Mistress For Hire (Harlequin Presents) Read online

  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 waiting respectfully to help them into the back seat. Lisa blinked.

  ‘Are you always driven around by a chauffeur?’ she marvelled, as the car glided away from the curb.

  ‘No,’ growled Matt. ‘Only when I’m in Melbourne or Sydney and don’t want the bother of driving myself.’

  ‘Oh,’ muttered Lisa, settling into her seat and eyeing him doubtfully. It would have been nice to think that he had planned this as a special experience for her, but even her optimistic nature couldn’t accept that explanation. It was obvious that Matt Lansdon felt a powerful antagonism towards her, although she still wasn’t really sure why. As the car glided along through the streets of St Kilda towards the city, she thrust that small, niggling worry out of her mind and concentrated on enjoying herself. She had always loved this hour of the day when the neon lights of the city began to sparkle like coloured jewels against the backdrop of the silvery twilight. A soft sigh of pleasure escaped her.

  ‘I’m so glad they’re performing Carmen tonight,’ she murmured, half to herself. ‘It’s my favourite opera.’

  ‘I thought it might be,’ said Matt with a sardonic curl of his lips. ‘The heroine seems like the kind of character who would appeal to you.’

  ‘A gypsy slut with no heart and no morals who makes her lover suffer so cruelly that he stabs her in a jealous fit of rage? That’s the kind of character you think I could identify with?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Lisa’s eyes flashed dangerously.

  ‘It must be wonderful to be able to sum up people’s characters the moment you meet them without having to bother about getting to know them,’ she purred. ‘I’m afraid it’s a skill I’ve never had and I might make terribly embarrassing blunders if I tried it. Take you, for instance. If I were foolish enough to go by my first impressions, I might think that you were arrogant, ill-mannered, prone to jumping to conclusions. Whereas no doubt if I wait, eventually you’ll be revealed to me as gracious, fair-minded, and with a heart as soft as a marshmallow.’

  Matt scowled silently at her for a moment. Then he cleared his throat.

  ‘I’m sorry if I seem discourteous,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll do my best to be fair-minded about whatever you have to say to me this evening.’

  ‘Yes, why don’t you do that?’ agreed Lisa sweetly. ‘That way I’m sure we’ll both have a very pleasant evening.’

  In some ways it was a very pleasant evening, although she could not remain unaware of the mysterious tension that seemed to be bubbling between them. Yet Lisa had a naturally cheerful disposition, so that even with Matt brooding silently beside her, she was still able to enjoy the magical atmosphere of the State Theatre. The women in their beautiful, shimmering dresses, the men looking splendid and formal in their dark suits, the sounds of instruments tuning up in the orchestra pit, the dim house lights, the rustle of programmes and then the colour and vitality of the stage sets and the costumes and the glorious, swirling music all combined to lift her spirits.

  During the interval they did not join the rest of the throng, battling for glasses of champagne at the bar, but Matt ushered her into a private room, where the members of the opera board and their g
uests were mingling. To Lisa’s relief, he set aside his ill humour here and escorted her around from group to group, introducing her as if she was a cherished guest. Fortunately Lisa was in her element and recognised several people she knew from art gallery openings. She was soon deep in a conversation about the stage sets for the production, which had been painted by one of her old art school cronies, so she simply smiled and nodded when Matt asked her to excuse him so he could speak to a business associate. Later as they filed into the auditorium for the second half of the opera, she found him gazing at her with a thoughtful, appraising look, as if he was surprised that she had fitted in so well with his friends.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she whispered wickedly in his ear as the house lights went down. ‘Did you think I was going to rip all my clothes off and lie on the table?’

  Just before the orchestra came in on cue, she could hear the audible grinding of his teeth. However, the rest of the performance was so magnificent that Lisa’s thoughts were soon swept away from the mysterious subject of why Matt disliked her so much. Both of them became absorbed in the performance and, when the opera reached its stunning climax and the final curtain fell, they rose to their feet cheering and clapping with the rest of the audience. Only after half a dozen curtain calls had been taken and her hands were stinging from clapping did Lisa stop applauding and turn to look at Matt.

  ‘Wasn’t it wonderful?’ she breathed. ‘Thank you so much for bringing me.’

  His eyes kindled.

  ‘My pleasure,’ he murmured. ‘It doubles the enjoyment to be with someone who appreciates it so much.’

  Yet as they went up in the lift to the restaurant upstairs, Lisa sensed that the brief truce was over. She still felt magically uplifted and would have liked nothing better than to enjoy the discreet opulence of the restaurant with its candelit tables and its murals of famous opera sets from the past, but she had an uneasy certainty that Matt was spoiling for a fight. All the same, her earlier shot about his manners seemed to have gone home.

  ‘I think we should enjoy our meal and have a little chat to get to know each other better before we discuss anything really heavy, don’t you?’ he suggested with a wintry smile as they sat down.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ agreed Lisa candidly. ‘I’m starving and I won’t enjoy my food so much if you quarrel with me while I eat.’

  Matt gave an explosive growl of laughter.

  ‘Well, that’s honest,’ he conceded. ‘And I’ve always liked women who enjoy food. It makes me feel they would enjoy everything else about life, as well. So tell me, my ravenous little sex goddess, what are you planning on eating?’

  ‘Sex goddess?’ challenged Lisa with a lift of her eyebrows.

  ‘If you don’t want to be considered a sex goddess, you shouldn’t lie around looking so luscious on dining tables,’ warned Matt in a hoarse, smoky voice, his blue eyes scanning her lazily from under half-lowered lids. ‘Nor, for that matter, should you wear cocktail dresses that show off your considerable physical charms to such advantage. I’ll say this much for my nephew—the boy evidently recognises a beautiful woman when he sees one.’

  Lisa stared at him uneasily. There was something in the sultry, caressing way Matt was watching her that sent an unwilling tingle of excitement through her entire body, but at the same time she resented his frank appraisal of her attractions, particularly when she was still well aware of his underlying hostility towards her. And where on earth did Tim come into this? Tim certainly didn’t think she was beautiful. As a matter of fact, he often told her quite cheerfully that she ought to go on a diet. Unwilling to be drawn into a difficult discussion, Lisa simply flashed Matt a mysterious, fleeting smile and turned her attention to the menu.

  ‘I think I’ll have the seafood brochettes with wild rice and salad,’ she announced. ‘And perhaps the chocolate mousse cake and coffee to follow, if you don’t mind. I didn’t have any dinner tonight.’

  ‘Be my guest,’ Matt shrugged. ‘I think I’ll have the grilled lobster, myself. Would you like some champagne to drink with it?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ agreed Lisa. Once the champagne had been brought and approved, Matt leaned back in his chair and smiled at her. The smile worried Lisa. There was something dangerous about it, as if it was the opening move in a war game.

  ‘Tell me some more about yourself,’ he invited.

  Lisa was just about to embark on this agreeable activity when there was a sudden interruption. A tall, flamboyant-looking man, dressed in a dinner suit of royal blue satin and with long, blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, stopped at her table and uttered a glad cry of recognition.

  ‘Lisa! I haven’t seen you for ages, darling. When are you going to give up that dreary little boyfriend of yours and come and live with me?’

  Lisa gave a gurgle of laughter and returned her friend’s embrace warmly. In spite of Alan’s violently coloured clothes and theatrical gestures, she knew perfectly well that he was devoted to his wife, Vicky, and his two little boys. But this sort of banter was an old habit going back to their student days at art college, and she always enjoyed it.

  ‘Whenever you say the word, sweetheart,’ she replied. ‘By the way, I thought your sets were magnificent tonight. Alan, have you met Matt Lansdon? Matt, this is Alan, who designed the sets for the production.’

  ‘How do you do?’ muttered Matt, rising to his feet and extending his hand.

  There was a stormy glint in his eyes as he took in every detail of Alan’s unconventional appearance, but the set designer seemed in no way taken aback by this scrutiny. He winked at Lisa and gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze before he began to thread his way between the tables again.

  ‘Well, I must be going,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Nice meeting you, Matt. I envy you your supper partner. Isn’t she the sexiest little moll in town?’

  Matt’s face was like thunder as he glared after Alan’s departing back.

  ‘Are you aware that he’s a married man with two children?’ he hissed when Alan was safely out of earshot.

  Lisa smiled tranquilly. She found Matt’s disapproval so exquisitely humorous that she couldn’t bear to spoil the fun by telling him how harmless the friendship really was. Instead she gave him a long, sultry look from under lowered eyelashes and pouted at him.

  ‘Yes,’ she breathed.

  For a moment she thought Matt was going to jump up out of his chair and box her ears, but instead he simply scowled at her.

  ‘Where did you meet him?’ he asked.

  ‘Alan? We were at art school together.’

  ‘Oh, so you really do have some claim to be a genuine artist, do you?’ asked Matt in a surprised voice. ‘I thought…no, never mind.’

  Lisa gave him a puzzled frown and then shook her head regretfully.

  ‘No, I don’t think I can really claim to be a genuine artist,’ she said flatly.

  ‘But you just said you went to art school.’

  ‘That doesn’t make me an artist,’ she retorted. ‘Not by my reckoning, at any rate. I have an art school diploma and I’ve sold maybe a dozen reasonably important paintings over the last three years, but only at very moderate prices. I couldn’t possibly live on what I earn from my art, and that’s my definition of an artist. One of these days I will be a genuine artist, if hard work has anything to do with it. In the meantime I support myself in whatever way I can, but I won’t claim to be something I’m not.’

  Matt gazed at her thoughtfully and took a sip of his champagne.

  ‘That’s interesting,’ he said, half to himself. ‘You strike me as being a very ambitious young woman.’

  She shrugged. ‘I suppose you could say that.’

  ‘How old are you now?’ he asked.

  ‘Twenty-five,’ replied Lisa ruefully. ‘So I’ve been at it long enough to know that it isn’t easy to make a name for yourself as a painter. But one of these days I’ll do it, whatever sacrifices I have to make.’

  ‘Aren’t you afraid that marria
ge and children will cramp your style?’ asked Matt.

  Since Lisa wasn’t at all sure that she ever wanted to marry, that question didn’t faze her.

  ‘I have no intention of letting marriage and children cramp my style!’ she replied with a toss of her head.

  ‘I see,’ said Matt grimly as he speared a piece of lobster with his fork. ‘You’re one of these liberated women, are you?’

  There was so much distaste in his tone that Lisa had to hide a grin.

  ‘Have I said something funny?’ demanded Matt.

  ‘No. It’s more the way you said it, as if you were asking, “Oh, you’re one of those poisonous snakes, are you? Or one of those deadly spiders? Or one of those white pointer sharks?”’

  ‘Any of those would be preferable in my view to a liberated woman,’ said Matt disdainfully, picking up his champagne glass again.

  Lisa choked. ‘You take my breath away,’ she said.

  ‘I’m astonished that any man should have the power to do that. You strike me as the sort of woman who would be glib and fluent in any situation whatsoever.’

  ‘Thank you,’ purred Lisa. ‘I assume that’s a compliment.’

  ‘It isn’t,’ replied Matt evenly. ‘But we’ll let it pass for the moment. Tell me, have you known Tim long?’

  There was something in the way he asked the question that made Lisa feel as if she was in a fencing ring, circling around a far more experienced, agile and deadly opponent. An odd, simmering sense of excitement began to tingle through her as she braced herself for the impending clash of swords. Then she told herself not to be melodramatic. After all, wasn’t this what they had come out for? To discuss Tim’s future like two calm, rational adults? She shrugged and gave Matt a faint smile.