The Master's Mistress (6 page)

Who would ever have guessed that, beneath those unflattering cotton pyjamas and the tailored trousers she had worn today, Elizabeth Brown had the most gloriously sexy legs Rogan had ever seen? Lightly tanned, they were slender and shapely, the ankles appearing delicate above the two-inch heels of the strappy dark blue sandals she wore.

Dr Elizabeth Brown wasn’t just beautiful; she was hot!

‘No red wine for me, thank you.’ The snappy anger in the deep blue of her eyes as she walked further into the room told Rogan that she had noted his admiring gaze and didn’t appreciate it.

Well, that was just too bad. If she didn’t want anyone to look—didn’t want Rogan to look—then she should have stayed in the safe businesslike black trousers and blouse!

Rogan looked amused. ‘Is that because you would prefer white wine, or would you like something else instead?’

‘No, thank you. I don’t drink alcohol,’ Elizabeth answered abruptly as she sat down in one of the armchairs. ‘At all,’ she added, just so that there should be no more confusion.

‘Good for you,’ he drawled, before moving to sit in the armchair opposite hers, that dark gaze narrow and enigmatic. ‘Do you smoke?’

‘No.’

‘Take drugs?’

Her mouth thinned in distaste. ‘Certainly not!’

‘Sleep with married men?’

Her gaze narrowed impatiently. ‘Rogan—’

‘Just kidding!’ He grinned, even as he held up his hand in apology. ‘So, you’re a woman without vices…’

It was a statement rather than a question, and Elizabeth didn’t bother to answer. How could she when this afternoon she had literally melted in this man’s arms?

‘How about you, Rogan? Obviously you drink alcohol.’

‘In moderation,’ he put in softly, and he raised his glass in a silent toast to her before taking a sip of the ruby-red wine.

‘Smoke?’

‘Not for years.’

‘Take drugs?’

‘Never,’ he answered, as flatly as she had earlier.

Elizabeth raised auburn brows. ‘Sleep with married women?’

‘Again, never,’ he stated.

Her mouth twisted humourlessly. ‘How about
unmarried
women?’

‘I’m thirty-three years old, Elizabeth; what do you think?’ he taunted with a hard grin.

Elizabeth thought she should never have joined in this ridiculous conversation! ‘I think, as you pointed out earlier—’ oh-so-succinctly! ‘—that it’s none of my business!’

Rogan’s grin widened, his teeth very white and even against that bronzed skin. ‘My guess is you didn’t mean to ask that last question.’

No, she hadn’t. Of
course
Rogan Sullivan slept with unmarried women—although ‘slept with’ was probably a complete misnomer for what
he
did when he was in bed with a woman!

Elizabeth wasn’t happy about the way his dark gaze followed the movement as she nervously crossed one bare knee over the other…

She instantly uncrossed them. ‘Perhaps we should go through to dinner?’

‘You seem a little…tense this evening, Elizabeth?’ He met her gaze with steady intensity.

Her eyes widened. ‘I’m not in the least tense.’

‘No?’

‘No!’ Elizabeth denied vehemently, knowing that her tone, and the way she stood up so suddenly, instantly gave the lie to her claim.

What was it about this man that made her so uncomfortable? So on edge? So totally removed from her normally composed and efficient self? Whatever it was, she had better put a stop to it.

‘I believe it’s time we went in to dinner,’ she reminded him again, more evenly this time.

‘Fine,’ he agreed lightly, and he rose smoothly to his feet beside her.

Instantly making Elizabeth’s already raw and sensitive nerve-endings thrum!

She didn’t drink alcohol, or smoke, or sleep with men—married or otherwise—but just being in the same room with Rogan made her dearly wish she did the latter, at least. Every time she was anywhere near this man she felt the urge to rip the clothes from his body and have her way with him. Her very
wicked
way with him!

Rogan watched the emotions flicker across Elizabeth’s flushed and expressive face as she looked at him: tension, then desire, quickly followed by dismay. ‘I’d give a thousand dollars to know what your thoughts were just now,’ he murmured throatily.

Her eyes widened in alarm before she quickly looked away. ‘You would be wasting your money.’

‘It’s my money to waste.’

She shrugged. ‘I was only thinking of the books I intend cataloguing tomorrow.’

Rogan gave a casual glance down at Elizabeth’s left hand, knowing by the way it was clenched that she wasn’t telling the truth. Knowing by the way she instantly unclenched her hand that she knew he knew it too!

‘Having a giveaway is annoying, isn’t it?’ he murmured conversationally.

Her chin rose determinedly. ‘I have no idea what you mean.’

‘Sure you don’t…’ he drawled.

‘I believe you now owe me a thousand dollars…’

He gave a rueful shake of his head. ‘We both know you just lied and I don’t owe you a damn thing.’ Rogan stood back to allow her to precede him out of the room, his politeness owing as much to the fact that he wanted to continue admiring
her legs and the gentle sway of her hips as she walked in front of him to the dining room as it did to good manners.

They certainly hadn’t had lecturers like Elizabeth Brown when he’d worked on getting his degree!

‘When did you say you intended returning to the States?’ Elizabeth asked Rogan coolly, once Mrs Baines had left the room after serving the first course of smoked salmon.

The two of them were once again seated at the small family dining table. The evening sun shining in through the huge bay window made the lighting of the candles on the table unnecessary. Thank goodness! Candlelight would have made it appear too much like a romantic dinner for two…

Something this most certainly wasn’t!

Elizabeth didn’t fool herself for a moment, and knew that ordinarily Rogan wouldn’t have even noticed a woman like her. She felt sure that his usual taste in women ran to something a little more exotic than a university lecturer who, at the age of twenty-eight, neither drank, smoked, nor slept around.

In fact, the phrase ‘beggars can’t be choosers’ came to mind!

Rogan scowled darkly. ‘I don’t remember saying when I was leaving.’

She frowned slightly. ‘I had assumed that you would only be staying until after your father’s funeral?’

‘Never heard the one about assumption being the mother of all cock-ups?’ he asked.

She gave an inclination of her head. ‘As necessity is the mother of invention?’

‘Something like that.’ Rogan grimaced. ‘I suppose I’ll have to stay until after my father’s funeral,’ he accepted tightly.

‘I would have thought so, yes.’ Elizabeth frowned at his obvious reluctance.

‘I’m many things, Elizabeth, but I’ve never thought a hypocrite was one of them.’ His mouth twisted with distaste.

‘Even so…’

‘Even so…’ he conceded dryly. ‘No doubt you’re a dutiful daughter and visit your own parents once a week? Probably for Sunday lunch?’

Elizabeth didn’t know what to say in answer to that. What could she say when she hadn’t so much as seen her own father since the argument that had followed the reading of her mother’s will ten years ago?

‘No doubt,’ she answered stiltedly.

Rogan’s gaze became piercing as he heard the lack of conviction in Elizabeth’s tone. ‘Or perhaps dinner on a Friday evening?’

‘Perhaps.’

Rogan was certain of the hollowness to her tone that time…‘Or perhaps, like me, you prefer to stay the hell away from them?’

Warm colour crept up into the pallor of her cheeks. ‘I don’t believe this conversation was about me—’

‘Sure it was.’ Rogan gave up all pretence of eating the smoked salmon and sat back in his chair to study her through narrowed lids. ‘We can do this the hard way or the easy way, Elizabeth. Your choice.’

‘I don’t think—’

‘Okay, the hard way.’ He shrugged. ‘Are both your parents still alive?’

Her jaw hardened. ‘No.’

‘Both dead?’

‘No.’

‘Mother dead?’

‘Yes.’

‘Father?’

A nerve pulsed in that clenched jaw. ‘Rogan—’

‘Don’t like to talk about yourself much, do you?’ he jeered. ‘Just humour me, hmm, Elizabeth,’ he murmured.

She gave a deep sigh. ‘My father is still very much alive.’

‘And?’

She scowled. ‘And nothing.’

Rogan gave a slow, taunting smile. ‘Admit it, Elizabeth—you don’t like the louse any more than I liked my own father!’

She winced. ‘It isn’t a question of liking or disliking. My father and I lead completely different lives. He—he remarried not long after my mother died, ten years ago.’

And that must have hurt, Rogan guessed easily. ‘Wicked stepmother?’

‘I wouldn’t know; I’ve never met her,’ Elizabeth answered coolly.

‘How about your father? Do you still see him?’

‘We exchange Christmas cards. And he has my mobile number in case of emergencies,’ Elizabeth admitted tightly.

‘And?’

Her mouth twisted humourlessly. ‘So far there haven’t been any.’

Rogan sensed the same anger that he felt towards his own father burning deep down inside her. ‘It would seem that we have more in common than we originally thought, Elizabeth…’ he muttered.

On the surface Rogan knew that he and Elizabeth were nothing alike. But nevertheless he would guess that the two of them had both been shaped by their childhoods: the pre
mature death of an adored mother, and a fractured love/hate relationship with the father that remained.

Deep down, where it really mattered, he and Elizabeth were more alike than Rogan liked.

Or wanted them to be…

‘W
HERE
are you off to so early in the morning?’

Elizabeth had almost reached the bottom of the stairs, the rucksack containing her costume and towel draped over one shoulder, when she heard Rogan’s voice behind her and turned to see him standing on the wide gallery above, looking down at her.

As he said, it was still early in the morning—only a little after seven o’clock—but, like her, Rogan was already up and dressed, his T-shirt once again black, as were his jeans, the dark length of his hair slightly damp, probably from the shower.

As usual, Elizabeth was instantly, nerve-janglingly aware of him…

She maintained her cool expression with effort. ‘I like to go for a swim first thing in the morning.’

She felt even more in need of a wake-up swim today, after the conversation about her father at dinner the previous evening had brought back all those unhappy memories and caused her to have an almost sleepless night.

Rogan scowled darkly. ‘Where?’

‘At my health club when I’m in London, but here I make do with the sea.’ The sea water wasn’t doing much for her
complexion or her hair, but Elizabeth had always enjoyed swimming as a way of kick-starting her day, and saw no reason to change that routine when she could so easily walk down to the sandy cove below the cliffs.

Rogan looked at her speculatively. ‘And my guess is you’ve been doing that every morning since you came here,’ he said.

Elizabeth’s brows rose. ‘Of course.’

‘Alone?’

‘Yes…’

‘Without informing anyone where you were going?’ His voice had become dangerously soft.

‘Rogan—’

‘Hell’s bells, woman, are you stupid or do you just have a death wish?’ Rogan rasped impatiently as he descended the stairs two at a time until he was standing beside her, glaring down at her.

Elizabeth had to tilt her head back slightly in order to meet that glittering gaze head-on. ‘As far as I’m aware I’m neither of those things. I simply like to swim first thing in the morning—’

‘In a sea where the current is precarious at best and downright dangerous at worst!’ Angry heat emanated from Rogan’s body, and his hands were clenched at his sides.

Elizabeth frowned. ‘I assure you, I’m always very careful.’

‘This is Cornwall, Elizabeth,’ he snapped. ‘The worst place on the south coast for shipwrecks and drowning. There’s no such thing as being very careful!’

‘Rogan—’

‘Don’t even
attempt
to use that patronising tone on me,’ he bit out tersely. ‘I’m not one of your students, and I don’t scare easily!’

Elizabeth doubted she could teach this man anything! As for the scared part—in his present mood, Rogan was the scary one!

Her mouth firmed. ‘Look—’

‘No—
you
look,’ he retorted. ‘Either you change your plans and don’t go swimming. Or I come with you to make sure you don’t drown.’

Elizabeth’s chin rose challengingly even as the thought of seeing all Rogan’s muscled power in only a pair of swimming trunks made her pulse quicken. Just having him standing this close to her made her pulse quicken! ‘You may be in the habit of ordering other people around, but you certainly can’t dictate what
I
do.’

‘I can stop you swimming in what happens to be a private family cove.
My
private cove now,’ he returned calmly.

Yes, no doubt he could do that…‘I’m twenty-eight years old and perfectly capable of deciding for myself what is and isn’t dangerous.’

‘ My mother was forty-two years old—but that didn’t stop her from drowning in the cove you’re now proposing to swim in alone!’A nerve pulsed in his tightly clenched jaw.

Too late Elizabeth remembered that Rogan’s mother had died by falling—jumping?—from the cliffs into the Cornish sea. She just hadn’t realised it was the cliffs above the same family-owned cove she swam in every morning…

She grimaced. ‘I’m sorry, Rogan, I wasn’t thinking when I said that—’

‘Save your platitudes for someone who appreciates them,’ he cut in coldly. ‘Are you giving up the idea of swimming this morning, or do I have to come with you?’

‘You’re really serious about this?’ she said doubtfully.

‘There’s a time and a place for humour, Elizabeth, and this isn’t one of them!’ Rogan assured her grimly. Just the thought of Elizabeth’s broken and lifeless body being washed up on the beach by the tide made his blood run cold.

Quickly followed by a surge of heat through his whole body at the thought of seeing her swimming in a skimpy bikini. All that lithe loveliness, and those gloriously shapely legs…!

‘I either come with you, Elizabeth,’ he insisted, ‘or you don’t go. It’s up to you.’ He folded his arms belligerently across his chest.

She grimaced. ‘Not much of a choice, is it?’

Rogan didn’t even bother to answer as he studied her through narrowed lids. Elizabeth looked tired this morning. Her face was pale, and there were dark shadows beneath those sky-blue eyes.

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.

Elizabeth eyed him ruefully. ‘Just another one of those “useful” skills you learnt in the army?’

His mouth thinned. ‘Yes.’

‘You weren’t just another soldier, were you?’ she asked slowly, knowing that the skills Rogan had so far shown didn’t quite match up to that role.

The scars she could see on his body had only confirmed her suspicions.

He had lowered his lids over the darkness of his gaze. ‘I told you, I’m not going to talk about this any more today, Elizabeth.’

‘Or ever?’

‘Or ever,’ he confirmed.

‘Because, as you said, you would have to kill me if you did? Or because you just don’t want to?’

He turned to stare out across the ocean. ‘Maybe both…’

‘Maybe?’

His eyes were hard as onyx as he turned back to look at her.

‘Why the interest, Elizabeth?’

Her eyes widened at the accusation in his tone. ‘You don’t imagine that I’m trying to get information out of you for the other side, do you?’

Rogan gave a hard, humourless laugh. ‘Who is “the other side” nowadays, Elizabeth? I don’t know, and I’m pretty sure no one else does any more, either.’

‘In other words, it could very well be the woman lying beside you…’ Elizabeth said thoughtfully.

He gave her a sideways glance. ‘Is it?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ She sat up to express her indignation.

‘Is that what I’m being?’ Rogan mused. ‘Ridiculous? What did my father know about you when he hired you? Come to that, what do
I
know about you?’

She glared at him. ‘That I live in London. That I teach History at a university there.’

‘Those are only the obvious facts, Elizabeth,’ Rogan pointed out wryly. ‘Who are your associates? Your friends? What are your political leanings?’

‘I don’t have any political leanings—all politicians are as bad as one another, from what I can tell,’ Elizabeth said. ‘And my associates are highly qualified people as dedicated to teaching as I am.’