His Live-In Mistress. Maggie Cox

rested her wary gaze on Adrian’s tall, imposing figure in the doorway.

      ‘What?’ She steeled herself to hear the worst. Without a doubt he was going to give her her marching orders. The only consolation was that she would see her cat sooner than she’d anticipated and be able to make a fuss of her tonight. Oh, well…‘always look for the gift,’ as Jennie, the owner of Moonbeams, had wisely counselled on more than one occasion.

      ‘I’d be grateful if you’d come back into the study and make up the fire. You’re right. It’s bloody cold in there and even I can’t type with frozen fingers.’ He was smiling and suddenly Liadan found her breathing and her power of speech seriously impeded. Having the power of that smile trained on her was like diving for seashells and coming up with diamonds. Did the man have any idea how much that simple act humanised him? It made him seem much less like the coldly distant character she was getting used to and so much…dared she say it? Warmer.

      ‘You’re not going to fire me?’

      ‘Now why would you think that?’ Apparently bemused, Adrian leant his shoulder against the doorjamb as if the imperative to get back to work was no longer relevant.

      ‘Because I lost my temper.’ She heaved a sigh and Adrian’s already engaged glance was drawn to the shapely swell of her breasts beneath her black ribbed sweater. Because her waist was so small, it highlighted her well-endowed chest, and, before he knew what he was about, Adrian imagined those same shapely breasts filling his palms. He imagined his thumbs brushing sensuously across her nipples, urging them to tight, hard, sexy peaks, and suddenly his vivid daydreaming led him into deep hot water when he found himself irrevocably and heavily aroused.

      ‘As far as I’m aware that’s hardly a sacking offence—particularly when I provoked it.’ His desire had made his voice unwittingly smoky.

      Unable to tear her gaze from his, Liadan urged herself to her feet, willing herself to wake up from the trance she seemed to be in.

      ‘I’ll go and see to the fire, then.’

      Alarmed by the sudden, dangerously provocative turn of his thoughts, Adrian dropped his glance guiltily to the table, seeing the small plate of sandwiches she had made. ‘Eat your lunch first. A few more minutes won’t make much difference. Thank you, Liadan.’ And with that, he was gone from the doorway before she even had a chance to reply.

      

      Closing the curtains in her room, Liadan went suddenly rigid when she spied torchlight moving stealthily down the front steps towards the gardens. Adrian? She squinted hard to try and see. What was he doing out at this hour? The small old-fashioned clock on her mantelpiece had just struck midnight so it was a bit late for going for a walk, wasn’t it? Shivering in her velour robe because the heating had gone off for the night, she quickly moved away from the window and glanced disconsolately at the thick, hard-backed biography on her bed. Right now, reading held no appeal whatsoever and she didn’t feel much like sleeping, either. Astonishing when she considered how dog-tired she had been this morning. For some reason her whole body was restless, thrumming with energy and the need to expend it somehow.

      If she was honest, she had been feeling that way since Adrian had smiled at her at lunchtime. His changes of mood were disconcerting and she didn’t know whether to allow herself to believe he did possess a more amenable side after all, or whether he’d simply decided to make an effort in case Liadan decided staying wasn’t worth the trouble. His work was obviously all-consuming—he wouldn’t want to have to break off from it to start searching for a replacement housekeeper, no matter how disappointing his present one seemed. And yet…When all was said and done the man was definitely an enigma, and the main reason that Liadan couldn’t sleep was that she was becoming more curious about her ill-tempered, good-looking employer than was probably wise.

      

      Walking through the gardens, his feet sliding and crunching on the snow-covered earth, Adrian finally felt he could breathe unencumbered once more. It didn’t matter how big the house was or how many rooms it had—at times like these he simply needed the unconfined space of the outside. Only then would the prickling discomfort in his chest ease and his ensuing panic start to subside. It had been that way ever since Nicole’s death and after eight years he wasn’t holding out much hope for a change. What made him furious was that he didn’t seem to have any control over his claustrophobia. It wasn’t as if he spent every day dwelling on the terrible event that had indelibly shaped his future, but still the condition seemed to descend on him out of the blue. His psychologist friend, Andrew, had told him he mustn’t blame himself and had tried to teach him strategies for coping. But Adrian hadn’t wanted strategies, or advice—no matter how well meant. He simply wanted the ability to turn back time: to sit in the Jeep for a few minutes longer with Nicole on that mercilessly hot day and prevent her from going anywhere near the embassy gates.

      Turning in the dark to stare at the huge house in front of him, with just one or two lights on downstairs and one shining from the first floor—Liadan’s room—Adrian knew he didn’t really want to stay here for the rest of his life. However long that was. On this freezing winter’s night, when the only sound to disturb the silence was the distant, repetitive hooting of an owl, Adrian yearned for warmer climes and the hot tropical nights of Kenya, his boyhood home. Instead of owls hooting, he suddenly longed for the sound of rasping cicadas and the short, warm rains that fell from October to December. Anything but this dead, lifeless snow that made him feel as though he were encased in a tomb…

      

      ‘Can I help you?’

      Dropping her basket of laundry in the hall behind her, Liadan pushed some hair out of her eyes, smoothed a hand down her jeans and smiled pleasantly at the smartly dressed blonde who stood on the doorstep.

      ‘I’d like to see Adrian, if I may?’

      The woman was clearly about to step inside without being invited, her too-heady perfume was as pushy as she was, and as Liadan’s eyes locked on her brittle blue gaze she suddenly recalled Kate’s dire warning about reporters trying to inveigle their way in to get interviews with Adrian. Resolved to do everything in her power to prevent any unwanted invasion of her boss’s privacy, Liadan quickly stood in front of the woman to block her entrance, her heart missing a beat at this unexpected confrontation.

      ‘Do you have an appointment with Mr Jacobs?’

      ‘He’ll see me. My name is Cheryl Kendall. Tell him I’ve had some new information about his affair with Petra Collins. Tell him I’m going to go ahead and print it unless he gives me an interview.’

      Two reactions hit Liadan simultaneously. First, how much she despised the woman’s blackmailing tactics, and second, the name Petra Collins. Five years ago she had been one of the hottest properties in Hollywood, a beautiful raven-haired actress with a widely publicised taste for high living and seriously wealthy men. It was well known that since then her career hadn’t prospered. Her last film had been three years ago, and that had been a resounding flop at the box office. If the papers were to be believed, the latest news was that she was in some fancy drying-out clinic in California, getting help for her alcoholism. Liadan didn’t read the papers much herself but her friends Jennie and Mel were avid consumers of the gossip columns.

      ‘I’ll tell him no such thing! Now, please just go. Mr Jacobs is working and he doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s—’

      ‘It’s okay, Liadan. I’ll speak with Ms Kendall.’

      She spun round in surprise at his voice, and her limbs went strangely weak at the sight of her employer. He was dressed in his usual black; the silver in his hair seemed even more eye-catching against his otherwise sable locks and his eyes were very dark and grave. Weary, almost. The wave of sympathy that rushed through Liadan couldn’t be tamped.

      ‘I’ll give you five minutes, ten at the most. Come into my study.’ His voice curt, Adrian waited briefly for Cheryl Kendall to step inside before striding ahead of her down the corridor.

      The stop-start hum of the dryer resounding in her ears, Liadan folded the