Memoirs of a Millionaire's Mistress
CHAPTER FIVE
THE first touch of Didi’s mouth against his detonated an explosion that knocked Cameron sideways and shattered the illusion that control was his rock-solid foundation, that he could pull away any time.
Sparks. They sizzled along his nerves with the spectacular ferocity of frayed power cables, snapping and crackling through his blood, sending his hormones spearing into the sky like some crazed Eureka Tower.
He felt her instant response—the heave of her breasts as she struggled to drag in air and push him away, then her mouth softening, opening, hands rising to clutch at his shirt. The moan deep in her throat as he changed the angle for better access.
Her taste was a sweet temptation, luring him deeper to sample the dark lusciousness of her tongue, to drink in its hot honey flavour as it writhed with his.
This was no ordinary kiss. This was the force of a wrecking ball at its most dramatic, splintering thought and crumbling to dust barriers he’d thought impenetrable.
Had he thought himself immune to emotion? He tried telling himself this was a severe case of lust but somehow the condition sounded grossly inadequate. Because something else was happening here. Something he didn’t want to think about because if he did he’d know he’d made a bigger mistake than he’d ever dreamed of.
Instead he pulled her closer, shifted nearer, between thighs that seemed to melt apart at his wordless command so he could feel her sultry heat seep through his shirt and into his skin.
Her softness yielded to his burgeoning hardness, hot blood beating through his body as his hands slid from her hips to the curve of her bottom and found the hem of her T-shirt. Fingers barely steady crept beneath to find smooth alabaster skin, the delicate arch of her spine as she leaned into him.
Her grip on his shirt tightened. Jersey-clad legs clamped around his waist, locking their lower bodies in an iron embrace. He rocked against her. Sweat broke out on his brow, his lungs seized. The urge to rip away the thin barrier and drive into her—right here, right now, without thought for the consequences—
He wrenched his mouth away from her satiny warmth. Backed up a step. It was torture to slide his hands beneath her thighs, over firm shapely calves and untangle her legs from around him. Madness to look into her wide silver eyes and see his own ardour reflected back. Had he forgotten so soon? Lust was one thing, this emotional whatever it was…was something else.
He didn’t do emotion. Not since Katrina.
Chewing on passion-plumped lips, she drew in a breath, her breasts rising with the effort, drawing his attention to her nipples outlined clearly against her T-shirt.
‘A-a-ah.’ Her breathy voice drew the sound out like spun toffee.
‘I—’ A stab of pain in his lower leg cut through his senses and he stumbled back a step. ‘What the…?’
Charlie. He glared down at the cat, who’d apparently polished off his silver-service main course and decided trouser-clad legs were a convenient dessert.
‘What?’ Didi still had a death-grip on his shirt and now one of the animal’s damn claws seemed to be lodged tight in the leg of his Armani trousers. He teetered dangerously for a couple of seconds before rocking forward on the balls of his feet only to feel one shoe land on something squishy.
‘Bloody cat.’ He shook his leg free and the animal bounded away with a hiss of annoyance, no doubt in search of its next victim of choice—the French silk drapes, perhaps.
His body still pulsed, his leg throbbed, his pride was dust beneath his feet. There was a rip in the fabric and—he checked—a disgusting disc of squashed fillet steak on the bottom of his shoe.
He looked back at Didi, who’d relinquished her hold on his shirt to cup her hands over her mouth and nose. ‘It’s okay,’ he reassured her. ‘Hardly a scratch.’
Didi stared at Cameron while she tried to regain control of her runaway emotions. Her lips felt as if they’d been buzzed by a supersonic jet; her pulse was galloping for a win in the Melbourne Cup.
Alcohol on an empty stomach had snatched away reason and common sense. Planting her butt on the counter top had been her first mistake.
He looked…worried? No, he looked confused. Blame the champers for the fit of giggles that bubbled up her throat. She must be borderline loony because why would she feel like laughing when she’d just been kissed senseless and he was probably going to kill her cat and fire her and life was never going to be the same again?
She couldn’t help it; the half-laugh, half-cough tumbled out, convulsive and slightly hysterical.
His gaze narrowed slightly, his bemused expression didn’t alter. ‘Are you laughing?’
‘I’m sorry, it’s just…’ She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her scarf. Her sudden amusement faded as he bent and she saw him twitch at the hem of his trouser leg to inspect the damage to his flesh—twin stripes of red. ‘Are you okay?’