Mistress by Agreement. HELEN BROOKS

turned her gaze to the long, lean figure beside the restaurateur, and eyes of blue ice looked back at her. ‘All ready?’ Kingsley asked easily, smiling the arctic smile.

      Once out on the pavement in the fresh May sunshine, Rosalie remembered her manners. ‘That was a lovely lunch,’ she said politely. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘The pleasure was all mine.’ An ordinary phrase, but he managed to make it sound like a criticism, as though she’d been churlish. She glanced at him and the azure eyes gazed back innocently.

      This was going to be one great afternoon!

      CHAPTER THREE

      ROSALIE asked herself a hundred times afterwards how it had happened. Over the last ten years she had been to umpteen sites, clambering about measuring foundations and walls and areas of land, and not one accident. So why, why had it been this particular day at this particular site and more especially with this particular man that she’d had to go and make the most almighty fool of herself? One minute she had been talking to the architect and hopefully impressing Kingsley with her handle on the job, the next she’d been flat on her face with her ankle feeling as though it was broken.

      The architect, a nice middle-aged man, was all concern, but it was Kingsley who picked her up in his arms after she had tried to rise and nearly passed out with the pain.

      ‘I…I’m all right. Please, I can walk.’ Through the excruciating throbbing the fact that she was being held close to a hard male chest with her head on an eyeline with his throat took precedence.

      ‘Keep still.’ She had tried to wriggle free and his voice was curt.

      ‘Really, it feels better already,’ she lied through gritted teeth.

      ‘And I’m Mickey Mouse.’

      The architect, who was now trotting alongside them as Kingsley carried her over to the parked cars, said soothingly, ‘It might just be a sprain, Miss Milburn, but you really should get it checked at a hospital.’

      ‘I’m not going to a hospital,’ she responded quickly. ‘Not for a sprain.’

      ‘That’s exactly where you’re going,’ the deep voice just above her head said flatly.

      She would have argued better if she weren’t so horribly conscious of being in his arms, but, with the feel of his body as he moved and the overall heady scent of faint whiffs of the most delicious aftershave, she wasn’t feeling herself. ‘If you’ll just take me back to the office I will be fine,’ she said as firmly as her twanging nerves would allow.

      They had just reached the car and he didn’t reply. As the architect opened the passenger door Kingsley placed her into the seat as carefully as one would a piece of Dresden china, but even so the action caused an involuntary gasp before she bit her lip hard, her face white.

      ‘And you’re talking about going straight back to the office?’ he said disgustedly. ‘Your ankle’s already twice its size and swelling as we speak, or hadn’t you noticed?’

      Yes, she had darn well noticed; she was the one feeling the pain, not him!

      He shut the passenger door, said a brief word to the architect who was now standing peering worriedly into the car, and then proceeded to make a call on his mobile phone. Rosalie was sure it was about her although she couldn’t hear what was being said. He slid into the car, saying shortly, ‘I’m taking you to a doctor.’

      The man was like a cruise missile, but suddenly, what with the pain and the nausea it was causing, she couldn’t argue anymore. Her face must have spoken for itself because he swore softly before reaching into the glove compartment and pulling out a small silver hip-flask, unscrewing the top and handing it to her. ‘Drink some, it’s brandy.’

      ‘Brandy? I don’t want—’

      ‘Drink some.’

      She drank, just a sip or two but she had to admit the neat alcohol burnt up the nausea causing her to feel more herself. And then she froze as Kingsley took off his jacket, bundling it into a roll and leaning over her as he said, ‘I’m going to put this under your foot to cushion it as best we can, but I’m afraid the journey’s not going to be pleasant.’

      And then his head was practically in her lap as he positioned the clump of material that had been a very nice Armani jacket under the injured foot, easing off her court shoe as he did so.

      She looked down at the short, spiky jet-black hair and muscled shoulders, and almost asked for another swig of brandy.

      ‘Thank you.’ She hoped he would put her breathlessness down to pain and ignore the flush of embarrassment that had flooded her cheeks with colour. He had only taken off his jacket, for goodness’ sake, so why did it suddenly feel as if he were almost naked?

      He eased himself back into the driving seat, loosening his tie and letting it hang slackly as he undid the first couple of buttons on his shirt.

      He had a magnificent body. Her eyes just couldn’t tear themselves away from the broad chest under the silk of his shirt. Powerful and lean, without an ounce of fat anywhere. She gave up trying to be cool and reached for the hip-flask again, taking another sip gratefully.

      ‘Okay?’ The blue eyes met hers, his voice low with sympathy now, and she gave a brave smile, nodding because she didn’t trust her voice. Suddenly the hospital didn’t seem such a bad idea—anything to get out of the claustrophobic confines of this car.

      Having experienced Kingsley’s driving technique earlier in the day, Rosalie appreciated he was driving extremely cautiously once they were underway, but nevertheless every slight jolt or bump of the car had her biting on her lip to stifle the gasps of pain.

      She was conscious of him glancing at her a few times before they reached their destination, which looked to be a hospital nearer Oxford than London. As they drove into tree-filled grounds and she saw the long, modern attractive building in front of them she said, ‘This isn’t a private hospital, is it?’

      ‘What’s wrong with that?’

      She hadn’t got private health insurance, for a start.

      Whether he guessed what she was thinking he didn’t say, but what he did say was, ‘This is where a friend of mine works and, as luck would have it, he’s around today. He said he’d take a look at the ankle as a favour, and we’ll go from there. Okay?’

      This whole thing was running away from her and she didn’t like that, besides which Kingsley seemed to have a friend for every occasion, Rosalie thought resentfully. It might be nasty of her in the circumstances when he was being so helpful, but she couldn’t help the way she felt—he brought out the worst in her. She sat stiffly in her seat, her cheeks flaming. ‘I would have preferred to go to a National Health hospital,’ she said primly.

      ‘Tough.’ Her eyes shot to meet his at the tone, widening as he went on, ‘I haven’t got time to waste sitting in an emergency department even if you have. I have another appointment later.’

      She glared at him. ‘Well, excuse me!’

      ‘Certainly.’ The carved lips twitched at her fury. ‘Now sit still until I can help you.’

      Much as she hated to obey him she had no option, and unfortunately she knew she was not going to be able to walk on the ankle either. Even trying to flex her toes brought acute agony. But the thought of him carrying her again… Could she hop, perhaps? Darn it, she’d never felt so helpless in all her life.

      When he opened the passenger door the decision was taken out of her hands. He scooped her up before she could so much as utter a squeak. The warm masculine feel of his body was worse this time with just the silk of his shirt covering his chest.

      ‘Put your arm round my neck,’ he said quietly as he hotched her more securely against him. ‘Don’t worry, I don’t bite.’

      She was startled into looking up into his face; there