Mistress For Hire. Angela DevineЧитать онлайн книгу.
I’ve lost it! I was going to see if I could buy another one when I arrived there.’
‘Really? Well, there’s no need for that. I’ll organize it all. You’ll come as my guest, of course.’
She could see perfectly well that he didn’t believe her, and humiliation scorched through her. Yet she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting she had lied.
‘How nice of you to invite me,’ cooed Lisa.
The flash of angry amusement in his eyes showed that he had caught the irony in her tone. His dark eyebrows peaked.
‘It’s not an invitation, Miss Hayward, it’s more in the nature of an order.’
‘Why should I take orders from you?’ she whipped back.
The cynical amusement in his expression grew more apparent than ever.
‘If you have the slightest concern for Tim’s welfare, you will,’ he replied curtly. ‘I’ll pick you up at seven. Good day to you, Miss Hayward.’
Once he had left and Lisa had carefully locked the front door after him, she sank down in a dining chair, buried her head in her hands and groaned.
‘What’s going on here?’ she demanded aloud. ‘Why is he so hostile to me? I know I had no clothes on, but he surely can’t think I’ve seduced his precious nephew! Anyway, doesn’t he know that Tim’s having a torrid affair with Barbara Simpson? No, of course that’s not the kind of thing that Tim would admit to good old Uncle Matt, is it? And who could blame him? Still, I could murder the stupid kid for running off and leaving me to deal with all this. Lord, what a mess! I’ve a good mind to go out and not be here at seven o’clock when his wretched uncle comes back.’
All the same, Matt’s parting shot had been shrewdly aimed. As Lisa ran a steaming hot bubble bath and lowered herself into it with the bathroom door locked—she wasn’t going to risk a second interruption—she pondered his words. What possible connection could there be between Tim’s welfare and Lisa’s acceptance of Matt’s invitation? And hadn’t there been something vaguely sarcastic in his tone, as if he didn’t believe Lisa had the slightest interest in Tim’s welfare? It was all very puzzling, and she had to admit that her curiosity was stirred, although there were also other, less comfortable feelings simmering inside her.
The thought of going to the opera with Matt filled her with mingled dread and annoyance. Normally she would have jumped at the chance, since she adored the drama and passion and vitality of opera but could rarely afford tickets. Yet the thought of sitting side by side in an auditorium all evening with Matt Lansdon was about as appealing as being escorted by a sabre-toothed tiger, and a hungry one at that. And that was not a bad image, she reflected, soaping a sponge and brushing it dreamily over her breasts. There was definitely something primitive and feral about the man that seemed all the more dangerous in contrast to his impeccably tailored clothing. Now that she thought about it, she remembered that Tim had told her his uncle was a grazier in Tasmania, and he certainly dressed like one. The aura of old money, old Georgian houses and antiquated notions about masculine power and importance clung to Matt Lansdon as persistently as the leathery aroma of his expensive aftershave. A deeply conservative man, if Lisa was any judge. And yet beneath the conservatism lurked something wild that sent an odd, unwelcome thrill through her.
Trying to recall every word and look and gesture that had passed between them, she found herself remembering how the dark hairs curled around the band of his Rolex watch on his left wrist, how his muscular thighs thrust against the fabric of his slacks, how his broad, powerful shoulders filled out the Fletcher Jones jacket. A faint grin curved her lips as she realized what a shock it must have given him to burst in on her and find her wearing no clothes at all. Although I suppose I’d have been shocked, too, if the situation had been reversed, admitted Lisa fairly, but that thought brought another in its train. What would Matt Lansdon look like without any clothes? He would have massive shoulders, powerful arms, a narrow waist, muscular thighs, she felt fairly sure of all that. But what about the features she hadn’t seen? A hairy chest and a line of dark hair arrowing down from his navel to… Lisa blushed and slid under the water at the image that rose to her mind.
What had got into her to be thinking this sort of thing? She didn’t even like the man! He was rude, arrogant and domineering, and there was no reason something should melt and flutter deep inside her at the thought of seeing him naked. She must stop having torrid, adolescent fantasies and decide what to do about his invitation. Should she go or not? It would certainly be more comfortable never to see him again. But if Tim’s welfare was involved, she really had no choice about confronting his alarming uncle. However infuriating her flatmate might be at times, she was genuinely fond of him. Ever since she had first met Tim, Lisa had suspected uneasily that his family was exerting too much pressure on him and had felt that someone ought to tackle them about it. Well, perhaps the someone was her and this was her opportunity.
She took special care over dressing and applying her make-up. Not that she wanted to impress Matt Lansdon, she told herself fiercely, but simply because she wanted to do justice to the atmosphere of the opera itself. It gave her a brief pang of regret that nobody seemed to wear long dresses these days, but she chose the next best thing. A figure-hugging jade-green sheath with a low-cut, square neckline and a bodice embellished with intricate beading and embroidery. She brushed her long, curly dark auburn hair back from her face and fastened it with a pearl clip that had the double advantage of letting her display the creamy line of her throat, while at the same time sending her curling locks rippling down her back as she moved. A pearl choker around her neck, gold and pearl-drop earrings with black stockings and a gold evening bag completed the ensemble. Satisfied with her clothes, Lisa turned her attention to her make-up. Gazing critically at herself in the mirror, she wished for the millionth time that her mouth wasn’t so wide and that her nose didn’t have a bump in it. Well, she would just have to attempt a little bit of camouflage! She applied a light foundation that hid her freckles, smoothed on some gold eye shadow to bring out the highlights in her toffee brown eyes, added some blusher high on her cheekbones before outlining her mouth vividly with a dark, burgundy lipstick. Then she sprayed on a liberal cloud of Jicky Guerlain perfume and struck a pose with one hand behind her head like a 1920s vamp. At that moment the doorbell rang. An unexpected feeling of breathlessness overtook Lisa as she ran down to answer it.
Matt Lansdon stood on the doorstep, looking grim, unsmiling and diabolically attractive. The formal black tuxedo, white shirt and black bow tie suited his rugged masculinity to perfection. His dark, wavy hair was brushed back from his forehead, his mouth was set in a tough line and his eyebrows met in a thoughtful scowl above vivid blue eyes. He did not smile at Lisa’s appearance, but she thought she saw a flash of surprised approval in his eyes as he scanned her from head to foot.
‘Good evening, Miss Hayward,’ he said neutrally. ‘Are you ready to leave?’
As he helped her on with her coat, Lisa glanced at him over her shoulder with a small, troubled smile.
‘Can’t you call me Lisa?’ she asked. ‘It seems so unfriendly to go on calling me Miss Hayward.’
His eyes narrowed into such a hostile expression that she half expected the retort that unfriendliness was exactly what he felt towards her. Instead he gave her a small, formal nod.
‘Very well…Lisa,’ he said stiffly. ‘And I suppose you’d better call me Matt.’
She smiled at him, aware that her eyes were dancing and the dimples were showing in her cheeks.
‘Thank you, Matt,’ she said in a breathy, little-girl voice that she had used to charm packets of sweets out of elderly great-uncles when she was six years old.
It failed dismally with Matt. His mouth hardened and his hand tightened briefly on her elbow as if he was consciously resisting the impulse to strangle her.
‘Come along,’ he urged. ‘We’d better not keep our driver waiting.’
As she followed him out on to the footpath, she was startled to see that there was a limousine waiting outside with a chauffeur in a grey uniform