Mistress: At What Price? (6 page)

She would
not
think about the other bad stuff she might have to learn to live with. Bad emotional stuff. Maybe she should make an advance booking for meditation or psychotherapy? She was likely to need it.

At six o'clock, in one of the suite's bedrooms, she stepped into her dress. A one-off European designer gown, it fitted so snugly it took a few moments to shimmy the silky white fabric up her body. As she tugged the zipper in the side seam closed the final wrinkles smoothed out.

But her nerves didn't. They tied knots in her stomach as she stepped into her sparkly stilettos, added a final touch to her upswept hairstyle and make-up. A delicate necklace of black diamonds flashed at her throat; a matching bracelet adorned her right arm. Her long platinum earrings swung as she studied her reflection side on.

Satisfied, she sorted her bag, then paced to the window to watch the late sunlight turn the River Torrens primrose.

She turned at the sound of the keycard being swiped in the door. Ridiculous to feel her heart pounding as if she was on her first date. She knew she looked fine, that this was exactly the type of gown his partners wore. Anyway, what did it matter what Dane—the king of dressing down—thought?

It mattered.

Taking a steadying breath, she turned. How did he manage to snatch her breath away every time? He wore black trousers and a made-to-measure white silk shirt that once again emphasised his shoulders and clung to his broad chest. His hair was still slightly damp and curled over the collar.

She fought the temptation to walk right on over there and smooth it with her fingers. To lean in and press her lips to that distracting V of tanned skin at his throat. Instead she kept her cool. ‘No tie to a formal function—why do you ignore your own rules, Dane?'

‘Because I can.'

Dane's answer was vague as his eyes swept down Mariel's body. God help him. How was he going to function tonight with that siren's temptation beside him? Because he suddenly seemed to have momentarily lost the power of speech, he motioned her to turn around with his fingers.

White. Floor-length. Skinny. Backless—below backless, in fact, revealing the lower indentation of her spine. Low scooped neckline that dipped…and kept on dipping. Which made him wonder how she kept the whole thing from sliding off her shoulders. A slit up one side that looked as if it had been created by an overzealous pirate's sword. He had to wonder if she wore panties at all…

‘You want to talk rules?' he murmured, unable—unwilling—to tear his hungry eyes away. ‘That dress is a rule-breaker. In fact, it should be illegal. One of your creations?'

Dismissing his suggestion with, ‘I don't wear my own designs,' she whirled to face him again, the split
in the fabric parting to show the long length of one leg. ‘You think it's too much?'

‘More like not enough.' He frowned, perplexed at his own reaction. He'd never been a conservative man, and enjoyed a good-looking woman as much as the next man.

‘It's the latest Veronique design—
Sophisticated Style
. What's your problem?'

Problem? He'd always been more than happy to have the object of every man's desire on his arm. But was he
sophisticated
enough to make it through the evening knowing every guy would be falling over themselves to catch another eyeful of all that exposed skin? Because it was Mariel's skin. His own flesh tightened, tingled as heat simmered beneath its surface.

Weird. He didn't understand himself. On any other woman the gown would have looked stunning.
Did
look stunning. If tonight hadn't been so important, if he hadn't been the one who'd organised the event, he'd have called the whole thing off and suggested a night in. Just the two of them.

Fact was, he didn't want everyone ogling what he suddenly realised he wanted to ogle himself in the privacy of their own suite. What the hell was happening to him?

‘Don't you have something…more? A wrap, perhaps?'
Blimey, just listen to yourself.
He needed to change his attitude fast if he wanted this evening to go smoothly.

Of course she looked lovely. Gorgeous. He'd be the envy of every man, and possibly every woman, in the room. And he intended to make sure everyone knew it was him she'd be with at the end of the evening.

Mariel stared at the grim-faced man before her. She knew she looked good, the dress wasn't vulgar, just
sexy, so she refused to feel hurt or embarrassed or any of those vulnerable emotions. Temper was preferable, but it wouldn't be wise moments before they were due downstairs. ‘No, I don't have a wrap. I don't need one.' She barely restrained herself from raising her voice. ‘And, to use your own words, I'm going to wear this dress
because I can
. And I can—very well.' She snatched up her bag.

She had to pass him to get to the door, but a light hand on her arm stopped her.

‘I apologise,' he said stiffly. ‘You took me by surprise, that's all. You look sensational.'

Too little, too late, she thought, but she could try to be gracious—they had an entire evening in the public eye to get through. ‘All right.' She let him curl her hand around his arm. ‘We'll put it behind us and try to enjoy the evening.'

But how would the evening end, when the ball was over and an annoyed Cinderella retired to her suite with her suddenly stuffy prince?

M
ARIEL
watched the floor numbers blink as the elevator descended. They stood apart, but their respective fragrances mingled, their breathing the only sound in a stilted silence until the doors opened and Dane took her hand and wrapped it around his arm once more.

The hotel lobby was alive with light and movement. Airline staff checking in, tourists heading out for the city's nightspots. Photographers snapping their arrival and that of other important guests, interviewing Dane about this evening's event and, as expected, their renewed acquaintance.

‘What are your plans now, Ms Davenport?' asked a journalist, shoving a microphone in her face.

‘I intend to start my own fashion label.'

‘And your relationship with Mr Huntington?'

She met Dane's eyes and smiled coyly, allowed him to pull her a little closer and encircle her waist.
For the publicity.
‘We're just good friends.' Let the press put whatever slant on that they chose.

They passed a glorious Chihuly glass sculpture on their way down the pink marble staircase to the ballroom, where black mirrors on the ceiling reflected
the glitter from crystal chandeliers, candlelight and a fortune in jewellery. An orchestra was playing light classical, and the scents of fresh flowers mingled with the latest French perfumes while several prominent politicians, including those holding the youth and education portfolios, mingled with society's elite.

Their table was the closest to the podium and filled with The Important People. She didn't feel up to any in-depth conversation tonight, and to Mariel's relief Justin's wife, Cass, was seated beside her, looking chic in a simple black halterneck gown, her chestnut-brown hair curling softly about her face.

‘I've seen your photo in magazines, but it's exciting to finally meet you in person,' Cass said when Dane introduced them. ‘And that's the most stunning dress I've ever seen.' She smiled ruefully. ‘I wish I could get into something like that.'

‘Thank you,' Mariel replied, unable to resist tossing a glance over her shoulder at Dane, who was standing behind her chair with Justin.

Leaning close, he ran his hand lightly over the nape of her neck and halfway down her spine and murmured, ‘I think the challenge will be in the getting out of it.'

‘I heard that, Dane Huntington,' Cass said, her eyes twinkling up at him.

As she was supposed to, Mariel knew. ‘Indeed it will be,' she murmured back, then turned to Cass with a smile. ‘So, you and Justin are recently married? I love weddings; tell me about yours.'

As Mariel had predicted, Dane moved away at the mention of nuptials and began conversing with a distinguished elderly man at their table. Justin sat down
beside his wife and slung an arm around her shoulders, happy to join their conversation.

The food began arriving. Dane was busy between courses, introducing Mariel to people at the thirty or so tables skirting the dance floor. They ranged from colleagues in IT to contacts that might be useful to her in the fashion business. Everywhere he escorted her he made some sort of physical contact. A brush of his knuckles against her cheek, a finger-to-finger caress, a meaningful glance, a whispered word.

She couldn't say when the contact became more intimate. The glances hotter, the caresses more meaningful. Later, when he excused himself to talk business, she was aware that she knew where he was at any given moment. She'd look up and somehow there he'd be. And more often than not his gaze would meet hers. How long could you continue to play a game when the rules threatened to change?

During coffee he made an inspiring speech about the social, economic and technological disadvantages faced by people living in remote areas of the country, and how OzRemote was helping to address these issues.

Mariel couldn't take her eyes off him—along with every other woman there, she suspected. He was by far the most charismatic man in the room. He spoke with knowledge, passion and eloquence. She could understand why he wanted to shrug off the
Babe
's Bachelor of the Year association; his respected business reputation didn't deserve it. He'd only participated in the contest to help raise funds for his charity.

‘How long have you known Dane?' she asked Cass as they wandered back from the ladies' room later.

‘Five years. I met him around the same time I met
Justin. They were just getting their business off the ground.'

Cass stopped, took a seat on a sofa, and Mariel joined her.

‘I've never seen him look at any of his other dates the way he does you,' Cass said.

Mariel couldn't allow herself to think about that. She dismissed it with a half-laugh. ‘That's because we've known each other for years. I'm not his usual type.'

‘No. You're not a blondie, for a start. And he can't seem to leave you alone. This is the first time I've ever seen him look remotely serious about anyone since Sandy. But that crashed in a big way.'

Instantly curious, Mariel shifted closer. ‘Who's Sandy?'

Cass lowered her voice and said, ‘You didn't hear this from me, but Sandy was a woman Dane was dating a couple of years back. We all thought it might have been serious but then, as Justin tells it, Sandy tried to hurry things along by getting pregnant.'

Her words ricocheted through Mariel's body like a volley of bullets and lodged deep in her own womb. ‘Dane has a
child
?'

Cass shook her head. ‘Turned out she wasn't pregnant—just out to snare herself a rich husband. But he wasn't the happy father-to-be she expected. She changed her story quick, but it was too late.'

‘She never understood him, then.'

Mariel understood. His childhood experiences were preventing him from taking the risk of making a family life of his own, and that, in her opinion, was incredibly sad.

The band struck up a lively nineties party tune as
they returned to their table, and couples took to the dance floor. Dane leaned close and said, ‘My father's here. He's leaving in a moment, so we'll go say hello together. For appearances' sake.'

‘Oh, Dane, he's supporting you here tonight? That's fantastic. Isn't it?' She looked up at him, but his face was a blank wall. At least his father had made an effort, she thought as he escorted her through the crowd.

‘Mr Huntington.' She shook his hand, leaned in and dropped a quick kiss on his whiskered cheek. ‘Lovely to see you again.'

‘Mariel. And for God's sake call me Daniel.' His handshake was firm, the skin paper-thin. He smiled, and the heavy lines around his mouth deepened. ‘Haven't seen you in years. This is Barbara.' He turned to the woman beside him, who was dressed in a low-necked frilly blouse and a long black skirt.

‘Barbara. How do you do?' Mariel extended her hand and estimated ‘Silicone Barbie' to be in her mid-forties.

Barbie's botoxed lips curved. ‘It's nice to meet you.' Then her gaze rolled up to the stiff-necked man beside Mariel. ‘Hello, Dane.'

He inclined his head. ‘Barbara.'

‘Oh, this is one of my favourite songs, and Daniel's not up to dancing tonight—just one dance, Dane?' she said, blinking her false eyelashes at him.

Dane could have refused, but he had a few things to say to his father's live-in lover. Now seemed as good a time as any. He turned to Mariel, let his lips linger on the sweet curve of her cheek. ‘Excuse me, Queen Bee. This won't take long.'

‘It's fine.' She waved him away. ‘I'll keep your dad company.'

‘I'm glad I've got you alone,' Barbara said the moment Daniel and Mariel were out of earshot. ‘I wanted to explain about that night. The man you saw me with was my financial adviser.'

‘Yeah.' Dane laughed without humour and leaned close so only she could hear. ‘Since when did financial advice extend to a candle-lit rendezvous? A very intimate rendezvous, from where I was sitting.'

‘I—'

‘I'm glad you have a financial adviser, Barbara, because you're going to need one.' Not wanting to attract the nearby dancers' attention, he kept his voice low. ‘You've wasted eight years of your life waiting for Dad to depart this world, because he's not going to leave you a cent. You're
not
going to get your greedy,
cheating
hands on the Huntington fortune.'

Her nostrils flared, her eyes widened and she tried to pull away, but Dane tightened his hold. ‘He hasn't told you he lost everything he owned in the share market crash, has he?
I
bought the family property from him, to get him out of financial ruin. The home you're living in is
mine
. In fact, the dinner you just enjoyed was at
my
expense.'

The skin around her pumped-up lips turned white. ‘You're lying.'

‘Ask him.' Watching shock bleach the colour from her face was one of his life's more satisfying moments, and his smile was genuine as he escorted her back to her table. ‘Thanks for the dance and the chance to talk, Barbara.'

Instantly she was forgotten as he turned to his partner for the evening. ‘May I have the pleasure of this dance?'

Without waiting for an answer, he took Mariel's hand and led her to the dance floor. The band switched
to a slow, romantic number and he came to a halt in the middle of the room, drew her close. So close that he could see tiny flecks of navy amongst the emerald in her amazing eyes.

He'd never noticed that before. He was discovering a lot of things about Mariel that he'd never noticed before. The tiny mole at the outer corner of her right eye. The way her eyes turned dark—midnight in a deep forest—when she was aroused.

They were dark now.

She stepped in closer, so he could no longer see her face, but her fingers stole up his shirt, the sides of his neck, then beneath his hair, where she stroked lightly with her fingernails.

The music throbbed in time with his heartbeat as his hands drifted over her bare back, absorbing the silken warmth of her skin, the fine hairs at the nape of her neck. She smelled like a fantasy of fresh flowers rather than of her black rose trademark perfume, and he nuzzled beneath her ear to inhale deeper.

‘Dane…'

He thought she whispered his name. Like a sigh. But he couldn't be sure over the sound of the music. Did she make that soft sensuous sound when she made love? he wondered.

He could find out tonight.

Her cheek against his felt cool and soft, and his lips tingled as he turned his head slightly to taste.

He couldn't resist—he traced the graceful curve of her spine, down to where it arched against him. ‘You were right. This is an excellent choice of gown,' he murmured.

‘
I
thought so,' she murmured back, and he felt her cheek bunch against his as she smiled.

The music faded, or perhaps he just stopped hearing it. With his hand still on her back he pulled her closer, so that their bodies touched, breast to chest, thigh to thigh. She melted against him like butter on hot toast.

His body tightened, his pulse thrummed. He wanted to stay just this way, locked in this embrace, until the room was empty and they were alone.

But he was the host, and if he didn't pull away now he'd be an embarrassment to both of them.

He drew back and looked at her. Dark,
dark
eyes. Full lush lips that begged to be kissed. The pulse-point in her neck beat frantically, matching his own. ‘I think that convinced them,' he muttered, a rueful smile pulling at his lips. ‘It damn well convinced me.'

Her small smile took a while coming. ‘Me, too.'

He escorted her back to their table, and then to give himself a moment to cool down excused himself and headed for the men's room. On his way back he saw his father, sitting alone on a sofa outside the ballroom.

He rose slowly as Dane approached, looking older than the last time he'd seen him a few months ago in the solicitor's office.

When Dane had purchased the family home so that his father could continue living there.

‘Can we have a quiet word?' his father asked.

‘What's on your mind?'

‘I just wanted to tell you you've done a magnificent job here tonight. Thank you for inviting me and Barb to be a part of it.'

‘You're welcome.' Dane's voice sounded brittle to his own ears. When his father didn't speak he asked, ‘Was there something else?'

‘Yes. There is,' he said slowly. ‘And it's been a long
time coming. I haven't got many years left, and I've taken a good look at myself lately.' He glanced down at his feet, then looked up at Dane. ‘It would have been easier to decline your invitation. Son.' He paused. ‘Maybe we could let bygones be bygones and move on?'

Son.
Dane wrestled with his emotions. It was the first time he could remember hearing his father acknowledge him as such. All those years when he'd wished his dad would toss him one crumb of affection. Dane had never wanted for money, privilege, social standing, but he'd have given it all away for family.

‘Why now, Dad? Because I saved your ass? And you know that in the end I'm the only one who gives a damn? We both know Barbara's not going to stick around. I told her about the sale, Dad. It's time she knew.'

His father didn't answer. Just continued to watch him with tired eyes.

Despite all that had happened, deep down where it was only him and his maker, Dane yearned for the connection. But the past pain and the fear—yes,
fear
, dammit—of being hurt again was an impenetrable wall. Instead, he blocked all emotion and said, ‘We've never been big on family; you're just getting sentimental in your old age.' He jutted his chin towards the woman he'd just noticed standing like an ice statue at the bottom of the marble staircase. ‘Barbara's waiting.'

His father searched in his pocket for a handkerchief, then mopped his face. ‘I'll be going, then. Goodnight.' He turned and began walking towards Barbara.