Mistress by Mistake. Kim Lawrence

he growled. ‘You smell nice. I don’t recognise the perfume.’ Without actually touching her he inclined his head to breathe in the fragrance of her hair. The sudden compulsion bothered him—annoyed him. And it showed in the downturn of his lips.

      ‘It’s soap. Probably the medicated one I bought for Nick’s acne,’ she elaborated prosaically. Flat-out panic felt like a heartbeat away. Had someone turned up the thermostat in the room? She couldn’t breathe properly.

      ‘Acne,’ Drew echoed flatly. His thumb had moved to the delicate hollow of one elbow; the circular motion sent a tingling down to her curling toes.

      ‘Teenage complaint from which you were no doubt immune.’ This person was invading her body space. She ought to be sending out some clear and unambiguous signals that read ‘Get off!’ loud and clear. Instead, what was she doing? Probably acting like every other female this man had ever touched—a compliant push-over.

      ‘It isn’t a subject that springs immediately to mind when I’m responding, albeit reluctantly, to a mutual chemical attraction.’

      Not him too! Chemical…chemistry…they’d all gone stark staring bonkers. Her eyes narrowed. She hadn’t missed the ‘reluctant’ bit either. Aren’t I up to his usual standard? she wondered truculently.

      ‘I’d worry about the chemical reaction going on under your feet if I were you.’

      He cursed with satisfying distress as he followed the direction of her gaze.

      ‘I told you, you should have got a professional cleaner,’ she reminded him cheerfully as she rubbed her toe against the newly bleached area underfoot. Things had got a bit silly, but she was in control again now, she decided with a relieved sigh.

      He lifted his head and caught the tail-end of her surreptitious grin. ‘Maybe you won’t be laughing so much when I send you the bill?’

      Eve hoped this was an empty threat, because her tight budget wasn’t up to surprises like that. ‘Does this mean you don’t love me after all?’ she pouted, giving a passable impression of a spurned lover. He was obviously one of those men who tried it on with any female that had a pulse, she thought with disgust.

      Actually, she’d never been spurned; she’d done a bit of minor spurning herself—there had been that lovely Adam with the roof garden who’d wanted to get closer, and one or two others, but none had lit any answering spark in her.

      Sparks! She glanced gloomily at her feet and had a sharp mental image of flames curling over the practical footwear she wore. ‘Sparks’ didn’t begin to cover the conflagration she’d been recklessly flirting with. It was all some nasty hormonal conspiracy; an example of the weakness of the flesh from which she’d learn a valuable lesson once she was safely home and away from this man. She might even be able to decide what the lesson was then.

      ‘It’s possible I might be able to give you up without aversion therapy.’

      ‘I’ll try to be stoical about it,’ she promised evenly. Didn’t aversion therapy involve repeated exposure to the thing you wanted to give up? Now there was a very unsettling thought!

      ‘I’ll always cherish our time together.’

      Sarcastic pig! ‘How fortunate you are to possess a shallow and superficial nature,’ she said sunnily. She suddenly wished she was still wearing the feminine armoury of earlier. For some reason she felt it would have made it a lot easier to smile in the face of this masterly put-down if she’d known she looked feminine and…well…sexy. ‘For an awful moment I thought I might have to fight off your advances,’ she confessed.

      His white even teeth clamped together in a snarl-like smile. ‘If those are the signals you send out when the options you’re considering are fight or flight you could have serious problems,’ he told her drily.

      ‘I hope you’re not suggesting I wanted you to kiss me!’ she yelled. The smug smile made her want to stamp her feet in childish frustration. ‘You’re delusional, and even more in love with yourself than I thought!’

      Head on one side, he observed her pink cheeks and heaving bosom thoughtfully. ‘Are you trying to goad me into kissing you?’

      Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly several times. ‘Are you…mad?’ she squeaked hoarsely.

      ‘I’m not going to kiss you into submission, you know,’ he informed her apologetically. ‘Don’t get me wrong—I can see the appeal. If only,’ he observed, half to himself, ‘to get you to shut up. You’re just not really my type.’

      ‘You’re pathetic,’ she grated incredulously. ‘Do you actually think that every female you meet fantasises about being swept up in your strong arms?’

      ‘This is what I was worried about,’ he said sadly. ‘You just want more than I can give. I wanted to save you this hurt and humiliation.’

      Now she knew for sure he was winding her up, having a good laugh at her expense. He must have noticed she’d been shaking feverishly when he’d taken her hand. He obviously found the whole idea of her finding him attractive hilarious.

      ‘You’re very considerate.’ She’d had enough of being the live entertainment. It really went against the grain to retreat, but she could do it with dignity at least. ‘I’m going home now. I hope for Daniel’s sake his parents aren’t going to be away much longer.’

      He smiled wryly. He’d instinctively known she was the sort of female who had to have the last word. Drew listened for the inevitable crash of the front door before he sat down in one of the luxuriously upholstered chairs. He couldn’t help wondering what it would have been like if he’d actually kissed that strident, volatile young woman.

      The entrance of his nephew halted the erotic nature of his thoughts.

      ‘Have a seat, Dan. I think we need to talk.’

      ‘Again?’

      ‘Again. Now, just what exactly have you told Nick and his peculiar relations about me?’

      ‘Not much.’

      ‘And does that ‘‘not much’’ include the Lottie saga?’

      ‘No! I wouldn’t tell anyone about that, Uncle Drew.’