Memoirs of a Millionaire's Mistress

by Anne Oliver

  When the world went crazy…‘Aside from the tea what would you really like?’

  Her eyes sparkled in the lights. ‘To be able to snuggle back into my dressing gown on a couch deep enough to get lost in and…’ She trailed off, her voice husky with memories of last night as her eyes met his. And the sparkle turned hot.

  He allowed the unspoken to smoulder a moment. ‘Forget the dressing gown and tell me the rest.’

  Her cheeks turned pink. ‘You’ve got other things on your mind. I—’

  ‘Damn right, I’ve got things on my mind. Starting with you, Didi…’

  Their order arrived and the words hung between them with all their erotic possibilities. Ice clinked, china rattled as the waiter set the tea and a tumbler of whisky over ice on the table. Cam paid the waiter, then sat back and watched Didi’s colour heighten further.

  ‘Shall I tell you what I’m thinking about?’ he went on when the waiter had moved away. He leaned closer so he could see flecks of gold amongst the silver in her eyes. ‘I’m thinking about peeling those clothes off you. Slowly. Then sampling every inch of your skin. With my hands. With my tongue. Every inch.’ He let his gaze travel over the swell of her breasts. ‘Or maybe I’ll savour the anticipation and let you strip while I watch before I—’

  ‘I’m thinking you should get naked first.’ The colour had bled into her neck. Her eyes flicked to his lap. ‘I want to watch you get turned on.’

  Just the thought of those eyes stroking him with liquid heat shot bullets of fire to his groin. ‘Too late,’ he murmured, watching her eyes widen, her pupils dilate. ‘I already am.’

  ‘Well, then.’ She picked up her cup, sipped, her expression touched by the humour of it. ‘It’s too bad we have a twenty-five-minute walk ahead of us. In the cold.’

  Suddenly he didn’t want to make that long chilly walk. A stroll, for Pete’s sake, what had he been thinking? He took a long gulp of whisky to wet his lust-dry throat. ‘We can be in a warm room in ten minutes.’

  She laughed, a tinkling erotic sound. ‘You think so?’

  He grinned back. ‘I know so.’ In ten minutes they could both be naked and warm and feeling really really good. Why waste another moment? He felt the grin drop away from his lips. Didi could make him feel good, and a lot more—she could help him forget. ‘What do you say? Are you game?’

  She blinked. ‘You’re serious. Here?’

  ‘You better believe it.’ He lifted his glass to his lips to savour the whisky’s aroma.

  ‘You mean we’re going to rock up at check-in with no luggage and ask for a room and a “by the way, do you charge by the hour?”’ She set her cup on its saucer with a clink. ‘How many couples check in to five-star luxury for a quick roll over the sheets?’

  ‘Who says it’s going to be quick?’

  Her eyes turned a smoky grey, an early morning heatwave haze with a voice to match. ‘How many hours do you think we might need, Cameron?’ It continually fascinated him; her innocence-in-black-lace routine.

  ‘Whatever it takes.’ He polished off his whisky in one long draught. ‘As long as we’re home before six-thirty.’

  She checked her watch, slurped a few mouthfuls of tea, picked up her coat and rose. ‘Better get started, then.’

  ‘Ah, a small problem.’ He glanced down at himself. Maybe not so small…

  She leaned in, her small breasts brushing against his forearm as she whispered in his ear. ‘Stay close behind and come with me.’

  He reached for her cool slim fingers, entwined them with his. ‘I intend to do just that, sweetheart.’

  ‘Hurry.’ The urgency in Didi’s voice sharpened his anticipation to a razor’s edge.

  ‘Going as fast as I can,’ Cameron muttered, swiping the keycard for the second time, his free hand still locked with hers.

  Finally. He tugged her hand and they spilled into the room like a couple of horny teenagers, tossing handbag and jackets on the floor and not bothering with lights. Only the master lamp cast a muted yellow pool in the room’s foyer.

  ‘Didi…’ He whirled, pressing her against the door so he could ravish her mouth the way he’d been wanting to since early this morning. His blood pounded into life, roaring through his veins. Already he’d committed her taste to memory, the scent of her skin, the sound of her moan as her mouth opened beneath his.

  Their joined hands brushed the front of his jeans; he wasn’t sure who’d made the move, didn’t care. He took advantage, rubbing her knuckles over his throbbing erection while his tongue dived over hers. This fever of need wasn’t anything he’d not experienced before but this strange vicelike grip in the region of his heart was new.

  So he’d die of a heart attack in the throes of passion. He’d die a happy man. But he lifted his head, let them both catch their breath. Her breasts rose and fell in rapid succession, hard nipples abrading his chest through their combined layers of worn jersey.

  ‘I want to see if you’re as beautiful as I remember,’ he muttered, and tugged her T-shirt over her head. Tossed it over his shoulder. Dragged the bra cups down and filled his palms with warm female flesh.

  Her skin was rich cream against his darker hands, delicate and fragrant, her nipples pale and tight. Impossible not to taste. He captured one, scraped over it with teeth and tongue. She hauled in a whimpered breath, tracked fingernails through his scalp. Urgency pinched at his flesh. He wanted those fingers on other, more needy parts.

  ‘And…?’

  She tugged his head away from her breast with the palms of her hands and he fell into her eyes. ‘You’re…’ not what I expected ‘…enchanting.’

  What was happening here? Was this more than sex?

  He thrust the questions from his mind. It would not be more. Peeling them both away from the door, he lifted her off her feet and quickstepped them to the foot of the bed.

  He grabbed his wallet from his jeans as he toppled her onto the mattress and followed her down, hot, impatient, wild for her. His fingers fumbled with the leather a moment, then closed over the foil package. He held it up in front of her face. ‘The only condom I have with me.’

  Her hand snapped up to cover his, eyes dark with a wicked promise of approaching turbulence. ‘Better make the most of it, then.’

  Cameron caught her hand before it slid off his sweat-slick belly. He didn’t want to move yet; he was enjoying the feel of her body tucked against his. ‘So…you said you’ve seen it all before.’

  ‘I’ve always felt an obligation to try and help out where I can. There was a halfway house for those undergoing drug rehab…’ She moved her head side to side against his shoulder, her fragrant hair tickling his chin. ‘Well, you know how it is.’

  He did. And the fact that she did too was a connection he hadn’t anticipated. He was still mulling that over when she rolled onto her stomach, tugging the sheet with her, and traced a finger down the centre of his chest.

  ‘But you…You let me believe all you were interested in was money.’

  He hesitated. ‘For a long time it was. Because growing up I didn’t have it.’ He should have moved. He should have known she’d ask questions. And he should have thought before he answered. Even in the semi-darkness he felt the incredulity in her eyes.

  ‘What? Money?’

  ‘Surprised, Didi?’ His private smile was humourless. ‘Seems we’ve traded places.’

  She was silent a moment. ‘You know about my family, tell me about yours.’

  His lips turned numb, the black hole that had been his life yawned before him. A life that distanced him for ever from Didi’s world. He pushed her hand away. ‘You don’t want to hear about my family.’

  ‘I want to know what motivates a man to build a centre for runaways,’ she said quietly. ‘To invest not only money but time and interest. I saw how you were with those kids. Why?’

  He shrugged, turned away from those perceptive eyes. But Lizzie’s collapse tonight had wrung his emotions dry. He expelled a long sigh. ‘Because I
keep hoping that one day my sister will walk through those doors.’

  ‘You have a sister?’

  His body tensed as the old pain around his heart clenched its fist. ‘Listen, can we just drop this?’

  ‘No. Tell me about her.’

  He’d already discovered Didi’s tenacity and since he’d already opened his mouth…‘Amy. I don’t know where she is, or even if she’s still alive. The last time I saw her I was eighteen and doing what I could to keep us together, she was seventeen and on drugs.’

  ‘Where were your parents?’

  ‘Dead.’ His voice sounded flat and devoid of emotion. Experience had taught him emotion made one vulnerable. He didn’t intend to be vulnerable, to anything, or anyone ever again.

  ‘Oh, Cameron. I’m sorry.’

  That old cliché. ‘Don’t be.’ He clenched his jaw against a rising anger that had nothing—and everything—to do with Didi. What the hell would she know with her childhood of opportunities? ‘It’s the familiar story of drugs and domestic violence.’

  ‘It might help if you t—’

  ‘Leave it alone, Didi. It’s ancient history and nothing to do with you.’

  Wanting distance, he rolled out of bed and crossed to the window. He didn’t need the woman with her sympathy and sad eyes. Instead he watched the reflections in the river, a late train snaking into Flinders Street Station. For the first time in years he desperately craved a cigarette.

  But memories of a childhood he kept ruthlessly buried flashed before him. Wanted fugitive, Bernie Boyd had died during a police chase, Cam’s mother of a prescription drug overdose a few months later.

  His biggest mistake had been confiding all to Katrina, and hadn’t she had her moment of glory with the poster campaign? He’s not the man you think he is.

  He would not make the same mistake with Didi.

  ‘Come back to bed, Cameron.’

  Her arms slid around his back, her hands splayed over his chest—not provocative or teasing—just…easy. Soothing. He hadn’t heard her approach but she was warm and suddenly very welcome. Her hair felt like soft warm rain against his skin. He knew if he looked into her eyes he’d see understanding. She didn’t understand of course, but she cared. Perhaps she wouldn’t if she knew, but for now it was enough that she was here.

  Wordlessly he turned into her embrace.

  Where he knew he was wanted.

  Where he wanted to be.

  He showed her how much with nips and open-mouth kisses beneath her ear, down her throat, while he let his hands glide over the dips and curves. How good they could be together—were together.

  She responded with little murmurs and sighs. No words. As if she understood he didn’t want them. She seemed to know just what he needed, yet how could she? She’d known him a matter of days.

  Warmth stole through him like a thief, catching him unawares. He’d been damn rude to her—how long had it been since any woman had shown him anything approaching compassion? And he’d cut her off.

  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.

  Good morning, Didi,

  I’ve gone to the hospital to check on Lizzie before I head in to the office…

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

  Sleep in for a bit, ring room service and order up breakfast; it’s already paid for. I’ve arranged for a taxi to take you home when you’re ready, speak to Concierge. Have a productive day. Cam.

  PS I’ll feed Charlie on my way, no need to rush.

  PPS Thank you for last night.

  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 squinting 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.’