One Night with His Virgin Mistress

‘A fair amount of business can also be settled over coffee.’ His tone was quiet but brooked no arguments. ‘So why not just do as I ask, Miss—er…’

‘Paget,’ she supplied curtly. ‘Natalie Paget.’

‘And I’m Mark Benedict, as I expect you already know.’ He paused. ‘Please don’t look so stricken, Miss Paget. I assure you that you’re just as unpleasant a shock to me as I am to you. So let’s sit down with our coffee in a civilised manner and discuss the situation.’

‘Civilised,’ Tallie brooded as she trailed back to the kitchen with the unwanted items, was not a word she would ever apply to her unwanted host. But ‘discuss’ was hopeful, because it didn’t suggest that he was planning to bring charges immediately.

However, knowing that all she was wearing was his bathrobe still placed her at a serious disadvantage, no matter how businesslike the discussion. As he was probably well aware, she told herself bitterly.

On her return to the sitting room, she accepted the mug that he filled and handed to her and sat down on the sofa opposite, hiding her bare feet under the folds of the robe—a nervous movement that she knew was not lost on him.

‘So,’ he began, without further preliminaries, ‘you say Kit’s in Australia. When did that happen and why?’

She looked down at her coffee. ‘He went at the end of last week,’ she returned woodenly. ‘I understand it’s a business trip— visiting various vineyards on behalf of the company he works for.’

The hard mouth relaxed into genuine amusement. ‘Well, well,’ he said softly, ‘I bet Veronica didn’t consider that was an option when she wangled the job for her baby boy.’ He paused. ‘He didn’t ask you to go with him?’

‘Of course not.’ Tallie stiffened indignantly. ‘I hardly know him.’

‘That’s not always a consideration,’ he murmured. ‘And, where Kit’s concerned, it could be a positive advantage.’ He leaned back against the cushions, apparently relaxed, but Tallie wasn’t fooled. She could feel the tension quivering in the air, like over-stretched wire. ‘Anyway, if it was such a brief acquaintance, how did you get to find out about this place?’

‘It was his own suggestion,’ she said defensively. ‘He knew I was looking for somewhere cheap to live for a few months.’

His brows lifted. ‘You regard this as some kind of doss-house?’ he asked coldly.

‘No—on the contrary—truly.’ Tallie flushed hotly. ‘I suppose when I came here and saw what it was like, I should have realised there was something…not right about the arrangement. But I was desperate, and grateful enough not to ask too many questions. And, anyway, I thought I could repay him by being the world’s greatest flat-sitter. Looking after it as if it was my own.’ She swallowed. ‘Even better than my own.’

‘Or, knowing he was going away, you could have decided to squat here.’ His eyes were hard.

‘No, I swear I didn’t.’ She met his gaze bravely. ‘If you don’t believe me, ask my former boss at the wine bar. He was there when your brother made the offer.’ She took a gulp of the hot coffee to hearten her. ‘Besides, a squatter wouldn’t know about forwarding the mail to the lawyers, or have a key, or been told the security code—any of it.’

‘You’ve been working in a wine bar?’ He frowned slightly.

‘Why not?’ she challenged. ‘It’s a perfectly respectable occupation.’

‘Respectable—sure.’ He studied her curiously. ‘But as a career? I’d have thought you’d want better than that.’

‘Well,’ she said tautly, ‘as we’re total strangers, that’s hardly for you to judge.’ She paused, then added reluctantly, ‘Besides, I also had a day job working as a secretary for a temps agency. The bar was…extra.’

‘I notice you keep using the past tense,’ Mark Benedict commented. ‘Am I to take it that you’re no longer gainfully employed?’

‘I’m no longer wage-earning,’ she admitted. ‘But I am working.’

‘At what? Your questionable duties as flat-sitter won’t take up too many hours in the day.’

She bit her lip, unwilling to expose her precious plan to his undoubted ridicule. She said primly, ‘I’m engaged on…on a private project.’

‘As you’ve gate-crashed my home, Miss Paget, I don’t think the usual privacy rules apply. How are you planning to earn a living?’

She glared at him. ‘If you must know, I’m writing a novel.’

‘Dear God,’ he said blankly and paused. ‘Presumably it’s for children.’

‘Why should you presume any such thing?’ Tallie asked defiantly.

‘Because you’re hardly more than a child yourself.’

‘I’m nineteen,’ she informed him coldly.

‘I rest my case,’ he returned cynically. ‘So what kind of a book is it?’

She lifted her chin. ‘It’s a love story.’

There was a silence and Tallie saw a gleam of hateful amusement dawn in the green eyes. ‘I’m impressed, Miss Paget. It’s a subject you’ve researched in depth, of course?’

‘As much as I need,’ she said shortly, furious to discover that she was blushing again.

‘In other words—not very far at all.’ He was grinning openly now. ‘Unless I miss my guess—which I’m sure I don’t, judging by your terrified nymph act when I walked in on you just now.’

Tallie’s blush deepened hectically.

Oh, God, I might as well have ‘Virgin—untouched by human hand’ tattooed across my forehead, she thought, loathing him.

He was speaking again. ‘And you’ve actually staked your economic future on this unlikely enterprise?’

She was almost tempted to tell him about Alice Morgan. Make him see that it wasn’t all pie in the sky but a calculated and considered risk, except that it was none of his damned business. And, anyway, why should she explain a thing to someone who’d already mortified her beyond belief and was now going to ruin everything else for her?

‘Yes,’ she said, icily. ‘Yes, I have.’

‘Well,’ he said, ‘that pretty well explains why you snatched at the chance of living here when Kit dangled it in front of you.’ He paused. ‘Are you paying him rent?’

She shook her head. ‘Just—my share of the utility bills.’

‘Which can be pretty steep for a place this size. So how can you possibly afford them?’

‘By working day and night for months and saving every possible penny,’ she said huskily. ‘In order to give myself some dedicated time—a window of opportunity.’

‘You seem to have mastered the jargon anyway,’ he commented dryly as he refilled his mug. ‘Where were you living before this?’

‘I was sharing a flat,’ she said, ‘with my…my cousin and a friend of hers.’

‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘Then you have a place to go back to.’

Tallie stared into her mug. She said with difficulty, ‘No—no— I don’t. I—really can’t do that.’

She was expecting him to demand another explanation, but instead he said with a kind of damning finality, ‘Then you’ll have to find somewhere else, and quickly. Because you certainly can’t remain here.’

She’d known it would almost certainly come to that, but hearing it said aloud was still a blow. Not that she intended to meekly acquiesce, of course. This had been the perfect haven until he’d turned up, and she wasn’t giving up without a fight.