Mistress to the Tycoon Read online

  Right now even friends seemed out of the question and it hurt more than it should.

  ‘What else do you see?’ she urged, giving him one last chance to show her he understood where she was coming from, where she was going.

  ‘Tiny kitchenette, elephant lamps, candles, art magazines.’

  He turned back to her, an expectant look on his face like a pupil expecting praise from a teacher.

  Praise? In his case, he’d just scored a big, fat F.

  ‘You would see that,’ she muttered, turning away from him and crossing the room so he wouldn’t see the sudden tears filling her eyes.

  She never cried, yet the harder she blinked them away, the more tears swelled in her eyes till they soon overflowed and ran down her cheeks in pitiful rivulets.

  ‘I’m not sure I understand.’

  Thankfully, Cooper’s voice came from near the windows, indicating he hadn’t moved.

  She didn’t want him to see her like this.

  She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  ‘I didn’t think you would,’ she murmured, holding back the sobs that threatened to join the tears. ‘Just go. Leave the proposal. I’ll consider it and get back to you.’

  ‘But I need an answer—’

  ‘I don’t care what you need! Please leave and lock the door behind you.’

  Her voice shook and she bit down on her bottom lip to stop the quivering, hating him for making her feel this vulnerable, this weak.

  ‘I’ll call you,’ he said, his footsteps echoing on the polished boards as he left the studio, the soft tinkling of the wind chimes an eerie signal to his departure.

  ‘Don’t bother,’ she muttered, dashing an angry hand across her eyes only to find the tears falling faster than before.

  Furious at Cooper, furious at her impotent tears and furious at her inability to see a clear way out of this mess, she marched into the kitchen and flicked on the kettle.

  A cup of chamomile tea mightn’t soothe her seething soul but it would go a long way to erasing the awful chill that had seeped into her bones at the thought she might lose this place.

  And that Cooper didn’t give a damn.

  CHAPTER TEN

  COOPER strode up Brunswick Street in desperate need of a caffeine fix, entering the first café he came to which happened to bear the interesting name The Red Tongue.

  Was there anything about this suburb that wasn’t way-out or different or designed to throw him into a spin?

  From the minute he’d first set foot here he’d been slightly off-kilter and out of his depth, both foreign feelings that didn’t sit well with him. He liked control, order, planning, and forward thinking. Instead, since he’d set his sights on acquiring the gallery nothing had gone according to plan, particularly the conscience he’d suddenly grown.

  The same conscience that now screamed he’d let Ariel down somehow, that he’d driven an irreversible wedge between them.

  It hadn’t been intentional. The proposal was business and he’d hoped that once the deal was behind them she might be interested in catching up on a social level again.

  Fat chance.

  He could handle her teasing, her loaded barbs, and her occasional put down—but tears?

  No way.

  The sound of her choked-up voice and the glistening moisture on her cheeks had kicked him in the gut and sent him straight out of there, torn between wanting to comfort her and strangle her for making this deal more complicated than it had to be.

  ‘What’ll it be, mate?’

  Cooper tried not to stare at the young guy taking his order, but it was pretty hard not to. The kid sported enough metal studded through his face to construct a bridge and had a white G-stripe through his gothic black hair.

  ‘Strong espresso, please.’

  ‘No worries. Coming right up.’

  He watched the skunk guy saunter away, slashes in his denim jeans, a less-than-white cloth hanging out of his back pocket and a black T-shirt featuring the café’s logo, feeling way older than his thirty years.

  He’d never considered himself overly conservative but spending time in this suburb made him feel more ancient than Noah.

  Though this place wasn’t too bad in the displacement stakes: brown vinyl booths, chrome modern chairs, plain wooden tables. The only eye-catching things in the café were the fire-engine-red menus, those and the metal-favouring staff.

  ‘Here you go.’

  Skunk guy returned in record time and placed a steaming espresso in front of Cooper. He wanted to inhaled it, needing a jolt of caffeine to hotwire his brain into coming up with a solution to the Ariel problem.

  ‘Thanks,’ Cooper said, stirring two sugars into his coffee for added oomph and wondering why the waiter hadn’t moved. ‘Is there something else?’

  Skunk guy looked nervous about something, the metal rod in his nose twitching. ‘Actually, there is. You look like a guy who’d appreciate art. Here, take a look at this.’

  He pulled a flyer from his back pocket—the opposite pocket to the one containing the dirty rag, thank goodness—and slapped it on the table. ‘This artist is awesome! She’s having her first showing tomorrow and you should go. Tell all your friends.’

  Cooper glanced at the flyer as he took his first, welcome sip of coffee, almost snorting it out when he saw where the exhibition would be held.

  ‘Colour by Dreams, featuring Chelsea Lynch.’

  The artist’s name rang a bell too but he couldn’t quite place it immediately.

  ‘It’d be cool if you brought a whole heap of people. The artist really needs support.’

  ‘And who are you? Her PR manager?’

  Cooper admired the young guy’s push, wondering if he was a friend of Ariel’s rather than the artist. It wouldn’t surprise him in the least if she had a whole string of guys like this ready to promote and support her.

  Look how she had him feeling.

  Skunk guy grinned sheepishly. ‘No, I’m her boyfriend. Chelsea is the best and I said I’d help her out by passing out some flyers to customers. Hope you don’t mind?’

  ‘After you brought me a coffee like this? No problems.’

  ‘You’re cool for a business dude,’ skunk guy said, giving him some weird hand sign involving his index and little fingers pointing up with the rest of his fingers aiming down before slouching away to try his sales pitch on the next customer.

  Cooper picked up the flyer and studied the short bio of Chelsea Lynch: local girl who had grown up in Fitzroy, won scholarship to study art, first showing sponsored by Colour by Dreams.

  The last fact interested Cooper more than the rest. Why would Ariel sponsor another artist? Weren’t gallery showings as rare as the last piece of prime developing land in this street?

  From what he’d read, it took most artists years of hard slog and self-promotion to obtain a showing, yet here was a young artist starting out being sponsored by a gallery?

  Cooper drained the rest of his coffee, folded the flyer and tucked it into his jacket pocket, hoping the old adage ‘out of sight, out of mind’ might work. For some inexplicable reason, he suddenly felt like a big, bad bully for pushing the gallery deal and, in the process, ruining the dreams of people like this new artist.

  Not to mention ruining the dreams of another artist.

  He had his own agendas, his own goals, but what if Ariel’s dreams were just as important as his?

  This is business…this is business…

  The hard thing was, no matter how many times he told himself it was only business, seeing Ariel’s vulnerability had delivered a kick in the guts to his cool, aloof act he’d donned for the presentation.

  She’d found a chink in his impenetrable armour and he didn’t like it.

  Business was one thing, caring about the opposition another and, unfortunately, he’d actually grown to like the fiery artist with the zany dress sense.

  Enough to forfeit your dream?

  Shaking his head and wishing for a clea
r-cut solution to this new problematic development in his quest for success, he left payment for the coffee along with a hefty tip and headed for the door.

  He didn’t make it.

  The fiery artist burst through the door and made a beeline straight for him, and by the murderous expression on her face it looked like her tears were a thing of the past and she’d rather skewer someone’s head.

  His.

  ‘Tell me more about this lease business.’

  Ariel resisted the urge to stab Cooper in the chest and settled for plopping into the booth opposite the chair he’d just vacated.

  She preferred the soft, comfy vinyl to the hard-backed chairs. Not that his choice surprised her: hard chair for a hard ass.

  ‘Drink?’ he offered, sliding back into the chair with obvious reluctance. ‘And how did you find me? Is stalking another of your hidden talents?’

  Ariel toyed with the cutlery in front of her, particularly the knife, and contemplated all sorts of delightful ways she could use it on the infuriating man opposite her.

  ‘Everyone in the street knows me and when I asked about a tall, uptight guy in a fancy suit the old man from the Nepalese shop pointed me straight here.’ She smirked, seeing his frown at her uptight dig. ‘And no, thanks, I don’t want a drink, I want answers.’

  To give him credit, Cooper’s sombre expression didn’t change. Most guys would’ve bawled her out for her outrageous behaviour, from sniffling tears to arrogant demands in less than ten minutes. He took it in his stride, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms, his blue-eyed gaze unwavering.

  ‘All the answers are in the proposal you asked me to leave you.’

  ‘I’d rather hear about it from you. Besides, I don’t have time to read a whole lot of legalese that you’ve probably peppered through that doorstopper of a document you prepared.’

  Okay, so she sounded ruder by the minute but she couldn’t help it. When she was nervous, she got defensive and obnoxious and pushy.

  So, he could sue her. Wouldn’t be much different from what he was trying to do to her at the moment anyway, ripping out her home and livelihood from under her.

  ‘You could’ve heard more if you hadn’t booted me out of the gallery.’

  A challenging gleam glittered in the intelligent blue depths focussed on her and a tiny thrill went through her that here was a guy she could match wits with, who could give as good as he got.

  She tilted her chin up and glared him down. ‘Could’ve, should’ve, would’ve but didn’t. How about you tell me everything you know about that lease now?’

  So she could high-tail it straight to the council offices and see if she had an easel to stand on.

  He folded his arms, a cool, casual gesture of a confident guy rather than a defence mechanism, and met her stare straight on. ‘The council has had a ninety-nine-year lease on the land twice. The original owners, when the land was pastoral, leased it to the council who later bought the lease once the owners offered it to them for a hefty price. As I told you before, your Barb signed a twenty-five year lease with the council, which was extremely generous, and that’s up for renewal. However, I’ve spoken to several people within the council who are ready to negotiate a sale for the right price. If that happens, you get nothing, which is why it’s in your best interests to vacate now, take what’s on offer and lease elsewhere. That about cover it?’

  Ariel listened to every damning word, her heart sinking lower than Cooper’s lousy offer.

  Could he be right about the council selling or was he toying with her as he had from the start?

  Only one way to find out and that was push him.

  ‘The council won’t sell. You’re bluffing.’

  He leaned forwards, placing his forearms on the table and drawing her attention to his long fingers which she’d noticed when painting him. Long fingers that she’d fantasised about, skimming her body, bringing her pleasure…

  ‘I’m telling you how it is.’

  She grabbed for a curl and wound it around her finger, meeting his unflinching stare while her insides quaked. He had to be wrong. She couldn’t contemplate any other option.

  She’d made a promise to Barb, she had a legend to keep up, to continue the work Barb had started in the local community. She’d be a monkey’s aunt if she let a guy like Cooper railroad her into making a decision out of fear.

  ‘You’ve seen enough of this street to know the type of image the council wants to portray and the gallery is a vital part of the local colour. Besides, we do a lot for local talent, not to mention the street kids in the area.’

  ‘Street kids? What’s your involvement with them?’

  If his upper-class lip had curled in derision, she wouldn’t have been surprised. His incredulous tone said it all.

  Heat surged into her cheeks, a potent combination of anger and resentment that a guy like him wouldn’t understand the first thing about what it was like to be starving, cold and desperate, and that he’d dare question her about it.

  ‘Never mind—it’s not relevant to your business proposal, is it?’

  By the sharp flare of awareness in his eyes, he registered her venom-loaded barb.

  Shaking his head, he pushed back from the table. ‘Look, this is getting us nowhere. I’ve answered your question about the lease, I’ve tried to lay out the offer as plainly as I can. The figures are in the document so once you have a chance to think it over, I’m sure you’ll make the right decision. I’ll call by later for your decision.’

  ‘Don’t bother!’

  She leaped to her feet as he stood up, knowing she should shut up and get out before she said something she’d regret but her defensive hackles were well and truly bristling and her thoughts became words faster than she could stop them.

  ‘I’m not interested in anything you have to offer, now or ever. I know you’ve been hanging around me, acting nice to soften me up, but it hasn’t worked. So you storm into the gallery today doing your intimidation act. Which, I hate to tell you, hasn’t been successful either. So why don’t you quit while you’re behind and leave me alone?’

  To her amazement, he laughed. ‘Does this mean you won’t have dinner with me tonight so I can get your final answer?’

  She clenched her hands.

  ‘It means I don’t want to ever see you again.’

  She turned on her heel, hoping her worn flip-flops wouldn’t send her sprawling and spoil her attempt at a dignified exit.

  ‘That’s going to be hard, considering I’ve been invited to Chelsea Lynch’s showing tomorrow and I’m all for supporting new talent.’

  She stiffened as he brushed past her, waving a flyer in her face with a smug smile of his own as he held open the door.

  She didn’t respond.

  She couldn’t; it took all her concentration to walk past the guy who, while he couldn’t take no for an answer and it annoyed her beyond all reason, stood up to her as no one ever had.

  And a huge part of her admired him for it.

  She liked this guy.

  Against her better judgement, with every instinct screaming they were worlds apart and he spelled trouble with a capital T, she liked him.

  Now what was she going to do about it, considering she didn’t want to see his smug face ever again?

  ‘Ariel, wait.’

  If she’d had half a brain, she would’ve ignored him and kept going. Instead, there was something in his tone of voice, a softening, which made her halt in her tracks.

  ‘What?’

  He broached the short distance between them and took hold of her upper arms; she couldn’t have bolted if she’d tried.

  ‘Why did you follow me?’

  ‘Because I’m insane,’ she muttered, wriggling in his grip to get free.

  It wasn’t so much his probing question that had her wanting to flee as much as his touch, his firm hands scorching her with his particular brand of heat. The type of heat that made her lose her mind. Having her arms tingling wasn’t
enough. She wanted that heat to spread through her body, to have his hands all over her, exploring, caressing, stroking. Every last inch…

  ‘You listened to me in there where you wouldn’t back at the gallery. What changed your mind?’

  Darn him for being so observant, so persistent.

  She stopped wriggling, fixing him with a glare that would’ve sent a lesser man heading for the hills.

  ‘Fine, you want to hear the truth? I always keep a promise. Simple as that. I felt bad for reneging on my part of the deal when you’d been pretty good about the whole posing thing, so that’s it. You happy?’

  ‘I am now,’ he murmured, his hands sliding around her waist, moulding her to him, sending her pulse into overdrive and her belly into freefall. ‘I’m not the enemy, you know.’

  ‘Says who?’

  She tried to pull back but his arms tightened, pinning her against him. Logic told her to make a run for it, but desire flowed through her body and made her wish he’d drag her back to the gallery this second and make love to her. Maybe once they got rid of all this pent-up tension, she might be able to steel herself against him once and for all?

  Or maybe she was making excuses for wanting to get naked with the hottest guy she’d ever known?

  ‘I can prove it to you,’ he said, tilting her chin up to gaze into her eyes, his blue eyes boring into her with an intense expression she couldn’t fathom.

  ‘Prove what?’

  She’d lost track of the conversation the second her mind had put the two of them together naked.

  ‘Prove I’m not the enemy.’

  ‘And how are you going to do that? By schmoozing me?’

  ‘Don’t tempt me.’ His gaze dropped to her lips and her breath hitched.

  Kiss me, you fool!

  Her lips parted and for an insane second, she wondered if she’d spoken aloud.

  His head descended, blocking out the brilliant sunshine streaming down on them, and she held her breath, her hands splayed on his chest, craving the feel of bare skin rather than expensive cotton.

  Her eyelids fluttered shut and she tilted her head a fraction, craving the touch of his lips more than she’d craved anything in her entire life.