Memoirs of a Millionaire's Mistress

She shivered as her mind veered in another direction while he continued devouring her with that rapacious expression. He was here. In his bathroom. Not in Sydney.

Oh. My. God. What had she done? And how was she going to undo it?

His hand moved away from her mouth but one finger continued to slide sensuously over her lower lip, a dangerous touch, a hypnotic caress that slowed time and wiped everything from her mind but the pleasure it provoked. Beneath their calloused texture she could feel the tension ready to clamp her mouth shut again if she didn’t co-operate.

His voice held the same deceptively languid quality when he said, ‘So, Didi…or should I call you Dymphna?’

Her whole body rebelled and she speared him with her eyes. ‘Don’t call me that—never call me that.’

His mouth curved slightly. ‘I agree it’s a crime to punish an innocent child with such a name. Then again…’ he whisked his thumb back and forth over her jaw, firmed his other hand against the back of her head, imprisoning her ‘…maybe it isn’t such a crime…Maybe you’re not so innocent.’

In the room’s dimness the lights from a nearby skyscraper stroked the unyielding angle of his jaw, his eyes mesmerised her, his grasp on her head paralysed her. His finger continued to fondle the edge of her lip, sending shivery tingles to every extremity and sparking erotic images of letting him use that same lazy thoroughness to explore other body parts. She fought an insane urge to suck its pleasure-giving warmth into her mouth.

‘Well, are you going to try and defend yourself?’ His tone sharper, eyes piercing. ‘Or maybe I’ll tell you what I think and you can try to deny it.’

She shook her head but it didn’t move beneath his grip. ‘I didn’t expect you back until tomorrow night.’ Her voice came out hoarse and pitifully desperate.

‘That was the original plan.’

‘I’m sorry. My sister flew into Melbourne unexpectedly. I told her I live here, that I work in a gallery, which is all a lie, I know. You weren’t here, I didn’t think it would matter—just for one night, Cameron.’ The familiar sting of rejection, the secret heartache of not belonging, washed through her. ‘But it matters to me.’ Unshed tears pricked at her eyes. ‘That she thinks I’m a success, that my family thinks I’m a success.’

There was a softening in his eyes, as if he…understood her. His hold loosened a little, though his hand continued to massage the back of her head, and a rare, wry humour lifted the corner of his mouth. ‘She thinks I’m your lover.’

The image ran through her like quicksilver. Too easy with her head cradled in his expert hand to let herself remember what had happened in the kitchen…‘She…does?’ Well, naturally she would since there was only one other bedroom…

She sensed his mood lighten and her own initial fears thawed a little. He’d invested a heap of money in her already. He wouldn’t turf her out until the job was finished. Would he? No, she assured herself, he didn’t have time to find a replacement. Question was, could she negotiate with only a towel held to her breasts?

She stepped back. He let her, and she used the opportunity to wrap and secure the towel around her. ‘Can we play along with this here? It’s only one night—she’ll be gone tomorrow.’

‘Play.’ The way he said it made kindergarten sound like an orgy. Then a dark brow lifted. ‘You mean lie.’

She bit her lip. ‘Just a little bit. Just for tonight. You don’t know how important this is.’

‘Why don’t you tell me?’

‘Later.’ After they’d sorted out the logistics of how they were both going to share the room for the night. ‘Right now I need you. And you need me.’

‘Didi?’ Veronica’s voice in the hallway. In the doorway. Even in the semi-darkness, the light from the bathroom illuminated concern—or was it suspicion?—on the familiar face.

Didi’s hands tightened on the edge of the towel. Her gaze flicked up to Cameron’s, silently pleading with him, to her sister. Back to Cameron.

‘Are you all right, Didi? Is this man—?’

‘She’s fine.’ Cameron’s hands closed over Didi’s upper arms, rubbing seductive circles over her shoulders with hard flat palms, a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes. ‘Aren’t you, Fairybread?’

Fairy bread? ‘Fine,’ she managed, holding his gaze, ignoring her sister. She stretched her stiff lips into a smile. ‘Now that you’re home.’ She didn’t even have to try to make her voice husky—that gleam in Cameron’s eyes, the feel of his hands on her flesh did that.