The Accidental Mistress

by Sophie Weston

  ‘I’m all thumbs,’ she said, disgusted with herself.

  ‘Disorientation,’ said Dominic. ‘You haven’t got your dry land legs back yet.’

  He strolled over and dealt swiftly with canvas straps and buckles.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Izzy, struggling not to sound stifled.

  He was so close! She caught the whiff of sandalwood. Her head went back as if she had walked into a wall. That smell! It pierced the protective force field and flicked open a memory file.

  In the taxi…She had rubbed her face against his wrist. He’d had a chunky watch with all sorts of dials on it. He’d thought she was wonderful…

  He was unbuckling the final restraint from her waist. But suddenly he looked up, as if she had said something.

  At once Izzy was not hollow and shocked any more. She was hot as fire.

  She just stood there, looking down at him. His eyes were so calm, clear as grey lake water, with those little flecks of green in their depths. Calm and compelling and sexy as hell. And they seemed to slide right into her core.

  Suddenly Izzy couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. She put a hand to her throat but she could not tear her eyes away.

  Dominic smiled. Slowly.

  He stood up.

  Izzy stood rooted to the spot. There were other people in the shack but she and Dominic Templeton-Burke could have been alone on the moon for all the notice she took of them. He put his hand on her shoulder. Her lips parted…

  And Josh from Culp and Christopher breezed in and said, ‘Ready to go, Jemima?’

  Dominic swung round and stopped him by dint of stepping in his path and putting a hand in the middle of his chest.

  Like a traffic policeman, thought Izzy. She nearly laughed aloud. I must be light-headed, she thought. All that bouncing upside down on the end of a line has scrambled my brains!

  ‘It’s okay,’ Dominic said. ‘I’ll take it from here.’

  Josh goggled. ‘But the limo—I’ve got to see Jemima back to her hotel.’

  Izzy opened her mouth to protest but Dominic said swiftly, ‘Been a change of plan.’

  ‘They didn’t tell me,’ said Josh, martyred. ‘Typical.’

  ‘Spur of the moment,’ said Dominic truthfully. ‘We’re having lunch where the photographers won’t find us.’ And he winked heavily.

  ‘Oh,’ said Josh enlightened. ‘Well—if it’s like that—do you want the limo?’

  Dom shook his head. ‘Take it away with you. I’ll get her home safe.’ He managed an avuncular smile that made Izzy want to laugh even louder.

  ‘No doubt about that,’ said Josh, laughing heartily. ‘With a sister in the firm, you’re practically one of us.’

  Izzy came out of her cocoon. ‘I don’t want lunch, thank you.’

  Dom sent her a twinkling look. ‘You may not. But are you going to deny the baying hordes the shot they’re waiting for?’

  ‘Which shot is that?’ said Izzy suspiciously.

  ‘You and me driving off into the sunset. Well, lunchtime Battersea anyway.’

  Josh was impressed. ‘Good point.’

  Izzy was outraged. ‘Driving off into the sunset?’

  ‘You heard them. Are Jemima Dare and me an item? That’s what they want to know.’

  Them and me both, thought Izzy. She decided to take a risk. ‘So tell them we’re not.’

  He laughed gently. ‘You sure about that?’

  Their eyes locked.

  ‘I’ll just say goodbye to the charity people,’ Izzy said curtly.

  She banged out of the cabin. Everyone else followed her, like a royal entourage.

  Left alone, Dominic shook his head. This was going to take careful handling.

  She was keeping her powder dry for the moment. But he did not think that Not-Jemima was going to co-operate for much longer. He wondered if she would risk going to head with head him in an all-out battle in front of this interested audience. His best guess was that the odds were even.

  Gosh, this was going to be fun!

  Outside, she was talking to a couple of the charity organisers. They had given her a tee shirt and a certificate and she swung this way and that, holding the things up to display them both for the cameras. She looked, thought Dom, happier than she had been all morning. She was even laughing.

  When she laughed, she was spectacular. Something that was not amusement turned over in his gut.

  How on earth did she think she could get away with impersonating that milk-and-water kid he had met in February? And how on earth did the idiot boy from Culp and Christopher not see the difference?

  Oh, the hair was the same, he supposed. Come to think of it, so were the camellia-pale skin and the slanting eyes, the cheekbones. But this woman sizzled. No comparison at all.

  But then Josh had presumably not seen her dancing like a wild thing in that murky club. Or held her in his arms while she burbled about poetry and turned his blood to a roar. Or put her to bed like a gentleman when she passed out cold. Josh had no unfinished business with her.

  Dom shook his head wryly. Even so—if he was the only person who saw that she was an impostor, then the whole damned world was mad. And very soon she was going to tell him why.

  Meanwhile, the only thing to do was kick back and enjoy it. He propped his shoulder against the doorjamb and watched, smiling.

  To begin with she had looked like any other laminated doll in her silly clothes. But now, after her jump, hair mussed and eyes sparkling, she had turned human suddenly—human and deeply alluring. That slightly rumpled look made any red-blooded man want to rumple her a whole lot more. From the way they were clicking furiously, even the photographers could see it.

  ‘She’s wearing all the wrong gear,’ complained Josh, coming up beside him. ‘C&C gave me a list, and one of the journos has been telling me that she’s changed it all round. Down to her underwear.’

  Dom was startled. ‘Her underwear? How do they know that?’

  ‘Er—shape,’ said Josh, gloomily depressed. ‘She’s got more than they were expecting, apparently.’ He looked across at her. ‘She is just so gorgeous.’ There was an odd note in his voice.

  Dom flicked up an eyebrow. ‘You sound surprised.’

  ‘Well, she always looks good. But today she’s special.’

  Dom pursed his lips. ‘She certainly doesn’t look like her photographs,’ he said, testing the ground cautiously.

  ‘They never do. What isn’t make-up is air brushing. The real person is always smaller and thinner. But today there is something different about her.’

  ‘Terror?’ suggested Dom.

  Josh laughed. ‘That has to be it.’

  Time to get rid of the competition. ‘And me being here, too, maybe. She wasn’t expecting that. Look, Josh, I wasn’t joking about taking her off to lunch.’ He gave him a frank man-to-man look. ‘We’ve got things to catch up on.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Josh. ‘But—she didn’t seem too keen.’

  ‘A lot of things to catch up on.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Josh, a man of the world. ‘Right you are, then. I’ll take the limo and slip away now.’

  Dom thumped him between the shoulderblades. ‘Good man. I owe you.’

  He watched Josh disappear through the gates and curbed the desire to laugh aloud.

  ‘God, I’m good,’ he muttered.

  Across the tarmac, Not-Jemima was laughing at something one of the old guys from the charity had said. Not serious competition, but a distraction they could both do without, he thought.

  Time to tell her Josh had gone and left her to Dom’s care. She wouldn’t be pleased, he thought, amused. Interesting to see how much of a fuss she was willing to make in public. She was working very hard to keep her reaction to him under deep, deep cover. Not doing too bad a job at all, either.

  Time to test it a little. Go for it, Dom!

  He strolled over and lowered his voice to that intimate growl that always got results. ‘Ready to go, babe?’

  I
t got a reaction all right. She couldn’t have heard him coming because she leaped about a foot in the air and spun round, as if he had fired a pistol. Oh, she got hold of herself fast enough. But the brown eyes stayed wary—and more than wary.

  He wondered what she would do if he said casually, How much do you remember of the night I put you to bed?

  It was a sore temptation. But not fair, with all those photographers and charity workers and PR people around. Congratulating himself on his chivalry, Dom put the subject on hold. For the moment.

  She said in a neutral voice, ‘There’s no need—’

  He gave her one of the wide, friendly smiles he used on suspicious headmen who didn’t want him tracking through their territory. ‘It’s the least I can do after you were so brave up there.’ He smiled round at the others. ‘I had to promise her a hamburger to get her to jump.’

  There was a general laugh. After a moment, Not-Jemima joined in. Dom could see the effort it cost her. He wondered if anyone else did.

  She said, ‘I’m fine now. No hamburger necessary.’

  ‘But I want to,’ said Dom gently.

  Their eyes met like a clash of light sabres. No question about it. She wanted to get away from him as fast as she decently could.

  Well, she could try. This was a chess game. He was good at chess. He waited enjoyably.

  There was a pause. Then, ‘I can’t go to just any old burger joint. The fans are impossible.’

  It sounded vain and pettish, and he ought to have despised her for it. But somehow Dom knew she didn’t mean it. Well, she meant it. He had never known a woman struggle so hard not to have a meal with him. But the vanity was pure camouflage.

  It would spike her guns if he played along.

  Soothingly he said, ‘I’ll take you to a place where we can keep the fans at bay, I promise.’

  ‘Josh is waiting for me—’

  ‘Josh has gone. I told him,’ said Dom, ‘that we had a lot to catch up on.’

  Her chin came up dangerously. ‘I see.’

  He’d been right about that, then. She was a cool customer, all right.

  She unpinned the glorious red hair and let it flow round her bare shoulders, fluffing it out with her fingers after its confinement. It was a very model-girl gesture, he thought, amused.

  ‘Agreed?’ He let his voice take on a caressing note.

  She nodded slowly. ‘Agreed.’

  She gave him a wide, photogenic smile, but he could see that behind the smile she was bracing herself. Nobody else picked it up; he was certain. But to Dom it came across as loud and clear as if she had it spelled out on the tee shirt, instead of the Alzheimer’s research charity logo.

  He did not like that. He was perfectly willing to duel with her as long as she wanted. But he hated the thought of Not Jemima bracing herself to spend time with him.

  He said, more crisply than he’d intended, ‘Shall we go then?’

  She shrugged. But she made her farewells and let him lead her to his four-wheel drive. He had spent several days working on it and the engine was honed to perfection. But the bodywork still bore the traces of its last expedition down through the Essex salt flats. It was streaked with dried mud and enough dust to start a new desert all on its own.

  The expression on her face was not hard to interpret. The Culp and Christopher limo she’d arrived in had gleamed like a Guards’ officer’s riding boots.

  ‘Not up to your standards of luxury,’ he said, entertained. He held the door open for her.

  She climbed in, ignoring the helping hand he offered.

  ‘Not at all,’ she said calmly. She looked down at him, her eyes deceptively innocent. ‘Just surprised. I mean, it’s just not a very ecologically sound car for town driving, is it? I thought an explorer would be keener on the environment than that.’

  He blinked, utterly taken aback.

  ‘You don’t think I’m green enough?’ he said, stunned.

  She allowed herself a small smile.

  It delighted him. ‘You’re winding me up,’ he said on a note of discovery.

  She was airy. ‘Just telling it like it is.’

  He went round the other side and swung up into the driver’s seat.

  ‘Then let me put this thing in context.’ He started the engine. ‘I don’t live in London—just hole up in the family flat once in a while. I have a four-wheel drive because most of my driving is off road. I’ve had this one for eight years and taken it halfway round the world. And it’s in top condition because I service it myself. No evil exhaust fumes. Maximum recycling.’

  She looked sceptical. ‘If you say so.’

  He was amused. But he was put out, too. He went on the offensive. ‘You know, you’ve changed, Jemima,’ he said wickedly.

  He put the thing in gear and drove out, past the photographers and the remaining groupies. She waved. A bit half-heartedly, he thought.

  ‘Fans getting you down?’ he queried sardonically.

  She gave a sharp sigh. ‘It feels so phoney.’

  That sounded like the truth. He was intrigued. ‘And that’s a problem?’

  She made a funny little movement, as if she just picked up a splinter. Her voice changed, turned glib, as if she had practised this bit of dialogue over and over again. ‘You get used to it. And I’m grateful. Without the fans I wouldn’t have a career.’

  He was driving south, away from the river, winding the big vehicle through narrow streets of Victorian terrace houses. It was skilful driving and it needed all his attention. Not taking his eyes off the road, he said dryly, ‘Very touching. And who wrote that heartwarming little speech? Culp and Christopher?’

  She drew in a hissing breath. ‘You’re very cynical.’

  ‘And you’re very manufactured.’ He permitted himself a rapid sideways glance before looking back at the road again.

  She gave a brittle laugh. But he knew she didn’t like it.

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘The photographers were complaining to Josh. It sounded like they wanted to know every label you’re wearing, down to your knickers.’

  She gasped, as if he had outraged her. Then, to his astonished delight, she went off into a peal of laughter. Real laughter this time.

  ‘Oh, God, you are so right,’ she said, when she could speak. ‘You have no idea how right you are.’

  He was taken aback. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s the biggest debate in the fashion world,’ she said. Her voice was serious, but out of the corner of his eye he could see that she was primming her mouth up naughtily. ‘Thongs or big knickers? We talk about it all the time.’

  ‘Do you?’

  He was fascinated. He didn’t believe her for a moment. But it did sound as if she knew what she was talking about. She knew somebody who debated thongs and big knickers, no question. Knew them well, by the sound of it. In fact, he’d just bet that information came from the real Jemima Dare, wherever she was.

  ‘Yup. All the time. It’s a defining thing for a girl.’

  ‘It is? How?’

  She wriggled in the seat. She was enjoying herself, he could see.

  ‘Wear a thong and you’re hip. You’re cool. You’ve got a life. Big knickers and you’re a sad sack and it’s all over.’

  ‘I suppose I don’t have to ask which camp you’re in?’

  ‘Not if you don’t want your head smacked off.’

  He could hear the laughter bubbling away under her voice. He said provocatively, ‘I like big knickers. In fact, I like the full lace and ribbon number. Preferably knee-length. Gives a chap something to peel off. Slowly.’

  That knocked the laughter out of her.

  ‘Oh.’

  Good, he thought. He wondered if she were blushing. It was too awkward an angle to tell but he thought there was a chance, just a chance.

  Great, so she was off balance. Time to push her a bit. Ask her a question that would force her out into the open.

  He said conversationally, ‘When di
d you last make up your own mind about anything? Or do you like having everything organised by your manager, your PR agency and your stylist?’

  There was a tiny pause. But she made a fast recovery. She said levelly, ‘You’re forgetting the hairdresser.’

  Damn! Dom raised his brows. ‘You admit it?’

  ‘Not much point in denying it, is there?’ Her voice sounded stifled, as if she were really upset. ‘That’s the way models live.’

  Double damn. He tried again, but he knew she’d blocked him this time. ‘Even top models?’

  ‘The nearer the top, the more stylists and hairdressers and manicurists,’ she told him coolly.

  He began to wonder whether she played chess, too.

  He tensed. They took a bend in the road too fast. At once Dom eased off the accelerator. But not before he had heard her indrawn breath.

  ‘Sorry. Are you all right?’ he said, annoyed with himself.

  She sniffed. ‘Of course I’m all right.

  ‘You don’t sound all right.’

  ‘That’s because I’m feeling seasick,’ she said with asperity. ‘This car may be a great ride over the grouse moor. But let me tell you it’s not a fun experience for the London passenger.’

  ‘Does it bounce too much for you?’ he mocked. ‘Too used to limousine springing?’

  ‘The springs are fine. It’s the way you graze the wing mirrors of parked cars that worries me.’

  He was outraged. He’d apologised for the three-wheel cornering, after all! ‘I haven’t touched a parked car.’

  ‘Maybe not. But you’ve missed them by a whisker. The passenger,’ she pointed out, ‘sees it all.’

  ‘Heaven help me, I’ve got a back seat driver.’

  At once she swung round on him. ‘Fine. Stop the car and let me out. I’ll make my own way home.’ The triumph in her voice was almost palpable.

  Definitely a chess player! He was going to have to watch this one. Great!

  ‘You’re very unflattering,’ Dom pointed out, between pique and amusement.

  ‘And you’re very perverse,’ she exclaimed, exasperation throbbing in her voice. ‘Why on earth don’t you just let me go on my way?’

  He digested this.

  In the end he said carefully, ‘Four reasons. We’re a long way from a tube. You won’t get a taxi round here at this time of day. I promised to take you home and I always keep my promises. And I owe you a hamburger.’