Mistress: At What Price? (5 page)

‘You've got it wrong, Mariel. The Frenchman was the fool.' Dane rose, returned the chair to its proper place and, with a gesture obviously aimed at taking her mind off her troubles, jangled the keys in front of her face.

‘Oh…' Somehow he'd managed to steal them away. How had she allowed that to happen?

He opened her hand, dropped them in her palm. ‘Let's go look at your new business premises and pick up this car of yours.'

 

Moments later Mariel ran her fingers over the Porsche's polished silver finish. ‘Nice.'

‘
Nice?
It's a 911 Carrera. A very expensive piece of precision machinery.'

‘So am I, darling.' His eyes met hers over the bonnet and she wished she could unsay the flirty words which once would have brought a laugh to his lips. This time his lips didn't even begin to crack a smile.

She slid into the driver's seat, adjusted the mirrors while Dane made himself comfortable beside her—if sitting ramrod-straight
and
listing her way like a sinking ship could be termed comfortable.

‘Relax, I'm not seventeen any more,' she reassured him.

‘You've been driving in Europe for ten years. Don't forget which side of the road you're supposed to be on,' he told her. ‘And remember, driving a car's like making love. You handle her gently.'

‘Really?' She caressed the steering wheel a moment, studying him closely until he turned a quiet shade of
pink. ‘That's where I disagree with you. I'd say it's more about passion. Fast and furious.' She flashed him a quick grin and pressed her foot hard on the accelerator.

‘What's the dress code for tomorrow night's do?' she asked ten minutes later as they coasted down the freeway towards the haze-covered city. ‘Black tie? Formal?'

‘Yes.'

‘I'll need to buy a dress.'

His head was tilted back on the headrest, and his sunglasses hid his eyes, but she felt his gaze on her. ‘Just keep in mind that I want to be able to slide my hands down your spine when we smooch on the dance floor.'

The way he said it—slow, sexy and appreciative—sent hot and cold shivers down her back. To make sure he didn't get the wrong idea, she said, ‘To give everyone the impression we're a couple, right?'

He didn't answer.

She cleared her throat. ‘Any further requests? Colour?'

‘Surprise me. But make sure the zip glides easily. I wouldn't want to snag the fabric.'

Her pulse did a fast blip.

‘When we get to town we'll organise a credit card for you,' he said. ‘I'm guessing you'll want the whole deal: shoes, hair, etcetera. It's an important occasion for me, so don't skimp.'

‘I never do.' Rather, she never had. ‘So what's the evening about?'

‘It's the year's major fund-raiser for a charity I founded a few years ago called OzRemote. This dinner and ball raises funds to support kids in the Outback with no access to computers or modern technology.'

‘So you donate computers?'

‘It's more involved than that. Money raised can pay
experts in the field to visit remote stations, instal equipment and offer technological support. I've got a trip coming up soon which will take me as far as the northwest corner of the state.'

‘As I remember, Bachelor of the Year entrants have to raise a certain amount of money before they're eligible for judging and the “fun” part with the babes.'

‘Correct.' He named a figure that had her nodding with approval.

‘Impressive. I'll be sure to choose something appropriate to the occasion.'

 

The office space Dane was offering her was small, but Mariel focused on the positives. She had an address for her business when she eventually opened. Somewhere to store stock, spread out her designs and create in the meantime. She could renovate the little space at the front, dress up the window to attract customers. Employ her own tailor. Dreams, she thought. But they were
her
dreams, and Dane was going to help make them happen.

After he dropped her at the car dealer she collected her car, then drove back to her parents' home and packed her stuff to take to the city. She planned to spend the rest of the day on the all-important purchase of that evening gown.

Since this was an annual event, before leaving home she surfed the Internet for information on last year's ball. There she found a photograph of Dane and a prominent politician's daughter.

Blonde, big-breasted, statuesque. Naturally. Her full-length gown was an elegant sweep of crimson and the neckline dipped low. Very low. Dane's hand was curled around the woman's bare shoulder, hugging her
close. Mariel ignored the little twinge. Her emotions were
not
going to become involved in this…
affair
they were embarking on.

It was late afternoon when she pulled up outside the address he'd given her in one of North Adelaide's leafy upscale streets and rang him to say she'd arrived. No pesky reporters that she could see as the high gates swung open.

She took a moment to admire the magnificent two-storey villa, with its bay window and its intricate detail in the veranda columns, stark white against the dark stonework of the nineteenth-century dwelling. A stone cherub cavorted in the midst of a circle of carefully tended low shrubs.

She manoeuvred her car into the empty spot beside Dane's Porsche and sat a moment, rolling her head back on the headrest. She was smart enough to know this arrangement couldn't lead anywhere. Dane wasn't her type, and he didn't do long-term relationships. But, oh, he only had to stand in the same room with her and her libido responded with a kind of sit-up-and-beg.

She didn't have time to ponder further because Dane appeared to help her unload her car. She followed him through a back door in the garage and around to the rear of the house.

Greenery and a variety of colourful flowering bushes filled an area enclosed by high stone walls. An in-ground pool mirrored the sky. A wall of glass doors, clearly a modern addition, opened onto the deck. He led her inside, through a kitchen boasting the latest appliances while retaining its old-world charm. They passed comfortable-looking dark leather couches and a vermilion rug on a polished blonde-wood floor. But it was
the stunning chessboard on the coffee table that commanded her immediate attention.

‘Oh, wow! This is magnificent.' She wandered over for a closer inspection.

‘Black and white crystal. Handcrafted. One of a kind.'

Mariel picked up the king. It was comparable to a shampoo bottle in height, and like the other major pieces was tipped in gold. Dane flicked a switch on the side of the board, which was inlaid with mirrors and frosted glass, and the whole thing lit up from beneath. Another switch changed the colour of the light.

‘That is one of the most magnificent boards I've ever seen.'

‘I don't suppose you've learned to play?' he asked hopefully.

‘You know me—couldn't sit still long enough.'

‘Pity. Nothing I like better than a challenging game of chess.'

And obviously he didn't get the opportunity often, she thought, noting the fine layer of dust covering the entire thing. ‘Your father taught you, didn't he?'

‘One of the few lessons of any value that I learned from him.' His clipped, cold tone didn't invite further conversation on the matter.

Thoughtful, she set the piece down. It saddened her to think that after all these years there was obviously still bitterness between them. Not that she blamed Dane—it was just sad.

Upstairs, they passed an open doorway. ‘Is this your home office?' Without waiting for an invitation, she wandered to the balcony. Adelaide's high-rise buildings jutted into an azure sky smeared with orange in the lowering sun, its reflection in the glass of the buildings
flashing over the nearby golf course's casuarinas and pine trees. She breathed in the scents of summer foliage. Someone was cooking something Oriental; the fragrance of lemongrass and chilli wafted to her nose.

She turned to study the room. An over-crammed bookcase towered against one wall; an antique green lamp sat on the desk beside a modern computer. School trophies and a collection of model cars were displayed on another shelf.

‘Come on, you can explore later.'

Dane opened another door and set her small rolling suitcase down. A breeze drifted through a partially open window.

Mariel saw a pair of French doors that opened onto the balcony, maroon drapes tied back with tassels, black lacquered furniture, a matching antique full-length oval mirror on a stand. The bed was covered in a quilt of the deepest merlot. He'd added a black throw and a couple of overstuffed turquoise cushions.

‘There's air-conditioning if you prefer.'

‘Fresh air's fine.'

‘The bathroom's next door down the hall. You'll have it all to yourself; I had my own
en suite
built into the master bedroom.'

‘Thanks.' She laid the day's purchases on the bed.

‘Come down when you're ready and I'll fix us something for tea.'

As in they'd be dining in? With all these undercurrents swirling them into dangerous waters? She wanted,
needed
, to be amongst people. Lots of people. To go to the city and smell hot Adelaide pavement and hear familiar Aussie accents.

‘Let's eat out,' she said. ‘I know just the place.'

T
HE SETTING
sun had turned the sky gold. The city streets still held the day's heat. Tourists and locals strolled along North Terrace, past the lovely old railway building, now home to a casino and Hyatt hotel, where fairylights sparkled in trees. Others were enjoying drinks at open-air bars on the other side of the busy street.

From their little table Mariel glared at the spot where she and Dane had enjoyed many a meal—only the old pie cart wasn't there. A line of waiting taxis now filled the kerbside. ‘But it was a more-than-century-old Adelaide icon,' she grumbled. ‘I was going to shout you a pie floater for letting me drive…and for being a good sport about the close brush with the foliage…the very
soft
, very
overhanging
foliage.'

He tossed back a mouthful of beer. ‘It's not really pie weather.'

‘Any weather is pie floater weather, and I haven't tasted one in ten years.' She pursed her lips to suck lemonade through a straw. ‘You know, I tried explaining it to Luc… How do you convince someone, especially a French someone, with vast gastronomic experience, that an upturned meat pie swimming in thick green pea
soup and smothered with tomato sauce is a culinary delicacy? And has to be eaten standing at the kerbside, rubbing shoulders with cleaners to cops to politicians come rain or shine?'

He tipped back his glass, swallowed, then nodded. ‘I guess you have to experience it.'

‘Yeah…' She dropped her chin on an upturned palm and sucked on her straw some more, and for a moment they were kids again, shovelling pie and soup into their mouths, arguing over who had more sauce, waiting for the piecrust to turn sodden…

She didn't notice him move until the warmth of his hand touched hers. He slid his thumb over the inside of her wrist. ‘So we'll make our own.'

The way he said that—as if he wasn't talking about pies, but something much more pleasurable. Her gaze darted to his and she found herself drawn unwillingly into the sensuous promise she saw there.

The guy watching her wasn't that teenager she'd known. Dane, the man, wouldn't hesitate to take what he wanted, be it in business or pleasure, and the knowledge shivered down her spine. She tried to tug her arm away, but his grip tightened.

‘Don't,' he said, and lifted it to his lips, laying a line of kisses from the middle of her palm to her elbow, watching her with that heated gaze as he did so.

Sensation sparkled along her skin—much too brightly.

Her pulse beat a tattoo beneath his lips—much too loudly.

‘We're meant to be lovers, remember?' The low timbre of his voice vibrated against her flesh.

Drawing a breath, she shook her head, as much to
clear it as to negate his words. ‘No one's watching. You don't have to…do that.'

‘Not true—you never know who's watching, and you should be as aware of that as I. Let's go home.'

 

‘Dinner is served,
mademoiselle
.' Dane set the steaming, aromatic plates down on the French-polished dining room table. Two pies floated in a sea of pea-green, looking incongruous amidst the room's old-world elegance.

‘Ah, merci, garçon, c'est très magnifique.'
She smiled at him, a smile that reminded him of long-ago days, and said, ‘But it's traditional to eat it standing.'

‘To hell with tradition,' he said, pulling out a chair for her. He passed her a half-empty bottle of tomato sauce with the instruction to, ‘Leave some for me.'

‘You'll be lucky.'

Dane watched her up-end the bottle over her meal, then pass it to him. Only Mariel Davenport could eat a soggy pie dripping with red and green and maintain some modicum of elegance.

She sipped at her glass of wine. ‘So your dad hasn't moved to the city?'

‘No.' He stabbed his fork into the pie, hacked off a corner.

She frowned, censure in her eyes. ‘I know it was bad for you as a kid. But he's old—he must be in his late seventies now. How does he manage on his own?'

‘You know my father—he has a fit and healthy forty-year-old woman drop by to help him
manage
.' He chewed more vigorously, making his jaw ache.

‘Oh.'

‘Exactly.'

Mariel knew his circumstances. How both his
parents had indulged in extra-marital relationships. How his mother had left to live interstate with a new guy when Dane was seven. And how his father had paid for his only son to board at the exclusive school he and Mariel had attended because he didn't want the inconvenience of a son underfoot.

‘I've done okay without his support,' he said into the silence. He'd worked his way through uni like any regular guy, waiting tables to pay his own way until he and Justin had set up their own business. It had exploded—way beyond their expectations. Five years, and financially he'd achieved what some would take a lifetime to do.

He didn't need family. Didn't need anyone. The women who flitted into his life either flitted right out again when they realised he wasn't there for the long haul, or understood where he was coming from and were happy with a temporary arrangement.

Wealth was happiness.

Strange, but tonight he didn't feel as happy about that as he'd thought. He set down his cutlery with a rattle of silver on china, reached for his wine, took a long, slow swallow.

‘So I take it you've never changed your mind about settling down and having kids?'

Had she read his thoughts? His fingers tightened on his glass. ‘You know me: terminal bachelor. As for kids—never in a million years. No way. No how.'

‘That's sad, Dane. You're letting your own childhood rule who you are now. There's nothing more precious than family. If you do want to talk about anything, at any time…' Mariel set her own cutlery to one side of the plate and met his eyes in the intimate lighting.

He nodded once. Mariel. Sincere, honest, caring. Soothing his mood the way she'd always done. The one person he'd always been able to count on. Unfortunately, right now he wanted her to soothe a lot more than his current mood. And with a lot more than words.

Forget it, Huntington.

Reining in his runaway libido, he straightened, flipping his linen napkin onto the table. ‘I've got some fresh peaches, or a frozen—'

‘Nothing more for me, thanks.' Patting her mouth on her own napkin, she rose. ‘I'm going to be lazy and not help you with the clearing up. I haven't finished exploring yet.'

‘Do you want coffee?'

‘I'd rather have ice water, thanks.'

When he'd cleared the dishes, he found her in the adjoining family room, where she'd discovered his photographic equipment and was fiddling with his camera. She snapped his picture a few times in rapid succession, checked the results in the little screen. ‘Definitely male model material. I didn't think so earlier, but I've changed my mind. I'll borrow this for a while,' she went on. ‘Upload these pictures on your computer. Do you have a website?'

‘No.' He set their glasses on the coffee table and began walking towards her.

‘Not even for your business?'

He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘You would
not
want to put those pictures on my business website.'

‘You must be on a networking site?'

‘Don't have time for gossip.'

‘For socialising and sharing,' she corrected. She snapped him again, studied the image. ‘There was a
time when you used to share everything with me.' Her eyes met his, then cooled. ‘Well, almost everything.'

Shadows of their youth swirled in those green depths, and for a moment he was lost in another time, another world. Shared hot fudge sundaes at the movies. Beach towels and barbecued sausages. The time she'd cheated on a test. The day he got his driver's licence and taken her for a spin in his father's BMW without his knowledge and put a ding in the passenger door…

He reached for the camera but she'd already whipped it behind her back. ‘Getting slow in your old age,' she taunted.

‘Or you're getting sneakier.' He closed the gap till their bodies were a handspan apart. Breathed in the scent of her honeysuckle shampoo.

‘How do you mean?' She blinked up at him, all innocence.

He set his hands on her shoulders, felt the fragile bones beneath the smooth firm flesh. ‘You know exactly what I mean. Using your eyes and the
you-used-to-share-everything-with-me
line as a distraction.'

As if the shoestring straps beneath his fingers weren't distraction enough. Not bra straps, he noted. Just dress straps…

Barely touching her, he slid his fingertips down her arms and felt tiny hairs on her skin rise as a shiver trembled through her. Imprisoning her against his body with one hand, he reached over her shoulders for the camera with the other, and down…

The reason for the clinch was forgotten. Everything was wiped clean from his mind except the sensation of her breasts snug against his chest and the fragrance of her skin. His free hand slid over the smooth flesh of her
naked back, each vertebra in turn, as he slipped beneath the edge of her dress and the crisp fabric.

Her head tipped back and her lips were right there, smack bang against his throat. Warm, soft. Mind-numbing.

Anticipation tingled on his lips, danced on his tongue…

Damn.

This wasn't some nameless woman in a dark unfamiliar room where the slaking of lust was the only thing they had in common. He swore silently. Hell of a moment for his better self to show up. He wanted to throw back his head and howl.

Unlike last night or this afternoon, he knew he'd not stop this time until he had her writhing in pleasure beneath him. And she wasn't ready for that. Nor was he willing to take the risk with the ball happening tomorrow night.

So this time it was he who took a step back, kissed her lightly on those waiting lips with their sweet promise of passion and said, ‘I've got some last-minute details to go over for tomorrow night; I'd best be getting on with them.'

She blinked at him as if she'd just woken up. ‘Don't let me keep you.' Her husky voice dragged like barbs across his over-aroused senses.

‘You might want to turn in early. Tomorrow night will be a long one.' He let the suggestion hang.

She nodded. Didn't say a word.

He turned away before he could change his mind, and climbed the stairs to his study. A man of his experience with the opposite sex knew when it was better to wait.

 

When Mariel came downstairs next morning Dane was already dressed. A suitcase and a suit bag sat by the kitchen table. He was standing at the breakfast bar, reading the newspaper and drinking coffee.

‘Good morning.'

He looked up at her greeting, his brow puckering as if he was uncomfortable seeing her there. ‘Good morning.'

He resumed skimming his paper, but she could feel the tension emanating from him like vibrating wire. ‘Did I break a house rule or something?'

He flicked to the next page. ‘No. Of course not.'

‘What, then?'

He looked up again, met her gaze. ‘I've never shared breakfast with a woman in this house; it caught me off guard.'

‘You're kidding me. Dane Casanova Huntington has never had a sleepover?'

He studied the paper once more. ‘I didn't say that.'

‘So, what—they're the Cinderella kind?'

‘I have a penthouse apartment in the city.' He tossed back his coffee, set his mug on the counter with a snap. ‘I'm going to be busy all day, organising for this evening.' He stared through the window at the pool. ‘I've booked a suite for us at the hotel, so I'll arrange a car to pick you up when you're ready to leave here.'

She was still processing the first bit. ‘You keep a city apartment for
sex
?'

He exhaled slowly. ‘I want to keep my private life exactly that. Private. I've also made appointments for a massage, spa treatment, hair and make-up,' he continued, as if she hadn't interrupted him with a question
he obviously wasn't comfortable answering. ‘Did I forget anything?'

She was still catching up. ‘I don't think so,' she said slowly. ‘I could do with a little pampering. Do all your partners get the star treatment?'

She saw nothing in his gaze, as if he'd deliberately blanked it. ‘Tonight's important, Mariel.'

‘I know that.'

‘We'll be staying overnight, so if there's anything else you might need…'

Like her contraceptive pills?
‘Overnight?'

‘We want to give them something to speculate about. Isn't that what we agreed?'

Oh. ‘Of course. The
press
.' The reason for this charade.

The press hadn't been the reason he'd kissed her yesterday
.

Picking up his bag, he headed for the door, jingling his car keys. Impatiently or edgily? ‘I'll join you in our suite at six-thirty.'

 

Mariel's entire afternoon session in the hotel's spa and beauty rooms were pure bliss. Courtesy of Dane, she was massaged and exfoliated, buffed and polished until her skin tingled, her complexion glowed, her hair shone and her nails sparkled. She had
The Best
in facial and hair treatments.

But beneath the pampering she couldn't stop thinking about this public affair she was rushing headlong into. She considered herself worldly enough to understand that mutual desire sometimes came without strings.

Except when it involved Dane.

She considered herself sensible enough to accept that it was possible to enjoy sexual intimacy without falling in love.

Except when it involved Dane.

And when a high-profile celebrity like Dane and she went their separate ways, as they inevitably would, she was going to have to live with the media attention for a long time.