Memoirs of a Millionaire's Mistress

He grabbed a tissue, moistened it under the tap and dabbed at the wound. ‘I’m probably going to die of blood poisoning or tetanus but don’t let that spoil your evening.’

‘Let’s have a look.’ She slid off the bench but he was scraping meat from the bottom of his shoe and she couldn’t see. ‘Where’s your first-aid box?’

‘I don’t need first aid. Or maybe I do, but not for my leg.’ He straightened and met her eyes. ‘What just happened here—’

‘Was a kiss, Cameron.’

At least that was what she’d thought it was. But she’d never thought a simple kiss by the kind of man you’d sworn to avoid could suck the air from your lungs and leave you in need of an oxygen mask. Burn you from the inside out until you were cinders. Send your heart spinning in a thousand different directions until you didn’t know which way was up. The answer: it wasn’t a simple kiss. Which only led to another question: what was it?

But she was hardly going to tell him all that, was she? The best option was to feign nonchalance. As if she exchanged saliva with almost-strangers every day of the week. So she shrugged. ‘It was fun, Cameron.’

‘Fun.’ His tone mocked and his eyes, darkly assessing, pinned her own, holding her immobile, stripping away clothes, flesh and façade until she understood the meaning of naked to the core.

It took all her strength to drag her eyes away. ‘My guess would be you thought so too,’ she managed, whirling away to drag open cupboards. ‘About that first-aid box…’

But she could feel his gaze tracking her movements, like a hot glue gun oozing heat down her spine, her bottom, her legging-clad thighs.

Suddenly he was behind her. She felt his shirt brush her sleeve, his breath against her bare arm as she reached for the next cupboard. Her heart rate, barely back to something approaching normal, picked up pace once more.

Then he leaned closer, the hard planes of his chest abrading her spine, her nape, the back of her head as he reached to the top shelf. She could smell the residue of cologne he’d used this morning, and, beneath that, the scent of soap and man. This man. She’d smell it in her sleep tonight, and a few nights more. Many nights more.

‘Here,’ he snapped. Rather than the super-dooper kit she expected, he pulled out an old ice-cream tub with a loose assortment of Band-Aids, painkillers, tubes and bottles. He stepped back and Didi swayed at the sudden loss of contact. Her head was spinning, her legs felt numb.

He lifted out a tube of antiseptic cream, barely glanced at her as he said, ‘Looks like you should sit down. Or perhaps you should eat.’ He flicked his head at the counter top. ‘There’s a dinner there. It should still be hot.’

Probably a sensible idea, even if her stomach churned at the thought of food. ‘I think I will.’ She peeled off the lid, grabbed a spoon, filled a tumbler of water and perched on a kitchen bar stool at the end of the counter top. But even the fragrance of sweet-spiced Moroccan lamb didn’t tempt her appetite out of hiding.

She dug out a token chickpea or two, rolled them around her mouth, barely swallowed. Gulped water. Then the sight of Cameron placing one foot on a chair, rolling up his trouser leg and exposing one firm calf with thick masculine hair dried her mouth all over again.

The two distinct raised welts were dealt with swiftly and she stared as he rubbed in antiseptic cream with long blunt fingers.

Dark olive skin overlaid the hard muscle. Her own fingers tingled and her creativity took flight. Oh, how would it feel to run her hands up his leg? What was it about this guy? She’d never even looked at Jay this way. This wicked, wanton way.

She’d take off his shoe, his sock. Start at the toes and work her way up. From the smooth skin of his instep to the rougher skin above the sock line. She’d watch his eyes darken to that gorgeous blueberry as she crept her fingers higher, beneath the trousers to fondle his kneecap. Higher, where the tops of his thighs would be hard, like wood, then to the inner thigh where it would be softer, hotter…

‘How is it?’

His voice penetrated the sexual shroud she found herself immersed in. As she blinked it away she became aware of her own heart beating a thick, heavy rhythm against her ribs. Aware of his eyes studying her with a searing intensity that made her wonder if he could read her thoughts.

She managed a smile, hoped it looked casual and tried for light. ‘Mmm, good. Want a taste?’

His gaze dropped to her mouth, the sexual glitter in his eyes making her lips feel swollen and sensual, as if she’d invited him to taste something far more intimate. A taste he’d already acquainted himself with, and her pulse spiked at the memory.