Mistress By Contract. HELEN BIANCHIN

      She had to strive to be businesslike. ‘No.’ Inside she was breaking apart.

      ‘A doctor’s appointment has been arranged following this. I have also organised a concurrent consultation with an independent legal colleague to advise you on the documentation. The test results should be through within a forty-eight hour period, a copy of which will be available to you.’

      It was professional efficiency at its best. So why did she feel as if she’d just stepped onto a roller coaster?

      This was what she wanted, what she’d strived for. All charges against her father dropped. She wouldn’t need to wait tables every night, and she’d get to move out of her rented room.

      ‘Thank you.’ She rose to her feet and took the cards the lawyer pressed into her hand.

      ‘The doctor’s suite is on the third floor,’ he informed. ‘My legal colleague has a suite on the tenth floor.’

      Convenient, effectively eliminating travelling time, and ensuring she could arrive at work on schedule.

      Mikayla inclined her head in Rafael’s direction, then walked to the door as the lawyer held it open for her, and his secretary escorted her to the bank of lifts.

      The lawyer closed the door and turned towards the man who was seated comfortably to his left. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’

      ‘You’ve effectively ensured everything is water-tight,’ Rafael drawled, waving a hand in dismissal as his long-time friend crossed to a concealed bar and withdrew a decanter of whisky and two tumblers.

      Ice, a splash of whisky followed by soda, then the lawyer turned back to face the man who’d joined him so long ago in a climb to success.

      ‘This time you’re dealing with a human being, not stocks, bonds, bricks and mortar.’

      ‘The deal intrigues me,’ Rafael inclined indolently. ‘As does the woman.’

      ‘You’re writing off a large sum of money.’

      ‘One can only hope the reward for doing so will be adequate.’

      The lawyer tossed back a long swallow from the tumbler. ‘I wish you well.’

      ‘Gracias, amigo.’

      Mikayla walked into the restaurant at six, donned an apron, the stiletto-heeled pumps, and went to work.

      There was no time to reflect on the afternoon’s events, although lack of adequate sleep had her mixing up two orders and incurred the owner’s wrath. Her arm throbbed after hours of carrying plates, trays and dishes, and she vowed if she incurred one more familiar pat on her rear, she’d walk.

      Tonight she’d managed, by dint of circling the block numerous times, to find a parking space on the main street, and at eleven she collected her bag, her pay packet, and walked out onto the pavement.

      ‘Mikayla.’

      The voice startled her. The man to whom it belonged, even more.

      Rafael Velez-Aguilera presented a formidable figure, his features shaded into angles and planes by the flashing multi-coloured neon sign.

      ‘What are you doing here?’

      He slanted her a hard look. ‘Terminating your employment.’

      Her mouth opened, then closed again. ‘You can’t—’

      ‘Watch me.’

      He was gone only a matter of minutes, and when he returned his expression turned her to stone.

      ‘Get in your car. I’ll follow you home.’

      Her chin lifted, and her eyes blazed brilliant green fire. ‘In two or three days you can tell me what to do. For now, you don’t have a snowflake’s chance in hell of ordering me around.’

      ‘Brave words, pequeña.’ His voice was deadly quiet. ‘Were you as brave last night when you were attacked?’

      The doctor, she surmised, who’d questioned her bandaged forearm. ‘News travels fast.’

      ‘You checked into the hospital at midnight, and out of it at three.’

      My, he was thorough. ‘Your sources of information are admirable.’

      ‘Next, you’ll tell me you can take care of yourself.’

      ‘I’ve been doing it for a while.’ She hadn’t meant to sound so cynical.

      ‘Get in the car, Mikayla.’

      She did, and drove home, parked the car, then stood her ground on the pavement as his car slid into the kerb and he crossed to her side.

      ‘I’m too tired to conduct a post-mortem.’ If she didn’t get inside and sit down soon, she’d fall down.

      ‘Take a sedative. And call in sick tomorrow.’

      ‘Yes, and no.’ She began turning away from him, and offered a brief goodnight over one shoulder.

      He let her go, aware there was little he could do to stop her.

      He waited long enough to see the light in her room go on, then he slid in behind the wheel and fired the engine.

      The weekend lay ahead. Monday, the test results would be available, and he’d ensure the documentation was signed.

      Even as he cleared the street and gained the main road he had to wonder why he should be concerned about a slim slip of a thing with blonde hair and green eyes.

      She meant nothing to him. He had every reason to dislike and distrust her. Dammit, his legal eagle thought he was certifiably insane to consider the deal he’d drawn up for him.

      So why was he not only going ahead with it, but giving way to protective instincts he would have sworn he didn’t possess?

      He drove home, garaged the car, then prowled the lower floor, made coffee, drank half of it and discarded the rest before entering his study, booting up the laptop, and working solidly until weariness forced him to bed.

      Mikayla spent a restless night, waking several times as her arm continued to throb. At three she got up and took two more painkillers, then settled into a heavy sleep from which she didn’t stir until the alarm pealed at eight.

      Breakfast comprised orange juice, cereal and coffee, then she wrapped her arm in plastic and did her best to keep it dry as she showered.

      Dressed in jeans and a loose cotton top, she tied a purple scarf over her hair, wound a purple scarf round the bandage, added several silver bangles, then she drove to Maisie’s New Age shop at the Rocks, where her friend sold scented candles, earrings, CDs and crystals.

      ‘Darling, great fashion accessory,’ Maisie complimented. ‘Totally rad.’

      Mikayla merely smiled and wondered if she’d started a new trend.

      Her arm still ached, but not as badly, and by Sunday it felt measurably less painful. Another day at the Rocks in the New Age shop kept her busy.

      Tonight there was no need to rush home and change in order to work at the café, and she joined Maisie in a salad and carrot juice at the health food counter.

      There was a strong inclination to confide, but what did she say? Hey, Mais, I’m moving on and up. Out of the maisonette and into a mansion. Thing was, six months ago she’d moved from a comfortable apartment into a rented room. Not exactly riches to rags, but close. For the next fifteen months, she was reversing the process.

      Better she kept silent. The deal wasn’t a deal until it was done, and she had yet to attach her signature to pertinent legal documents.

      Her stomach executed a nervous somersault. How soon would Rafael Velez-Aguilera want to cement the relationship?

      Tell it how it is, a small voice taunted. How soon will he want you to perform