His After-Hours Mistress. Trish Wylie

      A siren! No one had ever called her that before. Didn’t it mean a dangerously fascinating and sexy woman? Was that what she was to him? The thought pleased her. ‘Am I the most captivating woman you’ve ever met?’ It was a leading question and one that she wasn’t sure she ought to have asked. She waited for his answer with bated breath.

      He smiled slowly. ‘Captivating? You’re certainly that. And, what’s more, Lucinda, I’m thoroughly enjoying our time here. Are you?’

      She swallowed hard and nodded. ‘It’s something I’ll remember for the rest of my life.’ One part of her hoped that he would say the same, even that she was beginning to mean something to him. Instead he pulled her closer, lifting her skirt and seeking that private place that he had made his own.

      All too soon her misgivings faded and she was lost in their lovemaking. And afterwards, while the yacht sailed on when they were both fully sated, they drifted into sleep.

      Zane woke with the knowledge that something was wrong. He hadn’t felt well all morning, but had thought it was nothing more than an over-indulgence of food and drink. But his headache had got worse and he felt as though he were burning up.

      Lucinda still lay at his side and when he touched her forehead her skin felt quite cool. So it wasn’t the air-conditioning that had failed. He really was ill.

      Feeling him move, Lucinda opened her eyes and then did a double-take. ‘Are you all right, Zane? You look very flushed.’

      ‘It’s nothing,’ he said, unwilling to tell her how he felt. How manly was it to become ill when he had promised her a romantic trip? When he wanted to give her the best time of her life? This sort of thing never happened to him. He was always in control, always in command of every situation. And he had been of this one—until now!

      He had been enjoying his education of Lucinda. Although she had never said anything, he was aware that he had taught her lots of new and wonderful things. And she had responded in a way far beyond his wildest dreams. She was a woman to surpass all women where making love was concerned and he would be sorry when it ended. As of course it must. Lucinda Oliver was not for him. No woman was. Not long-term. Of that he was very sure.

      ‘It looks more than nothing to me. How do you feel?’

      He swallowed with difficulty. ‘I have a raging headache and I’m burning up. Probably sunstroke. But it won’t last. I feel all right.’

      ‘But you’ve always been careful!’ exclaimed Lucinda. ‘We both have. If it’s sunstroke, though, it could be serious. I’ll ask Fabian to head back to shore. You need to see a doctor.’

      ‘I don’t want to spoil your day,’ he said, struggling to his feet, feeling extremely mortified when dizziness forced him back down on the bed. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he agreed reluctantly. ‘But let’s get a doctor out here. I don’t want you to miss out on your star-spangled night.’ Except that he wouldn’t be able to share it with her in quite the way he had imagined!

      ‘And I don’t want you to be a martyr,’ she retorted crossly. ‘What is it with men that they won’t admit defeat?’

      He managed a smile. ‘It’s not good for our image.’ Especially in front of a woman he was trying to impress. No sooner had the thought entered his head than he asked himself whether it was true. Was he trying to impress Lucinda with his sexual prowess, with his private yacht and his Caribbean villa? And, if so, why?

      In point of fact she gave the impression that she thought they were unnecessary appendages. Money simply didn’t interest her. So long as she had enough for her daily needs she was happy. And he admired her for that. In fact there was a lot about Lucinda that he admired.

      He closed his eyes and tried to shut out both his thoughts and the heat in his body. Perhaps Lucinda was right. He ought to go back. He certainly wasn’t any good to her here. But they had been sailing for hours and unhappily he didn’t feel that he could go that long without medical attention.

      ‘Ask Fabian to phone for a doctor,’ he croaked.

      Lucinda shot up on deck and explained Zane’s predicament and immediately arrangements were made. Money spoke, thought Lucinda as she went back to Zane. There was nothing that couldn’t be acquired. It didn’t make her feel happy. Her mother might be a slave to money, but she definitely was not.

      ‘The doctor will be here as soon as he can,’ she told Zane, alarmed to see that his fever had increased. She wet some towels and pressed them to his face and his skin, all the time murmuring words of comfort. He seemed to drift in and out of consciousness. Or was it her imagination? Was he just closing his eyes?

      And as she sat there watching him, doing all she could to make him feel comfortable, Lucinda made an alarming discovery. She was falling in love with Zane. Properly in love! Not just a sex thing. She wanted to spend the rest of her life—or at least a large part of it—with him. How stupid was that? Zane had made it clear that he didn’t intend to settle down with anyone. He enjoyed playing the field. He would probably do it until he was too old or too tired!

      And, besides, she didn’t enjoy the trappings of wealth. She could see no point in them. So why would she want to bind herself to Zane? She was out of her head. Probably going down with the same illness. She touched a hand to her brow. Perfectly normal! She wasn’t ill, no, just plain crazy.

      Perhaps Zane’s illness had come in the nick of time. Before she made a complete fool of herself and told him how she felt. As she continued to mop his brow, to try to cool his fever with wet towels, she knew that she had gone far beyond the point of no return. She loved him to distraction, and probably always would, even though she knew without a shadow of doubt that once they returned to England and her job was finished she would never see him again.

      In less than an hour a doctor arrived by helicopter and was lowered on to the deck. He confirmed that Zane was indeed suffering from a mild case of sunstroke.

      ‘You must get him into a cool bath straight away,’ he told Lucinda. ‘And you must gently massage his skin and keep taking his temperature. Can you do that?’

      Lucinda glanced at Zane, who looked anything but happy about the situation, and then back at the doctor. After all their lovemaking, when there wasn’t a part of his body that she hadn’t explored, it should be an easy task. She nodded.

      ‘After that you must put him in a cool room, still checking his temperature—because if it should continue to drop then you must keep him warm. Have you got that?’

      ‘Yes,’ agreed Lucinda.

      ‘Massaging must continue, to encourage circulation. He may need to stay in bed for several days.’

      Lucinda couldn’t see Zane agreeing to this, but she nodded anyway. ‘I’ll see to it, doctor.’

      ‘If you don’t follow my instructions there is a danger that he will get worse and have to be hospitalised. But hopefully he will recover quite quickly. How did he get in this state?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ answered Lucinda. ‘We’re always careful in the sun.’

      ‘Obviously not careful enough!’ he admonished. ‘And it’s not always the sun itself. Any prolonged exposure to high temperatures can cause it. You might feel you’re safe sitting on the deck in the shade but, believe me, it can be just as dangerous. Or playing energetic games. They all add up. I fear your friend has overdone it. You’ll need to keep your eye on him.’

      Zane had hardly spoken, except to thank the doctor for coming, and once he’d gone he glared at Lucinda. ‘The man’s exaggerating. I’m not that ill.’

      ‘Oh, yes, you are,’ answered Lucinda firmly, ‘and you know it. Thank goodness there’s a bathtub on board. Excuse me.’ She went through to the en suite bathroom and filled the tub with cool water.

      Zane looked very sorry for himself as he lay in the bath and allowed Lucinda to massage him. But eventually he gave a wry