His Scandalous Mistress: The Master's Mistress / Count Toussaint's Pregnant Mistress / Castellano's Mistress of Revenge

She had been very quiet last night, almost introspective, following their conversation about her father. But, as Rogan’s own thoughts had been far from pleasant, he hadn’t been in the mood at the time to even attempt to goad her into further conversation.

Once again he had told himself that Elizabeth Brown was most definitely not his type. She was too prim, too controlled, too serious—and, worst of all, beneath that frosty exterior he now knew that her emotions were too fragile.

His brain knew and accepted that. His body was still less than convinced!

‘Okay,’ Elizabeth conceded with a sigh. ‘But I don’t go down to the beach to dip my feet in the shallow water. I swim for exercise, not fun.’

Rogan grinned. ‘Think I can’t keep up with you?’

No, Elizabeth was pretty sure that he could keep up with her in almost anything. That was the problem. He was the problem.

He infuriated her. He challenged her. Most of all, he disturbed her…

Her mouth firmed. ‘I’ll wait here for you while you go and get your towel and trunks.’

His grin widened. ‘No skinny-dipping, then?’

Colour warmed her cheeks. ‘Sorry to dash your hopes,’ Elizabeth said dryly.

‘C’est la vie.’ He shrugged unconcernedly. ‘I’ll be one minute,’ he promised, before turning to ascend the stairs two at a time.

One minute was nowhere near long enough for Elizabeth to collect her marauding thoughts. Especially the one where she imagined Rogan as the one swimming naked…

Rogan watched from beneath lowered lids as Elizabeth sat down on the golden sand a short distance away to pull her T-shirt over her head before peeling her jeans down the silky length of her legs, revealing that she wasn’t wearing the bikini of his imagination, after all, but a plain black one-piece sports costume.

A plain black one-piece sports costume that, as Elizabeth rose fluidly to her feet, was surprisingly more sexy than any bikini could ever have been as it clung to the firm swell of her breasts, narrow waist and slender hips above those deliciously shapely legs…

Rogan felt his temperature and other things rise just looking up at her. Hell, this woman was so sexy she was totally destroying his normally unshakeable self-control!

A dip in the ice-cold sea was exactly what Rogan needed to ease the throb of desire that was threatening to send him over the edge. Although at the moment, with his body so obviously aroused, standing up could be something of a problem!

Elizabeth gave him a puzzled glance. ‘Have you decided the sea looks too cold to come in, after all?’

He raised dark brows. ‘Is that a challenge, Dr Brown?’

‘Could be, Dr Sullivan. Or is that Lieutenant?’ She arched auburn brows.

Actually, it had been Captain… ‘It’s just plain Mr nowadays,’ he confirmed dryly, before turning away to pull the black T-shirt over his head.

My God! There was no way Elizabeth was able to hide her gasp of horror as she saw the scars that marred the muscled strength of Rogan’s torso.

There were several long puckered scars on the long length of his back that looked as if they might have been made by either a knife or a whip. But it was the ones on the front of his body that caused her the most alarm. Three perfect, tiny scars that were obviously bullet holes—one in his stomach, another in his left shoulder, and another just above his heart!

‘Rogan?’ Elizabeth’s gaze was fixed on those scars as she fell down onto the sand beside him, raising an involuntary hand so that her fingers almost touched them. ‘What happened to you?’ she breathed shakily.

‘Obviously, I was shot.’ He gave a hard and humourless smile. ‘It happens when you’re a soldier, Elizabeth.’ He gave a dismissive shrug.

She gave a slow, disbelieving shake of her head, a sick feeling in her stomach as she continued to stare at those scars. As she imagined the bullets ripping into Rogan’s flesh!

Flesh Elizabeth could no longer stop herself from touching as her fingertips moved tentatively over the scar above his heart, feeling the hard ridge of skin that had healed over what had obviously been a life-threatening wound.

She moistened dry lips. ‘I—How long ago… ?’

‘I left the army five years ago.’

She shook her head. ‘That doesn’t answer my question.’

Rogan sighed. ‘You should know by now that I don’t like answering questions.’

Elizabeth swallowed hard as she looked up at him searchingly. ‘Is that why someone shot you? Because you refused to answer their questions?’

He moved away from her impatiently to stand up, his expression grim as he unsnapped and took off his own jeans before dropping them on the sand beside his T-shirt.

Elizabeth made no effort to get to her feet when she saw there were yet more scars on his upper thighs. ‘Rogan—’

‘You know, most women find my battle scars a turn-on,’ he said cynically as he looked down at her.

Those blue eyes snapped with impatience. ‘Women who perhaps don’t have an imagination that allows them to realise the pain you must have suffered.’

‘This conversation is over,’ Rogan snapped coldly.

‘You could have died—’

‘But I didn’t.’

‘Rogan—’

‘Give it up, Elizabeth,’ he growled with finality. ‘Come on, I’ll race you to those flat rocks at the mouth of the cove!’ He attempted to distract her as he threw his sunglasses down on his towel and ran across the sandy beach to the water’s edge, before turning to see if Elizabeth had taken him up on the challenge.

She was only a couple of paces behind him, those blue eyes glittering determinedly and her cheeks pink and glowing. ‘The conversation isn’t over, Rogan.’

‘It is if I say it is,’ he insisted.

Their gazes continued a silent battle for several long seconds, before Elizabeth finally gave a terse nod. ‘Last one to the rocks has to carry both rucksacks back up the cliff to the house!’she shouted in challenge, and she streaked past him to dive smoothly into the virtually calm sea and start swimming.

Rogan remained on the beach watching her, her strokes smooth and powerful as she set off towards the rocks half a mile or so away. He wasn’t in the least surprised that Elizabeth swam as she did everything else: with capable efficiency.

That same capable efficiency that had told her Rogan’s wounds hadn’t been inflicted in any normal combat…

‘What are you? Olympic level?’ Elizabeth was panting hard as she drew herself up onto the flat rock before collapsing beside Rogan. She had barely swum half the distance to the rocks before Rogan had overtaken her, and he had been sitting here for several seconds watching through narrowed lids as she completed her swim.

Elizabeth now studied him from beneath her own lowered lashes…

Wet, Rogan’s hair was black and silky where it rested long and damp on his shoulders. Water glistened on his deeply tanned scarred body, and the dark hair on his chest tapered down until it disappeared beneath a pair of black boxer-style swimming trunks that clung revealingly to his hips and thighs.

The ragged heaviness of Elizabeth’s breathing was suddenly no longer due to the exertion of her swim!

‘Not quite Olympic level,’ he answered, with a shrug of those broad shoulders.