Innocent Mistress. Margaret Way

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СКАЧАТЬ I’d have known you were a metre off running me over. I simply have a loving affinity with crystals.”

      “Ouch, I don’t think I deserved that,” he chided. “I braked immediately.”

      “I’m sorry.” Her lovely face registered her sincerity.

      “However did you start with your crystals?” An onlooker might have supposed they were good friends or even lovers so intent were they on each other.

      “I knew some people who were great fossickers and collectors. They introduced me to the earth’s treasures. I shared their love of gemstones and crystals. After all crystals have been used and revered since the beginning of civilisation.” She looked away from him and those intensely blue searching eyes. The admiration in them was clearly flattering, but there was keen appraisal, too.

      “So how can I find the Crystal Cave?” he asked. “I’m on vacation for a month.”

      “You intend to spend it here?” She looked back in surprise.

      “Why not?” He slipped off his jacket, slinging it over his shoulder. “I was born in this town. I’ll probably die here. You sound a little like you’re wishing me on my way.”

      “Not at all.” Colour rose to the cut-glass cheekbones. “It’s I who should be on my way.”

      “On foot?” He took another look at her neat ankles. “Where’s your car?”

      “It’s just around the corner.” She gestured vaguely.

      “Okay so I’ll give you a lift. You’re not going up to the house then?”

      “The family don’t know me, Mr Conroy.”

      “I’m fine with Jude,” he told her. “I’m sure I’ll find your gallery.”

      She made an attractive little movement with her hand. “That shouldn’t be a problem. Everyone knows it. It used to be Tony Mandel’s Art Gallery. The living quarters are at the rear. You’d have known Tony?”

      “Of course I know Tony,” he lightly scoffed. “He was a constant visitor at our house. My dad bought a number of his paintings in the early days before he became famous. I thought he was overseas.”

      She nodded. “He is. In London. His last showing was a sell-out. We keep in touch.”

      “So there’s a connection?” Accustomed to asking questions, they were springing out.

      “A family friend.” Her smile conveyed she wasn’t about to tell him more. “You really don’t have to drive me. I can walk. It’s not far.”

      “I insist. Can’t have you hitchhiking.” His speculative gaze lingered on her face.

      “Why are you looking at me like that?” she questioned, with the tiniest frown.

      “Forgive me, but I can’t help wondering who you are and why you’re at Lester Rogan’s funeral when you don’t know the family?”

      She tilted her chin to look up at him. The knot in her stomach tightened. He had that confident demeanour tall men often have plus the superb body of an athlete. “Does it matter?” she asked, sounding a lot cooler than she felt.

      “Damned if I haven’t got the feeling it could.”

      “So you’re the clairvoyant now.” She smiled sweetly. “What’s your astrological sign?” She restricted herself to a brief glance into his eyes. She’d heard he was dazzling, but in his favour he appeared unconcerned with his good looks. What she hadn’t expected was the magnetism, the powerful attraction of that white, lopsided smile, the dimple that flicked deeply into his cheek.

      “Leo,” he was saying, still sounding indulgent, amused. “There’s no scientific basis for astrology, Ms Costello.”

      The sapphire eyes were full of mischief. “I was going to tell you names of crystals you might find useful,” she said coolly. “But no matter.”

      “Gee, thanks. That’d be fun,” he lightly mocked. “Can you tell me something now?”

      “If I can.” She managed to sound at ease, even though the air around them was so sizzling it burned.

      “What’s the colour of your hair?” He could see he’d caught her off guard. “I’m intrigued by your covering it up.”

      “Ever consider a bad hair day?” She cast him a quick glance.

      “I’d be amazed if you were having one.”

      “It’s obvious surely? I didn’t particularly want to be noticed. But as you seem to be so curious.”

      Purposefully she raised a hand, lifting the silk scarf from her head. Another movement released the clasp at her nape.

      He sucked in his breath sharply.

      She shook her hair free, turning her head from side to side to loosen it. The breeze that swept along the driveway sent her hair swirling like a burnished veil. Sunlight reflected off myriad highlights like the prisms of a precious gem; gold, rose, amber, even pinks and orange. He supposed her long glorious mane would be best described as a gleaming copper.

      “I can see what you mean about being noticed.” Entranced, he nevertheless kept his tone sardonic. “You speak like the scarf was protection?”

      She met his eyes again, tucking her hair casually behind her ears. The richness of the colour made her eyes and skin zing. “It doesn’t do any harm to protect oneself. I really don’t need a lift, you know. Thank you for the offer.”

      “No sense in walking in the heat. Deal?”

      Her quick assessing glance skipped across his face again. “Okay.”

      They turned back towards the car. “As a copper-head it’s a wonder your skin doesn’t burn?” he asked conversationally, moving ahead to open the passenger door.

      She slid in. “Strangely enough it doesn’t, but I do use a good sunblock. The only hats I own were much too festive for a funeral.”

      “That’s too bad. I’d like to have seen you in one.” He had a sudden mental image of her in a wide-brimmed hat weighed down with huge pink roses, something marvellously feminine and romantic. Ironically a hat like his mother used to wear to protect her skin. With a sudden twist of the heart he remembered how he’d fallen early and irrevocably in love with the image of a beautiful women in a picture hat. There were years when his parents had been passionate about their garden, working happily together. They’d even managed a beautiful sheltered rose garden, large, luxuriant shrubs and blooms, despite the humidity and attendant problems of the tropics. To this day he took a lot of pleasure out of sending roses to his dates.

      It wasn’t until Jude had dropped the mysterious Cate Costello off at her car that he realized she still hadn’t revealed what exactly she was doing at Lester Rogan’s funeral.

      Ten minutes later he arrived at the Rogan mansion, the overt display of the late Lester Rogan’s wealth. The house was huge. In his view no architectural СКАЧАТЬ