The Millionaire's Rebellious Mistress - By Catherine George Page 0,68
‘I want you to make love to me, to make up for all the misery you’ve caused me.’
‘I was miserable too,’ he said, his arms tightening. ‘Let’s start making up for it right now—’
She wriggled away, laughing up at him. ‘Not before I’ve eaten. I’m hungry.’
The weekend was everything Sarah had looked forward to—right through to the last moment when Alex kissed her goodbye at a brutally early hour on the Monday morning.
‘Next week,’ he said imperiously, ‘you bring your work clothes and drive to Westhope from here.’
‘Yes, Alex,’ she said meekly, and spoiled the effect by sticking her tongue out at him.
He grinned and bent to kiss her. ‘I do so like an obedient woman.’
‘Then go find one,’ she said, laughing, and kissed him back. ‘Are you free on Wednesday evening, by any chance?’
His eyes narrowed to familiar gleam. ‘I could be. Why?’
‘The weekend is a long way away,’ she said, looking up from under her eyelashes.
‘Are you by any chance trying to say you’d like to see me before then?’
Sarah nodded eagerly. ‘Not to go out. I do get tired, Alex. But if you fancy coming to my place for supper, I—I’d like that. Very much.’
Alex held her in such a punishing embrace that she protested against the lips crushing hers. ‘Of course I fancy it,’ he said roughly when he let her go, and brushed her hair back with a possessive hand. ‘I longed to suggest it myself. But, having learned my lesson the hard way, I held my tongue.’ He smiled into her eyes. ‘Thank you, my darling.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ she said, not quite lightly. ‘About eight, then?’
‘Don’t cook. I’ll bring something.’
To Sarah the time seemed to fly by for the next couple of days as she helped the men reline the barns.
‘I’ll be able to start plastering soon,’ she said with satisfaction, as they finished in good time on the Wednesday.
‘And how do you reckon you’ll reach the top of this lot?’ said Harry, indicating the height of the walls.
‘Like Michelangelo did for the Sistine Chapel—with ladders and a trestle to stand on. Though I won’t need to lie on my back, like him.’
Ian looked at her doubtfully. ‘Couldn’t you let my uncle do the top bits, boss, and you do the bottom halves?’
Harry shook his head. ‘You’d see the difference.’ He gave his nephew a fierce glare. ‘Don’t you ever let on I said this, but she’s better at it than I am.’
‘Harry actually admitted it,’ crowed Sarah to Alex later, as they made inroads on the lasagne he’d coaxed out of Stephen. ‘But he’s much better at carpentry than I am, so I’m really lucky to have him for the banisters and stairs and so on.’
‘And you’ve got his nephew for the brute strength department. You three make a formidable trio.’ Alex helped her to more of the lasagne, then put the rest on his plate. ‘Stephen would like you to know that takeout meals are not normally part of the Pheasant’s repertoire. In other words, don’t tell anyone he’s doing us a special favour.’
‘Which he does because he’s your good friend,’ agreed Sarah.
Alex dropped a kiss on her nose. ‘And because he approves of you. Highly.’
‘That’s nice! Did he approve of Maxine?’
‘No, because she upset his wife.’ Alex grimaced. ‘I met Maxine for the first time at Stephen’s wedding. She’s Jane’s cousin, which means that Jane, no matter how much I or my mother try to persuade her otherwise, feels responsible for the mayhem Maxine caused.’
‘I can sympathise with her,’ said Sarah soberly.
‘One more thing, and then let’s delete Maxine from the evening. My father flew to New York last weekend, and for once Maxine didn’t seize the chance to go with him. Instead she drove to the Pheasant to ask Jane for money.’ Alex’s eyes hardened. ‘Steve turned her down flat. They’re still getting established, and just don’t have that kind of spare cash. Maxine took off in a temper and came to me—as you saw—then still with no luck, went running to her mother, who never has two pennies to rub together, so I don’t suppose she had much luck there, either.’
‘So what will she do now?’
He smiled, and rubbed his cheek against hers. ‘Frankly, Scarlett, I don’t give a damn. So forget Maxine and tell me what you’d like to do next weekend.’
‘The same as last weekend,’ said Sarah promptly. ‘I’ll help you finish your patio.’
‘No, you won’t. You can recline on a deckchair and hand out advice and