Memoirs of a Millionaire's Mistress

‘Why me? With your contacts you must know others who fit the bill.’

‘This opening’s being publicised as a big event in the art community. I don’t have the time to look for someone at such short notice.’ He glanced at the piece, looked back to her. ‘Your work’s unique—I’m prepared to take a chance. I want you.’

His voice was neutral, all business, but his eyes…his eyes imbued a different meaning to those last three words. Her pulse seemed to throb in her throat, making it difficult to swallow. She gulped down more wine and held his gaze.

But he didn’t want her so much as need her and that gave her a sense of power that she’d never had. Which emboldened her to say, ‘I have another request…Perhaps favour is a better word? It’s about Charlie.’

‘Ah. Yes. Charlie.’ His tone predictably cooled.

‘Could we perhaps compromise?’ Her parents had often mentioned the word and Didi in the same breath. ‘If I’m here for nearly three weeks, it’s hardly fair to keep him shut away by himself all day while I work. Would you agree to him being in here with me?’ Cameron didn’t look impressed with her idea—his brows lowered, his lips thinned, then pursed as if about to speak. ‘And I know he’d love the sky garden,’ she hurried on. ‘He couldn’t do much damage there and if I could leave the door open a fraction…’

He blew out a sigh. ‘I guess we can try it before he strips the paintwork on the bedroom door to kingdom come.’

She paused, knowing, hating that she had to say, ‘I love him to bits, but I know I’m going to have trouble finding a place that will take me and a pet…if you know anyone who wants a cat…’ She blinked away a sudden moisture.

‘I’ll ask around at the office,’ he said. ‘Meanwhile he’s okay here.’

‘Thank you.’ She polished off her wine and felt the grin pull at her cheeks as the bubbly danced through her system. ‘And it’s a wonderful compromise. I’ll go tell him the good news now.’

‘You do that. Then we’ll eat; I assume you’re hungry?’

‘Famished,’ she called as she all but skipped on those pretty bare feet across the room and disappeared from view down the passage. ‘All I’ve had today is an apple.’

Yeah. The apple. Cameron stared at the place where she’d been seconds ago. It was as if she’d left something of herself there. Hell, his whole apartment suddenly seemed crammed with her presence. His gaze lobbed on the usually pristine dining-room table, now a jumble stall jammed with her stuff. Littering his floor was a haphazard scatter of cardboard boxes brimming with colour. A fresh spicy fragrance permeated the air.

It was as if a cellar had been opened to let in the sunshine.

He slammed the door on his overactive imagination. Shaking his head at the absurdity, he strode to the kitchen. What the hell was wrong with him? He despised clutter. Didn’t tolerate disorganised people. The squalid mess of his childhood would live with him for the rest of his life.

Three weeks. For art’s sake he could manage three weeks. And what was that about compromise? She obviously had no idea of the meaning of the word…What was that odour?

He glared at the two containers as he yanked them out of the microwave. One hot gourmet dinner and one ruined tray of greying prime fillet steak, steamed beyond redemption. Blast it.

‘What’s that smell?’ Didi appeared at the door with the cat in her arms and wrinkling her nose.

‘Charlie’s dinner. What say we eat out? My treat.’ He whisked the remaining gourmet plate to the back of the bench then, grabbing a knife, he sliced the plastic off the other tray, cut the meat into chunks, put it on a saucer.

‘Sounds good.’ Then her perky voice altered. ‘Ooh,’ she almost crooned, the sound washing through him like liquid sex, causing his hand to slip on the knife. ‘You didn’t have to go to so much trouble for Charlie. I’ve got plenty of cat food.’

He set the saucer on the floor, noticing a pair of bare feet approach as he did so. ‘I won’t be making a habit of it,’ he muttered. She had gold nail polish on her toes, he noticed, with little black snowflakes in the middle of each. Slim ankles, shapely calves—

Four white furry paws bounded into view and the feet moved away as he straightened up to clear the empty meat tray, but Didi got there first.

‘Cameron. That steak wasn’t for Charlie, was it?’ She was smoothing out the plastic wrap and checking the price sticker. ‘Come on, fess up. Even with your wealth you wouldn’t pay mega bucks for a cat’s dinner. You wouldn’t pay for a cat’s dinner at all if you had your way.’