Mistress to a Millionaire

His mouth was light on hers at first, soft and stroking as it played with her sealed lips, and she trembled at the tender caress. She stood in his arms, very still and tense, and then, as his lips moved to her cheeks, her throat, her closed eyelids, she shivered with how he was making her feel. He pulled her closer into him at the movement and now the nature of the kiss changed as he sensed what she was trying to hide.

He moulded her against his shape and as she gasped at the feel of him, hard and virile, against her softness Slade took advantage of the opportunity to invade her mouth, his lips and tongue hot and urgent as he filled the undefended territory.

The hand in her back was moving her against him, slowly, erotically, not rushing her, just getting her used to the feel and shape of his primitive male desire, and it was his very lack of force, his gentle control and dominance, that evoked such sensual stirrings in her blood.

She shifted in his arms, her body relaxing and becoming languorous as a depth of emotion that seemed to come from the very core of her made her fluid. This felt so right, to be close to him like this…

His hands had moved up to cup her breasts, the pads of his thumbs caressing their taut peaks through the thin cotton of her blouse, and his skilful arousal of her body made her moan softly against his lips. He answered the sound with a little growl of his own, and now her hands went up round his neck and she found herself pressing into him with an abandonment she wouldn’t have dreamt of moments before.

Daisy could feel the hard thud of his heart against the muscled wall of his chest, the force of its pounding indicating his control was not as solid as he would have liked her to believe. And that thrilled her; it sent the blood racing through her limbs like hot mulled wine as the knowledge of her feminine power over this dynamic, strong, vigorous man increased her own passion.

They were kissing fiercely, hungrily now, straining into each other, and after the long weeks of being so close and yet so far—of being in each other’s company practically day and night and yet not exchanging so much as a kiss—their lovemaking was all the more frenzied.

‘You love me, Daisy; say it.’ His voice was husky with desire and exultation against her mouth. ‘You want me as much as I want you. Say it; I need to hear you say it.’

She heard him but she tried to ignore it; she didn’t want to talk. If she had to think, to rationalise what was happening it would have to stop and she didn’t want it to stop. She wanted his arms round her, his strength enfolding her; she wanted to be in this magical world where time stood still and only the present mattered. And the present was Slade. His hands, his mouth, his voice, his maleness.

She was aching, swollen and tender, but as her mouth searched for his, her eyes shut and her body pressing further into him, there was a change. He wasn’t responding any more.

‘Slade?’ She opened her heavy lids slowly and his eyes were waiting for her. ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’

‘What do you see, Daisy?’ His voice was very flat. ‘Tell me.’

‘What?’ She stared at him, not understanding.

‘This is me—Slade,’ he said grimly. ‘Not that excuse for a man you were married to. Why can’t you say it, why can’t you admit there’s something good between us? It sticks in your throat, doesn’t it? And that can only be because you don’t trust me. You don’t, do you?’

It was a statement, not a question, but Daisy answered it all the same as liquid ice flowed where hot

sensation had been just seconds before. ‘Does it matter?’ The colour drained from her face, leaving it pale and fragile. ‘You said you want me; I would have thought you’d have been happy with that.’

‘Then you would have thought wrong,’ he bit back angrily. ‘Haven’t you got it into your head yet? I don’t just want to make love to you, Daisy. I want to love you, and for you to love me. I don’t want an affair! Damn it, there are any number of women I could have if I just wanted that. I want you in my life.’

‘I am in your life,’ she said numbly.

‘The hell you are!’ And then, as she flinched at the blazing anger in the ebony eyes, he repeated more quietly, ‘The hell you are. Look, I’ve been patient but this is driving me crazy, don’t you understand that? I’m not like your ex-husband, Daisy. I am not going to hurt you and I am not going to let you down. Sooner or later you are going to have to start trusting me.’

No, no, she couldn’t do that. She stared back at him, her eyes wide and horror-stricken as his words opened a door in her mind and she saw things clearly for the first time. She already felt far too much for him to allow herself to trust him. She had trusted Ronald; she had thought she loved him although she had to admit the feeling she had had for her ex was nothing like the consuming emotion that was turning her inside out now. And through Ronald betraying her, through all the anguish and pain she had let herself feel then, she had killed her daughter.

A sob caught at her throat and she averted her face, but Slade caught her to him, his voice a groan as he said, ‘Don’t cry. Hell, don’t cry, Daisy.’

She had killed her daughter. The doctors had said it was stress that had caused the miscarriage, and she had let herself feel that stress. She had put Ronald—Ronald and her own feelings of despair and confusion—before that precious little being until her body hadn’t been able to keep her baby. She should have been strong; she should have just let him go and concentrated on her unborn child, but she hadn’t. And by the time she had realised her mistake it was too late. Jenny had been born too early, far, far too early, and oh, oh, she wanted her. She wanted to see her, to hold her, to kiss her and tell her she was sorry. So, so sorry.

‘Daisy—Daisy, stop it.’ Slade was shaking her slightly now, appalled at the harsh sobs that were racking her body. ‘What is it? Tell me.’

As all the guilt and pain she had kept buried in the deep wells of the subconscious came flooding to the surface, Daisy cried as she had never cried before. And after a time he simply held her, knowing that this—whatever it was—was something which had to have free rein. His handsome face was deeply troubled above the bent blonde head but he didn’t regret what had been said. This had all been fermenting below the surface like a festering sore and it was time for the wound to be opened, however painful. It was the only way there was a chance for the healing to begin.

It was a long time before the anguished sobs gave way to quieter weeping, and then, even when there was just the odd shudder and hiccup breaking the silence, Slade continued to hold her close. And Daisy had to summon all her resolve before she could move out of his arms. It was the last time he would hold her after all. Because she knew now, with utter and absolute clarity, that she could never put such power as Ronald had had over her emotions into a man’s hands again. And with Slade the power would be so much stronger, simply because she loved him more.

‘I’m sorry.’ As she straightened and stepped back a pace Slade didn’t try to hold on to her, but his dark eyes were hard on her white face as she continued, and his expression was inscrutable. ‘I shouldn’t have behaved like that; I can’t think what came over me.’

‘Cut the polite, stiff-upper-lip English—’ He stopped abruptly, and she knew he had been about to say something more ripe when he continued, ‘Nonsense. We both know what came over you—something from your past and I want to know what.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Her chin was up and her eyes were defiant as she faced him, and for a moment his frustration made him want to shake her until her teeth rattled. They were back to square one and he couldn’t believe it.

‘For crying out loud, Daisy.’ The words were ground out through clenched teeth and spoke of his resentment more clearly than any accusation could have. ‘Talk to me, damn it.’

‘Look, I’ve got things to do.’ She made a desperate little movement with her hand as she backed towards the door. ‘I must go.’