Memoirs of a Millionaire's Mistress

But his mind refused to glance further than the latest headlines. Would Didi remember his instructions to keep the no doubt flea-infested cat in her room, preferably on the balcony? Had she even heard them? he wondered, then shook his head. He had a feeling she wasn’t good at following instructions.

She’d not yet shared with him the information that she’d lost her job. Perhaps she had something else lined up already, but he seriously doubted it. Because Didi O’Flanagan seemed to be a woman who danced to her own tune, when and wherever it suited her.

Irresponsible? He blew on his coffee. He’d reserve judgement on that. But he was surprised she recognised his Sheila Dodd.

Was that a tad pretentious of him?

He flicked through the pages with disinterest until his gaze snagged on a photo of his ex and thoughts of Didi fled as his fingers tightened on the paper. Katrina. On the arm of Melbourne’s latest most eligible bachelor—soon to be ex-bachelor judging by the size of that rock on Kat’s finger. The coffee turned bitter on his tongue. Unlike Cam, Jacob Beaumont Junior was from old money. His father owned half a shipping fleet and an airline—the perfect pedigree required for a suitable match for the daughter of an influential MP on his way to Australia’s top job.

His harsh jeer echoed around the empty room. He’d thought Katrina the perfect woman. Tall, dark-haired, educated, meticulously groomed. Unashamedly uninhibited in the bedroom, the perfect conversationalist whatever company they surrounded themselves with, as driven to succeed as he was.

Until he’d revealed his background.

Her demolition of their relationship had been swift and vehement. In her eyes his family’s history defined who he was—and consigned him to the lowest form of life. It didn’t matter that he’d clawed his way out of the gutter, and had constructed a life he could take pride in. That he was stronger for past experiences, wiser, more perceptive of others’ needs and motivation.

The page came away from the rest of the paper as he crumpled it in his fist, then tossed it in the bin. Her betrayal had severed an artery. Aristocrats were never going to let him into their world, no matter how successful he was now.

He liked women. He enjoyed their company. He liked the way they smelled, the feel of feminine softness against his body. But laying his heart on the line again was not going to happen. From now on he’d trust no one with his past. He didn’t intend to remain celibate for the rest of his life, but from this day forward there’d be no emotional entanglements.

Cam let himself in with careful stealth so as not to awaken his sleeping guest. He didn’t notice her at first. He just assumed she’d left every light in the apartment on because she had no idea about energy conservation. Annoyance prickled at him as he strode to the kitchen and flicked off the switch.

He was about to turn off the living-room lamp when he saw her. Rather, he saw her pyjama-clad backside—poking out from behind his white leather sofa. Red and green tartan flannelette.

He remained perfectly still while every male cell in his body jerked to attention. From where he stood he could see the soles of her feet and a band of creamy skin above the pyjama’s waistband. What the hell was she up to?

Then he heard her croon softly, her voice muffled by the sofa, and watched, immobile, blood pooling in his groin as the compact little bottom wiggled and began backing out, her movements inevitably tugging the elastic lower…

‘Problem?’

The wiggling stopped, then resumed at a frantic pace accompanied by a hiss, then the disconcerting sound of fabric tearing. ‘Ouch!’

Didi appeared clutching an angry armful of spiked fur, damp blonde hair in similar disarray, her eyes huge, too huge for her elfin face, reminding him again of that pixie.

‘I didn’t hear you,’ she said with a breathy catch to her voice that made him think of hot nights, hotter bodies.

‘Obviously.’

‘Charlie escaped. Um…there’s a tiny claw hole—a couple actually…in the back of your sofa.’ She closed her teeth over her bottom lip, then smiled up at him. ‘Lucky for us they’re not where you can see them, isn’t it?’

The way she did that…artfully innocent or cunningly cute? He shook his head. ‘Lucky for Charlie.’

Her smile dimmed. Snuggling the creature against her, she rose. ‘If you have a pair of nail trimmers handy, I’ll fix these claws right now.’

The shapeless flannelette swamped her. It should have been a blessing but it had the opposite effect. A sliver of protectiveness—or lust—snaked through his veins and coiled low in his body.

It had to be lust.