Mistress by Agreement. HELEN BROOKS

      Another car entering the car park broke the spell. Rosalie lowered her head, grateful for the wings of hair that covered her hot face, but by the time they walked into the reception of the hospital the burning colour had subsided due mainly to the ache in her foot.

      The next half an hour was a painful one, and at the end of it Rosalie could have cried with frustration when X-rays confirmed Kingsley’s friend’s prognosis that a small bone was broken, necessitating a plaster cast on her ankle for a few weeks.

      Another hour or so and they were back in the car again, the ankle feeling better now it was supported but Rosalie’s head spinning as her brain scrambled all the appointments and deadlines of the next days. Fortunately a great deal of the work could be done from the office, she decided thankfully after a few minutes of thinking hard, and site visits would have to be undertaken by one of the others until she could drive again, unless she called on taxis. She would manage somehow, anyway. There was no way she was going to hand this job over, lock, stock and barrel, to someone else.

      ‘How does it feel?’

      ‘I’m sorry?’ As Kingsley’s voice penetrated her whirling thoughts Rosalie turned to him. She had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that he had been very good over this whole affair—refusing to let her pay for anything although she knew he had written a cheque at the hospital, and displaying a patience she hadn’t suspected he possessed.

      ‘The ankle. How is it?’ he repeated, the patience she had noticed not so much in evidence now.

      ‘Fine.’ His irritation reminded her he’d had an appointment. ‘I hope I haven’t delayed you too long,’ she added politely. ‘You mentioned an appointment?’

      ‘A dinner engagement.’

      With a woman, she dared bet, and obviously one he was anxious to see if he was prepared to pay the expenses of a private hospital to keep his date. A dart of something Rosalie didn’t care to put a name to made itself felt, causing her to silently upbraid herself. A man like Kingsley Ward would have any number of women, for goodness’ sake, and gorgeous ones at that, but his private life was absolutely nothing to do with her.

      She slanted a sideways glance at him from under her eyelashes. She had got used to the muscled contours of his body now—she’d had a couple of hours to do that at the hospital as he had insisted on staying with her—but still something warm curled in her stomach as she took in the hard profile and clean-cut lines. He was intensely sexy, she thought drowsily, the combination of the trauma of the accident and the pain-killers Kingsley’s doctor friend had prescribed making her sleepy in the car’s warm womb. She yawned before she could stop herself.

      ‘Put your seat back and have a snooze,’ Kingsley suggested a moment later, even though she hadn’t been aware he had noticed.

      For some reason the thought of being asleep and in a position where Kingsley could look at her and she wouldn’t know was quite untenable. It woke her up better than a bucketful of cold water. ‘No, it’s okay,’ she said quickly, adding, perfectly truthfully, ‘I wouldn’t sleep tonight if I had a nap now. I don’t sleep well as it is.’

      ‘No?’ One rapier-sharp glance raked her face before returning to the road ahead. ‘Why is that? Have you always been that way?’

      Since Miles she had. Rosalie kept her voice even as she said, ‘In latter years. It’s not exactly unusual, after all.’

      ‘First sign of stress.’

      Rosalie stiffened at the hint of criticism. ‘I don’t think so. I enjoy my work,’ she said very stiffly, eyes to the front.

      ‘It doesn’t have to be work that’s the problem,’ he countered smoothly. ‘Work’s not the be-all and end-all of life, surely.’

      ‘The rest of my life is also perfectly stress-free, thank you,’ she said tartly. As if it were anything to do with him, anyway.

      ‘Rosalie, in this day and age no one’s life is perfectly stress-free. Do you keep a healthy balance between work and play?’ he persisted, knowing he was being unfair in pursuing this when she had just been through one hell of an afternoon, but sensing her defences were low. He wanted to know more about this woman who kept herself so very much to herself, he admitted silently, capitulating to the truth he had been ignoring all day. She had aroused his curiosity as well as his body, damn it, and, yes—it was pique he was feeling at her total disinterest in him. Which made him a lesser man than he had thought he was.

      ‘That’s my business, surely?’ It was frosty, and exactly what he had expected.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ he said with lazy innocence. ‘I’ve obviously touched a nerve.’

      She glared at him. ‘Of course you haven’t,’ she said sharply. ‘That’s absolutely ridiculous.’

      The black eyebrows rose but he said nothing, which was ten times more aggravating than an argument, Rosalie thought irritably. It was hard to argue with silence.

      ‘I mean it,’ she said again. ‘You haven’t touched a nerve.’

      ‘Methinks the lady protests too much.’

      Methinks the gentleman is an arrogant pig.

      ‘So, do you have a current partner, a boyfriend?’ he asked softly, knowing the answer full well.

      She was longing to tell him to mind his own business but in view of their conversation to date didn’t think it appropriate. ‘No.’ It was so wintry ice tinkled.

      It would have discouraged a lesser man, but Kingsley wasn’t a lesser man. ‘How long since you’ve been on a date, then?’

      She was fairly quivering with the rage she was trying to hide. How dared he cross-examine her like this? ‘In spite of this being the twenty-first century and therefore licence for most people to behave like rabbits, I prefer quality rather than quantity,’ she responded icily, hoping that would be enough to satisfy him. She had never met such rudeness in her life.

      Of course it wasn’t. ‘That taken as read, how long?’

      Suddenly, horrifyingly, the rage had gone and the urge to burst into tears was paramount. Twelve years long. Twelve years since I was hurt and abused and brought to the brink of losing my mind. The words were so fierce in her head that for an awful moment she thought she’d spoken them out loud, but when the chiselled features didn’t change she knew she was safe. She had never spoken about her relationship with Miles to anyone, not even her grandparents before they had died, and she never would. All old friends and family knew was that she’d been married and then it had finished. New friends didn’t even know that much.

      She took a deep pull of air, praying her voice wouldn’t reveal her inward trembling. ‘Some time, I can’t remember. I’m not the sort of person who puts notches on the bedpost, unlike some.’ She turned to look at him as she spoke.

      It was pointed, and she saw his mouth tighten with a dart of gratification. You can dish it out but taking it is a little harder, isn’t it? she thought bitterly.

      ‘Meaning I am?’ he asked grimly.

      ‘I didn’t say that.’ She paused purposely. ‘But if the cap fits…’

      ‘It doesn’t, not in this instance.’

      ‘Right.’ She put a wealth of meaning into the one word.

      ‘I have my faults, Rosalie, but promiscuity is not one of them,’ he said, very coldly.

      ‘Methinks the gentleman protests too much.’

      For a second she wondered if she had gone too far as she cast a sidelong glance at his angry face, and then the wind was completely taken out of her sails when he laughed ruefully, turning to look at her for an instant with eyes that were smiling for the first time since she had known him. ‘Touché, mademoiselle,’ he said dryly. ‘I guess I asked for that one.’

      Oh, no, don’t do