Passionate Nights: The Mistress Assignment / Mistress of Convenience / Mistress to Her Husband. PENNY JORDANЧитать онлайн книгу.
to have anything more to do with Julian. Not because she feared him. She didn’t. No. Contempt, dislike, anger … those were the emotions he aroused within her.
Admit it, she told herself sternly ten minutes later as she locked the shop and disappeared into the small back room to have her lunch, ‘you just hate the thought of anyone thinking you could possibly be attracted to him. Anyone … or a specific someone … a very specific someone.
Pushing aside her half-eaten sandwich, Kelly started to frown. Don’t start that again, she warned herself. He’s not much better than Julian … Look at the way he treated you. Kissing you like that.
Kissing her … Abruptly she sat down, her insides starting to melt and then ache.
Watch it, she warned herself, deriding herself fiercely. It isn’t just your insides he’s turning to mush, it’s your brain as well.
Her frown deepened as she heard someone ringing the shop doorbell. Couldn’t they read? They were closed. The ringing persisted. Irritably Kelly got up. There was no way she could finish her lunch with that row going on.
Opening the communicating door, she marched into the shop and then stopped abruptly as she saw Brough Frobisher standing on the other side of the plate-glass window.
Her hand went to her throat in an instinctive gesture of shock as she breathed in disbelief, ‘You.’
Shakily she went to unlock the shop door. Brough was frowning as he stepped inside.
‘I’m looking for Kay Harris,’ he told her abruptly. The sense of shock that hit her was so strong that for a moment Kelly was unable to reply.
‘She does work here, doesn’t she?’ Brough was demanding curtly, looking at her, Kelly realised, as though he doubted her ability to answer him competently.
‘Yes. Yes, she does … I do … It’s Kelly, not Kay,’ Kelly corrected him shakily. ‘K is just my initial.’
‘You!’
Sensing his reluctance to believe her, Kelly drew herself up to her full height and told him in her most businesslike voice, ‘My partner and I run this shop.’
‘You paint china?’ His disbelief was palpable and insulting.
Kelly could feel her temper starting to ignite. There were many things she was not, and she had her fair share of human faults and frailties, but there was one thing that she was sure of and that was that she was extremely good at her chosen work—and that wasn’t merely her own opinion.
‘Yes, I do. Perhaps you’d like to see my credentials?’ she suggested bitingly.
‘I thought I just did—last night.’ The long, slow, arrogantly male look he gave her made her face burn and her temper heat to simmering point.
‘What is it exactly that you want?’ she demanded angrily, adding before she could stop herself, ‘If it’s simply because you’re some sort of weirdo who gets off on insulting women, I should have thought your behaviour towards me last night would have more than satisfied you.’
Kelly knew that she had overstepped the mark. She could hardly believe what she had just heard herself say, but it was too late to withdraw her remarks. Retaliation couldn’t be long in coming, she recognised, and she was right.
‘If you’re referring to the fact that I kissed you …’ he began silkily, and then paused whilst he looked straight into her eyes. ‘Allow me to say that you have a rather … unusual … way of expressing your … displeasure …’
He didn’t say anything more—he didn’t need to, Kelly acknowledged; the expression in his eyes and the tone of his voice along with the masterly understatement of his silky words was more than enough to leave her covered in confusion and angry, self-inflicted humiliation.
‘I … You … It was a mistake,’ was all she could think of to say.
‘Oh, yes,’ he agreed dulcetly. ‘It certainly was. Now, I’m afraid that I am rather short of time. I have a commission I would like to discuss with you.’
Kelly blinked. All that and he still wanted to talk business with her.
Her thoughts must have shown in her face because he explained gently, ‘You’re my last resort. You have, or so I am told, a very particular and rare skill. It will soon be my grandmother’s eightieth birthday. She has a Rockingham-style teaset, a much cherished family heirloom, but some pieces are missing, broken many years ago. The set has no particular material value; its value to her is in the fact that it was a wedding gift from her grandparents. I have managed to find out that Hartwell China bought out the original manufacturers many, many years ago and, whilst they still produce china in the same shape, they no longer produce the same pattern.
‘To have one of their own artists copy such an intricate floral design would, they say, prove far too costly—the work would have to be done by one of the top workers, which would mean taking him or her off work they already have in hand. They recommended that I got in touch with you. Apparently there is no one else they would allow, never mind recommend, to do such work.’
‘I … I worked for them whilst I was at university,’ Kelly explained huskily. ‘That was when I discovered that I had some talent for … for china-painting. I would have to see the design … It wouldn’t be easy … or cheap …’ she warned him.
Against her will she had been touched by the story he had told her, but she knew, even if he didn’t, just how intricate and time-consuming the kind of work he was describing could be.
‘I’ve managed to cadge one of the tea plates from Nan, and Hartwell have very kindly said that I can use their archive records.’
‘Do you have the plate with you?’ Kelly asked him.
He shook his head, unexpectedly looking oddly boyish as he admitted, ‘I’m terrified of breaking it. I’ve got it at home. I was wondering if it would be possible for you to call there to see it.’
Kelly wanted to refuse, but her professional pride and curiosity proved too strong for her.
‘I could,’ she agreed cautiously, ‘but it would have to be when the shop is closed. My partner, Beth, is away at the moment.’
‘Could you manage this evening?’
‘I …’
‘I don’t have very much time left. Nan’s birthday isn’t very far away,’ he told her.
Kelly sighed. There was no reason why she shouldn’t look at the plate this evening.
‘I suppose so,’ she agreed reluctantly. ‘Where do you live? I—’ She broke off as the phone began to ring, automatically going to answer it, saying, ‘Excuse me a moment …’ as she picked up the receiver.
‘Hi, Kelly, it’s Julian. How are you, you delicious, hot, sexy thing …?’
Kelly almost dropped the receiver as Julian’s loud voice seemed to fill the shop. Her face burning with embarrassment, she turned her back on Brough even though she knew that he could well have heard what Julian had said.
‘Julian. I … I’m busy …’ she protested. ‘I …’
‘I understand, babe. What you and I have to say to one another needs to be said in private, right?’ Julian responded. ‘God, but you turned me on last night, doll … I can’t wait for us to get together …’
‘Julian.’ Kelly closed her eyes, as revolted by Julian’s conversation as she was by his person. ‘Julian, please—’ she began. But he wouldn’t let her finish, interrupting her to say thickly, ‘I’ll ring you later at the flat. I’ve still got the number …’
He had hung up before Kelly could object or protest, leaving her pink cheeked both with anger and chagrin—anger because of Julian’s assumption that she, or any other woman for that