Читать книгу At His Service: Millionaire's Mistress - Кэтти Уильямс, Kelly Hunter, Cathy Williams - Страница 13

SHE stabbed the disconnect button and flew towards the hall. Did she dare …? No choice.

Swiftly she gathered up her meagre supply of clothes and toiletries and lugged them down to Cameron’s room. But she paused at the closed door. She’d never been in here. She’d barely seen past the crack in the door on her way past.

She had thirty minutes tops.

As she flung the door open the cedar-wood scent of his cologne wafted past her. She stood a moment breathing it in while she cast her eyes over the room. A stunning view of nearby high-rise buildings cast a reflected afternoon glow on the cream carpet and deep blue quilt atop the king-sized bed. Matching drapes graced floor-to-ceiling windows, which opened onto a balcony filled with soft ferns.

A partially open door revealed an en-suite bathroom in cream and gold. Shuffling to the far side with her arms full, she pulled open a cupboard door and discovered it led to a walk-in wardrobe filled with racks of top designer suits and enough pressed shirts to last a year.

In what seemed another life she’d had a cupboard like this. She’d given her designer labels to charity, walked away from her family’s disapproval to become an artist. It was vital Veronica thought Didi successful.

She stuffed her clothes next to a rack of shiny leather shoes, then moved to the bathroom, swept Cameron’s toiletries out of sight beneath the vanity and arranged her own. Just in case …

And tomorrow morning her sister would be gone—Didi would see to it personally, even if it meant accompanying Veronica on her shopping spree and waving her off to the airport in a taxi.

At the cost of having something for Cameron to look at?

She shook the disturbing thought away. She’d roughed out a plan, hadn’t she? She’d bought supplies, put together a frame to work on. The sound of the elevator doors alerted her and she hurried from Cameron’s room, closing the door.

‘Hi.’ Didi gave Veronica a quick hug and took charge of her suitcase.

‘Hmm.’ Veronica’s eyes swept the apartment. ‘I never imagined this. It must cost you a fortune.’ She cast Didi an assessing glance. ‘How do you afford it?’

Aware of her tatty jeans and dishevelled hair, Didi noted the classic lines of her sister’s designer outfit, the pink suede boots, the perfect make-up and long dark hair salon-streaked with auburn highlights. Was it any wonder Veronica would ask that question? And why hadn’t she anticipated an answer?

‘Ah, the gallery owner was leasing it out at low cost since he’s interstate at present.’ Didi, who never lied, who hated deception, was getting in deeper with every passing moment. Spinning on her heel, she set the rolling case in motion. ‘Your room’s this way. I hope you don’t mind sharing it with a cat,’ she said over her shoulder.

‘Not at all. You know I love cats, but Daniel’s allergic, you know.’

She knew. Daniel Davenport was allergic to most things, including anyone remotely connected with poverty. Didi showed Veronica to her room, indicated the bathroom at her disposal, then left her to freshen up.

A few moments later, Veronica appeared, requesting a tour of the apartment. Didi whisked her through the rooms, then suggested they go out for lunch before hitting the shops.

Veronica spent a fortune; Didi helped her. Later they swapped childhood stories over a leisurely dinner. Even though she wasn’t a nightclub fan, Didi suggested they cruise to a couple of nightspots so that by the time they returned home it was well after one a.m.

Didi sighed a breath of relief when Veronica said she was exhausted and intended showering then going to bed. Didi happily agreed to do the same.

As she tiptoed into Cameron’s room her skin prickled with the feeling that he was somehow there with her, breathing down her neck. She closed the door behind her and, leaving the light off, wandered to the sliding door that looked out onto the balcony. Ferns shifted in the breeze. Turning, she took in the immaculate room. Shadows and light played over the walls. The sibilance of the air-conditioning overlaid the muted traffic noise.

Even though none of his personal items were visible, his presence lingered. The room smelled of him. How could she possibly get any sleep in here? she wondered, gazing back at the twinkling streetscape below.

A hot shower might help. She stripped off her clothes, tossed them on the bottom of the bed and padded across the carpet in the semi-darkness.

Light flooded the bathroom as she flicked on the switch. She startled at her own reflection, then chastised herself for being foolish. ‘Your secret’s safe,’ she whispered. Why was she whispering, for goodness’ sake? ‘He’s hundreds of kilometres away,’ she said out loud to convince herself. ‘Only a few more hours and he’ll never know.’

She turned on the spray, smothered her face in cleanser, massaging it in until the room began to steam, then stepped under the water’s glorious heat.

She’d left her personal soap in the other bathroom. Which meant she had to use Cameron’s soap. The one she’d smelled on him last night. As she lathered up and rubbed the slippery suds over her arms and breasts her nipples turned to tight little peaks, blood rising to the surface and turning her skin a blushing pink, reminding her of how he’d made her feel last night.

Hot. Turned on. Every body part excruciatingly sensitive.

She reached for her exfoliating mitt, scrubbed her skin with unnecessary vigour, hoping the harsh abrasive action would relieve the discomfort. No. It merely deepened the blush in places, which gave the appearance of sunburned patchwork.

She yanked off the mitt. This was bad. Worse, this inappropriate preoccupation with Cameron Black had to stop. Right now. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the cool tiles, lifted her head to the spray and let the water pound her. One more minute …

Cameron frequently employed the element of surprise. He keyed in his entry code and watched the floor numbers illuminate as he rode the elevator towards his apartment. Expect the unexpected—it kept employees on their toes.

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.

‘She’s gone to bed.’ She indicated behind him with a stiff tilt of her head.

His room.

His whole body stiffened. Didi was sleeping in his room? In his bed, between his sheets. Heat and anger warred within him but desire snaked through the mix like a restless serpent in a stormy sea. He moved away from the door, gestured her inside. ‘Then I suggest you do the same, since you’re obviously spending the night.’

‘Not until you identify yourself to my satisfaction. How do I know you’re not here to do my sister harm?’

He pulled out his driver’s licence, flashed it at her. ‘I told you—I live here. You want to speak to Security yourself, be my guest. Otherwise do as I ask. Leave Didi to me. I assure you, she’s perfectly safe.’ If he didn’t throttle her first.

But the woman must have read something in his expression because a small smile twitched at the edge of her mouth, as if she’d just discovered a delicious secret. ‘Didi didn’t tell me she had a man in her life.’

His jaw clenched at that but he aimed an imperious finger at the door and spoke through stiff lips. ‘Goodnight, Veronica.’

Still clutching her toiletry bag and her innate poise—and the smile—she slipped inside with a murmured, ‘Goodnight,’ and closed the door.

Cameron let out the breath he hadn’t realised had backed up in his lungs. Steeling himself for the sight of Didi’s tartan pyjama-clad body in his bed, he strode to his room, his traitorous palms tingling in anticipation of waking her.

He didn’t knock, shoving at the door with an open-handed thwack. The scent of his soap and Melbourne’s glimmering skyline through the windows greeted him. He was halfway across the room, arm outstretched to wake her, before he realised that she wasn’t in bed. That the sound he could hear wasn’t his blood pounding through his ears, it was running water, and that the fragrance billowed from steam clouds through the door of the en-suite.

The partially open door.

Too late to deny what he’d seen. Somehow he dragged his gaze away from the outline of her body in his shower stall, but it was indelibly printed behind his retinas. Her creamy flesh in a pose that rivalled anything in a men’s magazine. The swell of her buttocks, the way she’d tipped back her head against the tiles so that her throat arched wantonly. As if waiting for a lover to take a bite. His mouth turned dry, his body hardened.

The water stopped and he heard her open the shower door. He stood rooted to the floor as possible scenarios flashed through his mind in that split second. Stranger. Stalker. She’d scream. Veronica and the cops would join the party.

He took the best option he could think of, given the circumstances. Diving into the bathroom, he grabbed a towel from the rail and held it in front of her with one hand. He did not see the tight rosy nipples, the cute little belly button, the erotic patch at the juncture of her thighs.

Her eyes widened and predictably she opened her mouth but his free hand got there first, clamping on damp, petal-soft skin. ‘Didi. It’s Cameron. Don’t scream.’

Her shoulders relaxed a little but he watched as her predicament dawned on her and they tensed right back up again. She struggled to cover herself with the towel, her breath hot on his palm as she made a noise of distress.

He felt her delicate jawbone tense beneath his fingers but his hold didn’t slacken. ‘Don’t,’ he warned. ‘Veronica’ll have my balls for breakfast.’

Her lashes flickered at that and she nodded, continuing to watch him steadily. Satisfied she wasn’t going to cause a ruckus, he relaxed his hand a little but he didn’t want to let her go quite yet. He was enjoying her rare quietness and it gave him a moment to think how he was going to handle this.

Drops of water lay on her flushed skin, her hair, her eyelashes. The knowledge that she’d used his personal soap on her body spun through his head like an aphrodisiac. She was clutching the towel to her breasts, pushing them higher. He watched as a single droplet fell from her hair and trickled into that forbidden valley.

It occurred to him that she could have pulled away without too much effort. No doubt she was using the time for reflection and planning her excuses as well. He clenched his jaw and reminded himself that she’d helped herself to his apartment behind his back.

Mind spinning, Didi stared up at the man gripping her jaw and mouth, watching her with a speculative glint in his midnight eyes … and something more … something predatory? And no wonder; dear heaven, he’d seen her naked. How long had he been standing there while she lingered provocatively against the tiles like some hooker?

She shivered as her mind veered in another direction while he continued devouring her with that rapacious expression. He was here. In his bathroom. Not in Sydney.

Oh. My. God. What had she done? And how was she going to undo it?

His hand moved away from her mouth but one finger continued to slide sensuously over her lower lip, a dangerous touch, a hypnotic caress that slowed time and wiped everything from her mind but the pleasure it provoked. Beneath their calloused texture she could feel the tension ready to clamp her mouth shut again if she didn’t co-operate.

His voice held the same deceptively languid quality when he said, ‘So, Didi … or should I call you Dymphna?’

Her whole body rebelled and she speared him with her eyes. ‘Don’t call me that—never call me that.’

His mouth curved slightly. ‘I agree it’s a crime to punish an innocent child with such a name. Then again …’ he whisked his thumb back and forth over her jaw, firmed his other hand against the back of her head, imprisoning her ‘… maybe it isn’t such a crime … Maybe you’re not so innocent.’

In the room’s dimness the lights from a nearby skyscraper stroked the unyielding angle of his jaw, his eyes mesmerised her, his grasp on her head paralysed her. His finger continued to fondle the edge of her lip, sending shivery tingles to every extremity and sparking erotic images of letting him use that same lazy thoroughness to explore other body parts. She fought an insane urge to suck its pleasure-giving warmth into her mouth.

‘Well, are you going to try and defend yourself?’ His tone sharper, eyes piercing. ‘Or maybe I’ll tell you what I think and you can try to deny it.’

She shook her head but it didn’t move beneath his grip. ‘I didn’t expect you back until tomorrow night.’ Her voice came out hoarse and pitifully desperate.

‘That was the original plan.’

‘I’m sorry. My sister flew into Melbourne unexpectedly. I told her I live here, that I work in a gallery, which is all a lie, I know. You weren’t here, I didn’t think it would matter—just for one night, Cameron.’ The familiar sting of rejection, the secret heartache of not belonging, washed through her. ‘But it matters to me.’ Unshed tears pricked at her eyes. ‘That she thinks I’m a success, that my family thinks I’m a success.’

There was a softening in his eyes, as if he … understood her. His hold loosened a little, though his hand continued to massage the back of her head, and a rare, wry humour lifted the corner of his mouth. ‘She thinks I’m your lover.’

The image ran through her like quicksilver. Too easy with her head cradled in his expert hand to let herself remember what had happened in the kitchen … ‘She … does?’ Well, naturally she would since there was only one other bedroom …

She sensed his mood lighten and her own initial fears thawed a little. He’d invested a heap of money in her already. He wouldn’t turf her out until the job was finished. Would he? No, she assured herself, he didn’t have time to find a replacement. Question was, could she negotiate with only a towel held to her breasts?

She stepped back. He let her, and she used the opportunity to wrap and secure the towel around her. ‘Can we play along with this here? It’s only one night—she’ll be gone tomorrow.’

‘Play.’ The way he said it made kindergarten sound like an orgy. Then a dark brow lifted. ‘You mean lie.’

She bit her lip. ‘Just a little bit. Just for tonight. You don’t know how important this is.’

‘Why don’t you tell me?’

‘Later.’ After they’d sorted out the logistics of how they were both going to share the room for the night. ‘Right now I need you. And you need me.’

‘Didi?’ Veronica’s voice in the hallway. In the doorway. Even in the semi-darkness, the light from the bathroom illuminated concern—or was it suspicion?—on the familiar face.

Didi’s hands tightened on the edge of the towel. Her gaze flicked up to Cameron’s, silently pleading with him, to her sister. Back to Cameron.

‘Are you all right, Didi? Is this man—?’

‘She’s fine.’ Cameron’s hands closed over Didi’s upper arms, rubbing seductive circles over her shoulders with hard flat palms, a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes. ‘Aren’t you, Fairybread?’

Fairy bread? ‘Fine,’ she managed, holding his gaze, ignoring her sister. She stretched her stiff lips into a smile. ‘Now that you’re home.’ She didn’t even have to try to make her voice husky—that gleam in Cameron’s eyes, the feel of his hands on her flesh did that.

‘That’s my girl.’ He smiled back, his thumbs massaging the sensitive place where shoulder met torso as he pulled her flush against his hard, lean body. ‘Goodnight again, Veronica.’

And leaning down he pressed a firm, open-mouthed kiss on Didi’s surprised mouth. His tongue slid across the seam, coaxing her to open, dipping inside when her jaw dropped. Just a tantalising taste, an appetiser, and oh … it felt … good. But she couldn’t allow herself to enjoy it—this was an act, a show. A skilfully executed piece of theatre for her sister’s benefit.

She could feel Veronica’s stunned gaze. Didi was no less than one hundred and ten per cent stunned herself. Her nipples rasped against the towel, making them throb as he shifted his body for a better fit. Don’t be fooled—this isn’t real.

‘If you’re sure …’ Veronica’s voice seemed to float at the edge of Didi’s consciousness.

‘She’s very sure,’ Cameron muttered against her mouth.

A moment later Didi heard the swish of her sister’s gown and her bedroom door clicked shut. Releasing her arms as suddenly as he’d taken her, he stepped back, withdrawing the warmth of his body with him. But while he’d put physical distance between them, the intensity of his gaze completely possessed her.

A shaft of heat knifed through her. Could he be … turned on by a ten-second performance?

His eyes didn’t leave hers as he strode to the door, kicked it shut. Her damp skin prickled in the draught he’d created. As he approached her he shrugged out of his suit jacket, let it fall where it would. Yanked off his tie, tossed it behind him. Undid the buttons of his cuffs.

What did he intend? Isn’t it obvious? a tiny voice whispered. A shiver of doubt snuck through the heat. Her fingers crept over the top of her towel, needing to keep herself secure, protected. ‘Um … thanks …’ She flicked a finger, couldn’t manage the hand. ‘For … that.’

He didn’t reply. He just kept coming, like an approaching storm, big and dark and all-powerful, making her feel insignificant, a fugitive with no place to hide.

His hands curled over hers on the towel, knuckles rough against the swell of her still-throbbing breasts and his eyes turned molten, lightning on cobalt.

‘What was that about needing me, Didi?’