The Abby Green Modern Collection. ABBY GREEN

for a salad. The dexterity with which she chopped told him, as a keen cook himself, that she was no novice. He ignored the strange ache in his chest just from looking at her.

      ‘The burnt water smells surprisingly appetising,’ he drawled dryly.

      She jumped and whirled around. But quickly regained her composure. He could see that there was tension in the lines of her body that hadn’t been there seconds before and bizarrely hated the fact that he had done that.

      ‘Yes…well, I didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of thinking you had a live-in cook as well as a mistress. But, as it happens, I can cook quite well.’

      ‘Good. Because I’m starving. I’ll have a shower and join you.’

      Maggie shrugged negligently, as if she didn’t care, but since he’d surprised her at the door her pulse had been thumping out of control.

      When he’d gone she ran her wrists under the cold tap to try and calm her pulse. She lifted her hands to her hot cheeks. She was a wreck. Images, fantasies, erotic pictures were taking control of every corner of her brain. She was a walking hormone. She set out the cutlery and a bottle of wine because she knew he’d expect it, but vowed only to have a little herself so that she was in complete control.

      And then he was there. He’d dressed down as she would have preferred to, in faded jeans and a T-shirt that was taut across his muscled chest. Wet hair curling just above the collar. His potency, the raw sexuality, reached across the room and called to her, made her want to walk over, sink into him.

      ‘What can I do?’

      She shut her eyes for a split second at the lurid images that jumped into her mind’s eye at his question. Her voice, when it came, was husky. ‘You could bring the salad through; everything else is here.’

      Her appetite had just disappeared.

      He brought it in and they sat down. Caleb poured them both a glass of wine and lifted his glass high. ‘To tonight.’

      Maggie blanched and took a deep breath. She just nodded in response. And took a big gulp of wine. So much for her good intentions.

      He took a mouthful of the risotto and a look of disbelief came over his face. ‘Maggie, this is really good. Where did you learn to do this? Do you know how hard it is to get this right?’

      She blushed with acute pleasure and couldn’t stop a grin. ‘Really?’

      ‘Really. I’ve eaten in some of the best restaurants in Italy and they certainly haven’t done risotto as well as this.’

      With pleasure fizzing through her at his rare approval, she explained, ‘I worked as a chef’s assistant when I was working my way through college. In return for portraits of his family, he gave me extra lessons.’

      ‘Worked your way through college?’ Those eyes were narrowed speculatively on hers. She thought quickly. Tom had had millions. Money shouldn’t have been an object. Maggie had always refused it, though, seeing it as tantamount to blood money, despite her mother’s pleas to let him help her.

      She shrugged lightly. ‘I thought I wanted to prove to Tom that I could do it on my own, but I soon got bored…’ The next words killed her when she thought of the awful bedsit she’d lived in, cockroaches everywhere. ‘But of course I didn’t last long. Why take the hard way?’

      ‘Why, indeed?’ Caleb seemed happy to let it drop. As if she’d jumped out of the box he had her in, but was now safely back inside. They both took another sip of wine.

      She had to try and keep him off personal subjects. She was too inclined to speak quickly and openly. He was far too easy to talk to. Like the lunch they’d had in Monte Carlo, they slipped into a light conversation, skating across several subjects. When Caleb poured the last of the wine into her glass she wondered how they’d drunk the whole bottle. She could feel the mellow aftermath through her bones and wanted to wake up. Stay alert.

      ‘I’ll make some coffee.’ She went to get up and Caleb stayed her with a hand.

      ‘No. You made dinner; I’ll do the coffee. Sit on the couch and I’ll bring it in.’

      His easy courtesy unsettled her. She watched as he proceeded to clear the table and then she heard him moving around the kitchen. She did as he’d said and sat on the couch. That was when she saw it on the table, low down near her feet. The contract. That sobered her up more quickly than any coffee could. She picked it up warily and flicked through it. There, in stark black and white, were the hideous words…

      Margaret Holland…become the mistress of Caleb Cameron for two months only…from this date…and the house in question at the following address…revert to the name of Fidelma Holland…but only when said relations have…

      Nausea rose. Now that it was in front of her in black and white, she couldn’t actually believe that he’d had the gall to draw this up…with the advice of a solicitor? With witnesses? And there were the lines for their signatures. As bold and impersonal and dry as the way her mouth felt right now. Even if she was the one that had begged for their house…had created this situation…this was too much.

      He came into the room and Maggie carefully placed it back on the table. He followed her movements as he put down the coffee cups. She picked hers up and placed chilled hands around it, feeling a shudder go through her system.

      ‘So you’ve seen it.’ His voice came low and implacable from her right.

      ‘Yes. Which is, no doubt, what you expected when you directed me over here.’

      She could feel him tense beside her. ‘I didn’t, actually. I’d forgotten I’d put it down. But what’s the problem, Maggie? Isn’t this what you wanted?’

      She put down the coffee jerkily and sprang up away from the couch, willing herself desperately not to cry. ‘No! It’s not what I wanted. I never wanted any of this. None of it. And certainly not for my private details to be pored over by complete strangers.’

      He stood too. She spun away, oblivious to the spectacular backdrop of the city lights starting to come on outside. He came and whirled her round to face him.

      ‘I’m sorry, Maggie, but this is a direct result of your actions. Six months ago you played with fire and now you’re getting burnt.’

      She was burning up all right.

      He captured her close, two harsh hands on her arms. ‘You want me, Maggie, as much as I want you. Can you deny it?’

      Miserable, intoxicated by his closeness, the contract fading into the background, she couldn’t move. He shifted subtly so that she was pressed tight up against the length of him. He brought his hands down her arms and then her two hands were captured behind her back with one of his.

      ‘You want me, don’t you?’ With his other hand he brushed back a tendril of hair from her face, then threaded through it to cradle her head. She had to fight against wanting to let it sink, fall into his hand. Her body flamed into life everywhere it connected with his…but she wanted to make sure he knew she was fighting it all the way. Had to. It was her only defence.

      After seeing that contract, she had a bare thread of dignity left and this was it.

      ‘Yes…’ The word was wrung harshly from her. ‘I may want you on the outside, but know that on the inside I’m hating you with every breath I take.’

      A tension and stillness came into his body. A savage look passed over his face so quickly she might have imagined it. Then his look narrowed and, with his eyes so intensely blue on hers that it hurt, he said, ‘Then it’s just as well it’s not your heart I’m after. Just your body. It’s time to finish what you started that night, Maggie.’

      His cruelly stark words seared her alive. An ache closed the back of her throat as he bent and took her mouth in a possessive, punishing kiss. And while her foolish, weak body rejoiced in the contact, her heart made a lie of her words—every beat telling her what she didn’t want