Hired: Mistress: Wanted: Mistress and Mother / His Private Mistress / The Millionaire's Secret Mistress

CHAPTER SEVEN

PREDICTABLY, Katrina had a plumber screeching up the driveway within seconds of Dante’s chopper lifting off the smooth lawn, and Matilda could almost envisage her bags being moved yet again, but quietly hoped for a miracle. And it wasn’t all about Dante. Waking up to the most glorious sunrise, stretching like a lazy cat in the scrummy bed, as superficial as it might be, Matilda was terribly reluctant to leave her very nice surroundings.

‘White ants!’ Katrina almost choked on her Earl Grey as the plumber she had summoned popped his head around the kitchen door and Matilda smothered a smile as she loaded a tray with coffee to take out to the workers for their break. ‘Well, surely you can replace the water system and then we’ll get the place treated once…’ She managed to stop herself from saying it, but the unspoken words hung in the air and Matilda took great interest in filling up the sugar bowl as Katrina paused and then, rather more carefully, spoke on. ‘Just sort out the water, please. It doesn’t all have to be done today.’

‘Can’t do, I’m afraid,’ he said cheerfully. ‘The wall’s not stable enough to hold a new system. The place needs to be treated and then some of the walls will have to be replaced—it’s going to be a big job.’

It wasn’t the only big job the next couple of days unearthed.

Katrina practically moved into Dante’s, appearing long before he went to work and staying well into the night when Dante finally got home—not that Matilda really noticed. All her energies were taken up with the garden—her efficient start to the job but a distant memory as problems compounded problems. The glorious willow tree had roots that weren’t quite as wondrous, thwarting Matilda’s carefully lain plans at each and every turn. And a rather unproductive day followed by a floodlit late night were spent with the plumber and electrician, trying to find a suitable spot to lay the pipes for the water features. Then, just when that was taken care of, Matilda awoke to the news that, despite her inspection, the white ants had migrated from the summerhouse to the rear wall of the fence, which would set things back yet another day while it was ripped out and replaced. More skips delivered, more delays ensuing, and by the time she dragged herself back to the house, all Matilda could manage was a warmed-up meal and a very weary goodnight as, drooping with exhaustion, she headed off for bed.

Still as the week drew to a close, if not order then at least a semblance of control had been restored. Finally the pipes were laid, the electricity was on and the garden that had till now merely lived in her mind could actually start to emerge.

‘I think we must have a mole on steroids,’ Dante quipped, eyeing the mounds of earth that littered the area, and his easy humour bought the first smile in a long time to Matilda’s tense face as he wandered in with Alex late one evening to check on the progress. ‘I hear things haven’t gone exactly to plan.’

‘On the contrary,’ Matilda replied. ‘Things have gone exactly to plan—there’s always a disaster waiting to happen with this kind of work. But I think we’re finally under control.’

‘Will you be joining us for dinner?’

‘Us?’ Matilda checked, because Alex was clearly ready for bed.

‘Katrina and Hugh have come over—I should give Janet the numbers.’

‘No, thanks.’ Matilda shook her head but didn’t elaborate, didn’t make up an excuse or reason.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been over.’ Dante switched Alex to his other hip. ‘My trial preparation has taken up a lot of time, things have been busy—’

‘Tell me about it,’ Matilda said, rolling her eyes.

‘I’m sure that I’d bore you to death,’ Dante responded, completely missing the point. But somehow the language barrier actually worked in their favour for once, the tiny misunderstanding opening a door, pushing the stilted, polite conversation way beyond the intentions of either participant. ‘Are you really interested?’

‘Very,’ Matilda responded. ‘Completely unqualified, of course, but terribly interested.’

‘But you know that I cannot discuss it with you.’

‘I know,’ Matilda answered. ‘I mean, at the end of the day, the barrister mulling over his case with the gardener…’

‘I cannot discuss it with anyone,’ Dante broke in, and she watched as his eyes closed in shuttered regret, felt again the weight of responsibility that rode on his broad shoulders and ached to soothe him.

‘I know,’ Matilda said softly, then gave him a little spontaneous nudge. ‘Well, I don’t know exactly, but I have got pay TV.’ She smiled at his frown. ‘I’ve paced the courtroom floor with the best of them, and from what I’ve gleaned you’re allowed to talk in general terms.’

‘You’re crazy.’ Dante laughed, his palpable tension momentarily lifting, but the shrill of his mobile broke the moment. Matilda watched as he juggled his daughter and flicked out his mobile, watched the vivid concentration on his face, the turn of his back telling her that this call was important. She reacted as anyone would have, held out her arms and offered to take his daughter, lifting the little girl into her arms, hardly registering the surprise on Dante’s face as he barked his orders into the phone.

‘She went to you!’

A full fifteen minutes had passed. Fifteen minutes of Dante talking into the phone as Matilda at first held Alex but when she got a bit heavy, Matilda put her down, gathering the few exhausted, remaining daisies from under the willow, slitting the stalks with her thumb and making if not a daisy chain then at least a few links—chatting away to an uncommunicative Alex. But the little girl did appear to be watching at least and now Dante was kneeling down with them, staring open mouthed at what Matilda considered was really a very normal scene.

‘Sorry?’ Matilda was trying to wrestle a very limp stalk into a very thin one.

‘Alex actually went to you.’ Dante’s voice had a slightly incredulous note as he watched Alex take the small chain of daisies Matilda was offering.

‘I’m really not that scary, Dante.’ Matilda smiled.

‘You don’t understand. Alex doesn’t go to anyone. You saw what she was like the other day when it was me trying to pick her up.’

‘Maybe she’s ready to start trusting a little again…’ Matilda looked over at Dante and spoke over the little blonde head that was between them. Even though it was Alex she was talking about, they knew her words were meant for both. ‘Maybe now she’s done it once, it will be easier the next time.’ For an age she stared at him, for an age he stared back, then his hands hovered towards his daughter, ready to pick her up and head for the house, ready to walk away yet again. But Matilda’s voice halted him. ‘Let her play for a few minutes. She’s enjoying the flowers.’ She was, her little fingers stroking the petals, concentration etched on her face, and for all the world she looked like any other little girl lost in a daydream. ‘Talk to me, Dante,’ Matilda said. ‘You might surprise yourself and find that it helps.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘I do,’ Matilda said firmly, watching as his gaze drifted to Alex, and finally after the longest time he spoke.

‘Remember when we talked at the restaurant?’ She could hear him choosing his words carefully. ‘You asked if I ever regret winning and I said no?’ Matilda nodded. ‘I lied.’

‘I know,’ Matilda answered.

‘Not professionally, of course.’ Dante pondered, his accent a little more pronounced as his mind clearly wandered elsewhere. ‘I always walk into a courtroom wanting to win, I wouldn’t be there otherwise, but, yes, sometimes there is a feeling of…’ He snapped his fingers in impatience as he tried to find the right word.

‘Regret?’ Matilda offered, and Dante shook his head.

‘Unease,’ he said. ‘A sense of unease that I do my job so well.’

‘There would have to be,’ Matilda said carefully, knowing she couldn’t push things, knowing she had to listen to the little information he was prepared to give.

‘There is another side, too, though…’ His eyes found and held hers and Matilda knew that what he was about to tell her was important. ‘There are certain cases that matter more. Matter because…’ He didn’t continue, couldn’t perhaps, so Matilda did it for him.

‘Because if you won there would be no unease?’ She watched the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, knew she had guessed correctly, that Dante was telling her, as best he could, that the man he was defending was innocent and that this case, perhaps, mattered more than most.

‘You’ll win,’ Matilda said assuredly, and Dante let out a tired sigh and gave a rather resigned smile, pulling himself up to go, clearly wondering why he’d bothered talking to her if that was the best she could come up with! ‘You will—you always do,’ Matilda said with absolute conviction. ‘Your client couldn’t have better representation.’

‘Matilda,’ Dante said with dry superiority, ‘we’re not talking about my client and, anyway, you have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh, but I do.’ Her green eyes caught his as he reached out for his daughter.

‘You know nothing about law,’ Dante needlessly pointed out. ‘You know nothing about—’

‘Perhaps,’Matilda interrupted. ‘But you’ve already told me what you’re capable of, already told me that you can do it even if you don’t believe…’ She paused for a moment, remembering the rules, remembering that she had to keep it general. ‘If I were in trouble, I mean.’ She gave a cheeky grin. ‘Suppose I had been caught taking those chocolates and assuming I could afford you…’ She gave a tiny roll eye as her fantasy took on even more bizarre proportions. ‘I’d want to walk into court with the best.’

‘Am I the best for him, though?’ He raked a hand through his jet hair and it was Dante who forgot to keep things general.

‘Absolutely,’ Matilda whispered. ‘I’d want the best I could afford, Dante, but having you believe in me would mean a thousand times more. Think of what you’ve already achieved then imagine what you’re capable of when you actually believe in someone.’A frown marred his brow, but it wasn’t one of tension, more realization, and Matilda knew that she’d got through to him, knew that somehow she’d reassured him, maybe helped a little even. ‘You’re going to be fine,’ Matilda said again, and this time he didn’t bite back, this time he didn’t shoot her down with some superior remark, just gave her a gentle nod of thanks.

‘Time for bed, Alex,’ Matilda said, holding her arms out to the little girl, and even though Alex didn’t hold out her own arms, she didn’t resist when Matilda picked her up and wandered with Dante to the gate.

‘She likes you,’ Dante said as he took a sleepy Alex from Matilda.

‘I’m very easy to like,’ Matilda answered.

‘Very easy,’ Dante said, only, unlike before, Matilda knew there were no double meanings or cruel euphemisms to mull over. As he walked away the echo of his words brought a warm glow to her tired, aching body.

Quite simply it was the nicest thing he’d ever said.

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘I’M SORRY to have disturbed you.’

‘It’s fine.’ Matilda attempted, struggling to sit up, slightly disorientated and extremely embarrassed that Dante had found her in the middle of the day, hot and filthy in nothing more than the skimpiest of shorts and a crop top, lying on a blanket with her eyes closed. Absolutely the last person she was expecting to see at this hour, he was dressed in his inevitable dark suit, but there was a slightly more relaxed stance to him. He held a brown paper bag in one hand and he didn’t look in his usual rush—his usually perfectly knotted tie was loosened, the top button of his shirt undone. But his dark eyes were shielded with sunglasses making his closed expression even more unreadable if that were possible.

‘You’ve done a lot.’

‘It’s getting there.’Matilda nodded. ‘And if I keep going at full speed, I could still be done by early next week.’

He didn’t say a word, he didn’t have to. Just a tiny questioning lift of his eyebrow from behind his dark glasses was enough for Matilda.

‘I am allowed to take a break,’ Matilda retorted.

‘I didn’t say anything!’

‘You might not have said it but I certainly heard it. I am allowed to take a break, Dante. For your information, I’ve been working since first light this morning—apart from a coffee at ten I haven’t stopped.’

‘You don’t have to justify yourself to me.’

‘No, I don’t.’ Matilda agreed.

‘How you organise your time is entirely your business. It’s just…’ His voice faded for a moment, a hint of a very unusual smile dusting across his face. ‘I think I must be in the wrong job. “Flat out” for me is back-to-back meetings, endless phone calls, figures, whereas the twice I’ve seen you work, you’re either taking an impromptu shower with a water bottle or dozing under a tree.’ She opened her mouth to set him straight, but Dante spoke over her. ‘I am not criticising you, I can see for myself the hours of work you have done. For once I was not even being sarcastic—I really was thinking back there when I saw you that I am in the wrong job!’

‘You are.’ Matilda smiled, the wind taken out of her sails by his niceness. ‘And for the record, I wasn’t dozing.’

‘Matilda, don’t try and tell me that you weren’t asleep. You didn’t even hear me come over. You were lying on your back with your eyes closed.’

‘I was meditating,’ Matilda said and seeing the disbelieving look on his face she elaborated further. ‘I did hear you come over, I just…’ It was Matilda’s voice fading now, wondering how she could explain to him that in her deeply relaxed state she had somehow discounted the information.

‘Just what?’

‘I didn’t hold onto the thought.’

‘You’ve lost me.’ He shook his head as if to clear it. ‘You’re really telling me that you weren’t asleep!’

‘That’s right—I often meditate when I’m working, that’s where I get my best ideas. You should try it,’ she added.

‘I have enough trouble getting to sleep at one in the morning, let alone in the middle of the day.’

‘My point exactly,’ Matilda said triumphantly. ‘I’ve already told you that I wasn’t asleep. You’re very quick to throw scorn, but sometimes the best way to find the answer to a question is to stop looking for it.’

‘Perhaps.’ Dante gave a dismissive shrug. ‘But for now I’ll stick with the usual methods. I actually came to see if you wanted some lunch.’ Before she could shake her head, before she could come up with an excuse as to why she didn’t want to go over and eat with Katrina, Dante held out the paper bag he was holding. ‘I bought some rolls from the deli.’

‘The deli?’

‘Why does that surprise you?’

‘I don’t know,’ Matilda admitted, her neck starting to ache from staring up, feeling at a distinct disadvantage as Dante hovered over her. Wiggling over, she patted the blanket for him to sit beside her. ‘It just does. How come you’re home?’

‘I live here,’ Dante quipped, but he did sit down beside her, pulling the rolls out of the bag and offering one to her. ‘I’ve spent the entire morning trying to read an important, complicated document relating to the case and haven’t got past the second page. My new secretary cannot distinguish between urgent and urgent yet.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Invariably anyone who wants to speak with me says that it is urgent—but she puts them all through, then I get waylaid. I decided to follow your business methods, they seem to be working for you.’

‘What method?’ Matilda gasped. ‘I didn’t know I had one!’

‘Turning the phone off and disappearing. Katrina is out with Alex today. I thought there was more chance of actually getting some work done if I just came home, but first I must have some lunch.’

‘I didn’t hear the chopper!’

‘I drove,’ Dante said, ‘and it was nice.’ They ate in amicable silence until Dante spoiled it, his words almost causing her to choke on her chicken and avocado roll. ‘I was thinking about you.’

‘Me?’

‘And how much I enjoy talking to you.’ He took off his dark glasses and smiled a lazy smile, utterly comfortable in his own skin as Matilda squirmed inside hers, wriggling her bare feet in the moss and staring at her toes. ‘And you’re right, it’s nice to take a moment to relax.’

Relaxed certainly wasn’t how Matilda would describe herself now. He was so close that if she moved her leg an inch they’d be touching, if his face came a fraction closer she knew they’d be kissing. Desire coursed through her as it had when she’d cut herself, only this time Dante didn’t seem to be pulling back, this time he was facing her head on. It was Matilda who turned abruptly away, terrified he’d read the naked lust in her eyes. She took a long drink from her water bottle then, blowing her fringe skywards and trying to keep her voice normal, determined not to make a fool of herself again, to be absolutely sure she wasn’t misreading things, she said, ‘You should try meditating if you want to be relaxed.’

‘It wouldn’t work,’ Dante dismissed.

‘It won’t if that’s your attitude…’ She could feel the atmosphere sizzling between them, knew that if she said what was on her mind then she’d be crossing a line, playing the most dangerous of dangerous games. ‘Try it,’ she breathed, her eyes daring him to join her. ‘Why don’t you lie back and try it now?’

‘Now?’ Dante checked, a dangerous warning glint in his eyes, which she heeded, but it only excited her more.

‘Now,’ Matilda affirmed. ‘Just lie back.’

‘Then what?’ Dante’s impatient voice demanded instruction as, impossibly tense, he lay back.

‘You close your eyes and just breathe,’ Matilda said, her head turning to face him, her own breath catching in her throat as she gazed at his strong profile. She’d been right with her very first assessment of Dante. He was astonishingly beautiful—his eyes were closed and black, surprisingly long lashes spiked downwards onto indigo smudges of exhaustion. His nose was chiselled straight, so straight and so absolutely in proportion to the rest of his features she could almost imagine some LA cosmetic surgeon downing his tools in protest as he surveyed the landscape of Dante Costello’s flawless face.

Flawless.

A perfectionist might point out that he hadn’t shaved, but the stubble that ghosted his strong jaw, merely accentuated things: a shiver of masculinity stirring beneath the surface; a glimpse of what he might look like in the intimate dawn of morning. His full mouth was the only softening feature, but even that was set in grim tension as he lay there.