Memoirs of a Millionaire's Mistress

by Anne Oliver

  ‘Give the man a chance, Didi, for God’s sake,’ her father ordered.

  Holding her head high, she crossed the room, conscious of Cameron’s eyes tracking her the whole way. She stood rigid beside the sofa.

  Cam dragged his eyes from Didi’s and directed his gaze at her father. ‘If you do a background check on Cameron Black you won’t find me. Because my birth name isn’t Black. It’s Boyd. You may have heard of my father, Bernie Boyd. He was a known criminal and he died during a police chase.’

  Silence rushed through the room. But James’s expression didn’t alter. He knew, Cam realised with a flash of insight. Of course he’d know. A man like James O’Flanagan would make it his business to know. He’d probably known the day after Veronica’s visit.

  Why hadn’t he hunted Cam down?

  ‘You never bothered telling me this stuff—why are you telling my parents?’

  Cam turned at Didi’s harsh voice. She was clutching her hands to her chest, her eyes grey and sharp, running him through.

  ‘My father had a string of mistresses,’ James said as if Didi hadn’t spoken. ‘He cheated on my mother for thirty years and drank himself into the grave. Does that make me a lesser man? I’d like to think not. I’d like to think I’m judged on my own merits.’ He inclined his head. ‘The same way I judge you, Mr Black. From what I’ve read about you, you made your fortune through sheer hard work. My enquiries have uncovered a man of persistence and integrity. A man I can respect and admire.’

  Cam unclenched the hands he’d fisted behind his back. ‘Thank you. I appreciate that.’ The tightness in his chest eased, but only some.

  He turned to the white-faced woman before him. He’d loved her the moment she’d voiced her low opinion of him loud and clear that first night. He just hadn’t known it then. And she loved him too. She had to, he thought as something like panic skittered through him—his heart recognised hers.

  Because love, he knew, was such a fragile experience—for both of them—he took a moment to soothe her with his eyes and spoke with a forced calm he didn’t feel. ‘Didi, why don’t we go outside for a few moments? I’d like to talk with you privately—’ he glanced at her parents ‘—if you’ll excuse us?’

  James nodded. ‘Fine by me.’

  ‘Why would I want to go outside with you?’ she shot back in turbulent contrast. But he heard so much more behind the defiance and the stormy emotions in her eyes. Panic, pride. Passion.

  ‘Because if you don’t, I’ll be forced to propose marriage to you in front of your parents and I really wanted to do that without an audience.’

  Her breath hitched, her chin came up and shocked eyes stared back at him as twin spots of colour skidded along her cheekbones. ‘You don’t do commitment, why would you want to marry me? And you’ve just tried to convince them you’re not suitable husband material.’

  Would it always be this difficult with Didi?

  Would he want her any other way?

  ‘Maybe I’ve changed. Maybe I’ve had time to think about it. About us.’ He pinned his gaze to hers, searching for the answer he wanted. Needed. The answer he knew was there. He was barely aware of Didi’s parents making their way to the door.

  Keeping his eyes on hers, he crossed the few steps separating them and wrapped his hands around her upper arms. ‘I’m not asking them to marry me, I’m asking you. Damn it, Didi.’ He gripped her arms tighter, gave a little shake. ‘Look at the mess you’re making of this.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, you. You stubborn, difficult woman. I thought I’d ruin your reputation as an artist if people discovered my background and I was associated with you in a personal way. I didn’t say what I wanted to ask you on that last night—what I’d planned to ask—because I didn’t want to jeopardise your future. You’d worked so hard for success.’

  ‘Yes. And you gave me the opportunity I needed.’ She smiled for the first time. Only a tiny smile but it lit him from the inside out, spreading warmth through his limbs and hope in his heart.

  He’d missed that smile. He’d missed her mess in the dining room, her clothes on the floor in his bedroom, her quick wit and charming idiosyncrasies. He’d missed her tousled hair tickling his nose as he slept.

  ‘What had you planned to ask me?’

  ‘I wanted to ask you to stay, to continue what we’d started.’

  The smile faded. ‘You mean our little arrangement. I would have said no.’

  In the silence that seemed to stretch to eternity he heard birds, the sound of cutlery rattling somewhere in the house. The sound of his heart splintering into a million pieces. ‘Would you mind telling me why?’

  ‘Because it wouldn’t have worked, Cameron.’

  Desperation clawed its way back, his slippery hold on hope sliding through his fingers and they tightened once more. ‘No, it wouldn’t. I realised that when you walked out of my life. Because it wouldn’t have been enough. Because I love you. And you love me. Which makes marriage our best option.’

  A soft choking sound issued from her throat but he couldn’t see her expression because her head dipped forward. Taking that as a promising sign—he refused to take it any other way—he grasped her hands and flattened them against his shirt.

  ‘Or we could compromise,’ he murmured against the top of her head. ‘It wouldn’t be my choice, but if we extended our arrangement by, say, sixty years or so…Exclusivity would be non-negotiable, however.’

  Didi wanted to stand just like this, safe in Cameron’s aura of warmth for ever. Breathing in his scent, watching the way his chest moved as he breathed, listening to his heart. He loved her. He’d let her leave because he thought her career meant more to her than him and he wanted to protect it.

  With her palms against his hard-muscled belly, she lifted her gaze from the weave of his shirt to the V of flesh at his neck, his Adam’s apple, the tiny patch of stubble he’d missed when shaving. The strong chin and those gorgeous lips. Last of all, she met his eyes, marvelling at the depth of emotion she saw there. Not clouded with denial the way she’d seen them on that last night, but naked and transparent, and, right now, tormented.

  ‘If you think I’m going to live sixty years as your mistress, think again.’

  ‘Di—’

  ‘Shh.’ She cut him off with a finger to his lips. ‘Not another word. There’s a place…’ Entwining her fingers with his, she tugged him towards the door.

  And what better place than the gazebo at the bottom of the garden where the wisteria perfumed the air and a butterfly chased a gentle breeze over the lawn?

  She sat on the wooden seat, patted the space beside her. When he didn’t sit, she looked up at him, shading her eyes from the sun’s glare. All she could see was his silhouette; she couldn’t read his expression and a little quiver of doubt rippled through her. Had she gone too far back in the house?

  ‘Well?’ she prompted in a very feminine coquettish fashion she’d never heard come out of her mouth before. ‘I’ve provided the privacy and the place. You mentioned something about a proposal…You’ve told, you’ve suggested, but you haven’t asked.’

  He moved out of the glare. His face looked unusually harsh, the lines deeper around his thinned mouth, the sun bleaching the usual colour from his normally tanned skin. His voice was subdued when he said, ‘Do you want me to ask, Didi?’

  ‘I love the man you are,’ she said softly. ‘I love the way you’ve kicked adversity in the teeth and made something of your life despite all its obstacles. I love your compassion, your strength, your caring nature towards others. I love that you took me into your home when you didn’t know me, even when I publicly embarrassed you that first night and gave me a chance to shine.

  ‘I love you, Cameron Black, Cameron Boyd—whatever your name is, I love you.’ She smiled up at him with all that love in her heart shining in her eyes. ‘So yes, I want that very much.’

  The smile he gave her in return was like the sun itself and she basked in the glow as it spr
ead through her. ‘Not quite yet,’ he said, placing one foot on the seat beside her, leaning forward so she could smell his fresh soaped skin. ‘You exploded into my life like a fireworks display, all noise and colour and energy. I’d never met any woman quite like you. A little pixie with no qualms about taking on the big guns and arguing—vociferously—for your fellow evictees. Losing your job in the process.’

  ‘Pixie, huh?’

  His smile widened as he danced his fingertips over her blonde spikes. ‘I was absolutely enchanted. Still am. Always will be. But it was more,’ he went on. ‘You brought the spark that’s been missing in my life. You taught me to look at things from a different perspective. We come from different worlds, Didi, and I want you to share your world with me the way I want to share my world with you. I don’t want no-strings with you, Didi. I want nothing less than marriage, commitment, the works. But I’ll compromise if I have to. If you’ll have me.’

  Tapping on the booted foot resting on the seat beside her, she smiled up at him. ‘So get on with it—ask already,’ she whispered.

  He crouched in front of her and took her face in his palms. ‘I said it before and I’ll say it again, and I’ll go on saying it for the rest of my life. I love you, Didi. Will you be my wife? You and me together for ever and a piece of paper telling us so.’

  ‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘Oh, yes.’

  The kiss he pressed to her lips was the sweetest kiss she’d ever known, tasting of sunshine, tenderness and passion. Love. The kind that would last a lifetime. Twining her arms around his neck, she deepened the kiss, wanting to show him his feelings were returned multifold.

  Finally, he drew away, pulled a little box out of the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘I was hoping you’d say that. In fact I was counting on it.’ He flipped the lid.

  ‘Ah-h-h…’ A solitaire diamond flanked on either side with two pink teardrop diamonds that matched the one on her necklace. She had to press her fingers to her nose to stop it prickling. ‘I couldn’t have chosen anything better.’

  It winked like fire in the sun as he slipped it on her finger.

  She looked at its sparkle of promise, then up at him. At the depth of emotion in his eyes, at the smile curving his lips. She watched as those lips drew closer once more, her heart filled with love and hope and happiness.

  Then he was kissing her and her heart simply overflowed. Here was rightness; this was what she’d searched for. A man who could accept her as she was, who valued her work and would work beside her.

  And not only did he value her work, he valued her. With Cameron she was someone for whom she would come an absolute first. She fitted in. She belonged. She belonged with him in a way she’d never belonged with her family.

  When they finally drew apart and she settled against his side, she asked, ‘What would you have done if my father’s reaction had been different?’

  ‘I’d have asked you anyway, then figured out a way to get him onside. I was hoping you’d still want me, baggage and all. We complement each other. The people I want in my life don’t care about one’s family background. I kind of figured you’d be the sort who’d thumb your nose at anyone who’d snub your art on account of who your husband is.’

  ‘Damn right I would. But there’s something I want to know and I never got a chance to ask you on that last night. Why did you name the gallery the Irene Black Memorial Gallery? You never mentioned her until your speech at the gallery opening.’

  ‘Irene Black was my maternal grandmother. I can’t condone what she did in disowning her daughter, but she gave me the kick-start I needed in the form of a single lump-sum deposit into my virtually non-existent bank account.

  ‘Apparently she came to watch me one day when I was shovelling cement on a construction site as an eighteen-year-old. She tracked my movements over the months, saw how I was trying to cope with Amy and made contact.

  ‘I only met her that once. She died a week later. Alone. I was robbed of knowing my grandmother. I changed my name to hers in her honour.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Cameron.’ She touched the tiny crease that had formed between his brows and kissed the shadows from his eyes. ‘But you have family now. Amy. Me. My parents. And, for better or worse, Veronica.’

  ‘Yes.’ He nodded, shook off the melancholy. ‘Speaking of for better or worse, in your family I guess it’s the big white society wedding?’

  Not if Didi could help it. She smiled at him. ‘What would you prefer?’

  ‘The two of us and a marriage celebrant.’

  She felt a grin coming on. ‘So we’ll compromise. It’ll still be the big white dress and wedding cake, but we’ll invite only our immediate family and have it here in the gazebo. How does that sound?’

  He kissed her lips. ‘Perfect.’

  EPILOGUE

  Melbourne, two months later

  ‘WHERE are we?’ Didi’s hands curled over the blindfold Cameron had insisted she wear for the drive he’d promised would be short but was taking far too long.

  ‘Patience, Mrs Black, we’re nearly there.’

  Finally the car slowed and stopped. She could barely wait until Cameron opened the door. Then he swept her up against his chest. She could feel the sun on her cheeks, hear birdsong and someone mowing their lawn, kids shouting and the rrrrch of their skateboards as they sped past.

  He stopped.

  ‘What?’ she demanded.

  ‘I can’t decide where…’

  ‘You always were the sort to take too long to think things over. Enough.’

  ‘And you’re always too impatient.’

  The outdoor noises faded, the warmth of the sun on her skin cooled and she knew he was taking her indoors. But where?

  He stopped again, set her on her feet. ‘Ready?’

  She dragged the blindfold off. And looked straight at her Temptation. ‘You said it was sold. It was sold—you gave me a very large cheque to prove it.’

  ‘I couldn’t bear to part with it,’ he murmured behind her. ‘What do you think—should it go here or in the bedroom?’

  ‘You mean…this place is…’

  ‘Ours,’ he said. ‘Yours and mine. It’s home.’

  Home. Warmth geysered up inside her.

  She spun around, taking in the room with its mish-mash of homey-looking furniture. Furniture that looked vaguely familiar. Furnishings and décor she’d commented on in the numerous House & Garden magazines Cameron had taken to reading of late.

  She turned to the window overlooking a backyard and cottage garden crammed with a kaleidoscope of colours. A place to breathe, to watch the seasons come and go. ‘But we have your apartment.’

  ‘You once said you couldn’t bear to live in an apartment.’

  ‘No garden, fresh air, sky or pets. I remember. But—’

  He took her hand and led her towards a closed door. ‘Come with me.’

  When he opened the door Didi saw a modern kitchen with just about every modern appliance ever made. And in the corner—

  ‘Charlie!’ Surrounded by four mewling kittens.

  ‘Charlotte,’ Cameron corrected as she rushed over to fondle him…her.

  ‘Oh, I’ve missed you so so much.’ She stroked the silky fur, careful not to disturb the nursing babies. ‘No wonder I thought he—she—was putting on weight. I thought it was my care and attention.’

  She stretched up on tiptoe to twine her arms around Cameron’s neck. ‘She’ll always be Charlie to me. Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome. We have a big backyard that’ll accommodate as many pets as you want. Within reason,’ he suggested.

  She smiled up at him. ‘Five’s good. Although maybe we could get a dog some time…’ The kiss that inevitably followed was long and lingering. ‘Are you sure you want to give up apartment living?’ she said when at last he drew back.

  ‘I’m sure. Circumstances change. Now we need somewhere with more space—a place for you to create your masterpieces. A garden for Charlie and her brood and room to gro
w…’

  ‘Speaking of growing…’ Didi felt a naughty smile coming on as she drew him back to the living room with its plump green sofa. Naughty for twelve-thirty on a working day. But then, that was becoming something of a habit lately. She looked pointedly at her Temptation mural. ‘If we’re going to create our own little masterpiece together…we should get started.’ Pulling him down on the sofa she began undoing buttons.

  ‘There’s a nice soft bed you haven’t seen yet,’ he murmured, helping her.

  ‘We’ll get to that,’ she told him. ‘Later.’

  And they did.

  Much later.

  Cameron took the rest of the afternoon off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-5201-5

  MEMOIRS OF A MILLIONAIRE’S MISTRESS

  First North American Publication 2010.

  Copyright © 2009 by Anne Oliver.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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