Memoirs of a Millionaire's Mistress

by Anne Oliver

She flashed him a glare over her shoulder as she picked her T-shirt up off the floor. ‘Should I be?’

  ‘You liked it well enough last night. Didi.’ His voice softened. ‘What happened with your last guy won’t happen with us because we both know up front what we’re getting into. So long as we have mutual respect and understanding.’

  She straightened and forced herself to look at him.

  ‘And I’ll include other benefits, of course.’

  ‘Other benefits?’

  ‘I attend a lot of charity events; some are quite formal affairs where a partner is expected. If we go out in the evening, I’ll pay any expenses, clothes, salon procedures et cetera.’

  ‘You mean you want me to accompany you? To functions where you’re exhibiting your next property development?’ She scoffed. ‘Like, I’m on the other side of the fence—how could I do that with a clear conscience?’

  A look she couldn’t interpret crossed his face. ‘You’re not as far away from my side as you think, Didi.’ He scratched his chin. ‘The alternative would be for me to chaperone some other woman and I don’t think that arrangement would work.’

  The thought of him with some other woman while she sat in his apartment working her fingers to the bone poured acid on her empty stomach, but she remembered, ‘Did you forget I may need to work through evenings?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not every evening, Didi. You’ll need some down-time. I’m the last person who’d want to compromise your creativity. And I’ll ensure it’s not something you wouldn’t feel comfortable attending before I accept.’

  She couldn’t look at him while she made her decision so she studied the pile of clothes in her hand. She’d have to be very, very careful not to let herself fall for him. Because she would not go through that kind of pain again.

  She had to remember to keep her heart out of the mix. Keep it temporary. Casual sex. Except she’d never done casual sex.

  But she knew this inexplicable attraction was mutual and she wanted to explore that attraction while she was here. And, damn it, why shouldn’t she? They were both single, unattached and available and this was twenty-first-century Australia.

  Finally, she met his gaze. ‘I’ll be wearing my own clothes if we go out, thanks. And believe it when I tell you no one can manage my hair but me.’

  Cam let out a deep slow breath as he watched Didi run her hands through the unruly tufts. He hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath and mentally shook his head at the sheer madness of whatever-the-hell-it-was that had gripped him until he saw the agreement in her eyes.

  Sex was the motivation, right? Yet this crazy feeling was like nothing he’d ever felt before. Before he could stop himself he crossed the room to take that beautiful bewitching face between his hands and watch last night’s afterglow in her eyes sparkle.

  She smelled of sleep and sex and his mouth fell onto hers as if he’d relinquished control of his movements to some unseen force. Unthinkable to resist. Impossible to pretend he wasn’t instantly aroused by her warm womanly shape beneath the terry-towelling robe, by the feel of her hands sliding around his naked back as she fashioned herself against him.

  Exclusively his for the next two and a half weeks.

  The sound of someone passing by the door pulled him out of the moment. Reluctant, he drew back, soothing her lips with his before he said, ‘I’d better make myself presentable while you go see if our guest wants some breakfast.’ And I need to put some priorities in order, starting now.

  ‘Hmm.’ Her fingers found their way beneath his waistband and she looked up at him. ‘I kind of like you unpresentable.’

  Drawing her hands away, he clasped them together. ‘Go. Now. Before I forget I’m supposed to be the host.’ And that today’s another business day with a couple of site inspections and three meetings scheduled.

  Twenty minutes later he helped himself to a mug of coffee. Veronica was sipping from her own mug on the sofa by the living-room window while Didi took eggs from the refrigerator. The apartment’s open-plan living arrangement allowed him to view both women simultaneously.

  Two sisters couldn’t be more different. It wasn’t lost on him that at a purely superficial level Veronica was more like the usual type of woman who shared the occasional breakfast here before they went their separate ways to work.

  Charlie greeted Cam as he carried his steaming mug towards the sofa. Why was it that cats invariably chose to smooch people who ignored them? But he bent down to fondle the silky ears as he nodded at their guest. ‘Veronica. I apologise for not being up earlier. I trust you slept well?’

  ‘I did. Thank you.’ Sipping delicately, she eyed him with a hint of the distrust she’d shown last night. ‘You have a lovely apartment.’

  ‘We like it.’ He smiled at Didi, who was whipping up eggs with one eye and watching them with another.

  Veronica arched a brow. ‘How long have you been here, Didi?’

  The whisk faltered but only for a second. ‘Um…not long…’

  ‘Didi’s a relative newcomer but I’ve been here a few years.’ Cam covered the hitch smoothly.

  ‘Ah…’ Veronica eyed him with an I-know-your-game glint and when she spoke her voice was silk. ‘You’re the gallery owner who leases it to my sister for a low rent. How…convenient. But you’re not interstate—Didi told me you were.’

  He glanced at Didi, back to Veronica. ‘And so I was…yesterday.’

  Glancing at the Sheila Dodd and Didi’s work against the wall, she observed, ‘You’re also an art collector.’

  ‘Actually, the Before the Temptation one is mine,’ Didi said, setting two frying pans on the stove with satisfied clangs. ‘Scrambled eggs okay?’

  ‘Yes. Fine.’ Veronica paused, sculptured brows rising. ‘Yours?’

  ‘Yep. As in I made it.’

  ‘Beautifully crafted, isn’t it?’ Cam said, smiling, watching Veronica’s bemused expression. ‘It should fetch a tidy price at the gallery.’

  ‘It’s not for sale,’ Didi said over the counter top.

  ‘Ah…yes. Very nice.’ Veronica set her mug down with a delicate clink. No well-deserved praise, Cam noted.

  ‘Mum and Dad send their love.’ Casually spoken but Cam felt the immediate undercurrent between the two sisters.

  Wouldn’t they have had this conversation yesterday? This was purely for his benefit.

  Didi only glanced up as she stirred eggs into one pan, set bacon sizzling in the other. ‘I’ve been very busy.’

  ‘Too busy to call?’

  Silence except for the crackle of bacon. ‘I’ll do things my way, Veronica,’ Didi said finally. ‘When I’m ready.’ She sliced avocado onto plates.

  Cam watched the interaction. Clearly Didi had further issues with her parents that she’d yet to share with him.

  ‘So where did you two meet?’

  Didi caught Cam’s eye, then said, ‘At a cocktail party.’

  He grinned back at Didi over his coffee. ‘I turned around and there she was. It was literally sparks at three paces.’

  ‘Really? So, Cameron, this gallery you own…’ Her pursed lips were quite deliberate. ‘That makes you Didi’s boss?’

  ‘Not exactly. Didi’s working on a commission at present,’ Cam said carefully. ‘Her work’s going to be demanding a small fortune soon.’ No lies there. ‘You’ll have to put in an order before word gets out.’

  ‘It’s not really my thing,’ Veronica said with a lazy disinterest that annoyed Cam. ‘Fabric and threads collect dust. Daniel’s allergies wouldn’t allow it.’

  How could she be so dismissive of her sister’s talent? ‘Unfortunate,’ was all Cam allowed himself to say but he felt his hackles rise on Didi’s account. He suppressed the urge to slice into Veronica. ‘Smells like breakfast’s ready. Shall we adjourn to the breakfast bar?’

  Veronica left a short time later with Cameron’s limo made available until her flight departed. As Didi cleared the dishes into the dishwasher she turned to see that
her lover had disappeared behind a neatly pressed businessman with money-making on his agenda. He was studying her work-in-progress—or lack of—with a calculating eye.

  Tension gripped the base of her skull but she refused to let his authoritarian stance intimidate her, or the fact that they’d spent the night naked together prevent her from saying, ‘I spent yesterday sketching designs and collecting supplies.’

  ‘What have you decided on?’ he asked, flipping through her boxes of threads and silks.

  ‘This one.’ She handed him the outline she’d decided on. ‘I thought fire. It’s fluid and alive; a rising-from-the-ashes kind of thing. Contrasts—obscurity and brilliance.’

  ‘The eternal flame,’ Cameron mused. ‘A memorial. Appropriate.’ He paced to the window, hands in his pockets, stared out for a long moment before turning to her. ‘You have everything you need?’

  ‘For now, yes. A memorial to whom?’

  An expression of barely veiled regret crossed his face before he blinked it away and a wistfulness crept into his eyes, a small smile tipped his mouth. ‘Someone I knew. Someone I owe.’

  Who had he known? Who did he owe? Why didn’t he tell her?

  Because this arrangement was only temporary, she reminded herself. She didn’t need to know his life history. And this was the right choice of theme, she thought, watching him. This was the emotion she wanted to capture—darkness into light—and it obviously resonated with him.

  He seemed to shake away whatever it was that put the shadows in his eyes. ‘I’ll see you this evening, then.’ He spoke briskly as he crossed the room to pick up his briefcase from beside the sofa.

  Not a hint of the man who’d practically worshipped her body last night with hands and mouth and…more. He could have been talking to anyone. The only concession he made was a chaste almost impersonal kiss on her cheek. ‘Have a productive day.’

  She was tempted to throw her arms around his neck and demand something of last night’s passion but she kept her hands at her sides, remembered their deal and said, ‘You too.’

  He didn’t even give her time to see if a remnant of the night’s heat lingered in his eyes because he was already walking away, leaving a souvenir of his scent on the air.

  She stood watching the elevator doors long after they’d closed. Long after she’d heard its muted hum as it took him away to his world of wheeling and dealing and knocking down buildings.

  Didi forced the hot memories to the back of her mind the way he obviously had. Think business arrangement. For Cameron there was no blurring of lines. She needed to do the same. Keep it in perspective. In three weeks their business would be concluded.

  Didi did her best work to music so she chose one of her own CDs and slid it into Cameron’s sound system, cranked up the volume. Ravel’s ‘Bolero’ throbbed out of the speakers, eerie, edgy.

  She closed her eyes a few moments, absorbed its building passion, the throbbing swirl of emotion. Not until she’d visualised the finished work did she slip on her glasses and begin.

  Hours passed. Hunger was forgotten, cramped muscles ignored, aching fingers disregarded. She worked until the surrounding buildings’ lengthening shadows slid through the windows and the sky grew scarlet behind the silhouette of the Rialto Towers, turning the Yarra River to blood.

  It took a few moments to emerge from her labours. Placing her glasses on the table, she stood back to study the day’s work with a critical eye. Nothing much to see yet, but she’d made a start on the foundation.

  Stretching, rolling tense shoulders, she moved to the window and watched the city’s lights appear in a rainbow of colours. That tension at the base of her skull was back, a dull echo to her heartbeat, and her eyes felt gritty. It occurred to her that she had no idea what time Cameron would be home.

  The thought of seeing him again sent a wave of excitement through her, and a rising panic. Did he expect her to dress up for him? Or dress ‘down’—as in gauzy negligee with a welcome-home glass of champagne in her hand? Did the ‘evening’ part of their arrangement begin at sunset? Or did it only exist between the sheets?

  When did his employee transform into his magical mistress?

  She scoffed at her new persona, but her laugh caught in her throat when she stepped into the bedroom. The unmade bed, with its sheets wrinkled and quilt dragging on the thick carpet, was a testament to their torrid night. Was making beds a part of her job description now? Which had her wondering, did Cameron carry out those domestic tasks himself or did he have a regular cleaning service?

  The phone on the night-stand shrilled. ‘Hello?’ As had happened yesterday, whoever it was disconnected without speaking. She stared at the receiver while a sick feeling of betrayal rose up inside her, throbbing in time with the pulse in her head. A woman, she was sure of it.

  His ex that maybe wasn’t an ex any more?

  She shook her head. Just because Jay had gone back to his ex-lover didn’t mean Cameron would. It was paranoia making her think that way. But it was a timely reminder of the temporary nature of their relationship.

  She picked up her towelling robe from the bed, determined to put the incident out of her mind. She needed to stretch out the kinks with a long, fragrant soak in that guest bathroom’s spa before she felt even human again, let alone magical.

  And as for dressing up—or down—it wasn’t an option. Either he accepted her somewhat offbeat and eclectic style or he didn’t. She no longer had the luxury of money to waste on frivolous dresses or seduce-me nightgowns, nor did she feel a need to conform to the gurus of fashion.

  And if she didn’t do something about this developing migraine, she thought as she rummaged in her bag for medication, she’d be no use to anyone, including herself.

  She stripped off, shrugged into the robe’s comforting warmth, sat on the edge of the bed. Tempting to lay her head on the pillow—the one that smelled of him—just for a moment. Then she’d have that soak and then…

  CHAPTER NINE

  CAM closed his folder and glanced at his watch as the last of the attendees exited the room. The meeting had run late. He’d been running late since he arrived this morning.

  It didn’t usually bother him—he practically lived at the office, often making up for lost time well after midnight when necessary. Tonight wasn’t one of those nights. Tonight anticipation snapped at his heels and he couldn’t wait to be out the door.

  That brought him up short. Slow down, Cam. It wasn’t as if he needed to see her, he assured himself. He didn’t need anyone. Need threatened control, something he’d fought for most of his life, and won.

  So he sent his driver home and set out to walk the forty minutes to his apartment. He deliberately took his time, strolling along tree-lined Collins Street where spring was showing itself with tiny green buds gleaming in the street lights. Ducking rattling trams and harried pedestrians at one of the busy intersections. Workers were cramming cafés for an early dinner, hitting the city gyms or shopping. The smell of fast food mingled with car exhaust fumes.

  He found his pace picking up and slowed once more. Didi was in his head again, and too much for his peace of mind. He wanted to see how the work was coming along, the artist herself was a…fringe benefit. A diversion.

  Yet even as he told himself that was all it was he knew he was fooling himself. Didi O’Flanagan was one hell of a diversion…and a whole lot more. The fact that they clashed on so many points only added to the appeal.

  And the sex was…More. It was the only description he could come up with.

  He found himself outside his apartment building and rode the elevator up. He’d been surprised to learn she came from wealth; she clearly championed for the disadvantaged. Why would her parents have nothing to do with her? There was obviously more to it than she was willing to let him see. A woman with secrets—a good reason not to trust her too easily.

  The apartment was silent when he stepped inside. Charlie trotted towards him, twining himself around his legs, a furry ribbon
with an appetite. Priorities, he reminded himself. He went to the living room to view the work-in-progress. Not much to see yet, but she’d been busy. Her glasses lay amongst the scatter. He fed the cat. So, now…where was Didi—and what was she doing?

  His pulse rate accelerated as he headed for his bedroom and his steps quickened. As he stepped inside the spill of low light from the bedside lamp highlighted her face, glinted on her hair. Fast asleep, her complexion pale, smudges beneath her eyes.

  Then his gaze fell on a bottle of pills on the night-stand. Gut-curdling dread clawed its way up his throat, choking off his air. Visions from the past flashed before his eyes. Amy had done this to herself on a regular basis. His mother had died of an overdose of prescription drugs.

  He grabbed the bottle as he shook her shoulder with rough impatience. ‘Didi.’ For God’s sake. ‘Wake up!’ Belatedly a glance at the bottle informed him they were prescription pills for migraine.

  She stirred. ‘Huh? What?’ He saw her wince as she opened her eyes, squinting in the glare. ‘What is it?’

  He blew out a slow breath. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have woken you. I just…’ He noted his hand wasn’t steady as he brushed hair from her brow. ‘Go back to sleep.’

  She blinked up at him as her eyes adjusted to the light. ‘I was going to take a dip in that swimming-pool spa of yours. I guess I zonked out.’

  ‘Do you still have your headache?’ He cleared the residual panic from his throat and let his hand rest on her shoulder. She felt warm, soft. Alive.

  ‘No.’ She sounded surprised and rubbed her brow, checking. ‘No.’

  ‘Lie there for a bit. I have to go out for a while. Do you think you’ll feel like eating later? I can bring something back if you want.’

  She rolled onto her side, the robe dipping and slipping, tempting his own appetite with generous slices of cleavage and thigh. She moistened her lips, drawing his gaze. ‘Why do you have to go out? Friday night’s for relaxing. Stay.’

  He doubted she knew how husky she sounded, how provocative she looked, drowsy from sleep and sexy as sin. The whole effect shook him to his foundations and, coupled with the near heart attack she’d just given him, he was in no mood to analyse his angry response, nor why he felt the need to distance himself.