The Tycoon's Mistress. Кэрол Мортимер
‘All I can see at the moment, January, is the most beautiful woman I have ever set eyes on,’ Max cut in harshly. ‘It’s all I’ve been able to see for the last thirty-six hours!’
January looked up at him sharply, becoming suddenly still as she found herself drowning in the fathomless depths of his eyes.
‘January!’ he groaned throatily even as his head lowered and his lips claimed hers, at the same time as his arms moved about the slenderness of her waist to pull her close to the warm hardness of his body.
Drowning must be something like this, January guessed dreamily a few minutes later; the initial fight against the inevitable, before the complete surrender to a force of such strength it was impossible to fight it any longer.
She knew nothing about this man but the little he had told her—the little he had chosen to tell her. She didn’t even know his surname, she realized with a shocked jolt, and yet—
She couldn’t think any more, couldn’t formulate two words together in her brain, could only breathe and feel Max, her body on fire with the desire his kisses engendered.
Her arms moved up to his shoulders as she held on to him, one of her hands becoming enmeshed in the dark thickness of his hair, that hair silky to the touch.
Max groaned low in his throat, evidence of his own pleasure at her touch, his mouth moving more fiercely against hers now as he deepened the kiss, his tongue moving searchingly over the sensitivity of her inner lip before probing deeper.
January had never felt such oneness with another person before, as if she were a part of Max, and he a part of her, having no idea any more where Max began and she ended.
It was—
Tiny pinpoints of icy cold were falling against the warmth of her face, January’s eyes opening wide in puzzlement as the unwanted intrusion persisted, blinking dazedly as she looked up to see the snow gently falling down on them.
Max broke the kiss reluctantly, his arms remaining firmly about her waist as he gave a rueful grimace at the steadily falling snowflakes. ‘Almost as good as a cold shower,’ he murmured self-derisively, his gaze warm as he turned back to January. ‘Probably as well,’ he conceded ruefully. ‘I would like the first time I make love to you to be somewhere a little more—comfortable than a hotel car park!’
The first time…? That statement implied it would only be the first time of many…!
January pulled gently out of his arms, turned away to hide her confusion, determinedly turning her attention to a renewed search in her handbag for her car keys. Where on earth were they? What—?
‘January…?’ Max reached out a hand to lift up her chin, his gaze becoming searching as he saw the paleness of her face.
‘I really do have to go now, Max,’ she told him awkwardly, sighing her relief as she at last located her keys at the bottom of her bag. ‘It’s very late—’
‘Or early,’ he put in lightly. ‘Depends on your point of view, doesn’t it?’ he teased. ‘I want to see you again, January,’ he told her firmly. ‘Tomorrow,’ he added determinedly. ‘Will you have lunch with me?’
Would she? Could she? Dared she?
Because she was in no doubt that if she agreed to see this man again there would be a repeat of the kisses they had just shared, that the next time there might be no pulling back—that even now her body still burned for the touch of his!
But could she not see Max again? Could she just walk away from him, from the totally new emotions she had known just now in his arms, and calmly get on with the rest of her life? Could she do that? Did she want to do that?
‘Lunch tomorrow would be nice,’ she accepted huskily, not quite able to meet his gaze now, afraid that he might be able to see the hunger still burning in her eyes if she did. A hunger that seemed to consume every part of her…
‘Nice isn’t quite the way I would have put it.’ Max’s mouth twisted ruefully. ‘But I suppose it will have to do,’ he accepted self-derisively. ‘Are you going to be okay driving home in this weather?’ He frowned up at the snow that was falling more heavily than ever.
What was the alternative? To stay the night with him in his hotel suite? Somehow she didn’t think so! She might respond to this man in a way that was totally new—and a little frightening?—to her, but that didn’t mean she was about to fall willingly into his arms at the first opportunity.
‘I’ll be fine,’ she dismissed, willing her hand not to shake as she unlocked her car door. ‘This is the north of England, Max; it often snows here. If you allowed your life to be dictated by the weather you would never do anything,’ she assured him.
‘Okay,’ he agreed with obvious reluctance. ‘Where shall we meet for lunch?’ he prompted as January got into her car.
She looked up at him. ‘How about here? At twelve-thirty? There’s a nice pub a couple of miles away where they serve a great Sunday lunch.’ Working at the hotel, she did not want to be seen by Peter Meridew eating lunch here with one of the guests. Especially a guest like Max!
‘Okay.’ Max nodded slowly, bending down so that he filled the doorway, making it impossible for January to close the car door. ‘You won’t change your mind?’ he prompted huskily.
She already had—several times! But, no…she wouldn’t change her mind.
‘I’ll be here at twelve-thirty,’ she promised, giving an involuntary shiver as the piercing wind and snow entered the car. ‘Brr.’ She grimaced pointedly.
‘Sorry,’ Max murmured ruefully, stepping back so that she could close the car door.
January wound down the window. ‘You should get inside,’ she advised lightly, grateful when her car started the first time she turned the key; it was an old car, and prone to letting her down at inconvenient moments. ‘You’re getting very wet!’ As were his tailored suit and expensive-looking leather shoes.
Now where had she—?
‘I’ll wait here until you’ve driven off, if you don’t mind,’ Max told her grimly. ‘It’s the least I can do!’
He so obviously wasn’t accustomed to having his wishes overridden in this way that January couldn’t help but smile. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she told him as she drove off with a wave of her hand.
She passed John on his way to his own car as she drove out of the car park, giving him a friendly wave too before accelerating out onto the deserted road.
She would be lying if she said it was an easy drive home, because it was far from that, the drive on the untarmacked cart-track that led up to the farm the worst part of it. But at last she arrived in the farmyard, relieved to switch off the car engine and get out of the car, flexing the tension from her tired shoulder muscles.
Tension not just caused from the difficult drive home, January conceded ruefully. There was Max, her response to him, to worry about, too.
But the tension left her completely as she stood looking at the surrounding countryside, at the snow-covered hills, slowly becoming filled with an inner peace. The land, as far as her eye could see, belonged to them. It might be a tough life sometimes, a lot of hard work, often with no obvious return, the weather and circumstances unkind to them occasionally, too, but it was all theirs.
Nothing—and no one—was ever going to change that…
She was late for their luncheon appointment, by precisely ten minutes, Max realized, scowling after yet another glance at his gold wrist-watch as he strolled restlessly up and down the reception area of the hotel.
Always a stickler for being on time for appointments himself, Max found January’s tardiness doubly frustrating. Firstly, because of that abhorrence of lateness in others as much as in himself; secondly—the fact that January hadn’t