Ruling Sheikh, Unruly Mistress Page 3

  It was no use wishing that she were better looking, or more sophisticated, or that the right words might sometimes come smoothly to her lips. But just because she was quiet and good and plain, didn’t mean she lacked outrageous thoughts. Those thoughts ranged a lot further than serving Mac cheese.

  She refocused as Tom left the table. ‘You’re an excellent chef, Lucy.’

  ‘Thank you. Whatever you prepare for us, and in whichever order you choose to serve it.’ Tom went on, ‘I, for one, shall certainly relish every mouthful—’

  ‘As shall we all,’ Mac cut across him sharply in a tone that startled her. He stepped in front of her, shielding her from the other men. ‘There will be three types of canapés tomorrow,’ she promised hectically, desperate to return to safer ground. ‘And none of them broken.’

  The men laughed, and to Lucy’s relief Mac relaxed too. She laughed along with them, but her laughter sounded strained. Mac was still close by and her body insisted on reacting violently to him. Her nipples were erect, and another, far more intimate part of her was swelling so insistently a man like Mac, so sexual and knowing, must surely know…

  She was so wrapped up in these thoughts she barely noticed the other men thanking her, and one by one, leaving her alone with Mac.

  ‘Three types of canapés, and some really good cheese? That sounds good to me,’ Mac commented approvingly.

  His voice pierced her trance. Now the meal was over her confidence was stripped away. ‘It’s not a problem,’ she said, hoping Mac would leave her to it as she glanced at the deserted dinner table. ‘Just let me know what else you’d like and I’m sure I can handle it.’ She was thinking of recipes—he was clearly not.

  ‘I’m sure you can,’ he agreed, resting back against the wall.

  Chapter Three

  DID Mac have to be so attractive when he smiled that lazy smile with his green eyes glinting? She was the last person on earth who knew how to deal with a man like that, Lucy told herself sensibly as she served the men lunch the next day. It wasn’t just Mac’s fierce looks, which set him apart in a world of bland, but the sexual energy he exuded. If she got too close to that she’d get scorched. She only had to glance in the mirror to know he wouldn’t be attracted to her.

  ‘Do you want me to help you clear the table?’

  ‘No,’ she exclaimed, feeling awakward. Mac’s smile was confident and sexy as he leaned back against the wall.

  She was in a hurry to finish cleaning up. She had a date tonight. The honour of the chalet company was at stake. Her colleagues swore this was something only she could do for them.

  ‘Do you have some special routine you follow?’ Mac said, breaking into these thoughts. ‘Lucy?’

  ‘Rinse and stack?’ she said hopefully, glancing at the dishwasher. She could do with some help.

  Mac’s lips pressed down in wry approval. ‘Don’t let me stop you.’

  She was still open-mouthed when one of his friends poked his head round the door.

  There was a moment of complete stillness as he took in the scene and then spoke to Mac. ‘We thought we might take a walk into town.’

  Lucy breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Fine,’ Mac said, without breaking eye contact with her for a moment. ‘You go right ahead.’

  He was staying with her?

  He wanted to stay with Lucy. He wanted to know why she was in such a hurry, and why, when she had just served another fantastic meal, she was still lacking in confidence. Lucy wasn’t good at her job, she was outstanding—so why the angst?

  ‘Don’t you want to go into town?’ she hinted.

  ‘I’m in no hurry.’

  He didn’t have to give Lucy a reason for staying in a chalet he owned. If he had he might have said he didn’t want her bolting while he was gone. The last thing he wanted was to have to replace her with some sex-starved Seasonnaire. But that was only part of the truth. The novelty of a quiet, self-effacing girl attracted him. She tried so hard, and had overcome the problems quickly and efficiently. He wanted her to grow in self-belief. He wanted to hear this quiet girl scream with pleasure when she lost control in bed.

  She’d never had this much scrutiny from anyone, but with her calm head on she could understand that Mac would want to be sure she could hold things together for the week—though he could ring head office and have her replaced at once if he wasn’t satisfied with her work. Would that be too easy for him? He didn’t look like a man who embraced easy.

  Dragging her thoughts from Mac, Lucy turned with relief to rinsing plates. But he was still there in her head. Mac with his glossy black hair and fabulous emerald eyes—Mac steeped in pure, potent power—Mac who unnerved her—deliciously. Unnerved her? She was completely out of sync.

  ‘Lucy?’

  ‘Yes?’ Her guilty gaze flew to Mac’s face.

  ‘You seem…distracted?’ he probed.

  ‘Distracted?’ She gave a nervous laugh. ‘No…I was just planning tonight’s meal.’

  ‘Do you like the uniform?’ Mac enquired as she fiddled with it.

  ‘Yes, I do.’ She met his gaze, determined not to be put off her stroke. She didn’t wear the uniform with the same flair as, say, Fiona, but at least it made her feel anonymous and safe. ‘I feel…like I belong,’ she added as an afterthought, undoing her apron now they’d finished clearing up.

  She had turned away to hang her apron on the peg behind the door and so she didn’t see Mac frown.

  Then Tom came back to have another go at persuading Mac to go with him into town.

  ‘I’ll leave Omar here should you need anything.’

  ‘No, take him too,’ Lucy told Mac, thinking the invisible presence of a bodyguard she might stumble across at any moment almost as alarming as having Omar’s boss scrutinise her every move. ‘There are people on call at the chalet company if I need anything.’

  ‘In that case, see you later, Lucy.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ she added to an already empty room. If she had needed a reality check on how vital she was to Mac’s existence, she just got it.

  As the front door shut behind the men she sank down on the nearest chair. She was trembling. She felt as if she’d run a marathon. She had. She had just completed the most important race of her life—to keep her job, though she wasn’t foolish enough to think that couldn’t change at any moment if Mac changed his mind.

  She had to get back to work. Dreaming didn’t clean floors—plus she had some eggs to beat for tonight’s meal before covering them and leaving them in the fridge…

  Staring round the gleaming kitchen as she cracked eggs in a bowl on autopilot, Lucy mulled over what she had learned about her guests. Aside from an overload of testosterone in the chalet, there were a lot of heavy gold rings in evidence engraved with family crests. Theo didn’t wear one, but Tom’s crest, along with Sheridan’s and William’s, marked them out as members of the British aristocracy. That was simple enough to work out, but what was she supposed to make of the fierce lion and the scimitar engraved on Mac’s ring?

  The vision of an awe-inspiring desert landscape came to mind. But where had the green eyes come from? And such eyes…eyes that spoke of billowing Bedouin tents and the pearly light of dawn on the oasis as lovers woke and stretched their pliant limbs before making love again and again and again…

  It took remarkably little imagination to take the hunk in jeans and place him in flowing robes. Hmm. Whisk suspended. As the picture drew clearer the whisk picked up pace again. The silk sheets on their Bedouin cushions would cling tenaciously to Mac’s powerful limbs, hinting at the brute strength underneath. But the sheets were covering him.

  So she’d throw them off.

  ‘Are you going to beat that egg to death?’

  She nearly hit the ceiling as Mac stopped her hand. She hadn’t realised he’d come back.

  ‘What has that poor egg done to you?’ He held her gaze in the most disturbing fashion.

  ‘I was just surprised when you came back.
’

  ‘Is there a curfew in operation?’

  ‘Sorry.’ Her brain was addled. Mac in cool black performance gear, ready for the snow, was even more alarming than Mac in jeans. And he was still holding on to her hand.

  ‘Don’t look so worried,’ he said, releasing her. ‘I’m not checking up on you.’

  Then why was he here? Lucy nursed her hand. Mac’s touch was warm, firm and commanding—and he’d let go of her far too fast for her daydreams and not nearly fast enough for here and now.

  ‘So, what are you up to?’ he said, staring into her eyes.

  She gazed around, desperate for an answer. ‘Something for tonight…cake.’

  ‘Cake?’ Mac prompted, staring pointedly at the array of cakes already laid out on the table.

  ‘Isn’t Tom waiting for you?’ Lucy said hopefully.

  ‘And if he is?’

  ‘Could you pass me the cake tin, please?’

  He held it out. She took hold of it, but he didn’t let go, so now she was joined to Mac by an inflexible ring of tin.

  ‘Lucy?’

  She blinked and returned to her customary kitchenconfident self. ‘If you’d like a piece of the cake I’ve already made, just sit down, and I’ll—’

  ‘Serve me?’ Mac suggested wickedly, releasing the tin.

  ‘I’ll cut the cake,’ Lucy said primly, reaching for a knife.

  ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ Mac told her, and with one last mocking stare, he left the room.

  Mac might have left the room, but he hadn’t left her thoughts. He was very much part of them and doing things to her that were almost certainly forbidden by law in several countries. How not to long for that? Running through a list of ingredients for the next meal didn’t come close.

  Chapter Four

  LUCY spent the next hour in her small attic room, pacing up and down. If only plain girls could be born with a lust bypass, she reflected, pausing by the mirror to view her unchanged reflection, it would make life and rejection so much easier for her. Of course, she knew her relationship with Mac was purely professional, and she’d only known him five minutes, but it would have been nice if, only for a few moments of that time, the frisson she felt could have been a two-way connection. The best thing now was to have a long soak and try to forget him. But she couldn’t, because she had somewhere to be and there were jobs to do first—beds to turn down, bathrooms to clean, towels to check, fires to bank up…

  She was running late by the time she finished all her remaining tasks and she still had to get ready—number one on the list was a quick bath, and then she’d have to run all the way to the club where her friends would be waiting for her.

  Interest laced with concern for Lucy had developed into hot, shameless lust. Razi had to have her. She was beautiful, unaffected and available—and as soon as he had given her a chance to clear up the chalet and set up for the morning he was going to have her.

  His impatience was easy to explain—apart from the ache in his groin the clock was ticking. He had never felt the weight of duty more. He embraced the responsibilities coming his way with enthusiasm, but was under no illusion as to the effect they would have on his lifestyle. A traditional marriage—even if not to his cousin Leila—was on the cards. He owed it to his country. But before then…

  ‘Preoccupied, Razi?’ Tom asked him discreetly.

  ‘You know,’ he said offhandedly. They were sitting in a noisy bar and he was already itching to move on. The drinks weren’t cold enough and the nibbles tasted of cardboard after Lucy’s delicacies.

  Next time she could serve them on her naked body and he’d lick the champagne she spilled off her belly.

  ‘We can move on if you like,’ Tom suggested.

  ‘Sorry, Tom. Didn’t mean to ignore you—things on my mind.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Tom sighed theatrically and passed a hand across his eyes. ‘Let me guess.’

  ‘Don’t,’ he said sharply. For some reason he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone, even Tom, making sport of Lucy. ‘Don’t even go there, Tom. Let’s just move on.’

  Muffled up in a super-sized ski jacket, a long scarf, a woolly hat with a bobble on top and a thick pair of gloves, Lucy hurried along the empty streets towards the club. The streets were deserted because everyone was already cosy and warm inside one of the many restaurants and bars by this time of night. It was a world of muffled music and the occasional blast of noise and laughter as a door opened briefly.

  She was feeling guilty as she scudded along, knowing her brothers would have loved an event like the one she was due to take part in, while she felt shy at the prospect of entering a crowded club where everyone would know each other. She only hoped she could find her colleagues straight away when she arrived—and that Mac and co didn’t decide to go there too. She shivered at the thought of it and almost lost her nerve and turned around.

  Her enthusiasm for the event shrank even more when a member of a rival chalet company barred her way at the entrance. ‘Here’s the runner up,’ he announced to his friends, who all started laughing. She hurried past, but her confidence had taken a dive. It got worse when she saw all her colleagues waiting for her and looking so hopeful.

  ‘Ready?’ they chorused.

  ‘As I’ll ever be,’ Lucy confirmed, wondering why she had agreed to sing in the first place. Being a good choir girl hardly qualified her for the annual karaoke competition between the rival chalet companies, and the moment she entered the makeshift dressing room, which doubled as the ladies’ restroom, she knew she’d made a big mistake. She didn’t have the personality for something like this.

  ‘Make-up?’ one of the girls prompted, waking her out of the terror stupor. They were stripping off her coat and scarf, and one of them plucked the hat from her head.

  ‘I don’t have any make-up.’

  ‘You don’t?’ The girls looked at each other in alarm.

  ‘I’ve never bought any.’

  Alarm was replaced by incredulity.

  ‘I’m not very good with it.’

  ‘Not surprising if you never tried,’ one girl said with an encouraging smile, stepping forward. ‘No worries—we’ll do it for you.’

  ‘Oh, no, thank you—but if I wear make up, I’ll look awful.’ I look bad enough already, Lucy thought, gazing in despair at her reflection. Compared to the other girls she was a real plain Jane.

  ‘You couldn’t possibly look awful,’ one of the other girls said kindly.

  ‘I only took off my apron five minutes ago.’

  ‘So imagine the transformation.’

  They were all so eager to help. How could she let them down? She dragged her confidence cloak tightly round her. ‘Okay, I suppose we’d better get on with it.’

  Hasty words, Lucy realised as one of them produced a costume for her to wear with a flourish, carolling, ‘Ta da!’

  ‘No,’ she said firmly. Singing was one thing, but she was going to wear her sensible off-duty clothes, which comprised jeans and a pale blue fleece.

  The girls looked at each other and then, recognising the straw that might well break the camel’s back, they gave in.

  ‘Just tell me when I have to sing and I’ll be fine.’ Or she might be, if her upper lip didn’t feel as if it were superglued to her teeth.

  ‘Here, have a drink of water,’ one of her colleagues said as Lucy licked to no effect with a bone-dry tongue.

  Then they all went silent as the contestant from the opposing chalet company began to sing.

  ‘He’s got a great voice,’ Lucy commented, swallowing hard.

  ‘And he’s hot,’ one of the girls added.

  Better to know she didn’t stand a chance before she headed for the makeshift stage, Lucy reasoned. ‘I’m going to give it everything I’ve got.’ She smiled bravely as a pile of make-up bags hit the counter.

  Then the girls took over, transforming her while she could only watch helplessly. One of them brushed out her hair and curled it with a heated wand, while
another made up her face.

  ‘Relax—I do this as a living when I’m not doing the ski season,’ one girl assured Lucy as she applied a brown stripe beneath Lucy’s cheekbones, a white one above and a blob of red on the apple of her cheek.

  Now she looked like a painted doll with exaggerated colouring. She should never have let this happen.

  Lucy closed her eyes, resigned to her fate, so it was a surprise when she opened them to find that once the stripes had been blended in she didn’t look half bad. Her skin looked even, radiant, and her face sculpted. The make-up was like a mask, Lucy realised with relief—a mask to hide behind. Careful work on her eyes and lips had turned her into someone she hardly recognised and Mac would certainly never recognise her if he decided to come in for a drink. ‘I had no idea,’ she murmured, leaning forward.

  ‘No time for that,’ the girls insisted as she continued to stare into the mirror, amazed at her reflection. Taking hold of her on either side, they ushered her outside.

  One last glance confirmed the surprising fact that, left loose, her hair didn’t look half bad either. Thanks to the styling wand it hung in thick waves almost to her waist. She had never worn her hair like this before, because her mother said long hair was untidy, and, of course, in a professional kitchen her hair was always covered. Make-up? She pressed her rouged lips together anxiously—she’d never get used to it, but at least the girls looked pleased.

  ‘You look amazing,’ one of them assured her and they all agreed.

  ‘Amazingly silly?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Have some confidence,’ one girl insisted. ‘You won our award when you least expected it, and now you’re going to win this.’