The Master's Mistress. Carole Mortimer

      Chapter Three

      ‘THIS is very kind of you,’ Rogan said as he sat beside Elizabeth as she drove her Mini Cooper into town.

      Elizabeth briefly turned her attention from driving along the narrow coast road to shoot him a narrow-eyed glance.

      Kindness on her part had nothing to do with the two of them being here together. How could it, when Rogan had more or less commandeered both Elizabeth and her car so that he might keep his appointment in town this morning with Desmond Taylor, his father’s lawyer?

      Having flown into England late the previous night, and feeling tired after a long flight, it appeared that instead of hiring a car Rogan had simply got in a taxi and asked the driver to take him to Sullivan House. Consequently, he had no transport of his own.

      As Elizabeth now worked for him—for the moment at least—Rogan had very generously given her permission to take a couple of hours off so that she could drive him into town!

      ‘Don’t push your luck,’ she warned him tersely.

      He arched dark brows. ‘Is that what I’m doing?’

      ‘You know you are.’ Elizabeth’s only consolation in being coerced in this way was that her car was obviously too small for a broadly muscled man of well over six feet in height. It was extremely unlikely that Rogan was at all comfortable in the passenger seat! Although his close proximity—those muscled arms and long, powerful legs were only inches from her own—was a little disturbing, to say the least…

      Rogan glanced out of the side window, down the cliffs to where the sea was currently lapping gently onto the golden sand. ‘I’d forgotten how ruggedly beautiful it is here…’

      ‘I expect it’s a lot different from New York?’

      ‘Yes.’ Except Rogan wasn’t always in New York…

      He didn’t really live anywhere on a permanent basis, was never in one place long enough to put down any roots. Anyone important who needed to get in contact with him urgently had his private mobile number. Anyone else could use the PO Box.

      Including his father.

      Rogan had no idea yet how he felt about his father’s death; he was still coming to terms with the finality of it. Dealing with emotions had never been Rogan’s strong point—especially when those emotions were so ambivalent.

      Although he sensed that Elizabeth Brown disapproved of his reticence on the subject.

      Well, she would just have to go on disapproving!

      Rogan would deal with his father’s death in the same way he dealt with everything. Alone. He had been alone for so long now that he simply didn’t know how to be any other way. Didn’t want to know, either.

      ‘I shouldn’t be too long,’ he told Elizabeth once she had parked the Mini and he could at last uncurl his cramped body from inside the small confines of the car.

      ‘Take your time,’ she answered distractedly. ‘I have a little personal shopping to do anyway.’

      ‘Fine.’ He nodded. ‘I suggest we meet back under the clock-tower here in the square in an hour or so, and then find somewhere to have lunch.’

      ‘Lunch?’ Elizabeth echoed sharply, and she straightened so suddenly from locking the car that her head briefly swam.

      ‘Lunch,’ Rogan reiterated firmly. ‘We’re in town anyway, and it’ll be almost lunchtime, so why not?’

      Why not? Because Elizabeth didn’t want to have lunch with this compelling and disturbing man. In fact, she was quickly coming to realise that she wanted as little to do with Rogan Sullivan as humanly possible!

      Not an easy thing to do when for the moment, they were actually staying in the same house…

      ‘Okay, lunch in an hour,’ she conceded.

      ‘Or so,’ Rogan added.

      ‘Whatever.’ Elizabeth gave him one last impatient glance before turning away to walk determinedly towards the shops on the other side of the square.

      

      ‘Just make sure he stays put,’ Rogan snapped into his mobile as he strode restlessly up and down in front of the clock-tower, waiting for Elizabeth to rejoin him so they could have lunch together.

      ‘That’s easier said than done, Rogue—’

      ‘Just do it!’ Rogan growled, turning to pace back the other way and instantly finding himself face to face with a pale and wide-eyed Elizabeth Brown. ‘Later, Ace,’ he said curtly, before ending the call and dropping his mobile into the back pocket of the black denims he had changed into before coming out.

      ‘I—Did your meeting go well?’

      Rogan gave a hard smile. ‘It would appear that I’m my father’s heir after all, if that’s what you’re asking.’

      Colour heightened Elizabeth Brown’s cheeks. ‘It wasn’t.’

      ‘No?’ he jeered.

      ‘No.’ She frowned. ‘It’s really none of my business, is it?’

      ‘No, it isn’t,’ Rogan agreed. In truth, he was surprised—considering the state of their relationship the last fifteen years—that his father had decided to leave everything to him after all. But maybe Brad had considered a dogs’ home—which had probably been his only alternative—slightly less appealing than his own son! ‘Nevertheless, I’m sure you have an opinion on the subject!’

      Elizabeth was having to force herself to concentrate on what Rogan was saying. Not easy after overhearing his end of the telephone conversation with someone called Ace!

      Just make sure he stays put…

      She frowned as she remembered the implacable tone of voice he’d used towards the other man. Rogan was obviously not a man it would be wise to cross!

      Or be attracted to…

      Unfortunately, Elizabeth suspected it was already too late to warn herself off being attracted to Rogan. Just looking at him sent shivers of awareness up and down her spine. That over-long dark hair. Those dark and piercing eyes. The firm sensuality of his mouth. The lean sensitivity of his hands. The leashed power in that perfectly muscled body…

      ‘No doubt you have one of those perfect families?’ Rogan Sullivan continued scathingly. ‘Perfect mother. Perfect father. Perfect everything.’

      He had no idea! Elizabeth’s family had to be even more dysfunctional than his own!

      ‘Come on, Liza—’

      ‘I believe I told you I prefer to be called Elizabeth!’ Her eyes flashed with sudden anger. Her father had always called her Liza, and she certainly wanted no reminders of him.

      Rogan glanced at her, irritated with himself because of how attractive he found the way the colour came and went in her cheeks, and the way her eyes sparkled with emotion when she was angry or annoyed—

      Whoa!

      Elizabeth Brown wasn’t his type. At all. Rogan preferred his women to be tall, soft and feminine. Women who knew and accepted that a relationship with him had no future. He wanted nothing to do with a woman who was short and prickly, a university lecturer immersed up to her pretty neck in history, whose ideal was no doubt the house with the picket fence and two point four children!

      All the same, Rogan couldn’t stop himself from flirting with her just a little, to see how uncomfortable—and beautiful—it made her. He deliberately took a step closer, crowding her. ‘Liza is so much more—friendly, don’t you think…?’ he murmured huskily.

      Those deep blue eyes narrowed to warning slits. ‘I have no wish to be friendly with a man who can speak to people