Constantinou's Mistress (9 page)

‘Of course I've been listening,' he said irritably, impatient with himself for allowing her innate concentration to drift. He couldn't carry on for too long playing the waiting game, he decided. He would never get any work done! He dutifully and seriously discussed what she had been talking about, working his way through the letter she had outlined, approving of her ability to be tactful without losing a sense of urgency.

‘The other two files are fairly straightforward,' Nick said eventually, ‘and, in fact, there is no need to rush and work on either of them.' He stood up and flexed his powerful body. ‘Will you be all right on your own? I could go and get you something to eat.' Regrettably he would be unable to join her, enticing though the prospect was. There were only so many meetings he could cancel without his people getting suspicious. Although…

‘Oh, I'll be absolutely fine,' Lucy said quickly, firmly squashing even the remote possibility of Nick returning to her flat and this time to share a meal. ‘I'll do this work and Robert is coming round at four this afternoon.'

Nick's eyes narrowed and he strolled towards the door, chewing on this little piece of information.

‘Taking valuable time off work?' He gave a hearty chuckle, his back to her. ‘Must be serious!'

‘Oh, yes,' Lucy said spontaneously, frowning at the thought that Robert would resume his gentle persuasion in the direction he wanted to lead her. ‘He's asked me to marry him.'

N
ICK
was waiting for her the following morning. In fact, he had been sitting in his office since six-thirty that morning and had managed to complete a staggeringly negligible amount of work. He had printed out reams of pressing e-mails and they stared accusingly from the corner of his desk.

She was in his head. He couldn't quite understand why but assumed that it was because she was the one to have been there when he had most needed someone. He had been shattered on the night of the funeral, torn apart by guilt, rage and regret for a wasted life, and drowning in the fickle arms of alcohol, and she had been the one to take him in, to provide the comfort he had desperately needed.

All the women who had followed in his futile search for some kind of fulfilment had only served to remind him of the emptiness of relationships.

Was that what was driving him now? Some crazy desire to recreate the solace he had found with her? Or had she simply become a challenge which had been lurking there for months and which he had only recently acknowledged?

It didn't matter.

He just knew that when she had informed him that Robert had proposed to her he had felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. And Nick Constantinou did not take kindly to being punched in the gut. What red-blooded man did?

He glanced at his watch and then tensed as he became aware of her opening the outer office door.

He had kept his interconnecting door closed, all the better to get his self-composure fully in place before he said what he had to say.

By the time she knocked on his door, he was ready.

‘How are you feeling? Better?'

‘Much better.' She smiled sheepishly. ‘I thought I was coming down with some kind of bug, but I think I may just have had too much to drink the night before, hence the aching limbs and screaming headache. I'm not accustomed to alcohol.' She paused. ‘Would you like me to bring you in some coffee? By the way, I've managed to go through all those files after all.' She took a few steps into his office and handed him the lot. ‘Shall I fax the letter to Joe Rawlings or do you want me to e-mail it to him?'

‘Yes, bring me in a cup of coffee. We'll discuss Rawlings when you come in.'

He watched, sitting back in his swivel chair, as she departed his office and wondered what her reaction was going to be to what he had to say. Then he smiled lazily. He had been thrown by her shocking news that Robert had proposed but had noticed that there was no engagement ring on her finger. He had spent a restless night trying to tie things up in his mind, and at least on this count he figured he had fitted all the pieces together.

He had proposed and she had told him that she would think about it, that she needed time. Hence his overheard remark about her being sensible.
He,
Nick figured, was keener on putting the gold band on her finger than
she
was.
He
hoped for a celebration;
she,
however, still hadn't made up her mind.

He was still smiling when she walked back into his
office a few minutes later, primed with her notepad and her most severely businesslike expression.

‘Close the door, would you?'

‘I thought,' Lucy said, sitting down and crossing her legs primly, ‘I might begin work on the end-of-month accounts once I've done all the usual jobs. Also, on my way in, Ann in Accounts Receivable told me that two of her girls have gone down with flu and she's asked whether she can call a temp agency for them to send someone along to cover for a couple of days. I thought, though, that I might lend a hand down there if it's all right with you.'

‘No.'

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘No, it is not all right with me.' He leaned forward, joining the tips of his fingers at his chin and regarded her for a few long, thoughtful moments.

‘Oh.' Something about his focused silence made the hairs on the back of her neck stand uneasily on end, and she licked her lips nervously. ‘May I ask why?'

‘Because as of tomorrow you will not be here to lend a hand to anyone.'

The unexpectedness of his flat statement made her mouth drop open in surprise, and then she was besieged by frantic thoughts as she wondered what she had done or said to have warranted being sacked. Because that was what he was saying, wasn't it?

It suddenly occurred to her how much this job meant to her. She might have kidded herself that she could walk away from it without blinking an eye, but, faced with the reality of doing just that, she realised that she needed this stability. It wasn't just the pay. It was being with him, filling herself with his life force even though she knew that it was wrong and stupid.

‘You're firing me,' Lucy said numbly. ‘Can I ask why?'

Nick shot her a surprised look. ‘Firing you? What on earth are you talking about?'

Relief washed over her like a tidal wave.

‘I assumed… I thought…' she faltered.

‘You assumed and thought wrong. I have no intention of firing you. Just the opposite. You are to accompany me on a one-week trip to the Tradewinds. If Rawlings wants to try and avoid me, then he is going to have a hard time of it when we show up on the doorstep tomorrow.' It hadn't taken Nick long to arrive at that plan. In fact, it had been staring him in the face. The Tradewinds needed sorting out on a face-to-face basis, and he needed to get her out of London, away from the possibility that she might be idiotic enough to accept that man's proposal when marrying him would do her no good at all. He had no idea how he knew that, he just did, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he wanted her in his bed.

‘Tomorrow?'
Lucy squeaked. ‘But…'

‘I know, I know. You think that there is no way that we could possibly get out there that quickly, but I have a number of connections. We will fly to Barbados and then we can reach the island by a combination of small plane and boat. It will be a long journey, granted, but…' he mused on the irony of what he was about to say next ‘…worth it.'

‘Actually, I was more thinking that there's no way I can just up sticks and leave without a minute's notice.'

‘You have a passport, do you not?'

‘Yes, of course I do, but…'

‘And it
is
only for one week. You can spend the rest of the morning briefing your stand-in. I have already had
a word with Bob and filled him in on what I will be doing. Once you've done that, you are free to go and see to your packing.'

‘But…I can't just take off…'

‘Why not? I am sure Robert will understand. You have told me a number of times what an understanding man he is.'

‘What about clothes?' Lucy asked faintly. She had never done anything so impulsive in her life before, even though it was not of her doing, strictly speaking. ‘What sort of weather…?'

‘Hot. Very hot. Take a couple of hours to go shopping and that is an order. You will need casual clothes only. No suits. It will be baking hot, so…shorts, T-shirts, halter-necks, that type of thing…' he flirted with images of her scantily clad ‘…and bikinis, of course. Apart from the three pools at the hotel, the beach is a short walk away from the hotel front.'

‘But won't we be working all day?' Lucy asked helplessly.

‘We will be working, naturally, but not every hour of every day. And there will be no formal meetings, so even when we are working you will be free to dress down. Now, why don't you finish up here and you can go and do your shopping? The tickets should be with us at the check-in desk tomorrow.' He told her what time she needed to be at the airport, what time they would be leaving. The rest he left to her imagination, and then he settled down to enjoy the remainder of his day in pleasurable anticipation of the week ahead.

While Lucy pelted her way through Kensington, half thrilled to be going on a little adventure to a beautiful island, even though she knew that it was work, and half terrified at the prospect of being in Nick's presence for
a week without the helpful intrusions of telephones, computers and meetings.

By the time she got to her flat she had bought a shameful number of things, which she guiltily justified as due to her considering the short notice she had been given. Shorts, small, stretchy tops, some sandals and a couple of lightweight dresses that she could wear to any meetings.

Her suitcase, when packed, was admirably compact. Just sufficient to last the week. No falling into the trap of packing a change of outfit for every ten seconds of the day to find that only two were needed for the entire duration of the stay.

Nick, the following morning, was suitably impressed by her economical one suitcase.

‘Very sensible,' he said, grinning. ‘Most women would use that suitcase as a holdall for their make-up.' He enjoyed watching her bristle for a few seconds, leaning against the pillar with his suit carrier propped up next to him.

Even dressed down as he was, in khaki-coloured trousers and a short-sleeved shirt, he still exuded a frightening aura of powerful, expensive sexuality.

Alongside him, Lucy felt ill-dressed and naïvely unsophisticated in her simple, straight, light grey skirt and pale blue cotton top. Any one of his admiring females would have dressed for the part and would have been looking as ultra-casually elegant as he was.

He was still smiling indulgently at her as he led her to the first class check-in desk, where there was no queue and where they were treated with a subservience that bordered on fawning.

Then on to a special lounge, where Nick was impres
sively at ease while she tried hard not to appear too wide-eyed and gawking.

‘Are we allowed to talk in here?' she half joked in a subdued voice. ‘It's more deathly quiet than our local library.'

‘Oh, we can talk,' Nick replied gravely, ‘just so long as we keep it down. We wouldn't want to raise the dead, would we?' He looked over to where two middle-aged businessmen were happily sleeping, and Lucy, following his eyes, shared his joke and grinned.

Nick felt as if he was seeing a thousand intriguing facets of her for the very first time. The way she tilted her chin up in a manner that tried and failed to appear haughty, the way her mouth had a habit of parting to reveal a glimpse of her pearly front teeth, the way the little sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose seemed to darken when she blushed.

‘So was Robert all right with your leaving him behind at such short notice?' he asked the minute they were sitting on the plush, huge chairs.

‘Why shouldn't he be?' Lucy asked a little testily. Did he think that she was one of those women who prepared a week's supply of food for their boyfriends and invited them to bring their ironing and dirty washing round whenever they wanted?

‘No reason.' Nick left enough of a silence to hang between them to be ensured of her attentiveness when he next spoke. ‘It's just that some men think that an engagement ring allows them to start calling the shots.' He made a show of glancing at her finger. ‘Oh, you're not wearing an engagement ring!'

‘No, I'm not.'

‘Have you not bought it as yet?'

‘No. I…'

Nick inclined his head to one side with a show of lively interest.

‘I'm still thinking about it,' Lucy eventually admitted.

‘Very wise,' Nick said solemnly, ‘very sensible.' Then he laughed. ‘I would not like to see my eminently efficient secretary quit so that she can retire from life and start having babies…'

‘Oh, no. Robert…' Lucy paused, finding herself in a trap. Quitting work to start a family was precisely what Robert had in mind for her. ‘We haven't discussed any of that as yet. Like I said, nothing has been finalised.'

‘And have you told him about…?'

‘About…?' Their eyes met and Lucy had a heady sensation of being pulled under by the sheer magnetic force of his dark stare. He raised his eyebrows in apparent surprise that she didn't seem to know what he was talking about.

‘About us, naturally,' he inserted silkily.

‘There
is
no us.'

‘Well, perhaps I phrased it badly. I meant…have you told him that you and I slept together…?'

‘Once!' A steady pulse seemed to beat inside her head.

‘So…I take it nothing has been said…'

‘There's no reason to…'

‘Is he the jealous type?' Nick raised one eyebrow questioningly.

‘No!'

‘No, I suppose not, or else he might have kicked up a bit of a fuss at your spending one week on a tropical island with your boss…'

‘I'm not
spending one week on a tropical island with you
!' Lucy denied hotly. ‘You make it sound as if…as if…'

‘As if…what?' He frowned in apparent bemusement as she became more entangled in the knots she had already created for herself.

‘Well…it's not a holiday, is it? We're going there to work.' At last she managed to drag her eyes away from him but she was still intensely aware of his dark, hooded stare as he continued to watch her.

‘Of course we are. The only reason I asked was because I am a great believer in trust.'

Lucy stole a sidelong look at the harsh lines of his face. His mood had changed. From his light-hearted teasing of a minute ago, she could see that he had closed the shutters and was broodingly contemplating dark thoughts that she couldn't begin to guess at.

But, she thought with dismay, he was probably thinking about his wife. He had opened the subject of her getting married and it must have brought a rush of memories flooding back, memories of his own marriage and the trust and love he had lost in one terrible freak accident.

While she floundered in her own miserable thoughts their flight was called and she was spared the agony of trying to find something suitably innocuous to say.

When he did finally take the conversational lead, they were on the plane, and he began to chat easily and casually with her about the various places he had visited over a period of years. She knew that he was well travelled but she hadn't known quite how well travelled. He seemed to have been everywhere and to have seen far more than the average fun-seeking tourist.