The Master's Mistress Page 3

  ‘Except being rude to each other,’ Rogan pointed out.

  ‘Exactly.’ She nodded briskly. ‘You are obviously tired after your journey—’ She broke off as Rogan gave a chuckle, a disconcerted frown on her brow as she looked across at him questioningly. And she felt the lurch in her chest, the swelling of her breasts and tightening of her nipples, at the way the amusement in his face made him appear even more dangerous…

  Appear dangerous? This man was dangerous! And he induced an awareness in Elizabeth, a physical arousal, that was totally alien to her.

  ‘Nice cop-out, Elizabeth,’ Rogan jeered, stretching wearily. ‘But I’m afraid I’m always this outspoken—what’s your excuse?’

  It took all of Elizabeth’s will-power to drag her gaze away from the flexing of those muscles in the broadness of Rogan Sullivan’s shoulders. Even so, her nipples actually ached now, and there was an unaccustomed warmth between her thighs…

  Her mouth firmed and she straightened suddenly. ‘It’s late, I was terrified out of my wits a short time ago, and I’m tired…’

  ‘Terrified out of your wits?’ he echoed incredulously, that dark gaze once again compelling. ‘I’d hate to see what your response would be if you weren’t so terrified!’ He touched his temple pointedly, a slight redness of the skin showing where Elizabeth had struck him with her book.

  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 g
aze 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…

  Chapter Three

  ‘THIS 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 th
is 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.