Should your sister call, I would most definitely let her know that Im not her husbands mistress.
You wont have to, Harris interrupted. But, oddly then, he paused for a moment before he added, Ive already convinced her of that.
And she believed you? Just like that? How did you convince her?
Ah, Harris murmured, and Mallon instinctively knew she was not going to like his answer, whatever it was. As I mentioned, Faye was close to being hysterical. The only way I could think to calm her down was to tell her that you were not his girlfriendbut mine.
Jessica Steele lives in a friendly English village with her super husband, Peter. They are owned by a gorgeous Staffordshire bull terrier called Florence, who is boisterous and manic, but also adorable. It was Peter who first prompted Jessica to try writing and, after the first rejection, encouraged her to keep on trying. Luckily, with the exception of Uruguay, she has so far managed to research inside all the countries in which she has set her books, traveling to places as far apart as Siberia and Egypt. Her thanks go to Peter for his help and encouragement.
Sit back and relax with Jessica Steeles latest novel. Set in the pretty English countryside, it overflows with laughter, tears and romantic magic as Mallon, a beautiful young woman down on her luck, meets Harris Quillan, the man of everyones dreams, and changes his life forever!
His Pretend Mistress
Jessica Steele
www.millsandboon.co.uk
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER ONE
SHE was panicking so wildly she could barely manage to turn the knob of the stout front door.
Her employersoon to be her ex-employercoming into the hall after her gave her extra strength. Dont be so he slurred, but Mallon was not waiting to hear the rest of it. With shaking hands she yanked the door open and, heedless of the torrential rain deluging down, she went haring down the drive.
She did not stop running until her umpteenth glance behind confirmed that she was not being followed.
Some five minutes later Mallon had slowed to a fast walking pace when the sound of a motor engine alerted her to the fact that Roland Phillips might have decided to pursue her by car. When no car went past, panic started to rise in her again.
There was no one else about, nothing but acres and acres of unbuilt-on countryside so far as she knew. As the car drew level she cast a jerky look to her left, but was only a modicum relieved to see that it was not Roland Phillips.
Had she been hoping that the driver would be a female of the species, however, she was to be disappointed. The window of the car slid down, and she found herself staring through the downpour into a pair of hostile grey eyes.
Get in! he clipped.
Like blazes shed get in! Shed had it with good-looking men. No, thank you, she snappily refused the unwanted offer.
The grey eyes studied her for about two seconds. Suit yourself! the mid-thirties man said curtly, and the window slid up and the car purred on its way again.
Though not at any great speed, Mallon noticed as, shock from Roland Phillipss assault on her starting to recede a little, she also noticed that, with a veritable monsoon raging, only an idiot would drive fast in these conditions.
She trudged on with no idea of where she was making for, her only aim to put as much distance as possible between her and Roland Phillips at Almora Lodge. So far as she could recall there was not another house around for miles.
Her sandals had started to squelch, which didnt surprise herthe rain wasnt stopping; the sky was just emptying about her head.
That she was soaked to her skin was the least of her worries. She hardly cared about being drenched. Though she did begin to hope that another car might come by. If its driver was female Mallon hoped she would stop and give her a lift.
More of her shock receded and, feeling cold, wet, and decidedly miserable, Mallon half wished she had accepted a lift with the grey-eyed stranger.
A moment later and she was scoffing at any such nonsense. Shed had it with men; lechers, the lot of them! She had known some prime examples in her ex-stepfather, her ex-stepbrother, her ex-boyfriend, without the most recent example of that ilk, her ex-employer.
The rain pelted down, and, since she couldnt possibly become any more sodden, Mallon stopped walking and tried to assess her situation. She supposed she must have put a distance of about a mile or so between her and Almora Lodge. She had sprinted out of there dressed just as she was, in a cotton dresstoo het up then to consider that this was probably the wettest summer on recordand without a thought in her head about nipping upstairs to collect her handbag. Her only thought then had been to put some space between her and the drunken Rolandcall me RolyPhillips.
Mallon resumed walking, her pace more of a dejected amble now as she accepted that, new to the area, she had no idea where she was going. Her only hope was that someone, foolhardy enough to motor out in such foul weather, would stop and offer her a lift.
Surely no one with so much as a single spark of decency would leave a dog out in such conditions, much less drive on by without offering her a lift?
Perhaps that was why the grey-eyed man had stopped? He hadnt sounded too thrilled at the notion of inviting her drenched person to mess up his leather upholstery. If, that was, his sharp-sounding Get in! had been what you could call an invitation.
Well, he knew what he couldHer thoughts broke off as her ears picked up the purring sound of a car engine. She haltedthe rain had slackened off a littleand she turned and watched as the car came into view.
She eyed the vehicle warily as it drew level, and then stopped. The window slid downand at the same time the heavens opened again. Solemn, deeply blue eyes stared into cool grey eyes. He must have driven in a circle, she realised.
The man did not smile, nor did he invite her into his car, exactly. What he did say, was, Had enough?
Mallon supposed that, with her blonde hair plastered darkly to her head, her dress clinging past saturation to her body and legs, she must look not dissimilar to the proverbial drowned rat.
She gave a shaky sigh. It looked as though she had two choices. Tell him to clear off, when heaven alone knew when another car would come along, or get into that car with him. He looked all rightbut that didnt mean a thing.
Are you offering? she questioned jerkily.
His answer was to turn from her and to lean and open the passenger door. Then, as cool as you please, he pressed a button and the drivers window began to close.
Feeling more like creeping into some dark corner and having a jolly good howl, Mallon hesitated for only a moment or two longer. She still felt wary, but she also felt defeated.
She crossed in front of the vehicle and got in beside the stranger. When he stretched out his hand nearest her she jumped nervously. The man gave her a sharp glance, her wariness of him not missed, she gathered. Then he completed his intention of turning on the heater and directing the warmth on to her.
Instinctively she wanted to say she was sorrybut for what? She roused herselfall men were pigs; he would be no exception, and she would be a fool to think otherwise.
They had driven about half a mile when he asked, Where are you going?
The car had a good heater and she supposed she could have thanked him for his thoughtfulness. But she didnt want to get into conversation with him. Nowhere, she answered tiredly.
He gave a small snort of exasperation. Let me put it another way. Where would you like me to drop you?
He was exasperated? Tough! Anywhere, she replied. She hadnt a clue where she was going, where she was, evennone of the area was familiar territory.
He turned his head, grey eyes raking her. Where have you come from? he questioned tersely.
She was feeling warmer than she had been, and while she was still wary, she felt a shade more relaxed. To her ears this man was sounding a touch fed up because he had bothered to act as any decent human being would to a fellow person and had bothered to pick her up at all. But she had a feeling that if she didnt soon answer he would open the door and tip her out. It was warm in the car. Somehow she felt too beaten to want to squelch out in the rain again.
Almora Lodge, she said. Ive come from Almora Lodge.
She wondered if he knew where Almora Lodge was, but realised he probably did when he asked, Do you want me to take you back there?
No, I dont! she answered sharply, tartly. She drew a very shaky breath, and was a degree more in control when she added. No, thank you. I dont want to go back thereever.
Again she felt grey eyes on her, but was suddenly too tired and too emotionally exhausted to care. He said nothing, however, but motored on for a couple of miles, and then started to slow the car down.
Alarm rocketed through her. Apart from a large derelict-looking building to the right, which stood in what looked like the middle of a field, there seemed to be no other dwelling for miles.
He slowed the car right down and steered it to what appeared to be the only respectable part of the derelict propertymainly the stone pillars either side of a gateless entrance that declared Harcourt House.
Where are you taking me? she cried fearfully, her imagination working overtime. She could lie buried for years in the rubble hereabouts, or in one of those about-to-fall-down-looking outbuildings, and no one would be any the wiser!
In sharp contrast to her panicking tones, however, his tone was calm and evenif a shade irritated. Like Sinbad, I appear to be lumbered, he answered, whichrecalling the tale of the old man of the sea who refused to get off Sinbads backshe didnt think was very complimentary. You dont know where you want to go, and Im not in the mood to play guessing games. Im stopping off here to pick up some of my gear and
You live here! she exclaimed in disbelief.
I live in London. Im having this place rebuilt, he said heavily, going on, I hadnt intended to come down this weekend, but with this rain forecast I came down last night to check if a bad part of the roof had been made sound. That, it appeared, was all the explanation he had any intention of making. Because he was soon going on, Ive a couple of things to do inside that may take some whileyou can either stay in the car incubating pneumonia until I can drop you off at the first shelter for homeless persons I come to, or you can come inside and dry off whats left of your frock while you wait for me in a heated kitchen. So saying, he drove round to the rear of the house and braked.
Mallon stared at him for several stunned seconds, the homeless persons bit passing her by as her glance went from him and down over her dress.
With horrified eyes she saw that her dress was torn in several places. The worst tear was where the material had been ripped away in her struggle, and her bra, now transparent from her soaking, was clearly revealing the fullness of her left breastthe pink tip just as clearly on view.
Oh! she cried chokily, her cheeks flushing red, tears of humiliation not far away.
Dont you dare cry on me! he threatened bracingly, about the best tone he could have used in the circumstances, she realised. Come on, lets get you inside, he said authoritatively and, taking charge, was out of the car and coming round to open the passenger door.
She did not immediately get out of the car. Shed had one tremendous frightshe was not going to trust again in a hurry. Thankfully the rain had, for the moment, abated. The stranger was tall and he bent down to look at her as stubbornly, a hand hiding her left breast, she stayed where she was, refusing to budge.
You wont? she questioned, and discovered she had no need to complete the sentence.
Steady grey eyes stared back at her and every bit as though she had asked, did he fancy her enough to try and take advantage? his glance skimmed over the wreck she knew she must look, and Not in a million years, he said succinctly. Which, while not being in the least flattering, was the most reassuring answer he could have given her.
He left her to trail after him when she was ready, opening up the rear door and entering what she could now see was a property that was in the process of undergoing major rebuilding.
Mallon stepped from the car and, careful where she walked, picked her way over builders paraphernalia. The rear hall was dark and littered with various lengths of new timber. It was a dull afternoon. Up ahead of her an electric light had been switched on. From this she knew that, electricians having been at work, Harcourt House was no longer as derelict as it had once been and, if the front of the house was anything to go by, it appeared still to be.
Holding her dress to her, she followed the light and found the grey-eyed man in the act of switching on an electric kettle in what, to her amazement, was a superbly fitted-out kitchen.
Your wife obviously has her priorities sorted out, Mallon commented, hovering uncertainly in the doorway.