Accidental Mistress. CATHY WILLIAMS

sitting here, she realised that the fast lane was not for her. Yes, he had been right; she was afraid. It was something which he could never in a million years understand because she sensed that fear of the unknown was not something that ever guided his actions. He was one of those people who saw the unknown as a challenge.

      Whereas for her, she thought, running a shower and letting the water race over her skin, the unknown was always equated with anxiousness. The anxiousness of leaving one school for another, of meeting new people, of tentatively forging new bonds only for the whole process to be repeated all over again. And every time it had seemed worse.

      How could an accident of fate have thrown her into a situation like this?

      

      The following morning, after she had had her breakfast, which, as he had advised her, had been brought to her in her room, she removed herself in her modest black bikini to the beach, selected a deserted patch and lay in the sun, covered with oil.

      She would just have to make the best of things. She had decided that as soon as she had opened her eyes and seen the brilliant blue skies outside.

      It was impossible to have too many black thoughts when everything around you was visually so beautiful. The sea was crystal-clear and very calm, the sand was white and dusty and there was a peaceful noiselessness about it all that made you wonder whether the hurried life back in England really existed.

      She stretched out on her towel, closed her eyes, and was beginning to drift pleasurably off, safe in the knowledge that she wasn’t due to meet the yacht for another four hours, when she heard Angus say drily, ‘I thought I’d find you here. You’ll have to be careful, though; the sun out here is a killer, especially for someone as fairskinned as you are.’

      Lisa sat up as though an electric charge had suddenly shot through her body and met his eyes glinting down at her seemingly from a very great height.

      He was half-naked, wearing only his bathing trunks, and a towel was slung over his shoulder.

      Reddening, she looked away from the powerfully built, bronzed torso and said in as normal a voice as she could muster, ‘I know. I’ve slapped lots of suncream on.’

      ‘Very sensible.’

      He stretched out the towel and lowered himself onto it, then turned on his side so that he was looking at her.

      ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, keeping her face averted and her eyes closed behind her sunglasses. He was so close to her that she could feel his breath warm on her cheek when he spoke. It was as heady as breathing in a lungful of incense and she hated the sensation.

      ‘I came to your room and you weren’t there. I assumed that you’d be out here. Beautiful, isn’t it?’ He reached out and removed her sunglasses. ‘There. That’s better. I like to see people when I’m talking to them.’

      ‘May I have my sunglasses back?’

      She looked at him and found that he was grinning at her.

      ‘Don’t put them on.’

      ‘Is that an order?’ she asked primly, and he laughed.

      ‘Would you obey me if it was?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘I didn’t think so,’ he commented lazily. ‘Which is why I’ll hang onto them for the moment, if you don’t mind.’

      She glared at him and he laughed again, this time a little louder.

      ‘What a range of expressions you have,’ he said, with the laughter still in his voice. ‘From nervousness to fear, to stubbornness, to anger. How old are you?’

      She debated informing him that it was none of his business, reluctantly reminded herself that he was her host and was owed some show of good manners, even if he constantly managed to antagonize her, and said coolly, ‘Twenty-four.’

      ‘Caroline is nineteen but she seems decades older than you.’

      ‘I’m sorry, I have no idea who you’re talking about.’ And frankly, her voice implied, I’m not in the least interested, believe it or not.

      ‘The distant cousin.’

      Lisa didn’t say anything, but her heart sank. The picture in her head was beginning to take shape. The powerful client with his pretentious wife and their precocious child, Caroline, with her well-bred sophistication, Angus, and herself.

      ‘Why are you here?’ she asked politely. ‘Don’t you need to see to your boat? Make sure that all the sails or ropes or whatever are all in the right place?’

      ‘I do hope that there’s no implied snub in that question?’ he queried with lazy amusement.

      ‘Nothing could be further from my mind.’

      ‘What a relief.’ His voice was exaggeratedly serious and she wondered whether the real reason he made her so nervous was that she loathed him. Intensely.

      ‘Actually,’ he said, sitting up with his legs crossed and staring down at her, ‘I wanted to find you to make sure that you were all right.’

      ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ Lying flat on the towel with only her bikini for protection against those gleaming, brilliant eyes made her feel so vulnerable that she sat up as well and drew her knees up, clasping her arms around them.

      ‘You seemed shaken by the prospect of enforced captivity with the man-eating cannibals I’ve invited along as guests on this trip.’

      ‘Very funny.’

      ‘No, not terribly,’ he said, very seriously now. ‘I wanted to find you so that I could reassure you that they’re all very nice, perfectly likeable people before you had to confront them.’

      ‘Thank you,’ she replied awkwardly. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on his face, stupidly aware of his animal sex appeal. ‘I’m sorry I was so garbled last night; it’s just that I was taken aback.’

      ‘I realised,’ he said drily. ‘And I wish you’d stop apologising.’

      ‘Sorry,’ she said automatically, and then she smiled shyly, dipping her eyes and gazing out towards the horizon, where the sharp blue line of the sea met the clear blue sky. It was easy to understand why some people believed that to venture beyond that thin blue strip would be to fall off the edge of the earth.

      ‘Did you tell your boss that you were coming on this holiday?’ he asked idly, and she could tell that he was staring at her even though she wasn’t looking at him. She couldn’t tell, though, what he was thinking. Could anyone do that?

      ‘Not exactly,’ Lisa admitted. ‘I told him that I needed to have a break, that I was tired. Well,’ she continued defensively, ‘it was more or less the truth.’

      ‘Rather less than more,’ he said blandly. ‘Did you think that he wouldn’t understand?’

      ‘Something like that.’ He would have fallen down in shock, she thought with amusement. He knew how much she liked the safe regularity of her job, of her life; she had told him as much when he had first interviewed her years ago for the position.

      ‘I don’t want to take on someone who’s going to stick around for six months, get bored, and look for more glamorous horizons,’ he had said.

      ‘Not me,’ Lisa had replied. ‘There will be no urge to hurry away from this job to look for another one. I have my flat, my roots are here and my job will be for as long as you want me.’

      Over the years he had come to know her well enough to realise that her most prized possession was her security. She had bought her small flat with the money which had been left to her on her parents’ death, from insurance policies which had secured her future, and there she had been happy to stay, content in her cocoon.

      ‘Because you’re not given to taking risks?’ Angus prompted now, casually, and she threw him a