Memoirs of a Millionaire's Mistress

‘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.’

‘She’d be thirty-one now—she’d’ve changed.’

‘Exactly.’ She shook away the odd feeling and changed the subject. ‘Let’s eat. I’m starving.’

Ten minutes later they were tucking into sweet chilli roast pork and king prawn combination.

‘I’ve got a fund-raising dinner next Saturday night,’ Cameron said between mouthfuls. ‘I want you to accompany me.’

The sudden punch of nerves caught Didi off guard. ‘Are you sure?’ She’d known it was likely. But being seen in public as his partner, however temporary, was something new. She had no idea what type of woman he usually dated, but she knew she wouldn’t fit in. She’d never fitted in with the elite. She’d be more of an embarrassment. ‘Perhaps it’s better if you just go on your own.’