctantly, she was living up to his expectations.
‘So where are we going?’
‘First to Melbourne. Then onto Auckland. I have a deal to close. It can’t wait any longer.’
If he was trying to impress her with his hectic schedule, it wasn’t working. ‘I suppose we should be flattered you took the time to come here at all.’
He looked at her levelly, the eyes that just a few minutes ago had set fire to her blood now glacial cruel, and laced with rapier-sharp pain that was almost tangible. ‘This was personal.’ Then he blinked, and when he reopened his eyes whatever she’d seen there had gone. She might even have thought she’d imagined it, if she hadn’t still felt the effect of that cold, unseeing stare at her very core.
He pulled a card from his wallet. ‘Call my PA. She needs your details.’ He hesitated. ‘You have got a passport?’
She allowed herself a smile, almost wishing she hadn’t. Wouldn’t that put a spanner in his works? But it would also put a spanner in hers. No matter what she thought of him, the hotel would have no chance at all if she couldn’t fulfil her end of the bargain. And, for her own selfish reasons, this was one bargain she was determined to fulfil. But be damned if she was going to roll over with her legs in the air—even if that was what he expected. ‘It would be a bit hard to trail after you as your mistress otherwise.’
His eyes chilled once again. ‘You wanted a lifeline for your precious hotel. You got it. So don’t make out you don’t get anything out of this. We leave at two. Be ready.’
He turned to go, a man on a mission, leaving her shaking in his wake.
‘Do I have a choice?’ she called after him.
He looked back over his shoulder at her. ‘No.’
The fog was starting to lift as she pulled her ancient car into her even more ancient driveway, tiny patches of blue colouring the sky in places. Ahead of her emerged the misty outline of the old stone house. She pulled up in the old stables that now served as a garage and checked her watch. It had been a slow trip home, but she had just enough time to ask Mrs Gepp next door if she could feed Misty for the next however-long, dust off her passport, call her parents and get some clothes together.
She dropped her head down onto the steering wheel, suddenly realising what she was doing. Now the adrenaline was gone and shock was setting in. In the space of the last twenty-four hours she’d managed to have mind-blowing sex with the boss, discover her beloved hotel was about to be destroyed, lose her job, and promptly become her boss’s mistress. Just another day at the office.
Oh God, what was happening to her?
Running on empty, feeling heartsick, she forced herself from the car even though the thought of firing up the ignition and heading somewhere else—anywhere else—seemed far more attractive. She’d agreed to this, so how could she get out of it now? And how could she walk away from the hotel’s one chance of survival? She knew she only had a slim chance, if that, but knowing Dante if she ran now he’d probably close the hotel tomorrow.
So she had to focus. She had to deal with it. Even calling on the memories of great sex, unexpectedly great sex that had told her she wasn’t as cold as she’d feared—great sex she wouldn’t mind engaging in again—even with those memories and needs she knew she must have been insane to agree to this.
So instead she shoved her doubts aside, and tried to focus on her list. Lists she could deal with. Lists she could tackle.
Getting the cat organized was the easiest.
The phone call to her parents was the hardest. How to avoid informing her parents of the fact you’d been made redundant today, and yet were going away ‘on business’, was harder than she’d imagined. She hated lying to her parents, even by omission, but there were some things that shouldn’t be shared.
Especially when they asked about the hotel and whether she had any idea what the new owner had planned for it. She’d known they would ask, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Her parents had been married at Ashton House. They had happy memories, spending each and every anniversary in the restaurant, reliving old memories with their friends. ‘It’s still up in the air,’ she told them in all honesty. ‘Maybe soon we’ll have good news.’ And she crossed her fingers and hoped that was true.
Half an hour later she’d accomplished the first three items on her list and was staring into her open wardrobe doors contemplating the last, Misty doing lazy figure-eights around her ankles and purring as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
Unlike Mackenzi.
‘So, what do mistresses wear?’ she asked her feline friend, but Misty just rolled onto her back and wriggled. Mackenzi sighed. Whatever they wore, she was sure the paltry contents of her closet were hardly going to make the grade.
She rifled past her spare uniforms, wrote off the shirts and casual trousers she reserved for days off working around her property, and located her couple of pairs of good trousers. One of them would do for travelling. She was just selecting a handful of tops to go with them when she found it: her one concession to glamour. The little beaded-black dress sat pristine in its dry-cleaning bag where it had been since its last outing a couple of years ago. The jet beads winked at her from the depths of her wardrobe. It could do with a run around the park.
She added it to the small pile on her bed, pushing Misty, who’d decided that the action was all happening on the bed, to one side in the process before locating shoes, underwear and accessories. Then, in a spike of perverse logic, she packed her thickest flannelette pyjamas. She still wasn’t sure about this whole ‘sex’ thing. The memories from last night were still too raw and unprocessed in any logical way—at least flannelette would be reassuring until that happened.
Finally she changed out of her uniform into black trousers and a soft knitted top and stashed the rest of her things in a small suitcase. Her mistress wardrobe, such as it was. It would have to do.
There was the crunch of tyres along the driveway, followed by a spray of gravel, as whoever it was came to a sudden halt.
Misty looked up at her enquiringly from her place on the bed and blinked one eye. ‘Don’t ask me,’ she told the cat as a car door slamme
d shut. But the way her heart had lurched told her it was him, even before anyone started pounding on her front door, even before she made it down the passageway and pulled open the solid-timber door, to find six-foot-four of barely concealed rage disguised as a man.
Yet even having sensed bone-deep that it was him didn’t lessen the impact of seeing him in the flesh. He was so large, his stance so physically domineering, with his hands on hips and his eyes so wild, that it took her breath away.
He scowled. ‘They said you’d gone.’ It was an accusation.
Mackenzi regarded him with as much disdain as she could muster, and still it wasn’t enough to help her meet his gaze and bear the impossible weight of those damning eyes. And, worse, it was nowhere enough to ignore the sexual pull of this man. Her senses drank him in like a drug, her memories coiled around her like a promise. Damn him!
‘And so I had,’ she fired back in exasperation. ‘What of it?’ She wheeled away from the door, heading for the kitchen. Heading anywhere that might take her away from this man.
Misty met her there, curling against her calves once more as she reached into the pantry for a can of cat food. She dipped one hand to pet the cat, and then turned to find him standing behind her, a wall of man. Her heart was hammering so loudly it was no wonder she hadn’t heard him follow her, but finding him so close now sent her pulse into orbit.
‘I tried to call you. Your phone was off.’ Another accusation. What the hell was his problem?
She shook her head, as neatly she sidestepped around both him and the island bench, trying to think calmly. She had a man, a virtual stranger, in her kitchen—a powerful man with some kind of grudge against the whole world in general, and right now against her in particular. Why was he so angry with her? Because they’d had sex? Well, she wasn’t crazy about the idea either. The sex had been good, but the source definitely left something to be desired.
She took a deep breath and pulled out the cutlery drawer, giving a wistful look at the knives before picking up a spoon. ‘I didn’t. It’s just—’