Mistress by Agreement. Helen Brooks

died abruptly when a smooth voice at her elbow said, ‘Rosalie. Unusual name. French origin, I think?’ and she turned to see the possessor of the faint American burr.

      Kingsley Ward was tall, very tall, with a muscled strength that made the beautifully tailored dinner jacket sit on him like a designer’s dream, Rosalie remembered now, her cheeks flushing at the memory. He was hard and ruggedly handsome, his face one of sharply defined planes and angles, which said he took no prisoners, and she gazed up at him with a sensation akin to numbness freezing her response. Ebony hair cut very short along with ridiculously thick eyelashes emphasised the brilliant blue of his eyes even more close to, but it was the overall sense of maleness that was so intimidating. Uncomfortably, unsettlingly intimidating. Enough to make her want to turn tail and run.

      Instead she lifted her chin ever so slightly, calling on all the resources of her thirty-one years as she said coolly, ‘My mother was French.’

      ‘That explains the chic and classical elegance.’

      Yuk, what a smoothie! And if there was anything she disliked it was handsome smooth-talkers who thought they were God’s gift to the female race.

      She was unaware that her thoughts were mirrored in her eyes until the warm social smile and interested expression on the hard face vanished. His gaze took on the quality of blue ice, and he said coolly, ‘I have obviously interrupted a riveting conversation you are anxious to get back to. Excuse me,’ at which point he turned and walked away, leaving her feeling more than a little ashamed of herself. And she hated feeling like that.

      The way the evening had gone thus far she supposed it was inevitable she was seated between David and Kingsley Ward for dinner. He was coldly polite to her, and charming and amusing to everyone else, and as she sat and listened to the banter as the meal progressed she was forced to admit he was excellent company.

      But of course men like Kingsley Ward often were excellent company, Rosalie reminded herself now, turning from the window. They loved to be the centre of attention for one thing, and for another, with natural attributes like devastating good looks and a physique most men would kill for, they had a self-confidence and air of sexy wickedness that was an aphrodisiac all in itself.

      Was that why she had dressed with such care this morning? And then she answered the nasty little probing voice from her conscience with a sharp, No, not at all! She always made sure she was well turned out for the office, and with a prospective new client it was extra important. That was all. That definitely was all.

      The wrist-watch reminded her it was a minute to ten and bite-the-bullet time. She sat down again at her desk, smoothed her hair and took a deep breath. She resisted the impulse to check her make-up in the mirror in her cosmetics bag and felt quite proud of herself for doing so.

      ‘Right.’ She pressed the intercom. ‘I can see Mr Ward now, Jenny,’ she said brightly.

      A moment or two later the door opened and Jenny all but curtsied Kingsley Ward into the room, Rosalie noticed with a dart of annoyance as her back stiffened for the onslaught of the piercingly blue gaze. But she was prepared for it this time. Her heart was thudding but outwardly she was the epitome of the successful business-woman, cool, collected and very in control. ‘Good morning, Mr Ward.’ She had been determined to get the first word in and set the tone. ‘Won’t you sit down?’

      She hadn’t offered to shake his hand, which was something that would have been automatic usually, but—and she acknowledged it was stupid—she didn’t want to touch him.

      Kingsley Ward had no such inhibitions. He strode across the office, hand outstretched, as he responded, ‘Good morning, Rosalie. I may call you Rosalie? And you must call me Kingsley, or King if you prefer.’

      The last was said in just the same brisk voice as the rest of his opening gambit, but Rosalie had looked into his face and she was sure she saw something mocking there.

      As her small hand was enfolded in a giant one that was warm and hard, she steeled herself to show no reaction at all. Nevertheless, her breathing wasn’t quite even when she said, withdrawing her hand the very second it wasn’t rude to do so, ‘How may Carr and Partners help you?’ as she gestured again for him to be seated.

      She was a cool one all right, and just as sleek and sophisticated as he remembered from that damn awful dinner party. Kingsley folded himself into the seat opposite the desk, his long legs crossed one over the other and his arms going out along the arms of the upholstered chair in a pose that was naturally masculine. True, the elegant cocktail dress had been replaced by a beautifully tailored business suit, but the silver-blue shade brought out the copper tints in that wonderful chestnut hair and turned the grey eyes mother-of-pearl. He hadn’t seen such a naturally lovely woman in years, so how come his careful enquiries had revealed there was no man in her life at present, nor had there been for some time as far as anyone knew? Of course she could just be an obsessive career woman married to her job, but… The soft mouth was too full and the small chin too vulnerable for that.

      He smiled, slowly. ‘We started off on the wrong foot at Jamie’s dinner party, didn’t we?’ he drawled easily. ‘How about we try again?’

      How about we don’t? Rosalie lifted fine eyebrows in polite enquiry. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand?’ she said frostily.

      He stared at her for a moment, just long enough for her cheeks to begin to turn a definite pink, and then he shrugged, straightening in the chair and picking up the briefcase he had placed at the side of him when he had sat down. ‘Ward Enterprises acquired just over a hundred acres of land situated between Oxford and London a few weeks ago,’ he said curtly as he opened the briefcase and extracted some paperwork. ‘I want to build a hotel and country club, with an eighteen-hole golf course, landscaped gardens, helicopter landing pad and so on, similar to the ones I own in the States. Here is the architect’s plan and the full brief. Interested?’ He pushed the papers over the desk before settling back in his chair again.

      Interested? Suddenly becoming aware that her mouth had fallen open in a small gape, Rosalie shut it with a little snap, her cheeks brilliant now. She had been so rude to him—so rude—and all the time there had been the possibility of this fabulous project for Carr and Partners. Why hadn’t anyone at Jamie’s told her that he was an entrepreneur—and a pretty wealthy one if this was anything to go by? But she had been looking after David for most of the evening, she reminded herself feverishly; that was when she hadn’t been ignoring Kingsley Ward, of course.

      ‘May I examine these for a moment?’ Her voice sounded remarkably normal considering she felt about an inch tall.

      ‘Sure, take all the time you want.’

      Concentrate, Lee, concentrate. As she spread out the plan and attempted to look at it it danced before her eyes for a second or two before she took a deep breath and willed her racing heart to behave. It didn’t help that Kingsley Ward was straight in front of her with his gaze fixed on her face—she might not be looking at him now but she could feel those twin lasers on her skin.

      After a little while professionalism took over and she became engrossed in the plan and brief, excitement growing like an expanding ball in her stomach. This was a terrific job and a fantastic opportunity, but she had to admit one of the other partners—any of the other partners—was more qualified for such a massive undertaking than she.

      Mike, Peter and Ron were all well over forty. Mike was approaching fifty-five, with a wealth of experience to draw on, and she was very much the junior partner. She would have to make it clear to Kingsley Ward that if Carr and Partners were given the job, one of the other partners would almost certainly insist he took over.

      She raised her head. He was sitting in the same pose as before, leaning back against the seat, breathtakingly relaxed and sure of himself, but this time the almost tangible authority brought no irritation, all her senses tied up with how best to put what she was going to say. ‘Mr Ward—’

      ‘Kingsley,’ he interrupted, very softly.

      She nodded, her cheeks—which had just cooled—firing up again. She