The Master's Mistress

‘Mrs Baines seemed to be of the opinion that we would be eating breakfast together, and I didn’t like to disappoint her,’ Rogan said the following morning, as Elizabeth came to an abrupt halt in the doorway of the breakfast room the moment she saw he was already seated at the small table.

A slightly more officious-looking Elizabeth Brown than the night before; she wore a silky cream blouse tucked into black tailored trousers, with flat court shoes. That red hair was as perky and spiky as the previous evening, but she had added mascara to those already dark, sooty lashes, and a deep peach gloss to the fullness of her lips.

Officious, but still beautiful, Rogan decided approvingly as he stood up to hold a chair for her to sit down after she had reluctantly entered the room. ‘Just so that you know I do remember some of the manners my mother taught me all those years ago,’ he bent to murmur derisively beside her left ear.

‘I’m pleased to hear it!’ Elizabeth ignored his close proximity and picked up her napkin. She placed it purposefully across her trouser-clad knees before continuing to ignore him as she looked over the contents of the table.

All the time she was completely aware of how devastatingly male Rogan looked, with that long dark hair still damp from the shower. He was wearing a black T-shirt that clearly defined his muscled chest and arms, with black combat trousers sitting low down on the leanness of his waist and emphasising the powerful length of his legs…

‘Would you like me to pour you some coffee?’ Rogan offered as he raised the cafetière invitingly, and in the process once again stood just a little too close to Elizabeth for comfort.

The feral grin he gave as Elizabeth shot him a slightly nervous glance told her that he was totally aware of the effect his close proximity was having on her equilibrium. That he’d already noted the flush in her cheeks, the way she couldn’t seem to breathe properly, and the slight trembling of her hands.

How could she not be affected? Elizabeth accepted ruefully. Men like Rogan Sullivan—hard, tough, dangerous—were completely beyond her everyday acquaintance. The only males she usually met on a day-to-day basis were either other academics or students much younger than herself.

She occasionally accepted an innocuous luncheon or dinner invitation from one of her male colleagues, but other than that Elizabeth preferred to keep her life uncomplicated by personal relationships. She had certainly never met anyone even remotely like Rogan before!

But she certainly wasn’t so disconcerted by all this blatantly displayed testosterone that she was willing to forego her morning cup of coffee because of it! ‘Thank you,’ she accepted, with a dismissive glance in his direction.

Mistake!

As she had known she would, Elizabeth had dreamt about this man last night. Once she had finally managed to fall asleep at all, that was. Intense, disturbing dreams that had included fulfilling the fantasy she’d had last night of running her fingers through that over-long dark hair, before moving lower to caress the width of those muscled shoulders and down the hardness of his back. In her dream she had also caressed other places she would really rather not think about right now!

But the reality of the man was so much more disturbing than any dream. He simply oozed hard masculinity from every pore in his muscled body, from that hewn and ruggedly handsome face to the strength of his perfectly toned body. He even smelt male, his aftershave sharp and tangy, with a hint of spice that tantalised the senses almost as much as the man did himself.

He knew it too, and was perfectly comfortable with all that blatant masculinity, Elizabeth acknowledged slightly resentfully. ‘Are you expecting to suddenly have to go into combat here in the wilds of Cornwall?’ she taunted, with a scathing glance at the dark clothing and heavy black boots he seemed to favour wearing.

He shrugged. ‘I just threw a few things into a holdall after receiving your letter. Besides, I find it’s always best to be prepared.’ Rogan eyed her mockingly as he resumed his seat opposite her at the intimately small table. ‘After all, one never knows when and where one might be attacked!’

Warm colour entered those slightly hollow cheeks at the deliberateness of Rogan’s taunt. ‘Mrs Baines mentioned you left the army five years ago?’ She obviously chose to take his taunt at face value.

‘Yes,’ he confirmed evenly.

‘What career do you have now?’

‘I keep busy with this and that.’

‘What sort of this and that?’

Rogan narrowed his gaze darkly. ‘You’re very nosy for someone who supposedly only came here to catalogue my father’s library for him.’

‘There’s no “supposedly” about it,’ she assured primly. ‘I was merely attempting to make conversation.’

‘Make it about something else,’ he bit out curtly.

Rogan didn’t discuss the work he did. With anyone. Least of all a woman he had only met eight hours ago.

Although it was starting to seem much longer than that…

‘If I’m nosy, then you’re completely lacking in manners!’ She frowned at his rudeness.

Rogan gave an uninterested shrug. ‘What else did you expect from a man whose father’s only means of contacting him was through a PO Box!’

A nerve pulsed in her cheek. ‘I wasn’t meaning to be rude when I made that comment.’

‘Weren’t you?’ Rogan asked knowingly.

Okay, yes, she had been, Elizabeth accepted guiltily. Which was a little unfair of her when she really knew nothing about their family situation. When this man’s father had just died…

‘What about you, Elizabeth?’ Rogan Sullivan arched a dark brow in query. ‘What does Dr E. Brown do when she isn’t cataloguing someone’s library?’

‘She teaches. History. At a London university,’ she expanded as he seemed to be expecting more.

‘Wow.’

‘It’s a subject I happen to love.’ She bristled defensively at the obvious lack of enthusiasm in his voice.

‘You’re comfortable with things that have already happened rather than those that haven’t?’

Elizabeth had never thought of it in that particular way before…‘Is there something wrong with that?’ she asked.

A shrug stretched the black material of his T-shirt tighter across the wide width of his shoulders. ‘Not at all. Except a life with no surprises must be…’

‘Comfortable?’ Elizabeth supplied tersely.

‘Boring,’ Rogan Sullivan finished with an unrepentant grin, his teeth very white and even against that lightly bronzed skin.

‘That happens to be the way I prefer it.’ She stood up abruptly. ‘With your permission, I think I’ll take my coffee with me into the library and get started on some work.’

Dark brows rose teasingly. ‘With my permission?’ he echoed.

It had occurred to Elizabeth shortly before she’d fallen asleep the night before that with Brad Sullivan’s death, if she stayed on here as originally planned, she would now effectively be working for Rogan…

She nodded tersely. ‘Unless you would prefer me to stop working on cataloguing the books?’

‘I—’ Rogan’s attention turned to the doorway as he saw Mrs Baines standing there hesitantly.

‘I wondered if I could get either of you something hot for breakfast?’ the elderly housekeeper offered huskily, the strain of the last few days evident in the paleness of her cheeks and the slight redness of her eyes.

‘Elizabeth?’ Rogan prompted crisply.

‘Not for me, thanks.’ She gave the older woman a regretful smile.

‘Or me,’ Rogan said. ‘We’ll both be finished in here in a few minutes, if you want to clear away then,’ he assured Mrs Baines lightly, having only vague memories of the sixty-year-old widow who had moved to Sullivan House with a sixteen-year-old son twenty years ago.

He leant back in his chair to look at Elizabeth with enigmatic dark eyes once they were alone again, arms now folded across that wide, muscled chest. ‘So, have you found any priceless treasures in the library yet?’ he wanted to know.

‘One or two, yes.’ She nodded. ‘A first edition of Charles Darwin’s Origin of the Species alone is worth a considerable amount of money.’