Memoirs of a Millionaire's Mistress (11 page)

He wanted to hold her again in a fever of passion and have her body once more, apologise, but the strength had drained out of him. So he stroked her hair and simply held her. Within her aura he could forget the dark and live in the light.

As long as he kept his past private, so long as he didn’t let emotion get the upper hand, there was no reason they couldn’t continue what they’d started.

Didi woke to the pink pearl light of morning, the conversation they’d had before they’d fallen asleep fresh in her mind. She could still feel Cameron’s emotional scars as if they were carved into his flesh, and wanted to weep. And comfort.

But when she opened her eyes and turned to him she discovered she was alone. A note written on the hotel’s stationery lay on the crisp white pillow beside her.

She frowned. He worked on a Saturday? Yeah, that sounded like him. She read on.

She basked in the warm glow of his PPS for a few seconds. Then shook it off.
Silly girl.
He hadn’t meant last night as in
last night
—the way she wanted him to mean last night—he meant her help at the community centre.

Didn’t he?

He’d booked the cab and paid for breakfast. So despite his own problems he’d thought of her well-being this morning.
Don’t get used to it.
He was pampering her because he wanted her
productive.

So she sat up in bed, dialled room service and ordered the biggest breakfast on the menu, since she’d not indulged in that particular luxury in a long time.

She fluffed her pillows, pulled the sheet up to her chin and lay back to wait for her meal. Theirs wasn’t a relationship where they shared intimacies of the family kind; at least on his part. It was all about business—he wanted an artist who could deliver a product.

And it was all about sex. Great sex, the hottest sex she’d ever had. With the most attentive lover she’d ever known. But it was still sex without intimacy.

A problem. Because against all her good intentions to adhere to the rules they’d agreed on she was falling for him—her casual no-strings walk-away-when-it’s-done lover. Which should
not
mean she wanted to know him better on a personal level. She should
not
want to know more about his family.

A sixth sense told her there was more to the situation than drugs and violence. How to get him to open up—or not—was the million-dollar question. Would it draw them closer or push them apart?

‘Hi.’

Didi’s needle slipped, spilling the gold beads she was threading as her heart did a little flutter. Scooping them into her palm, she put them back in their container and looked at him over her glasses. ‘Hi.’

She hadn’t heard Cameron come in over the sound of the stereo. He was wearing khaki trousers and a casual navy shirt. He looked a little ragged around the edges. Running on the little amount of sleep he must have had, she wasn’t surprised. Her heart fluttered again at the reason for his lack of shut-eye. ‘How’s Lizzie?’

‘She’s lucky. She’s going to be okay.’

Didi nodded. ‘Thanks to you.’ She studied him a moment. ‘Do you always work on the weekend?’

‘When it’s necessary.’ He stared at her a moment with those blueberry eyes, a bemused smile on his lips. ‘For days you’ve had me wondering…Why the pink lenses?’

‘Because then everything looks rosy on the greyest of days. Even you.’ Smiling at him, unreasonably happy to see him, she took them off, rubbed the bridge of her nose, then stretched her arms up and out and wiggled her fingers.

She’d worked all day. She had spray glitter on her leggings, needle-stab wounds in her fingers and beads from here to Christmas, but she’d made darn good progress.

He wasn’t looking at her progress.

He was watching her nipples prickle and tighten beneath her T-shirt. Her nipples hadn’t had such a workout since…never, she decided, and lowered her arms slowly. ‘Um…so…what do you think?’

‘Very nice.’

‘You haven’t even looked,’ she accused. She knew because she’d had her eyes on his since she’d caught him standing there.

‘I’ve looked.’ He crossed the room. ‘I’ve been here at least thirty seconds watching you work.’

‘Oh.’ He’d seen her naked, there wasn’t an inch he hadn’t seen, yet still she felt the blush bloom on her cheeks.

‘Watching and imagining you wearing nothing but those pink glasses and eating apples. Red apples.’

Her blush deepened and she flapped a hand. ‘What is it with you and apples?’

He smiled. ‘Just a little fantasy of mine.’ Still smiling, he held out a slim box she’d not noticed. ‘For a hard day’s work.’

‘Ah-h-h.’ She ripped off the paper, opened the lid. An assortment of exclusive, handmade dark chocolates.

‘Soft centres,’ he said as he plucked one out and slipped it between her lips. ‘I promised you chocolate.’

Its decadent cream flowed over her tongue. ‘Mmm.’ She beamed at him. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re supposed to share.’

‘Of course. Sorry. Which would you like?’

‘You choose.’

She checked the guide, then rose. ‘Honey myrtle.’ And pressed it against his lips. He opened his mouth, closed his lips over her fingers and for a moment…

‘Right now I have this image of you wearing those glasses—just the glasses—while I feed you chocolate.’

‘Not apples?’

‘No. I’d bite it in half—
sharing
—and drizzle your half of the cream between your lips.’

Her eyes glazed over at the image. ‘That could work.’

The intercom buzzed and the phone rang simultaneously. ‘That’ll be our meal,’ Cameron said, withdrawing his wallet and tossing it on the table. ‘I ordered Chinese. Can you get it? Money’s there.’

As Didi paid off the delivery girl she noticed a creased photo in Cameron’s wallet. A young woman.

An instant punch to her solar plexus. ‘That was quick,’ she said as Cameron disconnected, juggling their meal and squint
ing at the photo and trying not to look as if she was before she flipped the wallet shut.

‘One of those pesky call centres,’ he groused. ‘Don’t they have weekends in India? If you’re wondering who it is,’ he said, relieving her of the food, ‘that’s Amy.’

‘I wasn’t prying.’
Much.
But she moved to the table and picked up her spectacles for a better look. ‘I’ve seen this girl…’

She felt the instant tension as Cameron stiffened beside her. ‘Where?’ he asked sharply.

She struggled to remember. The shape of the girl’s face, the hair colour…She couldn’t have seen her—what would be the odds? She closed the wallet, put it on the table. She shouldn’t have mentioned it.
Stupid.
‘I’m probably seeing the family resemblance.’ She smiled at the tight-lipped man in front of her and teased, ‘She looks like you on a good day.’

‘She’d be thirty-one now—she’d’ve changed.’

‘Exactly.’ She shook away the odd feeling and changed the subject. ‘Let’s eat. I’m starving.’

Ten minutes later they were tucking into sweet chilli roast pork and king prawn combination.

‘I’ve got a fund-raising dinner next Saturday night,’ Cameron said between mouthfuls. ‘I want you to accompany me.’

The sudden punch of nerves caught Didi off guard. ‘Are you sure?’ She’d known it was likely. But being seen in public as his partner, however temporary, was something new. She had no idea what type of woman he usually dated, but she knew she wouldn’t fit in. She’d never fitted in with the elite. She’d be more of an embarrassment. ‘Perhaps it’s better if you just go on your own.’

‘Of course I’m sure, and, no, I’m not going on my own—I’ve already paid for two tickets. The money raised is going towards a dozen local charities. You’ll want to come—this’ll be a good opportunity to talk about your art, mention the gallery opening and make some contacts.’

The alternative would be to chaperone another woman…

There
was
no alternative.

She bit off a corner of bamboo shoot, then nodded. ‘Okay.’

On the inside her stomach was churning. How would his business associates view her? Would they know she was only his short-term lover?

And what the heck was she going to wear?

‘I
GUESS
my sequined leggings and macramé top are out?’ Didi murmured, only half joking. She liked the glitzy outfit she’d bought at a recycle boutique. It made her feel happy and it drew looks whenever she wore it. She also knew her taste didn’t conform to the conventional fashion trends.

Cameron looked up, his mouth open in astonishment. ‘This is a formal dinner, Didi. The “rich and famous” will be there. You’ll need to wear something suitable. A dress.’

She scowled down at her half-eaten meal. ‘I don’t own a dress.’ Not any more.

‘I told you I’d pay for whatever you need. Leave it with me. My secretary, Chris, knows how to shop and what’s appropriate. Write down your dress size and preferences and I’ll have her send around some items for you to choose from.’

His condescending attitude sent prickles up her spine and she stiffened. ‘I’ve attended a few of these formal shindigs in my time,’ she said coolly. ‘You think I don’t know what’s appropriate?’

He stared at her and she could see him trying to dig his way out of the hole he’d got himself in. ‘Of course you do,’ he said placatingly. In that same condescending tone. ‘But I know you’re busy here. I’m just trying to save you some time.’

He had a point. She couldn’t afford to fall any further behind.

In two weeks their working relationship would be over.
Their private relationship would be over. A stark reminder that this was a temporary arrangement and she’d be better off remembering that. But a hollow feeling opened up inside her.

‘You’ll find something we both like,’ he went on, oblivious to her inner turmoil. Mr Super Confident twirled his chopsticks through his meal, picked up a prawn.

She needed to retain her independence and some control over her life. Their tastes were light years apart—she’d seen the way he looked at her clothes. But what he liked wouldn’t matter in two weeks. ‘I still have that cash you gave me. You don’t need to fork out any more.’

‘That’s an advance on your commission. It has nothing to do with this.’ He glanced at her, his smile indulgent. ‘Call the dress a gift.’

A gift.
Wasn’t that what men like him gave their mistresses? Oh, how she hated that word. She hated that that was all he wanted from her. She realised she wanted so much more. A chill wrapped around her heart.
Don’t you dare cry.
Instead she dared herself to look him in the eye and ask, ‘Would that be for services rendered, then?’

His smile disappeared, his eyes locked on hers. ‘Didi.’ He put down his chopsticks, stood and rounded the table. Crouched in front of her and took her face between his hands. ‘You know damn well that’s not what I meant.’

She’d never heard his voice so quiet, so firm. It wrapped around her like blue velvet. No, Didi thought, he wasn’t at all sure how she’d interpreted him. Maybe she wasn’t so sure herself. And when had he become more to her than a casual lover?

He
couldn’t
be more; she couldn’t let him.

‘Hell…Didi.’ He smoothed his thumbs over her cheeks. His eyes glinted in the down-lights. ‘If I insulted you, I apologise. I want you with me on Saturday night. Only you.’

Her heart melted and a smile tugged at her lips. ‘Ah, but
would you want me with you in my sequined leggings and macramé top?’

His eyes flickered, then he blew out a slow breath. ‘Can we compromise on this? If Chris organises some stuff for you to look at and you don’t like anything…’ He rubbed his lips over hers. ‘Let’s just see how it goes with Chris first. Now…come up here.’

He stood, taking her with him, lifting her higher so that his body bits lined up with hers in all the right places. Their mouths feasted on one another’s as he headed for the black rug between the sofas. He laid her down on its luxurious pile, his hands diving beneath her top.

‘Do we have a deal?’ he murmured against her mouth.

Her own hands got busy with his belt buckle. ‘Deal.’

The next few days passed in a blur. During the day Cameron worked at the office. Mostly. And they kept things platonic—well, almost. If you didn’t count Monday’s lunchtime session in the spa or the interlude in the sky garden. Her exhibition piece was growing, taking shape slowly but surely.

One of Cameron’s employees took Charlie. Didi was devastated to see him go, but happy he’d found a safe new home where he’d be cared for. One day perhaps she could have him back. She missed him.
Get used to it
—very soon she’d be missing Cameron as well.

In the evenings they went out for a quick bite or purchased dinner from the numerous takeaway stores nearby. Either way, they walked, taking in the fresh evening air so Didi could stretch her legs after working all day in the one spot. And every night was another magical journey of discovery.

The dresses were delivered to the apartment on Tuesday. A boutique full of beautiful expensive designer outfits. Accessories. Shoes. Any woman would have been beside herself. Didi wasn’t any woman.

Did Cameron want to help her decide? she phoned to ask.
No. Anything the lovely Chris chose was sure to be a knockout and he was looking forward to seeing Didi all dressed up on Saturday night. And by the way—had he told her?—Chris had booked her in to Tiara’s Spa and Beauty—
the
latest ‘in’ place—for Saturday afternoon. The massage and hot stone treatment would do her good.

It wasn’t the massage she worried about. No hairdresser had come within cutting distance of her hair in a long time. She trimmed it herself with the aid of mirrors. And make-up? She didn’t bother with more than the basics of foundation, lip gloss and blusher.

Compromise.
They’d made some compromises over the past week and Didi was realising it didn’t mean she had to give up her control or her independence. That she could look at a situation from another’s point of view, another’s needs. But this transformation? She wasn’t so sure.

A stranger stared back at Didi in her mirror on Saturday evening. A sophisticated-looking woman in a short black organza dress with kohl-rimmed eyes, siren-red glossed lips and her hair carefully styled to wisp softly around her face. At least they hadn’t cut it. She wanted to cry, but the truckload of mascara they’d applied would probably run.

She
wanted to run.

She’d seen something she wished she hadn’t while flicking through an out-dated magazine at the salon—a photo of Cameron and a stunning brunette almost as tall as he was. The don’t-date-him poster girl? Possibly. The woman on the other end of the mystery phone calls? Again, possibly. How could she compete with that kind of woman?

She could hear Cameron pacing the marble floor beyond. She’d cloistered herself back in her own room since she’d arrived back from her salon appointment. She was now fifteen minutes behind their agreed time.

What would he think when he saw her? Would she come
up to scratch? With no hope of competing with women like that brunette, Didi felt the same insecurities that had haunted her when she’d attended functions with her family.

Turning away from the unnervingly false image, she picked up the tiny red velvet evening purse. She wasn’t sophisticated, why was she pretending to be someone she wasn’t?

Because she was Cameron’s partner for the evening. Tonight she’d try to be the poised cosmopolitan woman he expected. She could play the part for one night. One more week, one gallery opening and their no-strings arrangement would be over.

Cameron knocked on her door. ‘Ready?’

Her heart gallumphed. Her hands turned clammy and cold. She primed her lips for a smile, took a steadying breath and said, ‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’

She got a glimpse of dark eyes and clean-shaven jaw as she opened the door. A whiff of aftershave as she ducked under the arm he’d leaned against the jamb and hurried to the hat stand to grab her new black coat, which was part of the package.

‘Hey, what’s the rush?’

‘We’re running late, my fault. Sorry.’ Her fingers closed over the soft wool but Cameron took it from her.

‘We can run a little late,’ he said, his deep voice vibrating along her spine, his breath disturbing the hairs on her nape. ‘Turn around and let’s get a look.’

She almost forgot her own insecurities when she swivelled on her stilettos and got a look at Cameron in full formal getup. Oh, my…Damn, he looked good. She almost reached out to finger the bow tie and give herself an excuse to drift her knuckles against his throat, until she saw him staring at her as if he’d never seen her before…and remembered why.

She’d gone for elegant black. As she turned Cam stepped back to take in the full effect. The dress hugged her petite figure like a charm. Tiny straps showed off her creamy shoul
ders, the waistline was cinched with a sparkly clasp. Its short skirt flared, leaving plenty of thigh to admire. And the arch of her feet in those gold strappy heels made his mouth water. ‘You look sensational, Didi.’

She smiled, drawing his attention to her carefully outlined lips and the shimmering charcoal framing her silver eyes. He doubted he’d ever escorted a more beautiful woman, but something about the stunning image niggled at him.

She seemed to pick up on that vibe and the smile disappeared. ‘Let’s go, then,’ she said briskly, reaching for her coat draped over his arm.

‘Hang on.’ He returned her coat to the stand, fingered the box in his pocket. He’d wanted to give her some token, something to show how he felt about her. Even if he wasn’t sure yet what that feeling was. Would she be offended? Only one way to find out. He withdrew the box.

She looked at it, then up at him with wary eyes. ‘Soft centres…?’

Her voice was unsteady, the way his knees suddenly felt. ‘It’s just a little something to wear tonight,’ he said, holding it out to her. ‘I’m not sure if you’re a jewellery girl but figured what the heck, a bit of bling couldn’t hurt.’

When she made no move to take the box, he opened it himself. The single teardrop gem winked on its glittering chain.

‘Is that real?’ she whispered, and squinted closer. ‘It looks real.’

‘It’s an Argyle pink diamond on a platinum chain. You being the creative sort, I thought something simple was probably wise.’

She looked up, met his eyes. ‘I don’t call that simple or wise.’

And didn’t that just about sum up their relationship? ‘Wear it for me, Didi.’ Without waiting for a reply he stepped behind her to slip it around her neck, unaccountably disappointed that her almond-honey scent had been drowned out by cosmetics and styling lotion and a darker cloying fragrance that on any other woman would have been seductive.

On Didi it was just…wrong. She didn’t need heavy fragrance to seduce, all she needed to be was herself. Shaking away the dangerous thought, he stepped in front of her again to see how the stone looked against her skin.

She touched the stone lightly with one finger, but her eyes gave him no clue to her feelings, as if she’d deliberately blanked her expression. ‘Thank you. It’s the most beautiful piece of jewellery I’ve ever worn.’

‘You’re welcome.’ He wanted to lay his lips on hers and feel them smile against his as she had last night but the slick red gloss looked more like a shield than an invitation. Instead, he reached for her coat. ‘Shall we go?’

The hotel ballroom was all glitz. Crystal and silverware sparkled on snowy cloths sprinkled with colourful foil confetti. Towering floral arrangements spilled their early spring fragrance, mingling with French perfume and hors d’oeuvres being circulated on silver trays.

Cam lifted two glasses of champagne as a waiter passed. Then he saw a tall slim blonde wearing gold leopard-skin lamé as if she’d been born in it heading in their direction.

‘Let’s find out where we’re seated,’ he murmured to Didi, handing her a glass and turning away.

‘Cam.’ The woman caught at his arm. ‘You weren’t trying to run away, were you, darling? I know you’ll want to buy a ticket or three in tonight’s raffle.’ She swept between him and Didi waving her little box of tickets, then reached up to buss both his cheeks.

He forced a smile. Dominique was in her mid-forties and had been pursuing him for at least five years. ‘Evening, Dominique.’ He stepped around her to create a triangle. ‘I’d like you to meet Didi O’Flanagan. Didi, this is Dominique Le Hunte. She’s our fund-raiser extraordinaire.’

‘Di-di.’ Dominique’s latest Botox treatment prevented her eyebrows rising but she tinkled out a laugh. ‘What a quaint
little abbreviation.’ She proffered a limp hand dripping with diamonds. ‘Why…what’s so terrible about your birth name?’

‘It’s Dee-aahn,’ Didi replied with exaggerated aplomb. ‘My sister never could get it right so she said Didi. I’m afraid it stuck.’

Cam smiled privately at the way Didi’s lie rolled off her tongue and raised his glass to her with an intimate grin that had Dominique frowning. Or would if she could, he mused.

‘Well—
Dee-aahn
—it’s…nice of you to…attend.’

‘Certainly is. Very nice,’ Didi drawled as she gave Cam a smouldering look and took a long slow sip of champagne.

Dominique didn’t have a comeback.

Cam cleared his throat to cover a chuckle and signalled a waiter bearing spring rolls. Not many people stopped Dominique in her tracks. But then hadn’t Didi O’Flanagan stopped Cam himself in his tracks?

Dominique recovered enough to turn on the charm again. ‘So where did you two meet?’

Cam smiled at Didi, remembering the event-filled evening with a certain fondness and said, ‘At a function a few weeks back.’

‘I was waitressing, actually,’ Didi said with dead calm, meeting his eyes as she plucked a roll off the proffered plate. ‘Thank you.’ This directed at the waiter with a sunny smile.

‘Oh…’ Dominique laughed uncertainly and glanced at Cam. ‘Helping out in a volunteer capacity?’

‘Making a living.’ Didi bit into her spring roll.

‘Making a living?’ Dominique echoed faintly.

‘I’ve commissioned Didi to complete an arts project for me,’ Cam cut in to curtail what looked like developing into a ‘situation’. He placed his hand on her back, cruised it up the black fabric till he found skin. Heaven knew what Didi was capable of under such circumstances. He nudged her forward, excusing them both. ‘I think they’re about to start seating us and we haven’t found our table yet. Catch you later, Dominique.’