Mistress to the Tycoon

by Nicola Marsh

  ‘I’ll call you,’ he said against the corner of her mouth, his lips brushing hers in the briefest of almost-there kisses before pulling away.

  What the—?

  Her eyes snapped open and she reeled from the disappointment of another missed kiss from the most infuriating guy she’d ever met.

  He stepped away and she steadied her legs, knowing if she swayed towards him he’d know how truly pathetic she really was. One minute she was telling him to get lost, the next she was offering herself up like some virgin sacrifice to the Vikings.

  ‘Whatever,’ she said, brushing an errant curl out of her face, turning the gesture into a casual wave as he smiled, gave her a smart salute and walked away.

  However, there was nothing remotely casual about the blood pounding through her body or how much she wanted the guy who had the potential to ruin her once and for all.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘WHY the glum face, bella?’

  Ariel summoned a smile for Sofia, knowing it fell well short of her usual beam when the Italian woman’s dark eyes filled with concern.

  ‘My muse is being stubborn,’ Ariel said, fiddling with the dimmer switch on the gallery lights, wanting to get the ambience just right before opening the doors to the public in ten minutes for Chelsea’s show.

  Sofia tapped her upper lip with a manicured, crimson fingernail. ‘Are you sure it’s just your muse being stubborn?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Ariel stepped back and studied the vibrant oil landscape in front of her, pleased with the vivid colours dancing beneath a soft spotlight.

  ‘Maybe that delicious man has you in a spin and you’re holding out on him? Santo cielo, what a dish that one is!’

  Sofia kissed her fingertips and waved them heavenward—holy sky indeed!—while Ariel smiled, a genuine, from-the-heart smile, her first since her confrontation with Mr Big-Shot yesterday.

  ‘That kind of dish gives me indigestion so I’d rather not talk about him.’

  She should’ve known not to deny anything too vehemently with Sofia. It only served to inflame her curiosity.

  ‘A-h-h-h…a lover’s quarrel, perhaps?’ Sofia’s eyes sparkled with intrigue. ‘All great love affairs need drama and I think you have this with your young man, no?’

  ‘No! And he’s not my young man.’

  Ariel moved onto her next task, making sure the cheese platters were arranged just right and interspersed with the exotic dips and crackers, wondering why a small, traitorous part of her soul wished he were.

  ‘Bella, life does not have to be so tough all the time. What will be will be.’

  Concern laced Sofia’s words while Ariel mentally disagreed.

  Life was tough. At least, hers always had been and she didn’t know any better. Losing the gallery would be just another example of it. A sad, heart-breaking example as she lost the one thing that symbolised hope to her: hope for a better life, hope that good things could come out of bad, hope that she could be the type of person Barb would’ve wanted her to be.

  The type of person she wanted to be: successful, proud and independent. Qualities guys like Cooper took for granted.

  Well, she’d show him.

  If she could rustle up a cool million or so, that was.

  ‘If there is anything I can do to help…’ Sofia trailed off, quirking a stencilled eyebrow while draping a plump arm across her shoulders.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Ariel said, submitting to a quick hug before shrugging out of Sofia’s embrace, wondering if the lie sounded as hollow to Sofia as it did to her.

  She wouldn’t be fine, considering the council had confirmed her greatest fear this morning: they were selling the land the gallery stood on.

  Like most councils around Melbourne, they were strapped for cash and in desperate need of more schools and health-care facilities. So selling off the last piece of prime real estate in Brunswick Street was a no-brainer.

  Of course, they’d given her an option. Come up with the cash herself or lose the gallery.

  Some option.

  For a person struggling to meet the monthly rent, they might as well have handed her a rope knotted into a noose.

  ‘Hey, you guys. Do you think everything looks okay?’ Chelsea bounded up to them, red hair gelled into fearsome spikes, a funky beige leather ensemble draping her lithe body.

  Ariel pasted a smile on her face and sent Sofia a pointed look to change the subject. ‘Relax. Your paintings look great and this showing is going to be a hit.’

  Chelsea’s confident grin waned. ‘What if no one comes?’

  ‘Pah! Do not worry, bambina. I have told the whole of Melbourne. Everyone will be here!’ Sofia flung her arms wide and Chelsea straightened, her confidence restored.

  Ariel sent Sofia a grateful glance, wishing her problems could be solved as easily. ‘Chelsea, why don’t you make sure the inventory list and red sale dots are in order while Sofia checks on the wine?’

  While she scooted out the back to brace herself for Cooper’s appearance.

  Surely he wouldn’t show?

  He’d probably been trying to intimidate her again by saying he’d come to Chelsea’s showing, wanting to up the pressure, turn the screws a little tighter.

  Well, she had news for him.

  If he did show his sorry face here tonight, she’d be the only one doing any screwing over.

  She’d thought long and hard about her options all afternoon while preparing the gallery, and as much as Cooper’s offer seemed her only chance at getting a fresh start elsewhere, she couldn’t do it.

  Taking his money would be selling out on her dream, selling out on her promise to Barb, and she wouldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t.

  She would fight this with every weapon in her limited arsenal. Approaching the National Trust, the Arts Council, the Victorian Grants Committee. Whatever it took, she would do it.

  People depended on her, people like Chelsea who would never have a chance at discovery if it weren’t for the gallery and Barb’s legacy. As she watched the young red-haired woman flit around the gallery one last time to ensure everything was in order she knew there was no other choice.

  She could never sell out and if Cooper or the local council wanted this piece of land, they would have to drag her screaming from it after she’d exhausted every avenue.

  ‘Ariel, there’s a crowd outside. Shall I open the door?’ Chelsea’s hushed tone alerted Ariel to just how nervous the young woman was, for Chelsea never spoke in anything below a dull roar.

  ‘Go ahead. It’s your moment to shine,’ Ariel said, giving Chelsea’s arm a reassuring squeeze, fervently hoping this wouldn’t be the girl’s first and last showing at Colour by Dreams.

  He came.

  Ariel knew the exact moment Cooper set foot in the gallery because the hair on her nape stood to attention. So did most of the women in the room.

  To give her credit, she averted her gaze after the first soul-wrenching moment when their eyes met and what could only be described as sizzling heat arced between them.

  But that one, loaded moment was all it took for her to imprint his powerful image on her brain: black jeans, black T-shirt, black leather jacket, the bad-boy wardrobe looking way too good on uptight Mr Big-Shot.

  Throw in the sardonic glint in his too-blue eyes and a natural confidence that turned heads and she knew she’d have trouble getting through the rest of the evening.

  He could’ve played fair and avoided her.

  Of course, he didn’t.

  ‘You can run but you can’t hide,’ Cooper said, sneaking up on her in the studio kitchenette while she hunted for extra plastic cups under the sink.

  Ariel’s head snapped up and she avoided clunking it on the rusty metal sink by a millimetre.

  ‘Nice view, by the way.’

  With heat flushing her cheeks, she wriggled backwards from her awkward position and hoped her butt didn’t look big in the crushed velvet hot-pants before mentally slapp
ing herself for caring.

  ‘What are you doing here? I told you not to come.’

  He leaned against the door jamb and raised an eyebrow, sending her pulse hammering. ‘In answer to your first question, I’m here because I’m interested in art. As for you telling me not to come, surely you know that I love a challenge?’

  She clenched the bag of cheap plastic cups in her hand till they crackled. ‘That’s what I am to you, isn’t it? A challenge. “Let’s see how much I can suck up to the flighty artist and watch her capitulate and hand me her gallery on a platter.” Well, I’ve got news for you, boyo. It ain’t going to happen!’

  She expected him to frown, to glower, to get that stern business look on his face he’d had yesterday when he’d presented his lousy pitch.

  Instead, his infuriating smile widened.

  ‘You’re stunning when you’re angry.’

  A tiny thrill of happiness shot through her—a girl had her pride, after all—before she fixed him with a glare designed to intimidate. ‘And you’re full of it. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to get back out there.’

  ‘Oh, but I do mind,’ he murmured as she attempted to push past him and, short of plastering her body against his in the doorway, she stopped dead and waited for him to lower his arm.

  He did.

  Only as far as her waist.

  ‘You can keep running from me all night but I’m not going anywhere. We need to talk and I’m not leaving till that happens.’

  He spoke softly, his words dripping with gentle persuasion, but she barely registered them as the light touch of his hand resting on her waist sent her into a tailspin.

  The warmth from his palm scorched through the snug velvet hugging her waist, branding her skin and enticing her to do all sorts of crazy things such as slide into his arms and get an all-over body experience of that seductive warmth.

  She knew his touch didn’t mean a thing.

  She knew flirting was second nature to a successful guy like him.

  And she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she should boot him out the door so quickly he wouldn’t have time to register it.

  Instead, she tilted her chin up, looked him straight in the eye and said, ‘If you’re sticking around, make yourself useful. I could do with a spare pair of hands.’

  With that, she picked his hand off her waist, holding it a fraction too long before dropping it and walking away without a backward glance.

  ‘What a night.’

  Ariel flopped onto a sofa, slid her three-inch cork wedges off and rubbed her aching feet, wishing a cup of tea would miraculously appear before her.

  ‘Would you like something to drink? A nice hot cup of tea perhaps?’

  Cooper squatted down in front of her, still looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed while she felt like a washed-out rag. Darn him.

  ‘I knew I let you stay for a reason,’ she said, hating the way her heart lurched at the sweet expression on his face, at the way his lips curved up in a smile and at the way he read her mind and knew exactly what she needed at that precise moment. ‘A cup of blackcurrant and apple tea would be great.’

  He grimaced. ‘That combo belongs in kiddies’ fruit drinks.’

  ‘It’s delicious. Then again, a caffeine addict like you wouldn’t have a clue.’

  She softened her dig with a smile and his answering grin warmed her from the inside out and better than any cup of tea ever had.

  ‘You sit tight and this clueless coffee connoisseur will bring you your poison in a jiffy.’

  Ariel watched him straighten and stride away, admiring the way the black denim moulded his butt and his long, lean legs.

  She shouldn’t have let him stay.

  She should’ve booted him out with the rest of the stragglers, mainly an exuberant Chelsea and matchmaking Sofia, but she hadn’t had the energy. Besides, there was nothing he could say that would change her mind about selling the gallery and she wanted to make that clear.

  Once she outlined her plans for raising the necessary funds, she had no doubt that she’d see the back of Cooper Vance.

  She should be rapt.

  Instead, an empty feeling blossomed in the vicinity of her heart and spread outward, icy tentacles of loneliness creeping through her and making her wish for all sorts of futile things.

  She wished Cooper weren’t a take-all businessman.

  She wished they’d met under different circumstances.

  Scariest of all, she wished she didn’t have a huge crush on a guy who had no interest in her other than as a means to an end.

  ‘Here we are, one cup of hot fruit punch as requested. Gross.’

  Cooper handed her a steaming cup of tea and she inhaled the irresistible fruity aroma, sighing with pleasure after her first sip.

  ‘Thanks. This is heaven,’ she said, tucking her feet under her and taking blissful sips while studying Cooper over the rim of her cup.

  ‘You’re easily pleased if that’s your idea of heaven,’ he said, taking a seat next to her on the sofa, his proximity setting off warning bells in her head.

  She could’ve scuttled away like a frightened mouse but lethargy infused her body. She simply didn’t have the energy to move, or the inclination, if she were completely honest.

  What did she expect to happen anyway? For the guy to kiss her senseless? As if.

  You wish.

  The stupid thing was, she did and she took several gulps of hot tea to wash away the thought.

  ‘You’re not having anything?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m fine. Are you?’

  Before she could decipher what he meant, he reached across the short space separating them and skimmed his fingertips across her cheek. ‘You look worn out.’

  ‘I haven’t been sleeping well,’ she muttered, glaring at the main cause of her insomnia and wishing he’d revert to uncaring business mode.

  She could handle that guy.

  This softer, astute version of Cooper had the power to undo her in a second.

  ‘Guess that’s partly my fault, huh?’

  ‘There’s no partly about it. It’s all your fault.’

  His eyes widened and for an embarrassing second she wondered if he knew exactly how he affected her.

  ‘Having you breathing down my neck, trying to oust me from this place, hasn’t been pleasant,’ she rushed on, focussing on the business side of things in the hope he wouldn’t delve deeper and realise there was more to her sleepless nights than worrying about the gallery’s future. ‘It’s stressful, and you’re talking to a person who doesn’t do stress. Yoga, yeah. Meditation, yeah. Stress, uh-uh.’

  He pulled away from her, a tiny frown indenting his brow. ‘It doesn’t have to be stressful if you’d listen to reason.’

  Anger shot through her and she placed her near empty cup on the floor. ‘Reason being?’

  ‘I’m not going to rehash old ground,’ he said, leaning back in his corner of the sofa and spreading his arms across the top, looking way too confident. ‘You know that my offer is fair, considering the council can oust you once the lease is up and you’ll be left with nothing.’

  ‘How about I throw you out of here right now?’

  She leaned closer, refraining from jabbing him in the chest at the last second. ‘Or, better yet, you finally get the message that I’m not interested in anything you have to offer, ever, and walk on out of here of your own accord?’

  His eyes darkened to midnight-blue as he sat forward and lowered his arms. ‘You’re lying. I think you’re very interested in what I have to offer.’

  Her heart thudded at his loaded response, at his nearness. He smelt so good, an intoxicating blend of sandalwood and something lighter that evoked a powerful response in her. She loved scents: fresh flowers, aromatherapy oils, rain on freshly cut grass, but none of her favourite smells came close to Cooper’s heady scent.

  Damn the man, he knew how he affected her and he was rubbing her nose in it.

  Well, she’d sho
w him.

  ‘You’re delusional. And if you’re trying to imply there’s something behind the weird flirting thing we do occasionally, forget it. We both know you’re slumming it for a while, getting to know how the other half live.’

  His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed and tension radiated off him in palpable waves.

  She moved in for the kill. If this didn’t get him out of her life once and for all, nothing would.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m a big girl, I can take it. You spend time with the eccentric artist, flirt a little, soften her up, get her to buy into your crazy scheme. I get it. It’s the way you do business. Take no prisoners, tell no lies and all that. Hey, no hard feelings.’

  Though he was right; she was lying.

  At least about the feelings part.

  She had feelings and plenty of them. The problem was she couldn’t do anything about them. Her life was complicated enough without letting her erratic emotions join the party.

  ‘Are you finished?’ he said, his tone low, menacing.

  ‘Actually, I haven’t. I also think you’re snobby, condescending and—’

  His lips crushed hers into silence and she gasped in shock, realising a second too late that opening her mouth might be construed as an invitation.

  Cooper didn’t hesitate, deepening the kiss, challenging her to meet him halfway, coercing her with a skilful precision that took her breath away.

  Well, he wasn’t the only one who liked a challenge and in the split second where reason warred with passion she threw caution to the wind and showed him exactly who he was messing with.

  Her lips clung to his, frantic, desperate, meshing in a whirlpool of hot sensation that lit a fire deep within.

  Her hands took on a life of their own, skimming the wall of his rock-hard chest before sliding higher, tangling in his hair to pull his head closer, to anchor herself in a world tilting crazily out of control.

  Heat streaked through her body and she leaned into him, wanting more, needing more, and as his arms slid around her, hauling her across his body to lie on top of him, logic fled only to be replaced by a deep-seated yearning that this should go on for ever.