His Scandalous Mistress: The Master's Mistress / Count Toussaint's Pregnant Mistress / Castellano's Mistress of Revenge. Кейт Хьюит
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?’
‘I didn’t say that—’
‘As good as,’ he bit out. ‘What constitutes an intelligent man to you, Elizabeth?’
She grimaced. ‘I didn’t mean to sound insulting—’
‘Oh, I think that you did,’ Rogan grated harshly. ‘Does a first-class degree in Computer Science and a doctorate in Computer Analysis pass as intelligent in your book?’
Elizabeth swallowed hard. ‘I thought you had been in the army for most of the last fifteen years.’
‘Where, if you’re so inclined, they teach you to use your brain as well as how to shoot guns!’ he assured her.
There was no mistaking the anger in Rogan’s tone now. And rightly so. Somehow in the last fifteen years this man had achieved a first-class degree and a doctorate, for goodness’ sake. Giving him the same right as Elizabeth to use the title of doctor if he so chose.
She gave an awkward grimace. ‘I apologise if I sounded rude. But—’
‘Let’s just leave it at the apology, hmm, Elizabeth?’ he advised in an off-hand manner. ‘Any more insults from you and I’m likely to lose my appetite!’
Elizabeth already had lost her appetite. Completely. And it wasn’t all due to the last verbal exchange with Rogan. Some of it was due to the fascination of watching the lean strength of his hands as he ate his meal with silent efficiency, as if he needed the fuel it would provide rather than obtaining any real enjoyment from the food itself.
This was a man totally beyond Elizabeth’s experience. An enigma, in fact. He looked rough, tough and quite frankly dangerous. But his degree and doctorate also proclaimed him to be a man of high intelligence. Something she should perhaps have realised before she insulted him…
She swallowed hard. ‘I really am sorry if I sounded less than polite just now, Mr Sullivan.’
So he was back to being ‘Mr Sullivan’, was he? Rogan mused cynically. ‘Don’t give it another thought, Elizabeth,’ he replied. ‘You obviously can’t help being insulting,’ he added challengingly.
Her cheeks coloured attractively, making her hair appear redder and spikier. ‘Now who’s being rude?’
Rogan chuckled softly. ‘It must be catching! Most people consider me something of a pussycat,’ he teased.
‘The lethal type that stalks in a jungle, perhaps?’ Elizabeth said dryly.
‘Perhaps,’ he dismissed evenly; until he’d left the military five years ago, she would have been closer than she realised!
‘So,’ she went on. ‘What is it you do, exactly, with your degree in Computer Science and your doctorate in Computer Analysis?’
‘Analyse… ?’
She gave a pained frown. ‘I’m trying to make polite conversation, Mr Sullivan; you might at least try to reciprocate!’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s what people do!’
‘Is it?’ Rogan murmured. ‘Perhaps if you were to start calling me Rogue instead of Mr Sullivan I might feel more inclined to reciprocate?’
She shifted uncomfortably. ‘I agreed to use the name Rogan.’
‘But not Rogue?’ he taunted.
‘No.’ She grimaced.
‘Fair enough.’ Rogan leant back against the bench seat to look across at her through narrowed lids. ‘You haven’t eaten very much.’ He frowned at her almost untouched plate.
‘I told you, I’m not hungry.’ She gave up any pretence of eating and pushed her plate away. ‘I forgot to ask earlier how your hand is today,’ she added politely.
‘Are you offering to kiss it better?’ Rogan responded mockingly, after glancing down at the already healing nick on the palm of his right hand. He had several scars on other parts of his body that would no