Memoirs of a Millionaire's Mistress

He moved out of the glare. His face looked unusually harsh, the lines deeper around his thinned mouth, the sun bleaching the usual colour from his normally tanned skin. His voice was subdued when he said, ‘Do you want me to ask, Didi?’

‘I love the man you are,’ she said softly. ‘I love the way you’ve kicked adversity in the teeth and made something of your life despite all its obstacles. I love your compassion, your strength, your caring nature towards others. I love that you took me into your home when you didn’t know me, even when I publicly embarrassed you that first night and gave me a chance to shine.

‘I love you, Cameron Black, Cameron Boyd—whatever your name is, I love you.’ She smiled up at him with all that love in her heart shining in her eyes. ‘So yes, I want that very much.’

The smile he gave her in return was like the sun itself and she basked in the glow as it spread through her. ‘Not quite yet,’ he said, placing one foot on the seat beside her, leaning forward so she could smell his fresh soaped skin. ‘You exploded into my life like a fireworks display, all noise and colour and energy. I’d never met any woman quite like you. A little pixie with no qualms about taking on the big guns and arguing—vociferously—for your fellow evictees. Losing your job in the process.’

‘Pixie, huh?’

His smile widened as he danced his fingertips over her blonde spikes. ‘I was absolutely enchanted. Still am. Always will be. But it was more,’ he went on. ‘You brought the spark that’s been missing in my life. You taught me to look at things from a different perspective. We come from different worlds, Didi, and I want you to share your world with me the way I want to share my world with you. I don’t want no-strings with you, Didi. I want nothing less than marriage, commitment, the works. But I’ll compromise if I have to. If you’ll have me.’

Tapping on the booted foot resting on the seat beside her, she smiled up at him. ‘So get on with it—ask already,’ she whispered.

He crouched in front of her and took her face in his palms. ‘I said it before and I’ll say it again, and I’ll go on saying it for the rest of my life. I love you, Didi. Will you be my wife? You and me together for ever and a piece of paper telling us so.’

‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘Oh, yes.’

The kiss he pressed to her lips was the sweetest kiss she’d ever known, tasting of sunshine, tenderness and passion. Love. The kind that would last a lifetime. Twining her arms around his neck, she deepened the kiss, wanting to show him his feelings were returned multifold.

Finally, he drew away, pulled a little box out of the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘I was hoping you’d say that. In fact I was counting on it.’ He flipped the lid.

‘Ah-h-h…’ A solitaire diamond flanked on either side with two pink teardrop diamonds that matched the one on her necklace. She had to press her fingers to her nose to stop it prickling. ‘I couldn’t have chosen anything better.’

It winked like fire in the sun as he slipped it on her finger.

She looked at its sparkle of promise, then up at him. At the depth of emotion in his eyes, at the smile curving his lips. She watched as those lips drew closer once more, her heart filled with love and hope and happiness.

Then he was kissing her and her heart simply overflowed. Here was rightness; this was what she’d searched for. A man who could accept her as she was, who valued her work and would work beside her.

And not only did he value her work, he valued her. With Cameron she was someone for whom she would come an absolute first. She fitted in. She belonged. She belonged with him in a way she’d never belonged with her family.

When they finally drew apart and she settled against his side, she asked, ‘What would you have done if my father’s reaction had been different?’

‘I’d have asked you anyway, then figured out a way to get him onside. I was hoping you’d still want me, baggage and all. We complement each other. The people I want in my life don’t care about one’s family background. I kind of figured you’d be the sort who’d thumb your nose at anyone who’d snub your art on account of who your husband is.’

‘Damn right I would. But there’s something I want to know and I never got a chance to ask you on that last night. Why did you name the gallery the Irene Black Memorial Gallery? You never mentioned her until your speech at the gallery opening.’

‘Irene Black was my maternal grandmother. I can’t condone what she did in disowning her daughter, but she gave me the kick-start I needed in the form of a single lump-sum deposit into my virtually non-existent bank account.