Memoirs of a Millionaire's Mistress

by Anne Oliver

  Plump rosy lips curved ever so slightly, hinted at a sense of fun. He hadn’t experienced anything remotely funny in a long time. When was the last time he’d laughed? Did he even have a sense of humour any more? he wondered. He had the feeling Didi would be the type to breathe life back into it.

  Breathe. He could hear the soft sound of her steady exhalations. Breasts rising, falling…He wanted to look down and see for himself. His fingers itched again to test the weight of her womanly flesh and feel her nipples rise in anticipation against his palms.

  A good reason to focus on her face. The eyes brimming with hidden thoughts, the high cheekbones, the neat flat ear lobes—‘You’re wearing two different earrings.’

  She tipped her head to one side, setting the left one tinkling. ‘It’s The Look.’

  ‘The look?’

  ‘Asymmetric. Like your Sheila Dodd. Like your tie.’ Her eyes dipped and she studied his throat through long silky lashes.

  He swallowed over the lump that had suddenly mushroomed from nowhere. ‘My tie’s asymmetric?’

  Wiggling her bottom along the bench until she was within reach, she slotted her fingers behind it, loosening the knot and yanking the silk sideways in one swift movement. ‘It is now.’ Grinning, she smoothed it all the way down his chest, her eyes following the path of her fingers, every part of his body responding to the touch. ‘That’s better. It looked like it was strangling you.’

  Perceptive girl. Or maybe it was blazingly obvious, he thought, reaching up now to undo the top button of his shirt. He’d never thought this apartment overly warm. Until this woman had turned the heat up.

  ‘Okay. I made a mistake. I intended to impress you with my gourmet dinners specially imported from the Six Spice Deli around the corner.’

  Now it was he who manoeuvred along the counter top so Didi was directly in front of him, her knees bumping his waist. So he could rest his hands on her hips. So he could look directly into her eyes and say, ‘And I’m probably about to make another one,’ as he laid his lips on hers.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE first touch of Didi’s mouth against his detonated an explosion that knocked Cameron sideways and shattered the illusion that control was his rock-solid foundation, that he could pull away any time.

  Sparks. They sizzled along his nerves with the spectacular ferocity of frayed power cables, snapping and crackling through his blood, sending his hormones spearing into the sky like some crazed Eureka Tower.

  He felt her instant response—the heave of her breasts as she struggled to drag in air and push him away, then her mouth softening, opening, hands rising to clutch at his shirt. The moan deep in her throat as he changed the angle for better access.

  Her taste was a sweet temptation, luring him deeper to sample the dark lusciousness of her tongue, to drink in its hot honey flavour as it writhed with his.

  This was no ordinary kiss. This was the force of a wrecking ball at its most dramatic, splintering thought and crumbling to dust barriers he’d thought impenetrable.

  Had he thought himself immune to emotion? He tried telling himself this was a severe case of lust but somehow the condition sounded grossly inadequate. Because something else was happening here. Something he didn’t want to think about because if he did he’d know he’d made a bigger mistake than he’d ever dreamed of.

  Instead he pulled her closer, shifted nearer, between thighs that seemed to melt apart at his wordless command so he could feel her sultry heat seep through his shirt and into his skin.

  Her softness yielded to his burgeoning hardness, hot blood beating through his body as his hands slid from her hips to the curve of her bottom and found the hem of her T-shirt. Fingers barely steady crept beneath to find smooth alabaster skin, the delicate arch of her spine as she leaned into him.

  Her grip on his shirt tightened. Jersey-clad legs clamped around his waist, locking their lower bodies in an iron embrace. He rocked against her. Sweat broke out on his brow, his lungs seized. The urge to rip away the thin barrier and drive into her—right here, right now, without thought for the consequences—

  He wrenched his mouth away from her satiny warmth. Backed up a step. It was torture to slide his hands beneath her thighs, over firm shapely calves and untangle her legs from around him. Madness to look into her wide silver eyes and see his own ardour reflected back. Had he forgotten so soon? Lust was one thing, this emotional whatever it was…was something else.

  He didn’t do emotion. Not since Katrina.

  Chewing on passion-plumped lips, she drew in a breath, her breasts rising with the effort, drawing his attention to her nipples outlined clearly against her T-shirt.

  ‘A-a-ah.’ Her breathy voice drew the sound out like spun toffee.

  ‘I—’ A stab of pain in his lower leg cut through his senses and he stumbled back a step. ‘What the…?’

  Charlie. He glared down at the cat, who’d apparently polished off his silver-service main course and decided trouser-clad legs were a convenient dessert.

  ‘What?’ Didi still had a death-grip on his shirt and now one of the animal’s damn claws seemed to be lodged tight in the leg of his Armani trousers. He teetered dangerously for a couple of seconds before rocking forward on the balls of his feet only to feel one shoe land on something squishy.

  ‘Bloody cat.’ He shook his leg free and the animal bounded away with a hiss of annoyance, no doubt in search of its next victim of choice—the French silk drapes, perhaps.

  His body still pulsed, his leg throbbed, his pride was dust beneath his feet. There was a rip in the fabric and—he checked—a disgusting disc of squashed fillet steak on the bottom of his shoe.

  He looked back at Didi, who’d relinquished her hold on his shirt to cup her hands over her mouth and nose. ‘It’s okay,’ he reassured her. ‘Hardly a scratch.’

  Didi stared at Cameron while she tried to regain control of her runaway emotions. Her lips felt as if they’d been buzzed by a supersonic jet; her pulse was galloping for a win in the Melbourne Cup.

  Alcohol on an empty stomach had snatched away reason and common sense. Planting her butt on the counter top had been her first mistake.

  He looked…worried? No, he looked confused. Blame the champers for the fit of giggles that bubbled up her throat. She must be borderline loony because why would she feel like laughing when she’d just been kissed senseless and he was probably going to kill her cat and fire her and life was never going to be the same again?

  She couldn’t help it; the half-laugh, half-cough tumbled out, convulsive and slightly hysterical.

  His gaze narrowed slightly, his bemused expression didn’t alter. ‘Are you laughing?’

  ‘I’m sorry, it’s just…’ She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her scarf. Her sudden amusement faded as he bent and she saw him twitch at the hem of his trouser leg to inspect the damage to his flesh—twin stripes of red. ‘Are you okay?’

  He grabbed a tissue, moistened it under the tap and dabbed at the wound. ‘I’m probably going to die of blood poisoning or tetanus but don’t let that spoil your evening.’

  ‘Let’s have a look.’ She slid off the bench but he was scraping meat from the bottom of his shoe and she couldn’t see. ‘Where’s your first-aid box?’

  ‘I don’t need first aid. Or maybe I do, but not for my leg.’ He straightened and met her eyes. ‘What just happened here—’

  ‘Was a kiss, Cameron.’

  At least that was what she’d thought it was. But she’d never thought a simple kiss by the kind of man you’d sworn to avoid could suck the air from your lungs and leave you in need of an oxygen mask. Burn you from the inside out until you were cinders. Send your heart spinning in a thousand different directions until you didn’t know which way was up. The answer: it wasn’t a simple kiss. Which only led to another question: what was it?

  But she was hardly going to tell him all that, was she? The best option was to feign nonchalance. As if she exchanged saliva with almost-strangers e
very day of the week. So she shrugged. ‘It was fun, Cameron.’

  ‘Fun.’ His tone mocked and his eyes, darkly assessing, pinned her own, holding her immobile, stripping away clothes, flesh and façade until she understood the meaning of naked to the core.

  It took all her strength to drag her eyes away. ‘My guess would be you thought so too,’ she managed, whirling away to drag open cupboards. ‘About that first-aid box…’

  But she could feel his gaze tracking her movements, like a hot glue gun oozing heat down her spine, her bottom, her legging-clad thighs.

  Suddenly he was behind her. She felt his shirt brush her sleeve, his breath against her bare arm as she reached for the next cupboard. Her heart rate, barely back to something approaching normal, picked up pace once more.

  Then he leaned closer, the hard planes of his chest abrading her spine, her nape, the back of her head as he reached to the top shelf. She could smell the residue of cologne he’d used this morning, and, beneath that, the scent of soap and man. This man. She’d smell it in her sleep tonight, and a few nights more. Many nights more.

  ‘Here,’ he snapped. Rather than the super-dooper kit she expected, he pulled out an old ice-cream tub with a loose assortment of Band-Aids, painkillers, tubes and bottles. He stepped back and Didi swayed at the sudden loss of contact. Her head was spinning, her legs felt numb.

  He lifted out a tube of antiseptic cream, barely glanced at her as he said, ‘Looks like you should sit down. Or perhaps you should eat.’ He flicked his head at the counter top. ‘There’s a dinner there. It should still be hot.’

  Probably a sensible idea, even if her stomach churned at the thought of food. ‘I think I will.’ She peeled off the lid, grabbed a spoon, filled a tumbler of water and perched on a kitchen bar stool at the end of the counter top. But even the fragrance of sweet-spiced Moroccan lamb didn’t tempt her appetite out of hiding.

  She dug out a token chickpea or two, rolled them around her mouth, barely swallowed. Gulped water. Then the sight of Cameron placing one foot on a chair, rolling up his trouser leg and exposing one firm calf with thick masculine hair dried her mouth all over again.

  The two distinct raised welts were dealt with swiftly and she stared as he rubbed in antiseptic cream with long blunt fingers.

  Dark olive skin overlaid the hard muscle. Her own fingers tingled and her creativity took flight. Oh, how would it feel to run her hands up his leg? What was it about this guy? She’d never even looked at Jay this way. This wicked, wanton way.

  She’d take off his shoe, his sock. Start at the toes and work her way up. From the smooth skin of his instep to the rougher skin above the sock line. She’d watch his eyes darken to that gorgeous blueberry as she crept her fingers higher, beneath the trousers to fondle his kneecap. Higher, where the tops of his thighs would be hard, like wood, then to the inner thigh where it would be softer, hotter…

  ‘How is it?’

  His voice penetrated the sexual shroud she found herself immersed in. As she blinked it away she became aware of her own heart beating a thick, heavy rhythm against her ribs. Aware of his eyes studying her with a searing intensity that made her wonder if he could read her thoughts.

  She managed a smile, hoped it looked casual and tried for light. ‘Mmm, good. Want a taste?’

  His gaze dropped to her mouth, the sexual glitter in his eyes making her lips feel swollen and sensual, as if she’d invited him to taste something far more intimate. A taste he’d already acquainted himself with, and her pulse spiked at the memory.

  Which was probably why he said, ‘Thanks, but I’ll eat later. When I’ve finished at the office.’ He rolled down his trouser leg, capped the tube. He didn’t want an encore. In fact she got the distinct feeling he did, in fact, consider it a mistake, as he’d said before he kissed her.

  She told herself she was not disappointed. She did not need another reminder of her own mistakes. Rather, she felt a growing unease that he was leaving his own apartment on her account. Guilt because he shouldn’t have to do that. She set the spoon on the counter top with a chink of silver on granite. ‘I thought you’d finished for the day?’

  ‘I’ve got some last-minute details to finalise before I leave for Sydney.’

  ‘You’re going to Sydney?’

  ‘First thing in the morning. I’m viewing some glass figurines and wooden carvings I intend purchasing for the gallery. I’ll be gone a couple of days. You’ll be okay here alone, won’t you?’

  He didn’t pause for an answer, just dragged a wallet from the back pocket of his trousers, pulled out a couple of business cards and a wad of fifty-dollar bills. ‘I haven’t had time to organise a credit card but this should cover your expenses while I’m away. I use a limo service; I’ll let them know the car’s at your disposal.’ He counted the cash, laid it on the table.

  She stared. She’d never seen anyone lay down such a large amount of cash at one time and not blink an eye. Perhaps it simply wasn’t enough for him to bother about. ‘You’re not afraid I’ll do a runner with your money?’

  He shook his head once. ‘You’ll hang out for the prize. You stand to earn ten times that amount—and earn a name for yourself at the same time.’ Spoken with an almost indiscernible disdain for those beneath his privileged position of wealth and power. She recognised it and anger flared, hot and harsh. ‘How dare you presume to pigeonhole me—or anyone else for that matter—because I don’t live at a fancy address?’

  He flashed her a look, a cold blue flame that froze and burned, holding her in its grip for a few tense heartbeats, and for a gut-curdling moment a stranger seemed to stare back at her. He’s not the man you think he is. The poster pinned to the ladies’ room mirror streaked through her mind.

  She slid off the stool and took a step back, rubbing arms that suddenly felt chilled. Who was this man she’d committed herself to work for? Whose apartment she’d be living in for the next couple of weeks?

  The man who’d kissed her with toe-curling expertise.

  The man she’d kissed back.

  His gaze relented a little but his face remained stony and unforgiving, the lines around his mouth suddenly looked deeper. ‘You’re mistaken,’ he said quietly. ‘I judge people by the way they live their life, not their address.’

  ‘I’m—’

  ‘Any problems, speak to Davis downstairs or call my mobile.’ He turned and headed to the dining room, collected his jacket.

  Trailing in his wake, Didi nodded, hugging her own threatened security within her crossed arms.

  As he shrugged into his jacket he said, ‘If you’re cold, turn up the thermostat; it’s on the wall by the front door.’

  ‘I’m not cold.’ Just uncertain.

  ‘I’ll be late back tonight and gone early. Have some work in progress for me to look at when I get back.’

  ‘I will.’ Spoken with a certain amount of trepidation.

  He paused, looking grimly awkward. ‘We should clear the air about that moment…’

  She was almost tempted to let him bumble through an explanation, but, really, she didn’t want to discuss it either. ‘I told you, it was a bit of fun. Let’s leave it at that.’

  He nodded and she sensed his relief. His remote expression relaxed into some semblance of the guy who’d toasted their partnership with her less than an hour ago. ‘See you on Friday.’

  Then he was gone. Didi sank into the nearest available sofa. She hoped her creativity wasn’t shot to pieces. Charlie wandered in, jumped up onto her lap and began purring, bumping his head against her hand. ‘There you are. You just wanted in on the action, didn’t you? Or were you jealous, hey? Well, you don’t have to worry, there won’t be any more.’ Cameron’s kiss might be the hottest thing since supernovae were discovered but they’d never be compatible.

  Except in bed.

  She had no doubt he’d be an absolute god in bed. But he’d never be suitable in the ways that counted. Yet she hardly knew him, how could she make any kind of judgemen
t?

  Well, she knew some things. He’d never understand what it was like to wonder where your next dollar was coming from or where you were going to sleep tonight. Mind you, neither had she until she’d made the decision to go it alone.

  ‘Don’t bother coming back until you’re prepared to take your place as a part of our family and communicate rationally,’ her mother had said when Didi had flounced into the lounge room and announced she was leaving. Fitting in with her family’s lifestyle had never suited her. A lifestyle Cameron Black would be totally at home with.

  But who was he really? With his lifestyle, looks, his way with women, he reminded her too much of the man who, to her humiliation, had left her to cancel their wedding plans alone. But she’d seen glimpses—shadows—of someone else behind that polished façade. Drained of energy, she closed her eyes. Cameron Black Property Developers might have a reputable name but Cameron Black, the man, was someone else entirely.

  The wide steel doors slid open on a cushion of air and Cam stepped into his night-darkened office on the fifteenth floor with its twinkling vista of lights below, but he barely gave them a glance as he strode past the empty reception area. He’d kissed her. Didi. The woman he’d commissioned to work for him.

  Why, for God’s sake? Because he’d been unable to help himself. He’d been bewitched. No, he told himself, it was simpler than that—he was horny. Scowling, he rifled through his files until he found the Sydney contacts. She didn’t call the shots where his sex life was concerned. So why had it felt as if he’d been sledgehammered? As if he’d been the one out of control?

  He tossed the necessary paperwork into his briefcase then moved to his computer, booted it up. He’d not go to Sydney next weekend as he’d originally planned, but tomorrow.

  Just a kiss. That was all it was, right?

  Who knew what might have happened if the damn cat hadn’t decided to take a piece out of him?