Ruthless Tycoon, Inexperienced Mistress. CATHY WILLIAMS

have to dry these in the morning.’ Intriguingly, she looked as though she had never seen a man half naked before.

      ‘You’re going to sleep…in the… What are you going to wear to bed?’

      ‘What I usually wear.’ He looked at her in genuine surprise. ‘My birthday suit. It’s very comfortable. You should approve.’

      Jude thought of him sleeping naked, with only a small bathroom separating their rooms, and felt faint. Of course, this was because she had taken an instant dislike to him and, in fact, disapproved of pretty much everything he had had to say, but the image of that muscular, lithe body flung over her sheets and blankets lodged in her head like a burr.

      ‘I’ll get you something!’

      ‘You have men’s clothes stashed away in your house?’ Cesar’s ears pricked up but she didn’t say anything. She had backed right out of the door and he waited, thinking, until she reappeared two minutes later and tossed him a T-shirt. It was big all right. It was also bright pink.

      He could hear the laughter in her voice as she said, ‘That should fit. Have a good night’s sleep!’

      CHAPTER TWO

      AT SIX-THIRTY the following morning, the snow had stopped but outside was a landscape of pure wintry white. Very attractive for a postcard, Jude thought sourly, but not so handy when it came with her house guest, the thought of whom had kept her tossing and turning throughout the night. He should never have mentioned that he slept naked. The minute he had told her that, the image of him without his clothes had lodged in her head and all her mechanisms for a peaceful night—counting sheep, planning her day, thinking about the projects she had on the go—had been ruined.

      Her highly efficient heating system had kicked in over an hour previously and the house was already beautifully warm. It was also beautifully silent.

      She crept stealthily out of her bedroom, wondering whether to use the bathroom and then deciding against it just in case her visitor woke up. She had decided overnight that the less contact she had with him, the better. He was disturbing and, much as she loved Freddy and Imogen both, she didn’t see why she should have her life disturbed by a virtual stranger. Of course he would surface at some point but before then she could at least snatch a cup of coffee in relative peace.

      She crept down the stairs, which didn’t creak because she weighed so much less than he did, and expelled one long relieved breath when she was in the safety of her kitchen.

      Like everything else in the cottage, it was small but beautifully proportioned, with two beams across the ceiling, an old but serviceable Aga and a much worn kitchen table, which she had bought second hand from a shop which purported to sell antique pine. Freddy’s apartment in the city centre was shiny and new and kitted out in a style that could only have been achieved by an interior designer with a limitless budget. She caught herself wondering what his brother’s place looked like and immediately stamped on her curiosity.

      She was happily pouring hot water into her mug, back to the kitchen door, when an all too familiar voice said from behind, ‘Great. I’ll have one, too.’

      Jude started violently, with the kettle in her hand, and she gave a cry of shock and pain as hot water splashed over her wrist.

      Cesar was next to her before she could turn around and give him the full benefit of her annoyance at finding her privacy invaded.

      ‘What have you done?’

      ‘What are you doing down here?’ The man looked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, as though he had been up for hours, and he was back in his trousers and shirt, although he had appropriated one of the baggy old zip-up sweats which she kept on a hook by the front door for those rare moments when her conscience got the better of her and she decided to go to the gym. It drowned her but on him was pulled tight, leaving her in no doubt as to the build of his olive-skinned muscular body.

      ‘Give me your hand.’

      ‘I know what to do.’ She turned away, her heart racing at the sight of him, and switched on the cold water, but he was there before her, holding her hand under the tap and then gently patting it dry with one of the tea towels on the Aga.

      Jude watched, mesmerised, those long brown fingers against her pale skin, barely able to breathe properly. His clean masculine scent filled her nostrils and made her feel giddy.

      ‘Clumsy, clumsy,’ he tutted under his breath and she glared at him.

      ‘You gave me the fright of my life,’ she accused. ‘I didn’t expect you to be sneaking around at this hour in the morning! You’re a guest! Guests stay in bed until they think it’s appropriate to emerge!’

      ‘I’m a morning person. Up with the lark, so to speak.’ He guided her towards a chair and sat her down. ‘Do you have any antiseptic cream? Bandage?’

      ‘I’ll be fine as soon as you give me back my hand.’

      ‘Nonsense. As you said, this is my fault.’

      Jude couldn’t disagree with that. She told him where to find her first aid kit and watched in silence as he efficiently bandaged her hand, treating her with a great deal more concern than the scalding warranted. Much to her discomfort because halfway through the procedure, and having recovered from the shock at having him sneak up on her from behind, she became acutely aware of what she was wearing. A baggy T-shirt, along the lines of the one she had tossed at him earlier on. It reached mid-thigh but thereafter she was fully exposed and all too aware of the unprepossessing image she presented to a man who obviously didn’t do casual, judging from his remark about her jeans outfit the night before.

      She hunched forward in an attempt to conceal the jutting peaks of her breasts and then realised that she was thereby exposing them to an overhead view so she sat up and glared at his dark head as he put the finishing touch to the bandage.

      ‘Now stay right there and I’ll finish what you started.’

      ‘What have you been getting up to down here? How long have you been up?’

      ‘Oh, I only managed to grab a couple of hours’ sleep,’ Cesar said, his back to her as he made them both a mug of coffee. ‘Perhaps it was the novel experience of sleeping in a pink T-shirt.’

      Jude took some comfort in imagining him looking ridiculous. Had he been wearing it right now, she figured she might have coped with him being in her space without her body feeling as though it were on fire.

      ‘Then—’ he placed her mug of coffee next to her on the table and sat down ‘—I tried to get the Internet working but it refused to oblige.’

      ‘Phone lines might be down,’ Jude said glumly. ‘A heavy fall of snow can sometimes do that. It can also be a bit quirky at times.’

      A bit like its owner, Cesar thought. He had had time to think things over and had come to the conclusion that nothing would be gained from browbeating her. She was clearly as stubborn as a mule and, from what he could see, given to baring her claws. Far better to put away his armoury and use weapons of a different nature to find out what exactly her role was in his brother’s life.

      ‘I then decided to use my time profitably so I went to check on the car.’

      ‘And you got it started?’

      ‘Started but nowhere to go with it. Snow’s pretty deep.’

      ‘Couldn’t you have scraped the snow away? You’re a strong man,’ she added boldly. ‘Men do stuff like that.’

      ‘Sure, if I’d wanted to spend the next eight hours outside in the freezing cold—and here’s some more bad news. The sky looks grim and the weather reports are talking about more snow in the next twenty-four hours.’

      ‘They can’t be!’ Jude all but wailed.

      ‘Hazard of living in this part of the world. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I’ve seen snow in London.’