He halted in front of her. “Why did ye take this job?”
This time there was no hesitation when she answered. “I needed the money.”
He took a step closer, the bare skin of his arm brushing the material of her sweatshirt. “Ye’ve read my novels, then?”
“One of them.”
“Which?” His eyes narrowed as he watched her face.
“Running Scared.”
“And?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “It was okay.”
“Okay?” Angus blinked. “Okay?” The last word came out a roar. “The damn book stayed on the best seller lists for twenty weeks and ‘twas okay?”
Smiling sweetly, she took a step back. “Just my personal opinion.”
He followed her, his voice dropping to a purr. “And what dinna ye like about it, if I may be as bold as tae ask?”
“Well, I’ll admit Jack Cannon, your hero, sounds like a real hunk, but he’s also a chauvinist. The only women he ever interacts with are hoochie girls. The man has serious issues.”
“Hoochie girls?”
“Yeah.” She waved a hand. “You know, floosies. Hookers. Painted women. He wouldn’t recognize a normal woman if she blew up his car.”
He propped his hands on his hips and glared at her. “What about Madeline?”
Her head tilted to one side as a smile curved her lips. “I believe you described her as having makeup an inch thick, fishnet stockings and a skirt so short it should be illegal. Sounds like a hoochie to me.”
This woman just kept surprising him. It was a scary feeling, one he didn’t like a bit. It was time to get this over with.
“I’ve made up my mind. Ye willna do.” He stepped back into the house and shut the door. Or tried to. The blasted woman stuck her foot in it.
“Why won’t I do?”
He gave her the first answer that popped into his head. “Ye’re too small. I’m a lusty mon. I dinna want to be worryin’ about breaking a woman when I bed her.”
She snorted. “That’s the most egotistical thing I’ve ever heard. I’m not made of glass you know. I can take anything you want to dish out and come up on top. But-“ her saccharine smile was back. “If you really don’t want me for the job, just pay me and I’ll be on my way.”
He was so busy trying to repress his body’s reaction to her first statement that he almost missed the second part. “What do ye mean, pay ye? I’ll not be paying for something I’m not getting.”
“According to my contract, you will.” She opened the briefcase and extracted several sheets of paper stapled together. “I believe this is your copy.”
Kate nearly jumped out of her skin when his fingers brushed hers. At least she’d been right about one thing. He wasn’t the same as his poster. God help her, he was better. Even wearing faded jeans with holes in the knees and a baggy T-shirt. She deemed it nothing short of a miracle that she’d been able to carry on a conversation with him, much less answer his questions coherently.
“Since when do mistresses have contracts?” He was frowning so hard his eyebrows made a solid black line across his forehead as he scanned the document.
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been a mistress before. But under the circumstances, it seemed like a good idea.”
She knew the exact instant he found the clause stating she would forfeit the money if she backed out of the deal and left. Kate braced herself as he looked up, teeth flashing in a devastating smile. A wicked smile. A smile filled with expectation.
“‘Twould seem ye’ve got the job, Miss Carson. Come in.”
“Thank you. I’ll get my bags.”
He didn’t offer to help, just stood watching her like a wolf about to pounce. It took three trips, and each one required her to brush against his big body. By the time she carried in her laptop, her insides felt like a gooey puddle of warm yogurt.
She didn’t appear to be having the same effect on him.
Forcing a calm expression, she faced him. “Where should I put them?”
He ignored her question, his gaze moving over her body again. “Take off your shirt.”
“What?” Abruptly, her heart was lodged in her throat.
His eyes lifted to meet hers. “I said take off your shirt. I want tae see what I’m paying for.” A slow smile spread across his face. “Unless ye’re backing out already.”
A scare tactic, she realized. And it was amazing how well it was working. Think of Crystal, she admonished herself. Think of the money. Think of anything but the man in front of you.
“I wouldn’t dream of backing out.” Eyes closed, she reached for the hem of her sweatshirt and pulled it slowly over her head. Thank God her nine-millimeter Glock was safely packed in her bag. But she was going to be in trouble if he wanted her to strip completely. A small .22 caliber automatic was nestled against her ankle.
As soon as the cool air hit her bare skin, her nipples hardened into peaks. The sudden intake of breath from McLeod made her eyes pop open again. His blue eyes had darkened to near black, and he was staring at her breasts in shocked surprise.
A tingle of satisfaction flowed through her, bringing with it a return of confidence. Either he liked what he saw, or he’d been expecting a bra. Both options worked.
“Well? Is this good enough, or would you like to check my teeth while you’re at it?”
“Twill do.”
He still hadn’t looked away and his voice sounded like he’d developed a cold, all husky and choked. Hurriedly, she pulled the shirt back on.
“Great. I’m so pleased you approve.” She let sarcasm ooze from her voice. “Now, where should I put my things?” And was that sweat on his forehead?
Surreptitiously, she took a quick peek at the front of his jeans and nearly crowed with delight. The denim was stretched tightly over a magnificent bulge. Oh, yeah. That was sweat on his forehead. She’d had men want her before, of course, but never one who looked like Angus McLeod. Never one she’d fantasized about making love to. She usually ended up with balding accountant types drooling on her.
On the other hand, maybe he was simply desperate. Jergen had told her McLeod didn’t leave his home often due to his prolific writing tendencies. Apparently the man churned out three or four of those thick novels a year. She sighed. He’d probably have the same reaction to anyone remotely female.
He used the bottom of his T-shirt to wipe his forehead before answering, in the process giving her a glimpse of broad muscles lightly coated with a line of dark hair that vanished into the top of jeans.
“My room is the last on the left. Take any of the others ye want. When ye’re done, meet me in the study. We have tae talk.”
“Thanks for the help,” she growled under her breath as he stalked away. She’d been right about one other thing. The man was a jerk. If he did take her to bed, he’d probably be no different than the other men she’d had sex with. That should be enough to bring her hormones under control and keep her focused on the real job.
At least he didn’t expect her to sleep in his room. She’d been worried about how she was going to conceal her weapons if he did. Now it wouldn’t be a problem.
Carrying one bag and dragging another, she trudged her way up the wide staircase, going to the room next to his. She needed to be close enough to protect him if anything happened.
* * * * *
Angus headed straight for the wet bar and poured a glass of whiskey, downing it in one swallow. His hands shook, the image of small firm breasts, nipples erect and begging to be tasted, tattooed in his brain. Had the blasted woman never heard of a bra before?
He’d meant to scare her, send her running before she had a chance to settle in. And he’d swear he saw a flash of fear in her brown eyes, a vulnerability that twisted his stomach and made him feel like a toad.
Until she’d actually done it.
And he’d stopped breathing.
He ran a shaky hand over his eyes, trying to think. How long had it been since he’d had a woma
n? He vaguely remembered a blonde at that party Linda, his editor, had made him attend in New York. But that had been a year ago, hadn’t it? Time tended to slip away from him when he was immersed in writing.
If he wanted to maintain his privacy, he had to get a grip and stop letting this woman affect him the way she had. There must be something that would send her running. It was simply a matter of finding out what.
Pausing to refill his glass, he shifted his erection to a more comfortable position. Through the open door, he could hear her clumping up and down the stairs as she carried her bags. She’d be done soon, and he had one thing to take care of before they talked. Picking up the phone, he jabbed in Marc’s number.
“Marc Jergen.”
“Ye think ye’re smart don’t ye?” he growled.
There was slight pause, and when Marc answered Angus could hear the smile in his voice. “I take it Kate arrived safely?”
“Ye’re damn contract isna goin’ tae work. I’ll have her running fore the week is out.”
“Why not give her a chance, Angus? You might find her company enjoyable.”
“I’ll not. I should declare the contract null and void; since we agreed I was tae have final approval.”
“Oh, but you do. If you don’t like her, all you have to do is pay the woman and send her on her way.”
This time the growl came from lower in his chest. “Ye’re fired!”
The sound of Marc’s laughter followed him as he slammed the phone down. Trapped. For now anyway. He smiled as an idea slowly took shape in his mind. One guaranteed to send the little rabbit scurrying back to her burrow.
She might have a smart mouth on her, and she might act like she was in control, but he knew damn well he hadn’t mistaken her uncertainty and nervousness. He’d play on those weaknesses for all he was worth.
CHAPTER THREE
Kate didn’t bother to unpack. She merely took a second to hide the Glock under the mattress where it would be handy if she needed it. While it was risky, she left the .22 in place, unwilling to be without a weapon.
Her gaze scanned each room she came to as she headed in the direction Angus had gone. The house really did mimic a castle, although on a smaller scale. The inside walls and floors were the same stone as the outside, making the interior cool even in the August heat.
The walls were adorned here and there with tapestries and ancient weapons, and a darkened fireplace graced every room. She didn’t know much about architecture, but she suspected the house was a very old one that had been modernized with electricity and plumbing. If not for those, she would have felt like she’d stepped through a time warp into the past.
She finally located Angus in a room that took up the bottom floor of the tower. The study, she decided. Books lined every wall not covered by windows. Comfortable-looking chairs were angled toward the fireplace, and a wet bar sat a few feet in front of the center window. Through an open door, she caught a glimpse of a desk bearing a computer and stacks of paper.
“Come in and sit down.”
Kate glanced warily at Angus then made her way to one of the chairs. They were deep burgundy leather, minute cracks giving them the appearance of antiques.
“Drink?”
All her instincts went on full alert as she watched him. He was being way too nice all of a sudden.
“No, thank you. I don’t drink.”
“Why?”
“Personal reasons.”
He replaced the bottle and ambled toward her. “Yer loss.”
The chair opposite hers groaned as he lowered his bulk onto it, then squeaked as he extended his long legs and crossed them at the ankles.
“Why did Marc hire ye for this job?”
Kate folded her hands in her lap. “Because you wanted a mistress and he didn’t want you here alone.”
“Nay. I mean why you in particular?”
“Oh. I suppose he thought I might be of use to you.” Heat flooded her cheeks. “I mean for things other than the mistress stuff.”
“What kind of things?” His gaze focused on her like a laser beam.
“I can help you with research.”
“Now, why would I be needin’ help with that?”
“Well, maybe because in ‘Running Scared’ you had your villain driving a cherry-red, ‘56 Plymouth Fury. The ‘56 model was the first year Plymouth made the Fury and they only came in eggshell white. They didn’t make red ones until 1959.”
Those thick eyebrows of his snapped together. “If ‘tis true, why didna my editor catch it?”
“Editors aren’t paid to do research. They trust their clients to get the facts right.”
“So, what makes ye qualified tae do research?”
A feeling of smugness settled over Kate and she sat up straighter. “I have a degree in library science from NYSU.” Actually, she’d had a double major. The second one was in criminology, but he didn’t have to know that, or that she’d gone straight from college into the bureau. “Plus, I’ve been working as a research assistant for the last few years. You might know some of my clients.”
She listed several well-known names, including an author or two. She had worked for them, but as a bodyguard, not a research assistant.
“‘Twas true what ye told me? You’ve never been a mistress before?”
“It’s true.”
“Well, then.” The smile tilting his lips was full of male satisfaction and a gleam of anticipation sparkled in his eyes. “I suppose we should go o’er yer duties so ye’ll know what I expect from ye.”
Oh, God. This was it. Kate’s fingers twisted together until they were numb. She wasn’t getting excited, she swore silently. Act cool. Be in control. No whimpering allowed.
“Of course.” She tilted her head in regal affirmation, and teetered on the edge of the slick chair. Trying to maintain her composure, she grabbed the arms to keep from sliding off.
His smile broadened.
Kate couldn’t look away from his face. “As I mentioned, Mr. Jergen told me you don’t like to be disturbed when you’re working.”
“Nay, he’s wrong. The purpose of having a mistress is so a mon can be...’disturbed’.”
Depositing his empty glass on the table beside him, he rose and moved casually to one of the bookshelves lining the wall, scanning the titles. Apparently he found what he was looking for, but instead of removing it, he ran a finger over the spine in a soft caress. When he faced her again, he was all business.
“I’ll expect ye to run a bath for me every night, and then assist me in the washing. Ye’ll also help me dress and undress.”
He crossed his arms and rocked gently from his heels to his toes, then back again. “‘Tis the job of a mistress tae satisfy her lover’s needs, day or night. She should spend her time thinking of ways tae please him, stimulate him. She should dress provocatively tae lure him tae her bed. After all—” He smiled, teeth flashing against his bronzed skin. “If she’s goin’ tae keep her job, she wants tae retain his interest.”
Kate was dying. Wave after wave of heat shimmed over her skin, and she didn’t know if it was embarrassment or lust. Bathe him? Run her wet soapy hands over every inch of his glorious body? Prance around during the day in one of those skimpy Victoria’s Secret outfits she’d bought for this job?
“Do ye understand what I’m tellin’ ye?”
She licked her dry lips. “Yes.”
“And ye’re willing to fulfill yer duties?”
This time she had to clear her throat. “Yes.”
A vague look of surprise flickered across his face, but he hid it quickly. “Ye can start tomorrow. Take tonight tae settle in. If there’s anything ye need, ye’ll have tae look for it. I’ll be working.”
His long legs carried him into the room where she’d seen the computer and he closed the door behind him.
Sheer terror held her immobile for a few seconds. He expected her to seduce him. On a daily basis. With a groan, she covered her face with both hands. She was
so dead. What had possessed her to think she could pull this off?
She rose on shaky legs and started out of the room only to make a quick detour. What book had he been looking at? Curious, she ran a finger over the row until she found the one he’d touched, then pulled it out for a better look.
A surge of anger slammed into her when she saw the title. “The Functions of a Mistress in Seventeenth Century Europe.”
The jerk. The pond scum. The low-life. The—a few stronger expletives came to mind and she used them all. He had never intended to make love with her. He’d merely been trying a different tactic to scare her into leaving.
Her eyes narrowed as stared at the book and all her fear drained away. So, he wanted to play Scottish Laird, did he? She pushed the thick history back onto the shelf and straightened the other books so he wouldn’t know it had been moved. Well, she’d give him more than he ever bargained for. They’d just see who cracked first.
* * * * *
Angus listened until all the soft sounds from the other room stopped, then looked down at his crotch. “Stop yer pointing, damn ye,” he growled under his breath. “If we touch her one time, we’re stuck with her, and ye know I canna write when anyone is around.”
Pulling out the desk chair, he sat down and stared blankly at the outline on his computer screen. Neither he nor Kate had reacted to his mistress job description the way he’d planned.
He picked up a pencil and toyed with it. She’d been nervous. Maybe even scared. But she hadn’t run. The woman had more guts than he’d given her credit for.
And he-he was supposed to be forbidding, ruthless, dominating. In control. The lord of the manor. Instead he’d wound up sporting a hard-on the size of a Scud missile.
The problem was in the details he’d given her, he decided. His imagination was way too good. He could almost feel her hands moving over his body—see her dressed in skimpy bits of lace while she seduced him.
A groan escaped him when his erection gave an eager twitch. “I’ll do something, I promise. Just not with this one.” Linda was giving another party next week for an up and coming new author. Surely he could find a woman willing to satisfy his needs without endangering his life style, one more suited to his tastes. One he wouldn’t have to think about again after the night was over.
Undercover Mistress Page 3