by Miranda Lee
‘Could you possibly come in for a sec? Doreen’s dying to meet you.’
Cleo’s mother-in-law was younger than Byron had been picturing. And surprisingly attractive. She was wearing a maroon velvet tracksuit, and was seated on a dark blue sofa with Mungo sprawled out on the rug, his head on her foot. His bad back leg had been substantially shaved and there was a huge bandage wrapped around it, the same way Jasper’s had been. The dog eyed Byron with suspicion, as though he knew he wasn’t the hero both Cleo and Doreen seemed to think he was. Byron told Doreen not to get up, bending to give her a peck on the cheek and praising her for taking the dog in.
‘Not everyone would have,’ he said. Mungo gave him another slant-eyed look before ignoring him completely. Smart animals, dogs. They could spot real heroes from the pretend ones. Or the ones who had other not so heroic agendas.
Shut up, he told that voice in his head. I won’t do anything she doesn’t want to do.
‘We’d better get going, Cleo,’ he said when it looked as if Doreen was going to stare at him for ever.
‘Don’t forget your new purse,’ Doreen blurted out to Cleo—her first words since Byron had walked in. ‘And your keys. I won’t wait up. I dare say you won’t get home until late,’ she directed at Byron, ‘since the party’s all the way up at Palm Beach.’
‘True,’ Byron replied whilst Cleo walked over to collect her new purse, a gold clutch, which was sitting on a nearby side table. Seeing her rear view as she walked in those sexy shoes did things to his body that made him glad his trousers weren’t tight. He realised at that point he had no intention of staying at his mother’s party until all hours. He wanted to spend time alone with Cleo. At his penthouse, preferably.
There was no use pretending that he could ignore the almost overwhelming desires that kept bubbling up as a result of her gorgeous transformation. Maybe he was shallow, because suddenly all he could think about was getting Cleo into bed. And keeping her there until he was well and truly satisfied. Still, at least being shallow was safer than falling in love with the woman. That wouldn’t end well. And he was sick to death of wretched endings.
‘Ready now?’ he asked when she came up to him, purse in hand.
‘As I’ll ever be,’ came her slightly nervous reply.
‘You can’t still be nervous,’ he said once he had her in the car and they were safely under way. ‘Not looking the way you do.’
‘I am,’ she confessed. ‘I’m not sure I’ll know what to say to the people there, especially your mother. I haven’t been to a party in years.’
‘Surely you go to your firm’s Christmas parties.’
‘That’s not the same. I know everyone there. And I never stay late.’
‘I see. Well, perhaps we won’t stay too late at this one. We might go on somewhere else. Just you and me. Would you like that?’
* * *
What could she say? I’d adore that?
That would be way too telling. And potentially humiliating.
‘Where were you thinking of taking me?’ she asked, sounding as cool as a cucumber.
He slanted her a strangely surprised look. ‘Where would you like to go?’
‘I’ve heard the Opera House bar is lively on a Saturday night.’ Someone had mentioned it, she couldn’t remember who.
Byron pulled a face. ‘It’s always very crowded. You can’t hear yourself think, let alone talk. I want to be alone with you, Cleo.’
Cleo sucked in a sharp breath. ‘Why?’ she blurted out before she could stop herself.
‘You know why,’ he said quietly.
‘You...you want to have sex with me?’ It sounded incredible once she’d said it out loud. Cleo knew she wanted to have sex with him but had never imagined her desire was returned.
Well, it hadn’t been, had it? Not until you spent nearly six thousand dollars of your savings on transforming yourself into a presentable pretend girlfriend.
‘Yes, of course I do.’
His casual admission took her breath away. It also angered her. So now she was fit to be seduced? Now that she looked good enough?
‘I’ve wanted to have sex with you since thirty seconds after I met you,’ he added with a rueful smile in his voice, and on his face.
If his earlier admission had taken her breath away, this one left her speechless.
‘Are you going to say something?’ he queried when she just sat there in a stunned silence for several seconds.
Cleo swallowed. ‘I don’t believe you,’ she choked out. ‘You couldn’t possibly have. I looked dreadful that day.’
‘You didn’t look like you look tonight. That’s true. But I still wanted you, Cleo. Trust me on that.’
‘But why?’
‘Why?’ he echoed thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps it was because I glimpsed the real you underneath the drab façade.’
‘The real me?’ What on earth was he talking about?
‘The one who stared at me for a split second like I was a drink of water after a long and dusty desert trek.’
‘Oh,’ she said, embarrassed now. And yes, humiliated by the thought that he’d seen the instant attraction in her eyes. And yes, the craving.
‘There’s nothing more desirable,’ he said, ‘than a woman who wants you, despite herself.’
Cleo shook her head, scared by how intuitive he was. He’d read her like a book. Read her and played her.
‘There’s nothing wrong with wanting to have sex again, Cleo. It doesn’t make your love for your husband any less real.’
Cleo stiffened, pressing her back and shoulders against the passenger seat. Her head turned to gaze out at the passing traffic. If only he knew...
But he would never know. Because she would never tell him.
When a sudden thought popped into her head, her eyes whipped back around to glare at him. ‘You’re not really interested in McAllister Mines, are you?’ she said quite savagely. ‘This was all just a game to you. A sex game.’
* * *
Byron hated the anger in her voice. And the hurt in her eyes.
But he hated himself more.
Okay, so it might have been a bit of a game to begin with. Hell, he’d wanted it to be just a game. But it wasn’t any longer. Not totally. Underneath his lust, he genuinely cared about this woman and he wasn’t going to do or say anything to hurt her further.
Glancing ahead, he saw that a corner was coming up. He turned down a side street and pulled abruptly over to the kerb. Once the engine was shut down, he twisted in his seat to face his startled passenger. She looked absolutely terrified, her eyes wide with shock, and confusion.
‘Now let’s get something straight, Cleo,’ he said firmly. ‘I am interested in McAllister Mines. But I’m more interested in you. Not just as a game, either. I told you the truth the other day. I like you and I like your company. And yes, I’d like to become your lover. The only lie I’ve told is the reason for asking you to accompany me to my mother’s party. It wasn’t to protect me from predatory females but because I wanted to be with you, and I didn’t think you’d say yes to a straightforward invitation.’
‘Really and truly?’ she said, the words soft and breathless, her eyes still unsure.
‘Oh, for pity’s sake,’ he growled, unsnapping his seat belt and reaching over to cup her face with his hands before bending his mouth to hers.
* * *
Cleo had thought endlessly about what it would be like to be kissed by Byron. But nothing had prepared her for the reality of his lips taking possession of hers. Or his tongue touching hers. Her chest immediately squeezed tight, a mushroom of sensation blooming in her stomach and exploding upwards and outwards, bringing with it a heat that threatened to make her self-combust. When the pressure of his mouth pushed her head back against the seat, she moaned, then opened her mouth wider, inviting him to a deeper invasion. His guttural groan of satisfaction did things to her that could only be described as wicked. She no longer cared what his motivations were. Or if he’d b
een lying just now. She wanted him even more than he wanted her. She was sure of it. Nothing mattered to Cleo in that moment except letting him know that she was his.
* * *
Have to stop kissing Cleo, Byron told himself a couple of minutes later. Lord, but she was like a drug. He’d kissed dozens of women before but none had made him feel what she was making him feel. All powerful. All man. All conquering. It took an enormous burst of willpower to tear his mouth away from hers.
Her eyes were closed, thankfully. Too bad about her lips, which remained tantalisingly parted and totally devoid of lipstick. As he stared down at the rapid rise and fall of her truly delicious chest, his body ached with the need to take things further. And soon. It pained him to think he had to go to his mother’s birthday party, even for a short while. But he could hardly claim a last-minute illness. He’d already rung her to let her know he was on his way, and that he had a woman with him. She’d been intrigued, of course. Was this woman just a friend or someone new, someone...special? He’d laughed off her question and said she would have to wait and see for herself.
Yes, of course Cleo was someone special, he conceded. Very special indeed. Just not future wife special. So, it was best that he keep things sexual and superficial.
Byron’s finger moved to trace her parted lips until her eyes opened, meeting his with vulnerability still in their depths.
‘We won’t spend too long at the party,’ he told her as he returned to buckle back into his seat.
‘All right,’ she said, then sighed, as if she had no choice in the matter.
It bothered him, that sigh.
He speared her with an uncompromising glance. ‘I won’t ever ask you to do anything you don’t want to do, Cleo.’
‘Yes, I know,’ she said. ‘You’re not that kind of man.’
He frowned. ‘What kind am I?’
‘Kind,’ she said, smiling. ‘Despite being dreadfully spoilt.’
He laughed. ‘I really do like you, Cleo Shelton.’
‘And I really like you, Byron Maddox,’ she returned, still smiling.
‘Really and truly?’ he said, parodying her words earlier.
She reached over to smack him lightly on the arm. ‘Don’t you dare make fun of me. If you do I won’t want to do anything with you.’
‘Hell’s bells!’ he said, feigning shock horror. ‘That would never do. Now we really do have to get going, or Mum will send out a search party.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘OH, DEAR, I just realised something,’ Cleo said when Byron announced that they were nearly there.
‘What?’
‘I didn’t buy your mother a birthday present. Or even a card.’ She’d been far too wrapped up all day in making herself over into the sort of woman Byron would date. Even she thought she looked pretty fabulous, but that didn’t make her feel any less guilty over her selfishness.
‘Don’t stress about it,’ Byron reassured her. ‘I’ve bought her a gift, and a card. I’ll say that they’re from you as well.’
‘Oh, thank you. That makes me feel better. What did you buy her?’
Byron’s smile was wry. ‘A book.’
Cleo frowned. ‘That’s all?’ Hardly what she’d been imagining. Surely he could have afforded something a little more expensive—and imaginative—than a book.
Byron shrugged. ‘I did have some very expensive flowers delivered today as well. Look, she’s not an easy person to buy a present for. She doesn’t like anyone to buy her clothes, or artwork, or anything for the house. Husbands and lovers are allowed to buy women jewellery, but not a son. Or so she told me when I bought her a necklace once when I was a gauche teenager. But possibly that was because I didn’t spend enough money on it. I bought her a lovely little sculpture last year—an original, might I add—and it now resides on the shelf behind the toilet in the pool house.’
‘She has a pool house?’
‘Yep. To go with the pool.’
‘But she lives right on the beach.’
‘The pool is more of a landscaping item than something Rosalind ever uses,’ Byron explained. ‘Lara swims in it occasionally. Though she prefers the beach. So does Jasper.’ Cleo was glad she knew who he was talking about. Rosalind was his mother, Lara his teenage sister, and Jasper the golden retriever who’d had the same injury as Mungo.
‘I doubt any of the guests will be swimming tonight,’ Byron went on. ‘The pool is heated, but the women won’t want their hairstyles ruined. And the men will be more interested in the wine than anything else.’
Cleo didn’t much like the sound of his mother’s guests. Still, she wouldn’t want her hairstyle ruined either. It had cost her a packet.
‘So what was the book you bought?’
‘The latest thriller by Daniel Silva. Mum loves him.’
‘Then won’t she have bought it herself?’
‘Not yet. She actually doesn’t buy books herself. She prefers to get books from the local library, then she doesn’t feel obliged to finish one if she doesn’t like it. She can be extravagant with some things but very frugal in other ways. Perhaps because she was once quite poor. Until she met my father, that is.’
‘Are you saying she married him for his money? Is that why their marriage failed?’ The questions fell out of her mouth before Cleo could stop herself. ‘Sorry,’ she said straight away. ‘That was rude of me. And none of my business.’
‘No, no, don’t apologise. I think they were very much in love to begin with, but Dad was a workaholic and was away from home far too much. They just drifted apart, that’s all. Ah, here we are at last.’ And he turned into a narrow street that had wall-to-wall cars, with several parked on the grass verges and in other possibly illegal spots.
‘Goodness!’ she exclaimed. ‘Where on earth are you going to park?’
‘Never fear,’ he said with a smile in his voice. ‘I have that covered.’ And he showed her a small red remote, which he then pointed slightly ahead of them.
Cleo stared as a large garage door on their right started to rise. It was one of two large garage doors separated by an elegant covered entranceway, behind which sat a two-storeyed home that was cement-rendered in a cream colour. Art deco in architecture, it had curved corners and large curved windows, the roof flat with a black trim. Before Cleo could observe anything further, Byron had driven into the garage, parking next to a small white hatchback.
‘That’s Gloria’s car,’ he said as he climbed out. ‘She’s the housekeeper. Mum and Lara keep their cars in the other garage. This spot is reserved for special visitors. Namely me,’ he added with a boyish grin.
He strode around and opened the passenger door for her whilst she just sat there, stricken by a burst of nerves. She might look as if she was fit to be Byron’s date for the night. But inside she still felt inadequate for the role. Inadequate for what he had in mind for her later tonight as well. As much as she wanted Byron—her mind spun every time she thought about being with him!—Cleo wasn’t at all sure that he would find her...satisfactory.
She still found it hard to believe that he’d actually wanted her right back when they’d first met. But why would he lie? There was no reason for such a cruel deception. And he wasn’t a cruel man. Cleo knew what a cruel man was like and Byron wasn’t in that mould. He was, however, a very experienced lover who’d been to bed with lots of very beautiful and very confident women. His previous lovers would have known what to do to please a man. She’d never mastered that skill. According to Martin she’d always been too shy once she was naked. Too shy and too prudish. Never natural. Never passionate. And she probably had been like that. With him. But she didn’t think she would be the same with Byron. Byron made her feel very sexy.
Cleo gulped and felt her nipples peak in her bra.
Don’t think about that yet, she lectured herself as she undid her seat belt and took Byron’s outstretched hand. Think about this party first. Plus, meeting his mother.
Now that, she wasn’t l
ooking forward to!
But as it turned out, meeting Rosalind Maddox wasn’t anything like she’d been imagining. For starters, Byron’s mother wasn’t the overdressed face-lifted society matron that Cleo had been picturing. Okay, so she could pass for fifty instead of sixty at night, but there was no evidence of any nips and tucks around her face. On top of that, she didn’t talk with a plum in her mouth and she was far from overdressed, wearing a silky lemon pant suit, which suited her ash-blonde hair. What surprised Cleo the most, however, was how warm and welcoming she was to her. Charming, in fact. Clearly, this was where Byron had learned his social skills.
‘How lovely,’ she said with seeming sincerity when she opened her card first. ‘I do like cards with nice words in them. But I didn’t expect anything else, Byron,’ she added as she ripped off the wrapping paper. ‘I thought the flowers were my present. Oh, thank you!’ she gushed with genuine delight when she saw the book. ‘Much better than last year’s present, darling.’
‘Mmm...’ was all Byron said to that.
Rosalind smiled a rather mischievous smile. ‘So!’ she said, putting her book and card down on a side table. They were in a huge living room, which overlooked a tiled terrace, which itself overlooked the pool, and a tropical garden filled with fairy lights. Cleo could hear the sea beyond, washing gently against the sand. ‘How long have you two been going out together?’
‘Not long,’ Byron replied.
‘And how did you meet?’
‘Cleo’s Scott McAllister’s PA. McAllister is a mining magnate. I’ve been thinking of investing in his company.’
His mother looked taken aback. ‘Really? That’s a bit unusual for you, Byron.’
Byron shrugged. ‘What’s life if you don’t broaden your horizons occasionally?’
Rosalind looked from her son to Cleo, her intelligent blue eyes showing Cleo that she recognised she was different from Byron’s usual choice of girlfriend. Though, of course, she wasn’t a real girlfriend. Their relationship wasn’t heading anywhere but bed. Which was fine by Cleo. That was all she wanted too.
Wasn’t it?