Mistress by Agreement

He had his hands on her forearms and she couldn’t move, but she raised her head defiantly, looking him full in the face.

“Actually, yes.” And she made sure he knew she meant it. She waited for his temper to rise, but he considered her dryly, his head to one side.

“Some girls wouldn’t mind that,” he said softly. “Being wined and dined with no strings attached is what plenty of career women call for these days. No messy complications or irritating ties.”

She didn’t know quite how to answer that. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?” she muttered crossly. Her voice wasn’t as acidic as she would have liked, mainly because with the palms of her hands pressed against his chest so hard she could feel the beat of his heart, and with the smell and feel of him all around her, her head was beginning to spin.

Getting to know him in the boardroom—and the bedroom!

A secret romance, a forbidden affair, a thrilling attraction…

What happens when two people work together and simply can’t help falling in love—no matter how hard they try to resist?

Find out in our ongoing series of stories set in the world of work.

Available only from Harlequin Presents®

Mistress by Agreement

Helen Brooks

MILLS & BOON

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

‘MISS MILBURN? Mr Ward is here for his ten o’clock appointment.’ Rosalie’s secretary’s disembodied voice from the intercom was not as calm and businesslike as usual, and Rosalie knew why, having met the said Mr Ward at a dinner party a few weeks earlier.

She glanced at her neat gold wrist-watch. Eight minutes to ten; he was early. She forced herself to breathe deeply before saying, ‘Ask Mr Ward to wait a few moments, please, Jenny.’

‘Yes, Miss Milburn.’

The intercom clicked goodbye and Rosalie sank back in the big leather chair, her heart racing. This was stupid; this was so, so stupid. What on earth was the matter with her? She had been like a cat on a hot tin roof since Kingsley Ward had made the appointment a week ago—or rather his secretary had liaised with her secretary, to be exact.

Of course she could have insisted he see one of the other three partners in the firm of chartered quantity surveyors she was part of, after her polite message—again via the two secretaries—that she was terribly busy but had arranged for Mr Ward to see a colleague had been turned down flat.

Mr Ward was quite happy to wait until she was available, his secretary had told Jenny, and there was no question of seeing someone else. Miss Milburn had been personally recommended, and Mr Ward always went on personal recommendation.

And now he was here. Rosalie glanced nervously round the big, light-filled office that tended to be her home from home with the long hours she worked. She even slept on the couch that occupied one corner when the occasion warranted it. Kingsley Ward was here and it was only at this precise moment that she acknowledged the meeting had been weighing on her spirit like a ton of bricks. It wasn’t even as if they had got on that evening at Jamie’s house—just the opposite, in fact.

Rosalie stood, walking across to the massive plate-glass window that overlooked half of Kensington. She stared into the street below without really seeing any of the little ant-type figures scurrying about, a frown wrinkling the pure line of her brow.

She could remember the exact moment she had walked into Jamie’s large and very plush drawing room in Richmond and glanced across the assembled couples, only to find her gaze held and transfixed by a pair of piercingly blue eyes, which had narrowed to twin points of light on her face. She had been aware of David at the side of her saying something, but for the life of her she had been unable to move or speak. And then the cerulean gaze, its deep blue as clear as a summer’s sky, had released her, the man in question turning his head in answer to something the woman on his arm had said. She had taken a deep and very necessary gasp of air, deep enough for David to say anxiously, ‘Are you all right, Lee? What’s the matter?’

‘The matter? Nothing,’ She forced a smile, before adding, ‘How are you feeling? That’s more to the point.’ David was an old and very dear university friend who had just been through a painful and acrimonious divorce, which had caused him to totter on the edge of a nervous breakdown for months. The evening was his first venture into the social scene since his wife had left him, taking their two children to live with her new lover, and he had been visibly shaking in the taxi earlier. Only the fact that they were as comfortable together as a pair of old shoes had persuaded him to leave his recently acquired bachelor flat when she had called for him.

‘I’m okay.’ His smile was more of a grimace and Rosalie felt for him. ‘It’s just that I’ve never been much good at this sort of thing, dinner parties and such. Ann was always the one who was the life and soul of the party.’

Ann had been a cold-hearted, predatory exhibitionist who had systematically alienated every other female she had ever come into contact with, along with making a play for every man. However, Rosalie thought it wasn’t the right time to point that out.

‘Nonsense,’ she said briskly. ‘You’re great company, you always have been, it’s just that your confidence has taken a bit of a mauling lately.’ Which was putting it mildly. ‘Now, we’re just going to circulate and smile and make polite conversation whilst we sip one of Jamie’s magnificent cocktails and contemplate the superb dinner ahead. Did you know he’s buttonholed one of the chefs from Hatfields tonight? Apparently he’s a friend of a friend and Jamie’s offered him a small fortune to come and put on this dinner on his evening off.’

‘Really?’ David was an accountant and now the pound sign showed in his eyes. ‘How much is a small fortune?’

‘Ask Gabby, she’ll be sure to know.’ Rosalie guided him over to one of their more inquisitive friends who had a reputation for winkling anything out of anyone, and stood listening with some amusement to their conversation.

That died abruptly when a smooth voice at her elbow said, ‘Rosalie. Unusual name. French origin, I think?’ and she turned to see the possessor of the faint American burr.

Kingsley Ward was tall, very tall, with a muscled strength that made the beautifully tailored dinner jacket sit on him like a designer’s dream, Rosalie remembered now, her cheeks flushing at the memory. He was hard and ruggedly handsome, his face one of sharply defined planes and angles, which said he took no prisoners, and she gazed up at him with a sensation akin to numbness freezing her response. Ebony hair cut very short along with ridiculously thick eyelashes emphasised the brilliant blue of his eyes even more close to, but it was the overall sense of maleness that was so intimidating. Uncomfortably, unsettlingly intimidating. Enough to make her want to turn tail and run.

Instead she lifted her chin ever so slightly, calling on all the resources of her thirty-one years as she said coolly, ‘My mother was French.’

‘That explains the chic and classical elegance.’

Yuk, what a smoothie! And if there was anything she disliked it was handsome smooth-talkers who thought they were God’s gift to the female race.

She was unaware that her thoughts were mirrored in her eyes until the warm social smile and interested expression on the hard face vanished. His gaze took on the quality of blue ice, and he said coolly, ‘I have obviously interrupted a riveting conversation you are anxious to get back to. Excuse me,’ at which point he turned and walked away, leaving her feeling more than a little ashamed of herself. And she hated feeling like that.

The way the evening had gone thus far she supposed it was inevitable she was seated between David and Kingsley Ward for dinner. He was coldly polite to her, and charming and amusing to everyone else, and as she sat and listened to the banter as the meal progressed she was forced to admit he was excellent company.

But of course men like Kingsley Ward often were excellent company, Rosalie reminded herself now, turning from the window. They loved to be the centre of attention for one thing, and for another, with natural attributes like devastating good looks and a physique most men would kill for, they had a self-confidence and air of sexy wickedness that was an aphrodisiac all in itself.

Was that why she had dressed with such care this morning? And then she answered the nasty little probing voice from her conscience with a sharp, No, not at all! She always made sure she was well turned out for the office, and with a prospective new client it was extra important. That was all. That definitely was all.

The wrist-watch reminded her it was a minute to ten and bite-the-bullet time. She sat down again at her desk, smoothed her hair and took a deep breath. She resisted the impulse to check her make-up in the mirror in her cosmetics bag and felt quite proud of herself for doing so.

‘Right.’ She pressed the intercom. ‘I can see Mr Ward now, Jenny,’ she said brightly.

A moment or two later the door opened and Jenny all but curtsied Kingsley Ward into the room, Rosalie noticed with a dart of annoyance as her back stiffened for the onslaught of the piercingly blue gaze. But she was prepared for it this time. Her heart was thudding but outwardly she was the epitome of the successful business-woman, cool, collected and very in control. ‘Good morning, Mr Ward.’ She had been determined to get the first word in and set the tone. ‘Won’t you sit down?’

She hadn’t offered to shake his hand, which was something that would have been automatic usually, but—and she acknowledged it was stupid—she didn’t want to touch him.

Kingsley Ward had no such inhibitions. He strode across the office, hand outstretched, as he responded, ‘Good morning, Rosalie. I may call you Rosalie? And you must call me Kingsley, or King if you prefer.’

The last was said in just the same brisk voice as the rest of his opening gambit, but Rosalie had looked into his face and she was sure she saw something mocking there.

As her small hand was enfolded in a giant one that was warm and hard, she steeled herself to show no reaction at all. Nevertheless, her breathing wasn’t quite even when she said, withdrawing her hand the very second it wasn’t rude to do so, ‘How may Carr and Partners help you?’ as she gestured again for him to be seated.

She was a cool one all right, and just as sleek and sophisticated as he remembered from that damn awful dinner party. Kingsley folded himself into the seat opposite the desk, his long legs crossed one over the other and his arms going out along the arms of the upholstered chair in a pose that was naturally masculine. True, the elegant cocktail dress had been replaced by a beautifully tailored business suit, but the silver-blue shade brought out the copper tints in that wonderful chestnut hair and turned the grey eyes mother-of-pearl. He hadn’t seen such a naturally lovely woman in years, so how come his careful enquiries had revealed there was no man in her life at present, nor had there been for some time as far as anyone knew? Of course she could just be an obsessive career woman married to her job, but… The soft mouth was too full and the small chin too vulnerable for that.

He smiled, slowly. ‘We started off on the wrong foot at Jamie’s dinner party, didn’t we?’ he drawled easily. ‘How about we try again?’

How about we don’t? Rosalie lifted fine eyebrows in polite enquiry. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand?’ she said frostily.

He stared at her for a moment, just long enough for her cheeks to begin to turn a definite pink, and then he shrugged, straightening in the chair and picking up the briefcase he had placed at the side of him when he had sat down. ‘Ward Enterprises acquired just over a hundred acres of land situated between Oxford and London a few weeks ago,’ he said curtly as he opened the briefcase and extracted some paperwork. ‘I want to build a hotel and country club, with an eighteen-hole golf course, landscaped gardens, helicopter landing pad and so on, similar to the ones I own in the States. Here is the architect’s plan and the full brief. Interested?’ He pushed the papers over the desk before settling back in his chair again.

Interested? Suddenly becoming aware that her mouth had fallen open in a small gape, Rosalie shut it with a little snap, her cheeks brilliant now. She had been so rude to him—so rude—and all the time there had been the possibility of this fabulous project for Carr and Partners. Why hadn’t anyone at Jamie’s told her that he was an entrepreneur—and a pretty wealthy one if this was anything to go by? But she had been looking after David for most of the evening, she reminded herself feverishly; that was when she hadn’t been ignoring Kingsley Ward, of course.

‘May I examine these for a moment?’ Her voice sounded remarkably normal considering she felt about an inch tall.

‘Sure, take all the time you want.’

Concentrate, Lee, concentrate. As she spread out the plan and attempted to look at it it danced before her eyes for a second or two before she took a deep breath and willed her racing heart to behave. It didn’t help that Kingsley Ward was straight in front of her with his gaze fixed on her face—she might not be looking at him now but she could feel those twin lasers on her skin.

After a little while professionalism took over and she became engrossed in the plan and brief, excitement growing like an expanding ball in her stomach. This was a terrific job and a fantastic opportunity, but she had to admit one of the other partners—any of the other partners—was more qualified for such a massive undertaking than she.

Mike, Peter and Ron were all well over forty. Mike was approaching fifty-five, with a wealth of experience to draw on, and she was very much the junior partner. She would have to make it clear to Kingsley Ward that if Carr and Partners were given the job, one of the other partners would almost certainly insist he took over.

She raised her head. He was sitting in the same pose as before, leaning back against the seat, breathtakingly relaxed and sure of himself, but this time the almost tangible authority brought no irritation, all her senses tied up with how best to put what she was going to say. ‘Mr Ward—’

‘Kingsley,’ he interrupted, very softly.

She nodded, her cheeks—which had just cooled—firing up again. She had always loathed the way she blushed so easily but it went hand in hand with the red lights in her chestnut hair and there was nothing she could do about it. ‘Kingsley,’ she began again, ‘this is a wonderful job and I know Carr and Partners would be thrilled to take it on if you saw fit to put it our way—’

‘But?’

She had always taken exception to being interrupted, she considered it the height of rudeness, and now she breathed out just once before she continued, ‘But I’m afraid you are talking to the wrong person. My partners are all older and more experienced, and they would be able to tackle this project far better than me, much as I would love to do it.’

He shifted slightly in the chair, lean male thighs outlined for a moment or two under the Armani suit, and Rosalie’s nerves jerked. ‘You would love to do it?’ he said quietly.

‘Yes, of course, but you would need someone who—’

‘Then do it.’ It was as though he hadn’t heard her. She stared at him, and he said softly, ‘Let me put it another way. I am not a fool, Rosalie, and I would not offer you the job if I did not think you were capable of doing it. I have been assured from various quarters that to date you have handled your work competently, ethically and thoroughly, and more than one person has told me that you are particularly skilful in detecting problems with builders before they occur. Am I right?’

She was pinned by the blue eyes and could do no more than nod her head.

‘Good.’ He spoke as if the matter was settled and Rosalie had a moment of panic.

She cleared her throat. ‘The thing is, the decision is not up to me,’ she said carefully.

‘No, it is up to me,’ he agreed shortly, standing. Rosalie rose quickly, her head spinning. Was he leaving already? It appeared so. ‘Discuss the job with your partners, by all means, but make it clear I am engaging you, please. If they need to speak to me you have my number in England and in the States on the information I have given you.’

He was already walking to the door as he spoke and then he paused, turning to look at her. ‘Do you feel you could do the work, given the chance?’ he asked quietly. ‘You said you would love to do it but that isn’t necessarily the same thing. The time angle is not so much of a problem, I can be flexible to a degree.’

She was still reeling with the suddenness of it all but there was no hesitation in her voice when she said, ‘Yes, I can do it. I’ve not tackled anything on this scale before, I have to admit, but, yes. The job I’m working on at the moment will be finished within a week or so, and after that there is nothing planned which I can’t pass on to one of the others.’

‘Good.’ It was silky soft. ‘My secretary will liaise with you as necessary, but I am a hands-on kind of guy, Rosalie, so we’ll be seeing quite a bit of each other over the next months.’

Rosalie blinked. The words sounded innocent enough but there had been a smoky flavour to them that had set her antennae waving. And then she told herself not to be so silly. This was work, business, that was all. Kingsley Ward was obviously an enormously successful and wealthy mogul, and with his looks, not to mention his money and male charisma, he must have the women lining up in droves. It had been one of the things that had set her teeth on edge at Jamie’s wretched dinner party—the way every woman present had been all but dribbling with lust. And of course he’d lapped up the attention; what man wouldn’t?

He was waiting for a response. She pulled herself together as the realisation hit, stitching a polite smile on her face with some effort. ‘We’ve still got a way to go before you give Carr and Partners the work, surely?’ she said evenly. ‘You haven’t asked the fee for my services.’

She realised too late she could have put that better when the blue eyes flickered, just once, and he said, very dryly, ‘What exactly do you charge, Rosalie?’

With anyone else she could have turned it into a joke or frozen the individual out with one of the icy looks she had perfected years ago, but Kingsley Ward wasn’t anyone else. And she was burning up with enough heat to spontaneously combust.

Rosalie took the coward’s way out and acted dumb. ‘For a job of this kind we tend to estimate a cost,’ she said tightly. ‘It isn’t always possible to be specific when one is dealing with contractors and subcontractors, and things don’t always go according to plan. Materials might not be available when they ought to be, for example, or there may be a technical hitch which makes the job more difficult and therefore more time-consuming. Of course, this is not usually the case,’ she added quickly.

‘Quite,’ he said soothingly, making her aware she was gabbling.

‘The first thing I would need to do is to draw up a bill of quantities, which is a list of all the materials needed to complete the project right down to the smallest detail. This would extend to several hundred pages for a job of this nature.’

He held up a restraining hand, his voice even dryer when he said, ‘You are telling me you don’t come cheap, is that it?’

She had never met anyone she would like to punch on the nose more, or anyone who could make the most normal conversation sizzle with sexual undertones like this man. Or was it her? The thought kicked like a mule. Was she imagining all this? She didn’t like being confused and it sounded in her voice when she said, ‘It’s always worth paying for the best in the long run.’

‘My sentiments exactly,’ he drawled silkily, his American accent suddenly strong. ‘And that being the case I am sure I will hear from you shortly with a tidy breakdown, and some sort of ceiling cost, okay?’

‘Yes, of course.’ He had opened the door before she realised she hadn’t thanked him for what was the most fantastic opportunity of her career to date, but even as the words hovered on her tongue he had gone without a backward glance or a goodbye.

CHAPTER TWO

ROSALIE worked harder than she had ever done over the next few weeks. Once she’d finished with the job she’d been engaged on when Kingsley Ward had made his amazing proposition, she began working on the bill of quantities for the Ward project, which was an enormous undertaking. It didn’t help that she was aware her three senior partners were a little anxious about it all.

When she had told Mike Carr and the other two about the meeting with Kingsley Ward, Mike had called Kingsley the same day, after which he had come and perched on her desk in the late evening just as Rosalie had been thinking of going home.

‘There’s no doubt he wants you for the job.’ Mike looked at the slim, beautiful woman in front of him, whom he both respected and admired, and in whom he had taken a fatherly interest almost from the first day Rosalie had begun at Carr and Partners fresh from university ten years before. ‘Know much about him, do you?’

Rosalie stared at him in surprise. Mike was more than a working colleague; shortly after she had been engaged by the firm she had discovered she had been at university with his daughter, Wendy, and after a reunion with the other girl it had become common for her to spend the odd weekend at the Carrs’ lovely old house in Harrow. The family’s friendship had come at a painful time in her private life and had meant the world. It still did, even though—with Wendy now married and living abroad, and Rosalie having been taken on as junior partner, which had doubled her workload and made for less socialising—she saw less of the family as a whole.

‘Not a thing, really,’ she admitted after a moment or two. ‘Why? Isn’t he creditworthy?’

Mike smiled. ‘You really don’t know anything about him, do you? Oh, yes, he’s creditworthy, all right, Lee. Ward Enterprises was begun by his father over thirty years ago, but until Kingsley was old enough to come on board it was just a moderately successful little hotel chain comprising of some three or four fairly middle-of-the-road establishments. Kingsley changed all that. He had the vision to buy up land and make the Ward name synonymous with luxury hotels complete with a couple of golf courses, hundreds of acres of parkland and so on, the sort of places the rich and famous would go to to enjoy peace and seclusion where their every need is catered for. To put it crudely, my dear, Kingsley Ward is loaded.’