Hired: Mistress: Wanted: Mistress and Mother / His Private Mistress / The Millionaire's Secret Mistress. Carol Marinelli

it over dinner tonight. I’ll see if my son-in-law can come along—I’m sure once he hears first hand about it he’ll be more enthusiastic. Actually, there he is—I’ll go and run it by him now.’

      ‘Good idea,’ Matilda agreed, crouching down again to play with Alex, her head turning to where Hugh was waving. But the smile died on her face as again she found herself staring at the man who had taken up so much of her mental energy today—watching as he walked around the water feature, a frown on his face as he watched her interact with his daughter.

      ‘Dante!’ Clearly not picking up on the tension, Hugh called him over, but Dante didn’t acknowledge either of them, his haughty expression only softening when Matilda stepped back, his features softer now as he eyed his daughter. Matilda felt a curious lump swell in her throat as, with infinite tenderness, he knelt down beside Alex, something welling within as he spoke gently to his daughter.

      ‘I’ll have a word with Dante and make a booking for tonight, then,’ Hugh checked hopefully—too pleased to notice Matilda’s stunned expression. The most she could manage was the briefest of nods as realisation started to dawn.

      She’d barely managed two minutes in the lift with him and now she was about to be his house guest!

      He’s a husband and father, Matilda reminded herself firmly, calming herself down a touch, almost convincing herself she’d imagined the undercurrents that had sizzled between them.

      And even if she hadn’t misread things, even if there was an attraction between them, he was a married man and she wouldn’t forget it for a single moment!

      CHAPTER TWO

      SHE didn’t want to do this.

      Walking towards the restaurant, Matilda was tempted to turn on her stilleto heels and run. She hated with a passion the formalities that preceded a garden makeover, looking at plans, talking figures, time-frames—and the fact she hadn’t even seen the garden made this meeting a complete time-waster. But, Matilda was quickly realizing, this type of thing was becoming more and more frequent. As her business took off, gone were the days where she rolled up on a doorstep in her beloved Blundstone boots, accepted a coffee if she was lucky enough to be offered one and drew a comprehensive sketch of her plans for the owners, along with a quote for her services—only to spend the next few days chewing her nails and wondering if they’d call, worrying if perhaps she’d charged too much or, worse, seriously underquoted and would have to make up the difference herself.

      Now her initial meetings took place in people’s offices or restaurants, and even if she was lucky enough to be invited into their homes, Matilda had quickly learnt that her new clientele expected a smart, efficient professional for that first important encounter.

      But it wasn’t just the formalities that were causing butterflies this evening. Ducking into the shadowy retreat of a large pillar beside the restaurant, Matilda stopped for a moment, rummaged in her bag and pulled out a small mirror. She touched up her lipstick and fiddled with her hair for a second, acknowledging the real reason for anxiety tonight.

      Facing Dante.

      Even his name made her stomach ball into a knot of tension. She’d wanted him to remain nameless—for that brief, scorching but utterly one-sided encounter to be left at that—to somehow push him to the back of her mind and completely forget about him.

      And now she was going to be working for him!

      Maybe this dinner was exactly what she needed, Matilda consoled herself, peeling herself from the pillar ready to walk the short distance that remained to the restaurant. Maybe a night in his arrogant, obnoxious, pompous company would purge whatever it was that had coursed through her system since she’d laid eyes on him, and anyway, Matilda reassured herself, Hugh was going to be there, too.

      An impressive silver car pulling up at the restaurant caught Matilda’s attention and as the driver walked around and opened the rear door in a feat of self-preservation she found herself stepping back into the shadows, watching as the dignified figure of Dante stepped out—she had utterly no desire to enter the restaurant with him and attempt small talk until she had the reassuring company of Hugh.

      He really was stunning, Matilda sighed, feeling slightly voyeuristic as she watched him walk. Clearly she wasn’t the only one who thought so. From the second he’d stepped out of the car, heads had turned, a few people halting their progress to watch as if it were some celebrity arriving on the red carpet. But just as the driver was about to close the car door, just as the doorman greeted him, a piercing shriek emanating from the car had every head turning.

      Especially Dante’s.

      Even from here she could see the tension etched in his face as he walked back towards the car, from where an anxious young woman appeared, holding the furious, livid, rigid body of his daughter. Grateful for the shadows, Matilda watched with something akin to horror as, oblivious to the gathering crowd, he took the terrified child from the woman and attempted to soothe her, holding her angry, unyielding body against his, talking to her in low, soothing tones, capturing her tiny wrists as she attempted to gouge him, her little teeth like those of a feral animal. Matilda had never seen such anger, never witnessed such a paroxysm of rage, could scarcely comprehend that it could come from someone so small.

      ‘That child needs a good smack, if you ask me,’ an elderly lady volunteered, even though no one had asked her. Matilda had to swallow down a smart reply, surprising herself at her own anger over such a thoughtless comment—tempted now to step out from the shadows and offer her support, to see if there was anything she could do to help. But almost as soon as it had started it was over. The fight that had fuelled Alex left her, her little body almost slumping in defeat, the shrieks replaced by quiet, shuddering sobs, which were so painfilled they were almost harder to bear. After a moment more of tender comfort, with a final nod Dante handed her back to the woman, his taut, strained face taking in every detail as the duo headed for the car, before, without deigning to give the crowd a glance, he headed into the restaurant.

      Pushing open the door, though shaken from what she had just witnessed, Matilda attempted assurance as her eyes worked the restaurant, her smile ready for Hugh, but as the waiter took her name and guided her towards the table, she was again tempted to turn tail and run.

      It was definitely a table for two—but instead of the teddy bear proportions of Hugh, instead of his beaming red face smiling to greet her, she was met by the austere face of Dante, his tall muscular frame standing as she approached, his face expressionless as she crossed the room. If Matilda hadn’t witnessed it herself, she’d never have believed what he’d just been through, for nothing in his stance indicated the hellish encounter of only moments before.

      In her peripheral vision she was aware of heads turning, but definitely not towards her, could hear flickers of conversation as she walked towards him.

      ‘Is he famous…?’

      ‘He looks familiar…’

      He looked familiar because he was perfection—a man that normally glowered from the centre of the glossiest of glossy magazines, a man who should be dressed in nothing more than a ten-thousand-dollar watch or in the driver’s seat of a luxury convertible.

      He certainly wasn’t the type of man that Matilda was used to dining with…

      And certainly not alone.

      Please, Matilda silently begged, please, let a waiter appear, breathlessly dragging a table over, and preferably, another waiter, too, to hastily turn those two table settings into three. Please, please, let it not be how it looked.

      ‘Matilda.’ His manners were perfect, waiting till she was seated before sitting down himself, patiently waiting as she gave her drink order to the waiter. She was pathetically grateful that she’d chosen to walk to the restaurant—no mean feat in her fabulous new shoes, but there was no chance of a punctual taxi this time on a Friday evening, and by the time she’d parked she could have been here anyway.

      Good choice.

      Good,