The Master's Mistress. Carole Mortimer

Rogan had ceased even trying to explain himself a long time ago—least of all to a woman as unbending as this one. ‘What can I say?’ He gave an unconcerned shrug. ‘Sometimes a little aggression is necessary when people won’t do as they’re told the first time.’

      Elizabeth repressed a shudder of apprehension at the callousness of his tone. Her first impression of this man last night had been the correct one after all; he really was dangerous!

      ‘Don’t look so worried, Elizabeth,’ Rogan Sullivan murmured softly. ‘The only time I enjoy hearing a woman scream is in bed…’

      The erotic images that statement instantly conjured into Elizabeth’s head, of a lithe, bronzed and naked body entwined with a much paler and softer one, caused the colour to once again burn hotly in her cheeks.

      She turned away. ‘Perhaps we should get back to Sullivan House after all.’

      ‘Running scared, Elizabeth?’

      ‘Of you?’ Her eyes glittered as she glared at him. ‘I hardly think so!’

      ‘You could have fooled me!’ Rogan gave her another one of those mocking smiles. ‘We’re only going to have lunch, Elizabeth, we’re not going out on a date together.’

      She hadn’t imagined for one moment that their lunch together could be called a date. It was just a little disconcerting—more than a little, if she were brutally honest with herself—to think of spending time alone in a restaurant with a man who was so blatantly, breathtakingly male that just looking at him made even her teeth ache in awareness!

      It was a raw attraction that was completely corroborated at that moment, as a woman passing by on the pavement happened to glance casually their way—only for her attention to suddenly become riveted on Rogan, a flush warming her cheeks as he shot her a lazy smile.

      Rogan Sullivan wasn’t just dangerous—he was utterly lethal!

      Elizabeth scowled. ‘I’m not hungry after all,’ she snapped. ‘It must be all that aggressive talk earlier on—you’re nothing but a bully!’ she added challengingly.

      Rogan looked at her rigidly disapproving face and chose not to explain his firm orders to Ace about making sure Ricky stayed put—after all, Ricky didn’t know what was good for him.

      ‘Hasn’t affected my appetite,’ Rogan assured her blithely, giving her no more opportunity to disagree with him as he took a firm hold of her arm and strode forcefully towards the Bell and Sceptre Hotel, across the other side of the square.

      ‘So, what shall we talk about?’ Elizabeth said dryly to Rogan once they were seated at a table in the saloon bar of the hotel where he had decided they were having lunch.

      He sat back against the bench seat, seemingly unaware of the interested female stares that had been coming his way ever since he had gone up to the crowded bar to order their food.

      Including Elizabeth’s own more surreptitious glances!

      Had she ever been this physically aware of a man before? Not that she could remember. But she was so aware of Rogan, on so many levels, that she felt she could see and hear practically nothing else but him. Her skin felt hotter than the temperature in the bar warranted. Her breasts were swollen, the nipples slightly tingly, and there was a telling dampness between her thighs that shocked her…