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entirely on him, as a lover and as a man as well.
'Feeling a little scared at the thought of getting to know me, Sara?' he murmured mockingly and she tilted her chin up
defensively.
'Not at all,' she lied.
'Good, so shall we go up to my apartment? I don't know about you, but it's a little too chilly to stand out here debating
points of detail.'
The building was severe and imposing from the outside. The white façade was broken by intricate black wrought-iron
railings around the long windows, and apart from a few window-boxes there was a total absence of green. It was as different from his
mansion in Scotland as it was possible to get. Somehow it summarised the life in London that had woven such a magical spell over her
when she had left it behind, but which, now that she was in it once more even if only for a couple of days, was already beginning to
impinge uncomfortably on her.
Two of the four-storeyed buildings had obviously been cleverly knocked into one so that the reception area was not a small
hallway, leading up to a single staircase, but a large central area, impeccably tiled, and at one end there was a small walnut desk
manned by a uniformed middle-aged man who half stood when James walked in.
'I thought you'd given up the night shift,' James said, grinning as he collected his mail.
'I had, sir.' The weathered face returned the grin. 'But then I discovered that it beats being at home with the wife, the
mother-in-law, the daughter and the little nipper. Soon as the mother-in-law goes back to Oz and Gary finishes the house repairs so
that Ellie and little Tommy can move in, then I'll take back up my day post. Be able to watch a little night-time telly in peace and
quiet.'
'And I guess you spend all day sleeping?' James raised his eyebrows and tapped the wad of post against the open palm of
one hand.
'Not all, sir. There's a limit to what the wife will tolerate.'
James was still grinning as the elevator door purred shut on them. 'He's an institution here,' he explained with a devastating
smile. 'Been here as long as I have.'
'Which is how long, exactly?' Sara asked curiously.
'Almost six years. Before that I had a mews house in Richmond but this is a helluva lot more convenient for central
London.'
'And no troublesome garden to take care of.'
'And no troublesome garden to take care of,' he agreed, standing back to allow her to exit first. 'I presume that was your
reason for an apartment as well?'
'Yes,' she admitted, 'although with a child, a garden would have been ideal. But I just would never have had the time to
look after it and it would have been too small in central London, anyway, to employ the use of a gardener.'
'So you went from one extreme to the other.'
'Simon adores it.' She shrugged, watching him as he smoothly unlocked his door and pushed it open, automatically turning
to deactivate his alarm.
'And you?'
Sara pretended to ignore the question. It wasn't difficult. He had switched on the light and she was quite literally speechless
at what she saw. Acres of space. Acres of space for a London apartment at any rate. Shallow stairs led away from the door and down
to a superb sunken sitting area which rose on one side to give an open view of yet another sitting area, less formal, with a television set
at one end and alongside that a desk with a complex array of office equipment. On the other side, the sunken area led up to a spacious
dining area and beyond that the kitchen, which was, unheard of in a London flat, large enough to house a kitchen table as well as all
the usual culinary paraphernalia. A long counter, topped with black granite, separated the kitchen from the dining area, but aside from
that one division the eye could travel the width of the room without being obstructed by any doors. And the gleaming wooden flooring
emphasised the illusion of vast space.
Stretching behind were the doors that led to the bedrooms and bathrooms. It was elegant but understated, as only truly very
expensive places were. The paintings on the walls were small, discreet and vaguely familiar.
'And I thought that my apartment was luxurious,' she commented drily, stepping tentatively down the stairs to the sitting
area and looking around her slowly.
'Something to drink?' Which reminded her of the reason she was here in the first place, and an unexpected flutter of nerves
rippled up to the surface.
'Please.'
'Coffee? Tea?'
'A glass of wine, if you have it.' She followed him up to the kitchen and perched awkwardly on one of the softly padded
chairs by the table. 'It's an amazing place,' she said, watching as he poured her a glass of wine and one for himself, before sitting
opposite her at the table. Her eyes skittered away from the aggressive planes of his face and the only thing running through her head
was the fact that she needed to keep talking. She was no longer the seductress out to even scores. She just felt like a nervous, timid
young girl out on her first date with a man who was light-years ahead of her in the sophistication stakes.
'How on earth did you find it? A place like this is like gold dust in London. You must have spent months, years searching.'
'I own the building, actually.' James watched the changing expressions on her face with amusement. 'Or, rather, it's been in
the family for as long as I can remember. We used to own quite a bit more as a matter of fact but a lot's been sold along the way to
help cover the costs of running the estate in Scotland.'
'Oh, indeed. Don't we all have to flog a few of our London assets so that we can keep our country estates running?'
He grinned at the sarcasm, which Sara half wished he hadn't done because she then became all too uncomfortably aware
that, manipulator or not, the man had bags of charm, too much for his own good.
'Where were you before you lived in London?' she asked hurriedly.
HIS CONVINIENT MISTRESS
31
CATHY WILLIAMS
HARLEQUIN PRESENTS 2479
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