The Master's Mistress (3 page)

A book whose predatory hero was no doubt going to seem very one-dimensional after she had come face to face with the very real—and very disturbing—flesh-and-blood man!

Elizabeth watched his long fingers as they ran lightly across his bruised flesh before pushing back the long length of his dark hair in a movement that seemed habitual. That hair looked as soft as silk. A silkiness Elizabeth longed to touch and thread her own fingers into before pulling his head down and—

She gathered herself up. ‘No doubt you know which bedroom to use?’ she bit out sharply.

‘No doubt,’ Rogan Sullivan drawled, those black eyes openly laughing at her.

Elizabeth had almost reached the kitchen door, almost made her dignified exit, and was congratulating herself on how well she had regrouped after physically attacking Rogan Sullivan in his own family home, when he made his own last mocking comment.

‘Don’t forget to get your book from the drawing room…’

She faltered slightly, her eyes closing briefly in embarrassment at this second taunting reminder of the book she had been reading earlier.

‘The cover alone would be enough to shock Mrs Baines senseless, let alone its contents!’ Rogan Sullivan added.

Elizabeth drew in a deep, controlling breath before she turned to glare across the room at him. ‘I should put something on that cut on your hand, if I were you. It would be such a pity if it were to become infected. It might even result in lockjaw!’ she added with saccharin sweetness.

‘I can imagine how much that might bother you.’ He gave an appreciative chuckle.

‘You have no idea!’ Elizabeth gave him one last scathing glance before sweeping out of the kitchen. Well, sweeping as much as she could when she was wearing a pair of blue cotton pyjamas and a striped bathrobe!

She paused long enough in the drawing room to take advantage of Rogan Sullivan’s jeering advice concerning taking her book back upstairs with her.

All the time she was aware that any dreams or erotic fantasies she might have tonight would all be about a dark-haired, dark-eyed, dangerous man dressed completely in black.

A man known to his friends as Rogue…

‘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.’

His brows rose. ‘How much money?’

‘Probably several hundred thousand pounds. And there are several others: a couple of Dickenses and a Chaucer. They’re also very collectible.’

‘I’m really not that interested, Elizabeth,’ Rogan rasped.

Her cheeks became flushed. ‘Then why bother to ask?’

He gave a shrug. ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’

‘And is your interest usually this fleeting?’

A slow smile curved those sculptured lips even as the dark eyes once again openly laughed at her. ‘It depends what that interest happens to be…’

There was no mistaking the deliberate innuendo in
Rogan’s tone. Nor Elizabeth’s longing to wipe that smile from his ruggedly handsome face!

What was it about Rogan Sullivan that brought out these uncharacteristic feelings of violence in her? That caused her to be constantly antagonised by him?

The answer to that was easy! Everything about him made her feel defensive, while at the same time making her feel vulnerable and very feminine in a way that was totally unfamiliar to her. As well as uncomfortable…

Elizabeth Brown was defensive, nosy and confrontational, Rogan recognised as he continued to look at her admiringly from between narrowed lids. An interesting combination for a university lecturer in History who read steamy vampire novels when she was alone in bed at night and didn’t like surprises in her personal life.

Whereas Rogan was an adrenaline junkie who lived for the challenges in his own life, personal and otherwise!

Elizabeth’s mouth firmed. ‘Obviously your…
interest
doesn’t lie in rare books.’

‘Obviously not,’ Rogan agreed, inwardly starting to regret deliberately baiting her.

She
had
arrived two weeks ago to catalogue Brad’s library—Rogan had checked that out with Mrs Baines earlier—and, pleasurable as it might be, he shouldn’t be taking out his present frustration with the situation he found himself in on her.

Because his father’s sudden death had completely removed any possibility of the two men ever coming to any sort of understanding…

The two Sullivan men had never had the easiest of relationships. When the family had lived in the States Brad had
owned and run one of the most prestigious advertising companies in New York, and his hours of work had been long and frantic. The family home had been in the suburbs, often meaning that Brad had spent weekday nights at the apartment he’d kept in the city. Not much had changed after the family had moved to England twenty years ago, so his father could open an office there. Brad had stayed in London during the week, only returning to Sullivan House for the weekends.

Consequently Brad hadn’t been around much, and had never attended any of the school events to which parents were invited—meaning Rogan’s mother, the Irish/American Maggie, had been the one to attend rugby matches, sports days, and the school plays in which Rogan had appeared.

Maggie had always been the bridge between Rogan and Brad, and when she had died so unexpectedly the two men had found they had absolutely nothing in common. Added to which, Brad had been furious when Rogan had refused to take up his place at Oxford University and instead returned to America and joined the army there.

Rogan straightened abruptly. ‘Continue to catalogue the library, by all means,’ he said brusquely. ‘Whoever inherits will no doubt consider selling them if some of the books are as valuable as you say they are.’

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. ‘You aren’t expecting that to be you?’

Rogan Sullivan’s laugh lacked all humour. ‘I have an appointment with Desmond Taylor, Brad’s lawyer, later this morning, so no doubt all will be revealed then. But I’d think it doubtful, wouldn’t you?’

Elizabeth no longer knew what to think. About this situation. Or, indeed, about Rogan Sullivan…

‘T
HIS
is very kind of you,’ Rogan said as he sat beside Elizabeth as she drove her Mini Cooper into town.

Elizabeth briefly turned her attention from driving along the narrow coast road to shoot him a narrow-eyed glance.

Kindness on her part had nothing to do with the two of them being here together. How could it, when Rogan had more or less commandeered both Elizabeth and her car so that he might keep his appointment in town this morning with Desmond Taylor, his father’s lawyer?

Having flown into England late the previous night, and feeling tired after a long flight, it appeared that instead of hiring a car Rogan had simply got in a taxi and asked the driver to take him to Sullivan House. Consequently, he had no transport of his own.

As Elizabeth now worked for him—for the moment at least—Rogan had very generously given her permission to take a couple of hours off so that she could drive him into town!

‘Don’t push your luck,’ she warned him tersely.

He arched dark brows. ‘Is that what I’m doing?’

‘You know you are.’ Elizabeth’s only consolation in being coerced in this way was that her car was obviously too small
for a broadly muscled man of well over six feet in height. It was extremely unlikely that Rogan was at all comfortable in the passenger seat! Although his close proximity—those muscled arms and long, powerful legs were only inches from her own—was a little disturbing, to say the least…

Rogan glanced out of the side window, down the cliffs to where the sea was currently lapping gently onto the golden sand. ‘I’d forgotten how ruggedly beautiful it is here…’

‘I expect it’s a lot different from New York?’

‘Yes.’ Except Rogan wasn’t always in New York…

He didn’t really live anywhere on a permanent basis, was never in one place long enough to put down any roots. Anyone important who needed to get in contact with him urgently had his private mobile number. Anyone else could use the PO Box.

Including his father.

Rogan had no idea yet how he felt about his father’s death; he was still coming to terms with the finality of it. Dealing with emotions had never been Rogan’s strong point—especially when those emotions were so ambivalent.

Although he sensed that Elizabeth Brown disapproved of his reticence on the subject.

Well, she would just have to go on disapproving!

Rogan would deal with his father’s death in the same way he dealt with everything. Alone. He had been alone for so long now that he simply didn’t know how to be any other way. Didn’t want to know, either.

‘I shouldn’t be too long,’ he told Elizabeth once she had parked the Mini and he could at last uncurl his cramped body from inside the small confines of the car.

‘Take your time,’ she answered distractedly. ‘I have a little personal shopping to do anyway.’

‘Fine.’ He nodded. ‘I suggest we meet back under the clock-tower here in the square in an hour or so, and then find somewhere to have lunch.’

‘Lunch?’ Elizabeth echoed sharply, and she straightened so suddenly from locking the car that her head briefly swam.

‘Lunch,’ Rogan reiterated firmly. ‘We’re in town anyway, and it’ll be almost lunchtime, so why not?’

Why not? Because Elizabeth didn’t
want
to have lunch with this compelling and disturbing man. In fact, she was quickly coming to realise that she wanted as little to do with Rogan Sullivan as humanly possible!

Not an easy thing to do when for the moment, they were actually staying in the same house…

‘Okay, lunch in an hour,’ she conceded.

‘Or so,’ Rogan added.

‘Whatever.’ Elizabeth gave him one last impatient glance before turning away to walk determinedly towards the shops on the other side of the square.

‘Just make sure he stays put,’ Rogan snapped into his mobile as he strode restlessly up and down in front of the clock-tower, waiting for Elizabeth to rejoin him so they could have lunch together.

‘That’s easier said than done, Rogue—’

‘Just
do
it!’ Rogan growled, turning to pace back the other way and instantly finding himself face to face with a pale and wide-eyed Elizabeth Brown. ‘Later, Ace,’ he said curtly, before ending the call and dropping his mobile into the back pocket of the black denims he had changed into before coming out.

‘I—Did your meeting go well?’

Rogan gave a hard smile. ‘It would appear that I’m my father’s heir after all, if that’s what you’re asking.’

Colour heightened Elizabeth Brown’s cheeks. ‘It wasn’t.’

‘No?’ he jeered.

‘No.’ She frowned. ‘It’s really none of my business, is it?’

‘No, it isn’t,’ Rogan agreed. In truth, he was surprised—considering the state of their relationship the last fifteen years—that his father had decided to leave everything to him after all. But maybe Brad had considered a dogs’ home—which had probably been his only alternative—slightly less appealing than his own son! ‘Nevertheless, I’m sure you have an opinion on the subject!’

Elizabeth was having to force herself to concentrate on what Rogan was saying. Not easy after overhearing his end of the telephone conversation with someone called Ace!

Just make sure he stays put
…

She frowned as she remembered the implacable tone of voice he’d used towards the other man. Rogan was obviously not a man it would be wise to cross!

Or be attracted to…

Unfortunately, Elizabeth suspected it was already too late to warn herself off being attracted to Rogan. Just looking at him sent shivers of awareness up and down her spine. That over-long dark hair. Those dark and piercing eyes. The firm sensuality of his mouth. The lean sensitivity of his hands. The leashed power in that perfectly muscled body…

‘No doubt you have one of those perfect families?’ Rogan Sullivan continued scathingly. ‘Perfect mother. Perfect father. Perfect everything.’

He had no idea! Elizabeth’s family had to be even more dysfunctional than his own!

‘Come on, Liza—’

‘I believe I told you I prefer to be called Elizabeth!’ Her eyes flashed with sudden anger. Her father had always called her Liza, and she certainly wanted no reminders of him.

Rogan glanced at her, irritated with himself because of how attractive he found the way the colour came and went in her cheeks, and the way her eyes sparkled with emotion when she was angry or annoyed—

Whoa!

Elizabeth Brown wasn’t his type. At all. Rogan preferred his women to be tall, soft and feminine. Women who knew and accepted that a relationship with him had no future. He wanted nothing to do with a woman who was short and prickly, a university lecturer immersed up to her pretty neck in history, whose ideal was no doubt the house with the picket fence and two point four children!

All the same, Rogan couldn’t stop himself from flirting with her just a little, to see how uncomfortable—and beautiful—it made her. He deliberately took a step closer, crowding her. ‘Liza is so much more—friendly, don’t you think…?’ he murmured huskily.

Those deep blue eyes narrowed to warning slits. ‘I have no wish to be friendly with a man who can speak to people like you just did on your phone,’ she said scornfully.

Rogan’s eyes widened. So Dr Elizabeth Brown had overheard part of his conversation with Ace, had she? And she’d obviously drawn her own conclusions from it too. No doubt helped along by an over-active imagination from reading too many vampire books!

Well, Rogan had ceased even trying to explain himself a long time ago—least of all to a woman as unbending as this one. ‘What can I say?’ He gave an unconcerned shrug. ‘Sometimes a little aggression is necessary when people won’t do as they’re told the first time.’

Elizabeth repressed a shudder of apprehension at the callousness of his tone. Her first impression of this man last night had been the correct one after all; he really was dangerous!

‘Don’t look so worried, Elizabeth,’ Rogan Sullivan murmured softly. ‘The only time I enjoy hearing a woman scream is in bed…’

The erotic images that statement instantly conjured into Elizabeth’s head, of a lithe, bronzed and naked body entwined with a much paler and softer one, caused the colour to once again burn hotly in her cheeks.

She turned away. ‘Perhaps we should get back to Sullivan House after all.’

‘Running scared, Elizabeth?’

‘Of
you
?’ Her eyes glittered as she glared at him. ‘I hardly think so!’

‘You could have fooled me!’ Rogan gave her another one of those mocking smiles. ‘We’re only going to have lunch, Elizabeth, we’re not going out on a date together.’

She hadn’t imagined for one moment that their lunch together could be called a date. It was just a little disconcerting—more than a little, if she were brutally honest with herself—to think of spending time alone in a restaurant with a man who was so blatantly, breathtakingly male that just looking at him made even her teeth ache in awareness!

It was a raw attraction that was completely corroborated at that moment, as a woman passing by on the pavement
happened to glance casually their way—only for her attention to suddenly become riveted on Rogan, a flush warming her cheeks as he shot her a lazy smile.

Rogan Sullivan wasn’t just dangerous—he was utterly lethal!

Elizabeth scowled. ‘I’m not hungry after all,’ she snapped. ‘It must be all that aggressive talk earlier on—you’re nothing but a bully!’ she added challengingly.

Rogan looked at her rigidly disapproving face and chose not to explain his firm orders to Ace about making sure Ricky stayed put—after all, Ricky didn’t know what was good for him.

‘Hasn’t affected
my
appetite,’ Rogan assured her blithely, giving her no more opportunity to disagree with him as he took a firm hold of her arm and strode forcefully towards the Bell and Sceptre Hotel, across the other side of the square.

‘So, what shall we talk about?’ Elizabeth said dryly to Rogan once they were seated at a table in the saloon bar of the hotel where he had decided they were having lunch.

He sat back against the bench seat, seemingly unaware of the interested female stares that had been coming his way ever since he had gone up to the crowded bar to order their food.

Including Elizabeth’s own more surreptitious glances!

Had she ever been this physically aware of a man before? Not that she could remember. But she was so aware of Rogan, on so many levels, that she felt she could see and hear practically nothing else but him. Her skin felt hotter than the temperature in the bar warranted. Her breasts were swollen, the nipples slightly tingly, and there was a telling dampness between her thighs that shocked her…

Ridiculous. From the little Elizabeth had overheard of his telephone conversation with someone called Ace, Rogan Sullivan was little more than a thug. No doubt his years in the army, the physical discipline he had learnt there, had made him as lethal as any of the weapons he had been trained to use.

As a woman who had always valued intellect rather than muscle, how could Elizabeth possibly find all that leashed physical power arousing? Except…she did! To such an extent that she could imagine nothing more pleasurable than ripping all that black clothing from Rogan’s bronzed and muscular body so that she might caress every powerful, rugged inch of him.

In fact, just thinking about doing those things increased the temperature of her own body to an almost unbearable degree!

Rogan gave a dismissive shrug. ‘Who says we have to talk at all? I came here for food, not conversation.’

Elizabeth frowned even as she sat back to allow the barmaid to place their plates of food on the table. A young and pretty barmaid, who could no more take her eyes off Rogan Sullivan, as she laid out their knives and forks, than the woman in the square had a few minutes ago.

‘Thanks.’ Rogan gave the young girl the same lazy grin that had so enthralled the woman in the square earlier.

Elizabeth shot him a scathing glance as that grin once again caused a slightly flustered response, but in the young barmaid this time. Really, this man ought to come with a ‘danger’ label attached!

‘ What?’he prompted irritably, once he and Elizabeth were alone again and he looked up to see her disgusted expression.

Elizabeth gave a slight shake of her head. ‘Just deploring my own gender for their obvious gullibility to a sexy smile!’

He raised speculative brows. ‘You think I have a sexy smile?’

She frowned her irritation. ‘I didn’t say that—’

‘Yeah, you did.’

Yes, she had, Elizabeth acknowledged with an inner groan. Damn the man! She sat forward to pick up her knife and fork in preparation for eating the chicken salad that was looking less and less appetising as this embarrassing conversation continued. ‘You probably practise in front of a mirror for hours just to get that effect,’ she said, in an effort to puncture his enormous ego.

Rogan gave an appreciative chuckle at her disgruntled accusation. ‘Not true. I had no idea my smile was at all sexy until you said it was.’

‘Could we just eat?’ Elizabeth snapped.

Rogan grinned unabashedly at her obvious discomfort. ‘If you think that you still can!’

Blue eyes shot sparks at him. ‘You aren’t my type, Mr Sullivan,’ she said waspishly.

‘Now, there’s a challenge if ever I heard one…’ Rogan mused.

Her eyes widened in alarm. ‘It certainly wasn’t meant as one!’

‘Hmm…’ Rogan speculated enigmatically, dark eyes narrowed. ‘So what is your usual type, Elizabeth?’ he asked, as he picked up his fork and began to eat the steak and ale pie he had ordered for his own lunch.

She avoided that probing gaze. ‘I thought you preferred not to talk?’

‘I’ve changed my mind.’

‘Unfortunately for you, so have I!’

‘Humour me, Elizabeth, hmm?’ he encouraged softly.

Elizabeth didn’t want to humour this man. In fact, she wished they had never started this conversation! Especially as she did find his smile sexy—as did every other woman who so much as looked at him!

Her chin rose defensively. ‘If you must know, I prefer brain over brawn.’

He became very still. Watchfully, dangerously so. ‘You think I’m just muscle and no brain?’