Memoirs of a Millionaire's Mistress

The same went for sexy little waitresses who moonlighted as live-in commissioned artists. Still, a buoyant feeling of anticipation lifted him, stirring memories of the last time he’d seen her—deliciously mussed, her lips red-cherry plump. The fact that it had been him plucking the fruit only added to the intensity.

That aside, he knew little about her. He did know she kept him second-guessing, stimulated him with her bubbly personality and quick tongue. And, to his never-ending surprise and discomfort, aroused his libido far too frequently.

She had the looks of a pixie but she kissed like an angel.

The reason he’d taken off for Sydney earlier than planned. The fact that she’d called that moment in the kitchen ‘fun’ merely demonstrated the type of woman she was—carelessly casual. That was the type of woman he preferred now, wasn’t it? So the fact that it had rocked him more than it had her was disturbing in the extreme and best forgotten.

He needed to keep his distance, put some perspective on the situation, he assured his muted reflection in the impersonal elevator’s mirrored walls. No way was he going to jeopardise this commission; it was too important. He was taking a risk on an unknown, probably paying her far more than he should. He didn’t even know if she was up for the task at such short notice.

He’d been naïve to trust a woman he barely knew in his apartment with a load of cash. Which was why he’d decided to return a day earlier.

Not for any burning desire to see her again.

The elevator doors swished open, heightening that sense of anticipation. He forced himself to concentrate on important matters. If she was asleep, he could view her work at leisure without her looking over his shoulder and distracting him.

Light from the hallway beckoned. She wasn’t in bed yet, then. His blood pumped that little bit faster. He turned into the hall—and saw a tall, dark-haired woman in a slim-fitting blue nightgown strolling out of the guest bathroom as if she had every right to be there.

He stilled, every hair on his body rising as a fierce disappointment stabbed through him. He’d been right to come home early. The moment his back was turned Didi was entertaining guests. He supposed he should be relieved it wasn’t a male. But she’d abused his trust, something he couldn’t, wouldn’t tolerate.

The woman came to an abrupt halt, clutching a bag of toiletries to her breasts, dark eyes wary. ‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’

‘I live here,’ he said grimly. ‘Who the hell are you?’

‘Dymphna’s sister.’

‘Dim…who?’

‘Didi,’ she clarified. Her disparaging gaze swept over him despite the fact he wore well-pressed trousers and a sky-blue business shirt. ‘She didn’t say anything about a boarder.’

‘Boarder.’ The word exploded from his mouth. ‘She said that?’

She shook her head. ‘I already told you, she didn’t mention anyone else living here, so, no, she didn’t say that.’

‘No, I don’t suppose she did.’ A red haze shimmered before his eyes. She wouldn’t. Not if she wanted to play lady of the manor, or whatever her game was, in his apartment.

The woman moved swiftly towards Didi’s room, keeping close to the wall. ‘I’m calling Security if you don’t identify yourself.’

‘Go ahead. In fact, I’ll call them for you.’ Keeping his eye on her, he backed up to the security panel in the wall, hit the button. ‘Davis, Cam Black here. There’s a woman in my apartment calling herself—what’s your name?’

‘Veronica Davenport.’

Cam listened while Davis explained that Miss O’Flanagan had a guest staying overnight and enquired was everything all right.

‘Fine,’ Cam clipped, and disconnected.

‘Not Veronica O’Flanagan, then.’ He studied her from the top of her shiny dark hair to the tips of her manicured toenails, saw her register the fact that he knew Didi’s surname.

The woman reeked of wealth. The kind of inherited wealth Cam despised. It didn’t fit. Didi was nothing like this model of sophistication in any way, shape or form.

‘Davenport’s my married name.’ She tilted her head so that she looked down her nose at him, but he didn’t miss the appreciative way she cast her eyes over his body. ‘You haven’t explained yet who you are.’

No, I haven’t, have I? ‘Where’s Didi now?’ he demanded. He strolled to the entrance to Didi’s room, blocking the other woman’s path and casting a quick glance inside. The bed was empty and he could see an open Louis Vuitton suitcase on the floor by the window.