His Permanent Mistress: Mistress Under Contract. Kate Hardy

grip.

      He forced his attention to her feet.

      Cowboy boots looked back at him. Brown, pointy-toed, wedge-heeled with patterns worked on the leather. He felt the reluctant smile tug at his mouth. He wondered if there were spurs to match, or if she had a whip—other than her tongue, which he was quite sure was capable of giving a good lashing.

      Her CV had ‘wanderer’all over it—your typical instant-gratification girl. She’d stick around while the sun shone but any hint of a cloud and she’d be off. A shining example of the ‘what’s in it for me, me, me?’ gender. Daniel was all too familiar with women—they upped and left uncaring of whatever disaster they left behind. No sense of loyalty, responsibility, reliability. Which was precisely why he upped and left them before they had a chance to. Ordinarily, he’d have enjoyed saying no to her. But in this instance he didn’t require endurance, he required immediate and short-term. Her self-confessed flightiness shouldn’t be a problem.

      He looked back to her face. She was staring at him. He could feel her willing him to take her on. But it wasn’t the bold challenge that got him. It was the glimpse of someone desperate for the chance, concealed under the confidence. As a lawyer he’d seen that look many times before. The hidden desire—wanting someone to listen and take a risk. Even though they knew there was really no chance and they were just waiting for the refusal. It was the look that had him taking on clients when his caseload was already too full to handle. Pro bono at that. The kind of cases that had the senior partners frowning at him.

      She was talking again. ‘You’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain. It’s nearly five now—if you want someone to start tonight I’m your only bet. I can do this. Let me prove it to you.’

      He glanced at his watch. She was right; it was nearly five. No time to hit another agency. Certainly not if they were all as inept as the receptionist in this one was. So what choice did he have? He had to have someone in there tidying up the mess tonight.

      Her green eyes burned into him. He saw passion there, with defiance and determination. The words were out before he realised he’d even thought them. ‘I’ll give you three weeks. We go to the club now.’

      The look on her face was one he wouldn’t forget in a hurry. The sultry, sarcastic covering lifted to reveal a truly genuine pleasure—her smile wide and terrific and impossible not to respond to. His heart lifted. And then the delight shown in her full lips affected him in another region altogether. Groin region.

      Not good. ‘Right now.’

      He stood, expecting her to do the same. She was on her feet in a flash, papers tumbling from her bag as she did so. She stuffed the CVs in, creasing them. He watched, heart cooling, thinking that if she was usually that clumsy she might need them again sooner than she thought.

      A woman walked in from the back office. ‘Sorry, I was longer than I—’She broke off as she saw Daniel. ‘I’m sorry. Can I help you?’

      He raised his brows at her, giving her the supercilious-lawyer look he reserved for smart-mouthed petty crims, happy to teach her a lesson in customer service. ‘I’m afraid you’re too late.’

      She looked nonplussed.

      His new bar manager followed up by giving her an evil smirk. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t have time to complete all these forms. I have a job already.’ She put the long strap of her bag over her shoulder. ‘Shame. You missed a good commission.’Then she bent and lifted something else she had parked beside her seat. A violin case.

      He stood back and watched as she passed him, a swaggering cowgirl looking in complete control. Completely confident. He glanced back registering the dismayed expression on the agency worker’s face.

      ‘You know you’re making a big mistake. It’s much better to go through an agency for temporary workers.’ She practically tut-tutted.

      ‘For whom?’ Daniel flattened. ‘Employer, employee or middleman who needs the introduction buck?’

      He turned and joined his temp who was now waiting for him on the street. They headed in the direction of the club. It was only a five-minute walk through the funky end of town. Students, buskers and suits vied for space in the cafés they passed.

      ‘So is it a violin or are you actually Mafioso?’

      ‘You think I’m concealing a dangerous weapon?’

      He had the feeling she was a dangerous weapon, full stop. ‘You know, you’re amazingly trusting.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘You don’t even know my name.’ He had hers. Lucy Elizabeth Delaney. Twenty-four years old. Bachelor of Music, second class honours. Held current driver’s licence together with own ancient car according to registration details. Exclusive private boarding-school and not much advertised in the way of extra-curricular activities. He had the feeling she might have been too busy having some kind of social life to be tied down to the debating team or the hockey team or the school choir.

      She ran a sharp eye over his suit. ‘You don’t look the dangerous type.’

      ‘Appearances can be deceiving.’ A little piqued, he decided to hit where he knew it would hurt. ‘You don’t even know how much I’m going to pay you.’

      This time her glance stabbed. ‘I know the going rate.’

      He realised then that he didn’t. Wouldn’t have a clue. He didn’t know a lot about this business—other than the price of a decent glass of wine. If he wasn’t careful this woman would have him over a barrel. She might not want to stick at any job for long, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t sharp.

      ‘So what is your name?’ She was staring down the street.

      ‘Daniel Graydon.’

      Outside the club he pulled the keys from his pocket, jangling them in his hand for a moment. Was he really going to hand these over to a woman he’d known precisely twenty-seven minutes? Heart sinking, he realised Lara had left him in one hell of a mess. He had far too great a sense of obligation and responsibility and she knew it. She knew he would never let her club sink. He was going to have to stick around to make sure this was going to be OK. He was going to have to keep a close eye on his new employee.

      Damn.

      She climbed the stairs ahead of him. He kept that close eye on the way her curves filled out the denim jeans, on the way her hips swayed as she smoothly mounted each step.

      Double damn.

      Had he, for the first time in his life, just made a decision using his body rather than his brain? His brain was telling him to let her go and get on with it, but his body was telling him to grab hold and see what magic she could do. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach out and stroke her.

      She walked into the middle of the floor space, the heels of her boots clicking on the wooden floor. He went to the bar and flipped the lights. Wanting rid of the late-night, fun feel. Back to business. She paid him no attention. Instead she took in the fridge behind him, noting the lack of stock.

      ‘When did you want this open again?’

      ‘I was hoping for Friday.’

      He saw her swallow as she looked around some more. ‘We have a lot to do by then.’

      He turned the screws a little. ‘No. You have a lot to do. I have work of my own to be getting on with.’

      She turned to him. ‘Accountancy or law?’

      He wondered which she viewed as the lesser evil. From the way she’d covered the question in sarcastic flavouring he guessed she regarded both as less than marvellous options. ‘Law.’

      ‘Hotshot, huh?’

      Modesty stopped him from answering that one honestly. ‘Hard-working.’

      She nodded. More to herself than him. As if he’d confirmed her worst suspicions.