Memoirs of a Millionaire's Mistress (5 page)

He glared at the two containers as he yanked them out of the
microwave. One hot gourmet dinner and one ruined tray of greying prime fillet steak, steamed beyond redemption. Blast it.

‘What’s that smell?’ Didi appeared at the door with the cat in her arms and wrinkling her nose.

‘Charlie’s dinner. What say we eat out? My treat.’ He whisked the remaining gourmet plate to the back of the bench then, grabbing a knife, he sliced the plastic off the other tray, cut the meat into chunks, put it on a saucer.

‘Sounds good.’ Then her perky voice altered. ‘Ooh,’ she almost crooned, the sound washing through him like liquid sex, causing his hand to slip on the knife. ‘You didn’t have to go to so much trouble for Charlie. I’ve got plenty of cat food.’

He set the saucer on the floor, noticing a pair of bare feet approach as he did so. ‘I won’t be making a habit of it,’ he muttered. She had gold nail polish on her toes, he noticed, with little black snowflakes in the middle of each. Slim ankles, shapely calves—

Four white furry paws bounded into view and the feet moved away as he straightened up to clear the empty meat tray, but Didi got there first.

‘Cameron. That steak wasn’t for Charlie, was it?’ She was smoothing out the plastic wrap and checking the price sticker. ‘Come on, fess up. Even with your wealth you wouldn’t pay mega bucks for a cat’s dinner. You wouldn’t pay for a cat’s dinner at all if you had your way.’

To his chagrin he watched her lean over the counter top and check out the second container: the gourmet meal. ‘Hey, I’m guessing you took out the wrong container. So you made a mistake—no big deal.’ She grinned at him through silky gold lashes, her eyes slightly unfocused. ‘Why do you feel you need to play Mr Perfecto in your own home? There’s only you and me here.’

He was all too aware of that fact, which for some reason had every hair on his body rising, not to mention his blood pressure, and other bodily parts.

He snatched the empty container and plastic out from beneath her hands, catching a whiff of alcohol on her breath as he dumped them in the kitchen bin. Was the woman tipsy on one glass?

‘Maintain the Image, perhaps?’ she went on when he didn’t reply, waving one end of her chiffon scarf. ‘I bet you maintain that Mr Perfecto image in your sleep. All buttoned up and stiff…’

Registering the tiny hitch in her breath, he swivelled his head to see her soft cheeks suffused with instant colour.
Right on the mark.

He turned away, moved to the sink to rinse the mugs left over from breakfast and said the first thing that sprang to his lips. ‘What do you feel like eating?’

‘Whatever you’re having.’ Her voice had dropped a notch, turned husky.

His fingers slipped on the mug he was drying as her words slid over him, through him. Ropes of fire snaked along his veins, tugging at his libido, stampeding his imagination into savage, steamy life. Didi riding him, her hair wild, long legs spurring him on, unbuttoning his image with quick deft hands…

He closed his eyes. Very carefully set the mug down. Unclenched his teeth. Wiped his hands on the towel and sent up a silent prayer for sanity.

No doubt about it, she was tipsy. What had he been thinking, giving her champagne on an empty stomach?
That’s it, focus on practicalities.
‘You didn’t eat lunch,’ he barked. ‘I told you to help yourself.’

‘I forgot.’

Next he knew she’d planted her butt on the bench beside him. He didn’t know how she’d got there—one moment she was standing behind him safely out of his line of vision, the next moment she was on the counter top. Perhaps she flew.

He made the mistake of looking at her. Astute silver eyes stared back at him. She wasn’t worried about losing her com
mission or her accommodation, he realised—as he’d already said, he needed her. And they both knew it.

Leaning one elbow alongside her on the counter top, he forced himself to hold her gaze.
Ignore the normal red-blooded male’s reaction.
The one still racking his system.

But he
was
a normal red-blooded male. And the warmth of her skin, fair and fresh and fragrant, teased him, tempting him to reach out and touch. He curled his fingers, confining the urge, shooting temptation straight to his already tormented lower body.

Plump rosy lips curved ever so slightly, hinted at a sense of fun. He hadn’t experienced anything remotely funny in a long time. When was the last time he’d laughed? Did he even have a sense of humour any more? he wondered. He had the feeling Didi would be the type to breathe life back into it.

Breathe.
He could hear the soft sound of her steady exhalations. Breasts rising, falling…He wanted to look down and see for himself. His fingers itched again to test the weight of her womanly flesh and feel her nipples rise in anticipation against his palms.

A good reason to focus on her face. The eyes brimming with hidden thoughts, the high cheekbones, the neat flat ear lobes—‘You’re wearing two different earrings.’

She tipped her head to one side, setting the left one tinkling. ‘It’s The Look.’

‘The look?’

‘Asymmetric. Like your Sheila Dodd. Like your tie.’ Her eyes dipped and she studied his throat through long silky lashes.

He swallowed over the lump that had suddenly mushroomed from nowhere. ‘My tie’s asymmetric?’

Wiggling her bottom along the bench until she was within reach, she slotted her fingers behind it, loosening the knot and yanking the silk sideways in one swift movement. ‘It is now.’ Grinning, she smoothed it all the way down his chest, her eyes following the path of her fingers, every part of his body re
sponding to the touch. ‘That’s better. It looked like it was strangling you.’

Perceptive girl.
Or maybe it was blazingly obvious, he thought, reaching up now to undo the top button of his shirt. He’d never thought this apartment overly warm. Until this woman had turned the heat up.

‘Okay. I made a mistake. I intended to impress you with my gourmet dinners specially imported from the Six Spice Deli around the corner.’

Now it was he who manoeuvred along the counter top so Didi was directly in front of him, her knees bumping his waist. So he could rest his hands on her hips. So he could look directly into her eyes and say, ‘And I’m probably about to make another one,’ as he laid his lips on hers.

T
HE
first touch of Didi’s mouth against his detonated an explosion that knocked Cameron sideways and shattered the illusion that control was his rock-solid foundation, that he could pull away any time.

Sparks. They sizzled along his nerves with the spectacular ferocity of frayed power cables, snapping and crackling through his blood, sending his hormones spearing into the sky like some crazed Eureka Tower.

He felt her instant response—the heave of her breasts as she struggled to drag in air and push him away, then her mouth softening, opening, hands rising to clutch at his shirt. The moan deep in her throat as he changed the angle for better access.

Her taste was a sweet temptation, luring him deeper to sample the dark lusciousness of her tongue, to drink in its hot honey flavour as it writhed with his.

This was no ordinary kiss. This was the force of a wrecking ball at its most dramatic, splintering thought and crumbling to dust barriers he’d thought impenetrable.

Had he thought himself immune to emotion? He tried telling himself this was a severe case of lust but somehow the condition sounded grossly inadequate. Because something else was happening here. Something he didn’t want to think about because if he did he’d know he’d made a bigger mistake than he’d ever dreamed of.

Instead he pulled her closer, shifted nearer, between thighs that seemed to melt apart at his wordless command so he could feel her sultry heat seep through his shirt and into his skin.

Her softness yielded to his burgeoning hardness, hot blood beating through his body as his hands slid from her hips to the curve of her bottom and found the hem of her T-shirt. Fingers barely steady crept beneath to find smooth alabaster skin, the delicate arch of her spine as she leaned into him.

Her grip on his shirt tightened. Jersey-clad legs clamped around his waist, locking their lower bodies in an iron embrace. He rocked against her. Sweat broke out on his brow, his lungs seized. The urge to rip away the thin barrier and drive into her—right here, right now, without thought for the consequences—

He wrenched his mouth away from her satiny warmth. Backed up a step. It was torture to slide his hands beneath her thighs, over firm shapely calves and untangle her legs from around him. Madness to look into her wide silver eyes and see his own ardour reflected back. Had he forgotten so soon? Lust was one thing, this emotional whatever it was…was something else.

He didn’t do emotion. Not since Katrina.

Chewing on passion-plumped lips, she drew in a breath, her breasts rising with the effort, drawing his attention to her nipples outlined clearly against her T-shirt.

‘A-a-ah.’ Her breathy voice drew the sound out like spun toffee.

‘I—’ A stab of pain in his lower leg cut through his senses and he stumbled back a step. ‘What the…?’

Charlie. He glared down at the cat, who’d apparently polished off his silver-service main course and decided trouser-clad legs were a convenient dessert.

‘What?’ Didi still had a death-grip on his shirt and now one of the animal’s damn claws seemed to be lodged tight in the leg of his Armani trousers. He teetered dangerously for a
couple of seconds before rocking forward on the balls of his feet only to feel one shoe land on something squishy.

‘Bloody cat.’ He shook his leg free and the animal bounded away with a hiss of annoyance, no doubt in search of its next victim of choice—the French silk drapes, perhaps.

His body still pulsed, his leg throbbed, his pride was dust beneath his feet. There was a rip in the fabric and—he checked—a disgusting disc of squashed fillet steak on the bottom of his shoe.

He looked back at Didi, who’d relinquished her hold on his shirt to cup her hands over her mouth and nose. ‘It’s okay,’ he reassured her. ‘Hardly a scratch.’

Didi stared at Cameron while she tried to regain control of her runaway emotions. Her lips felt as if they’d been buzzed by a supersonic jet; her pulse was galloping for a win in the Melbourne Cup.

Alcohol on an empty stomach had snatched away reason and common sense. Planting her butt on the counter top had been her first mistake.

He looked…worried? No, he looked confused. Blame the champers for the fit of giggles that bubbled up her throat. She must be borderline loony because why would she feel like laughing when she’d just been kissed senseless and he was probably going to kill her cat and fire her and life was never going to be the same again?

She couldn’t help it; the half-laugh, half-cough tumbled out, convulsive and slightly hysterical.

His gaze narrowed slightly, his bemused expression didn’t alter. ‘Are you laughing?’

‘I’m sorry, it’s just…’ She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her scarf. Her sudden amusement faded as he bent and she saw him twitch at the hem of his trouser leg to inspect the damage to his flesh—twin stripes of red. ‘Are you okay?’

He grabbed a tissue, moistened it under the tap and dabbed
at the wound. ‘I’m probably going to die of blood poisoning or tetanus but don’t let that spoil your evening.’

‘Let’s have a look.’ She slid off the bench but he was scraping meat from the bottom of his shoe and she couldn’t see. ‘Where’s your first-aid box?’

‘I don’t need first aid. Or maybe I do, but not for my leg.’ He straightened and met her eyes. ‘What just happened here—’

‘Was a kiss, Cameron.’

At least that was what she’d thought it was. But she’d never thought a simple kiss by the kind of man you’d sworn to avoid could suck the air from your lungs and leave you in need of an oxygen mask. Burn you from the inside out until you were cinders. Send your heart spinning in a thousand different directions until you didn’t know which way was up. The answer: it wasn’t a simple kiss. Which only led to another question: what
was
it?

But she was hardly going to tell him all that, was she? The best option was to feign nonchalance. As if she exchanged saliva with almost-strangers every day of the week. So she shrugged. ‘It was fun, Cameron.’

‘Fun.’
His tone mocked and his eyes, darkly assessing, pinned her own, holding her immobile, stripping away clothes, flesh and façade until she understood the meaning of naked to the core.

It took all her strength to drag her eyes away. ‘My guess would be you thought so too,’ she managed, whirling away to drag open cupboards. ‘About that first-aid box…’

But she could feel his gaze tracking her movements, like a hot glue gun oozing heat down her spine, her bottom, her legging-clad thighs.

Suddenly he was behind her. She felt his shirt brush her sleeve, his breath against her bare arm as she reached for the next cupboard. Her heart rate, barely back to something approaching normal, picked up pace once more.

Then he leaned closer, the hard planes of his chest abrading her spine, her nape, the back of her head as he reached to the top shelf. She could smell the residue of cologne he’d used this morning, and, beneath that, the scent of soap and man. This man. She’d smell it in her sleep tonight, and a few nights more. Many nights more.

‘Here,’ he snapped. Rather than the super-dooper kit she expected, he pulled out an old ice-cream tub with a loose assortment of Band-Aids, painkillers, tubes and bottles. He stepped back and Didi swayed at the sudden loss of contact. Her head was spinning, her legs felt numb.

He lifted out a tube of antiseptic cream, barely glanced at her as he said, ‘Looks like you should sit down. Or perhaps you should eat.’ He flicked his head at the counter top. ‘There’s a dinner there. It should still be hot.’

Probably a sensible idea, even if her stomach churned at the thought of food. ‘I think I will.’ She peeled off the lid, grabbed a spoon, filled a tumbler of water and perched on a kitchen bar stool at the end of the counter top. But even the fragrance of sweet-spiced Moroccan lamb didn’t tempt her appetite out of hiding.

She dug out a token chickpea or two, rolled them around her mouth, barely swallowed. Gulped water. Then the sight of Cameron placing one foot on a chair, rolling up his trouser leg and exposing one firm calf with thick masculine hair dried her mouth all over again.

The two distinct raised welts were dealt with swiftly and she stared as he rubbed in antiseptic cream with long blunt fingers.

Dark olive skin overlaid the hard muscle. Her own fingers tingled and her creativity took flight. Oh, how would it feel to run her hands up his leg? What was it about this guy? She’d never even looked at Jay this way. This wicked, wanton way.

She’d take off his shoe, his sock. Start at the toes and work
her way up. From the smooth skin of his instep to the rougher skin above the sock line. She’d watch his eyes darken to that gorgeous blueberry as she crept her fingers higher, beneath the trousers to fondle his kneecap. Higher, where the tops of his thighs would be hard, like wood, then to the inner thigh where it would be softer, hotter…

‘How is it?’

His voice penetrated the sexual shroud she found herself immersed in. As she blinked it away she became aware of her own heart beating a thick, heavy rhythm against her ribs. Aware of his eyes studying her with a searing intensity that made her wonder if he could read her thoughts.

She managed a smile, hoped it looked casual and tried for light. ‘Mmm, good. Want a taste?’

His gaze dropped to her mouth, the sexual glitter in his eyes making her lips feel swollen and sensual, as if she’d invited him to taste something far more intimate. A taste he’d already acquainted himself with, and her pulse spiked at the memory.

Which was probably why he said, ‘Thanks, but I’ll eat later. When I’ve finished at the office.’ He rolled down his trouser leg, capped the tube. He didn’t want an encore. In fact she got the distinct feeling he did, in fact, consider it a mistake, as he’d said before he kissed her.

She told herself she was
not
disappointed. She did
not
need another reminder of her own mistakes. Rather, she felt a growing unease that he was leaving his own apartment on her account. Guilt because he shouldn’t have to do that. She set the spoon on the counter top with a chink of silver on granite. ‘I thought you’d finished for the day?’

‘I’ve got some last-minute details to finalise before I leave for Sydney.’

‘You’re going to Sydney?’

‘First thing in the morning. I’m viewing some glass figurines and wooden carvings I intend purchasing for the
gallery. I’ll be gone a couple of days. You’ll be okay here alone, won’t you?’

He didn’t pause for an answer, just dragged a wallet from the back pocket of his trousers, pulled out a couple of business cards and a wad of fifty-dollar bills. ‘I haven’t had time to organise a credit card but this should cover your expenses while I’m away. I use a limo service; I’ll let them know the car’s at your disposal.’ He counted the cash, laid it on the table.

She stared. She’d never seen anyone lay down such a large amount of cash at one time and not blink an eye. Perhaps it simply wasn’t enough for him to bother about. ‘You’re not afraid I’ll do a runner with your money?’

He shook his head once. ‘You’ll hang out for the prize. You stand to earn ten times that amount—and earn a name for yourself at the same time.’ Spoken with an almost indiscernible disdain for those beneath his privileged position of wealth and power. She recognised it and anger flared, hot and harsh. ‘How dare you presume to pigeonhole me—or anyone else for that matter—because I don’t live at a fancy address?’

He flashed her a look, a cold blue flame that froze and burned, holding her in its grip for a few tense heartbeats, and for a gut-curdling moment a stranger seemed to stare back at her.
He’s not the man you think he is.
The poster pinned to the ladies’ room mirror streaked through her mind.

She slid off the stool and took a step back, rubbing arms that suddenly felt chilled. Who was this man she’d committed herself to work for? Whose apartment she’d be living in for the next couple of weeks?

The man who’d kissed her with toe-curling expertise.

The man she’d kissed back.

His gaze relented a little but his face remained stony and unforgiving, the lines around his mouth suddenly looked deeper. ‘You’re mistaken,’ he said quietly. ‘I judge people by the way they live their life, not their address.’

‘I’m—’

‘Any problems, speak to Davis downstairs or call my mobile.’ He turned and headed to the dining room, collected his jacket.

Trailing in his wake, Didi nodded, hugging her own threatened security within her crossed arms.

As he shrugged into his jacket he said, ‘If you’re cold, turn up the thermostat; it’s on the wall by the front door.’

‘I’m not cold.’ Just uncertain.

‘I’ll be late back tonight and gone early. Have some work in progress for me to look at when I get back.’

‘I will.’ Spoken with a certain amount of trepidation.

He paused, looking grimly awkward. ‘We should clear the air about that moment…’

She was almost tempted to let him bumble through an explanation, but, really, she didn’t want to discuss it either. ‘I told you, it was a bit of fun. Let’s leave it at that.’

He nodded and she sensed his relief. His remote expression relaxed into some semblance of the guy who’d toasted their partnership with her less than an hour ago. ‘See you on Friday.’

Then he was gone. Didi sank into the nearest available sofa. She hoped her creativity wasn’t shot to pieces. Charlie wandered in, jumped up onto her lap and began purring, bumping his head against her hand. ‘There you are. You just wanted in on the action, didn’t you? Or were you jealous, hey? Well, you don’t have to worry, there won’t be any more.’ Cameron’s kiss might be the hottest thing since supernovae were discovered but they’d never be compatible.

Except in bed.

She had no doubt he’d be an absolute god in bed. But he’d never be suitable in the ways that counted. Yet she hardly knew him, how could she make any kind of judgement?

Well, she knew some things. He’d never understand what it was like to wonder where your next dollar was coming from
or where you were going to sleep tonight. Mind you, neither had she until she’d made the decision to go it alone.