Читать книгу To Claim His Mistress: Mistress at a Price / Mother and Mistress / His Mistress's Secret - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 11

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE car Liam sent for her was long, dark and powerful, and punctual to the second. Which was just as well, Cat thought as she handed her overnight case to the driver, because her nerves by this time were stretched to screaming point.

Her chauffeur was a polite, taciturn man, in a neat grey suit with a peaked cap. Cat longed to ask him if he regularly delivered Liam’s women to him, but didn’t dare. In any case, the glass partition between him and the back of the car, where she sat almost on the edge of her seat, remained firmly closed.

What I really want is someone to take my hand and tell me everything’s going to be all right, she thought, a bubble of near-hysteria rising in her throat. And I’ve never been that naïve. I’m still the Cat that Walks by Herself. I have to be.

She hadn’t realised how much she was hoping that Liam would be there ahead of her, waiting to take her in his arms, until she unlocked the doors and found the flat still empty.

She drew the heavy cream curtains across the windows, and after a brief hesitation lit the gas fire in the marble hearth, telling herself it felt chilly now that darkness was here. Or was she just nervous?

Stagefright, she thought with a grimace, sitting back on her haunches and watching the flames flicker blue.

She took her case into the bedroom and extracted the new housecoat. It moulded her slenderness like a second skin, the skirts flaring into soft folds at her hips and falling open, mid-thigh, to reveal her slim legs. The unrelieved black emphasised the creaminess of her skin against the dipping neckline.

She studied her reflection in the long mirror, trying to see herself with his eyes.

It was undoubtedly seductive, she acknowledged restively, but was it rather too obvious—especially against this minimalist background? Well, only time would tell.

And it was time that Liam was here. She needed his reassurance—the flare of passion in his eyes—the hunger of his mouth.

There was no television, no stereo or radio in the living room. Nothing, not even a magazine, to alleviate the tension of this endless waiting.

She was beginning to wonder if he’d changed his mind—or even if he’d planned all this as a cruel joke to punish her for daring to damage his male pride—when she heard the outer door open and slam shut, and his footsteps on the stairs.

She’d intended to be stretched on the sofa, cool and casual, her smile offering a welcome that was his alone. Instead, she found herself jumping to her feet, her clenched fists buried in the folds of her gown to conceal the fact that they were trembling.

He came slowly into the room, moving almost wearily, the smoky eyes guarded as they surveyed her.

‘Good evening.’ His voice was quiet, courteous, but it did not sing with desire, and he didn’t come across to her as she’d hoped. ‘I apologise for my lateness.’

She swallowed. ‘It—it doesn’t matter. You’re here now,’ she returned uncertainly. She paused. ‘You look tired.’

‘I am,’ he said pleasantly. ‘But not too exhausted to pay you the attention you deserve in bed, if that’s what concerns you.’

‘It isn’t,’ she denied swiftly. ‘I simply thought you might like some coffee—or something to eat. I—I brought food.’ She tried a smile. ‘I make good scrambled eggs.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ Liam drawled, his expression suddenly cynical. ‘But I didn’t come here for your domestic abilities, my sweet, in case you’ve forgotten. I’m not hungry.’ He shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it over the arm of the sofa. ‘Frankly, I’ve had a bitch of a day, but a hot bath should improve my mood considerably.’

He walked towards the bedroom, loosening his tie as he went, then paused. ‘But you could bring me a drink,’ he added softly. ‘If you wanted. Shall we say in ten minutes?’

She nodded jerkily. ‘Of course. Straight whisky?’

His brows lifted in faint mockery. ‘You have a good memory.’

‘But then,’ she said, ‘I’ve had little to do but remember.’

‘And nor have I,’ he said, his gaze reassessing her. Lingering without softening. ‘And I haven’t forgotten a thing.’ His smile was tight. ‘So—ten minutes, then.’

She’d noticed a good single malt among the bottles on the sideboard. She poured a generous shot into one of the tumblers, and sat down to wait.

Thumb-twiddling, she thought, her mouth twisting, had never been her favourite form of exercise, although she supposed she could always make herself useful and put his jacket on a hanger.

My God, she told herself in self-derision. He’s been here five minutes, and I’m turning into his girlfriend.

She looked at the jacket again, more thoughtfully, then glanced towards the half-open door of the bedroom. There was no sign of movement, and the water running into the tub had stopped a few moments ago. By this time he would be in the bath.

And he knew so much about her, while her information about him was practically nil. She realised, of course, that he must be wealthy, but, oddly, that was the fact that interested her least.

There had to be clues in his pockets—his driving licence—his wallet. It wasn’t a very honest and upright thing to do, perhaps, but, after all, he’d wheedled her name and address out of the hotel. Quid pro quo, she told herself.

There was no driving licence, but his wallet was in his inside pocket. She withdrew it deftly and began to look through it, searching for credit cards, business cards—anything that would tell her about him.

Just his name, she placated the god of sneaks. And maybe what he does for a living. That’s all I want to know.

But she was to be disappointed. His wallet contained about a hundred pounds in cash, but no cards of any kind. Nothing that contained even a hint about his identity. Except, she realised, something that had become wedged in one of the small inner pockets. She retrieved it after a brief struggle, and saw it was a photograph, upside down.

His wife? she thought, staring down at it, reluctant to turn it over. His fiancée? His girlfriend? Whoever it was, he kept it well-hidden.

She would soon be running out of time, she thought, forcing herself to examine it. And if it was a woman she would only have herself to blame.

But it was a dog—a springer spaniel with an infectious grin—which looked back at her, and Cat cursed under her breath as she forced the snapshot back into its place and returned the wallet to his jacket.

Well, that was a total waste of time, she thought as she carried his Scotch into the bathroom, her skirts rustling around her.

Liam was lying back in the bath. His eyes were closed, but the almost haggard look she’d noticed earlier was beginning to fade.

She stood watching him for a moment, feeling her heart twist within her, then said quietly, ‘I’ve brought your drink.’

He stirred, stretching a little, then sat up. ‘Thank you.’ He took the tumbler from her hand and placed it on the small table beside the bath. He surveyed her meditatively. ‘Would you care to join me?’

She said, ‘Thank you, but I don’t drink whisky.’

‘And that,’ he said gently, ‘is not what I meant—as I’m sure you know,’ he added, his eyes glinting with amusement.

‘Well.’ A smile trembled on her lips in reply. ‘Perhaps so.’ And her hands went to the first tiny button on her bodice.

‘No.’ His voice was soft, but incisive. ‘Leave it on. I want you just as you are. Or have you forgotten?’

She halted, staring at him, then down at herself. ‘No, but my housecoat—it will be ruined.’

He leaned back, picking up the tumbler beside him and swallowing some of its contents. ‘But in a very good cause. Besides, it would never have had the same effect a second time,’ he added, his smile widening into a grin.

‘Well…’ Cat pretended to consider. ‘Probably not.’ She climbed sedately into the bath and settled herself at the opposite end, arranging her sodden skirts around her and trying not to laugh. ‘Your mood certainly has improved.’

‘And that’s not the only area of improvement, I promise,’ he said, his eyes dancing wickedly. He put down his glass and leaned forward, drawing her closer to him. He kissed her, his mouth moving on hers gently and sensuously, and her lips parted on a sigh to allow him deeper access. When he lifted his head at last they were both breathless, both trembling.

With infinite tenderness Liam’s hand smoothed the silky strands of hair back from her face, then travelled slowly down the line of her throat, and lower to the waiting row of buttons. He began to release them one by one, slowly and gently, his gaze intent.

Cat was very still, her breathing still ragged, her clouded eyes widening as he slowly uncovered her. Her nipples were hardening uncontrollably against the soft brush of the silk, the sweet hidden depths of her womanhood aching for his possession.

As the last button gave way Liam pushed aside the loosened edges of the robe with a sharp indrawn breath, his eyes feasting on her with a hunger he did not bother to hide.

‘You are loveliness itself.’ His voice was husky, and a little strained.

She smiled at him as she shrugged the robe from her shoulders, freed her arms from the damp cling of the sleeves and let the ruined silk slide down into the water.

She moved closer to him, lifting herself on to her knees and straddling his thighs, her hands gripping his shoulders. She leaned forward, letting her mouth brush his, swiftly, teasingly.

With one hand she stroked the side of his throat, feeling the race of the strong pulse at its base.

Then, with her free hand, she began to touch herself lightly and pleasurably, in deliberate incitement, letting her fingers brush the dark rose peaks of her breasts then slide down to her belly, and the soft curls at the parting of her thighs. Hearing him groan softly in response as he watched her almost mesmerised.

She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him again, running her tongue softly along the inner fullness of his lower lip. Then she bent her head, licking his hot, flat nipples with the point of her tongue, while her hands strayed downwards, exploring the strength of his arousal with delicate greed.

Liam’s arm circled her, supporting her spine like an iron bar as she leaned backwards, her eyes half closed, her fingers holding him, guiding him to her secret threshold. And as he entered her her body opened for him like a flower.

It was no leisurely possession. Their mutual need was too forceful—too driven for that. Her body echoed his thrusts almost frantically. She could already feel the spiral inside her uncoiling, carrying her upwards to rapturous oblivion.

‘Is it safe?’ The urgent words rasped from his throat.

Panting, wordless, she nodded, her hands gripping his shoulders, the only reality in a disintegrating world.

His hand slid down between them, seeking and finding her tiny hidden bud, coaxing it to an almost painful tumescence with the tips of his fingers. Taking her to the edge, and then, suddenly, beyond it.

She heard herself cry out in a cracked voice, her body shuddering violently as the spasms of pleasure engulfed her, and heard him answer, the sound torn from him. ‘Catherine.’

She felt herself collapse against him, lay wrapped in his arms, the surge of her heartbeat mingling with his.

‘This water’s getting cold,’ Liam murmured into her ear eventually. ‘Why don’t we go to bed?’

She smiled against his skin. ‘Why don’t we, indeed? Oh, God,’ she added as they slowly disentangled themselves. ‘Have you seen the state of the floor?’

‘Yes.’ He was laughing as he helped her out of the bath. ‘Careful you don’t slip.’ He took one of the towels from the rail and began to dry her, patting her skin gently.

She selected a towel of her own to use on him, learning him with her hands and loving it. ‘Shouldn’t we do something about it?’

‘We can put these down when we’ve finished with them to soak up the worst.’ He shrugged. ‘But clearing up is someone else’s job.’

‘Oh.’ She digested that, frowning. ‘Liam, is this your flat?’

‘No.’ He smiled down at her. ‘It’s our flat.’

She said slowly, ‘You mean you’ve—rented it? For us?’

‘Yes,’ he said, and paused. ‘For as long as we want it.’

Cat’s hands faltered a little. She was being reminded, she realised, that this was a strictly finite relationship.

She said hurriedly, ‘But that’s not really fair. You must let me make a contribution.’

He framed her face in his hands, kissing her mouth. ‘You have,’ he told her quietly. ‘You’re here.’ He kissed her again. ‘Now, come to bed with me and convince me all over again that I’m not dreaming.’

He took the towel from her unresisting hand and dropped it on to the wet floor to join his own, then lifted her into his arms and carried her into the lamplit room beyond.

She lay in his arms, her sweat-dampened body joined passionately to his, blind, mindless, oblivious to everything but the mounting crescendo of exquisite sensation that he was creating within her, her lips parting in a silent scream as her entire being splintered once more into ecstasy.

When she could speak, she said hoarsely, breathlessly, ‘I—I never believed I could feel like this.’

‘Or so often,’ Liam murmured, his lips against her hair.

She twisted to look up at him suspiciously. ‘You’re laughing at me.’

‘No, darling.’ His hand stroked her shoulder, soothing her. ‘Never at you. But with you, maybe.’

He drew her closer, fitting her against him as if it was what she’d been created for.

She relaxed into his embrace, her eyelids drooping. Making love with him was like being cast adrift on a river, she thought drowsily. Finding herself caught irresistibly in some strong but peaceful current, but only at first. Because the rapids were waiting, and beyond them the edge of the waterfall, lifting and tossing her out into its brilliance and thunder. And, at its foot, a deep, serene pool into which she was happy to sink, knowing that sunlight waited above the misty green water.

There would be kisses, she thought, as she surrendered to the dreamy aftermath of delight, and the skilful, beguiling caress of his hands leading her once more to pleasure. When she awoke in his arms.

But when she finally stirred it was to a very different reality. Because the bed beside her was empty, with the covers thrown back, and the room was no longer in darkness, as it had been when she fell asleep.

Suddenly she was aware of movement, and sat up, pushing her hair out of her eyes.

Liam was standing on the other side of the room, almost fully dressed and fitting links into the cuffs of his shirt.

Her voice was husky with bewilderment. ‘What’s happening? Where are you going?’

He looked at her, his brows drawing together in a frown of compunction. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you, Cat. I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry?’ She shook her head, trying to clear it, and squinted at her watch. ‘My God, it’s half past two in the morning.’ She stared at him. ‘You’re leaving? Already?’

‘I must.’ He began to knot his tie, swiftly and expertly. ‘I have an early flight from Heathrow. Try and go back to sleep.’

She sat up, the covers sliding down from her body, and heard his short intake of breath as he looked at her uncovered breasts. Heard it, and smiled inwardly. Maybe he would be checking in late today—if he made the flight at all.

She lay back against the pillows, watching him through half-closed eyes. She said softly, ‘I thought you’d be staying all night. That we’d have breakfast together. I’m—a little surprised.’

He gave her a level look. ‘You wanted us to meet secretly to make love. And that’s what we’ve done. I don’t think breakfast was included in the terms.’ He walked into the living room and came back with his jacket. ‘Unless, of course, you want to renegotiate?’ he added silkily.

‘No,’ she said lightly, concealing her sense of crushing disappointment. ‘No, it’s fine. After all, we both have busy lives.’ She paused in her turn. ‘I’m well satisfied with the arrangement,’ she added demurely, her lashes veiling her eyes and a little smile playing round her mouth. Deliberately changing herself into the cat that got the cream, and making him know it. ‘So far.’

His own smile was cool, and he did not come over to the bed to her, as she’d wanted, even expected. ‘Happy to be of service, ma’am.’

‘Except that it’s still one-sided,’ Cat went on, stretching luxuriously and allowing the sheet to slip even further. He might be leaving, she thought, but that was no reason to make it easy for him. ‘You’ve found out my name, and where I live, whereas I don’t know half as much about you.’

Liam pulled on his jacket, his mouth twisting in open amusement. ‘I’d say we’d become very intimately acquainted,’ he drawled. ‘In fact, I might even let you call me Lee.’

‘Thank you.’ Cat bit her lip. ‘But that’s not what I meant.’

‘But it’s all that’s on offer.’ He allowed her a second to digest that, then took a card from his trouser pocket. ‘I’ve ordered the car to pick you up at seven-thirty, but if you want to change that just ring this number.’

‘There’s no phone in the flat,’ she said. ‘I noticed.’

‘However, I’m sure you never leave home without your mobile,’ Liam said softly. ‘And the car’s booked in your name, so there’s no point in questioning the driver,’ he added, reading her mind with unforgivable accuracy.

And even less point in grinding her teeth, Cat told herself. Or picking up the bedside lamp and slinging it at him.

She said, ‘You’re very efficient.’

He shrugged. ‘And you’re the one who wants to keep things anonymous and exciting.’ He smiled at her, his eyes travelling down her naked body with undisguised regret. ‘And it’s not working, my sweet. I still intend to catch my plane, so don’t catch cold on my account.’

Cat gave him a mutinous glare and dragged the sheet up to her chin.

She said tautly, ‘So, when shall we see each other again? Or am I not supposed to know that either?’

‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said. He walked to the bed, bent and kissed her hard on the mouth. ‘But from a safe distance, naturally.’

As he straightened Cat saw that he had produced his wallet, and was casually dangling it right in front of her. She found herself stiffening.

He looked down at her, his eyes glinting. ‘And you have learned something about me tonight,’ he told her. He tossed the wallet in the air and caught it, before replacing it in his pocket. ‘Because you now know that I’m a dog lover,’ he added gently. ‘Don’t you?’

Grinning, he blew her a kiss and went, leaving Cat staring after him, flushed, furious, and completely at a loss.

* * *

He had told her to go back to sleep, but that was easier said than done. Even with the lamp off, and the pillow punched viciously into shape, Cat found herself wide awake, her eyes burning into the darkness.

Liam was ahead of her at every turn, she thought bitterly. He’d known perfectly well she would seize the chance to look in his wallet, and had prepared the ground accordingly.

Because he was totally determined to keep her at arm’s length, mentally and emotionally.

Well, she told herself, I asked for that. In fact, I demanded it, so I have only myself to blame. But that, somehow, makes it no easier to handle.

Because she now had to face the fact that her cunning plan was fundamentally flawed, and that she was the only one in the dark.

What made the situation even harder to bear was the realisation that she didn’t just want to discover his name and address and what he did for a living. That was only the start.

I need to know everything about him, she thought, from the day he was born to the immediate present. I want to know where he is now, where he’s planning to go, and what he’s thinking. Above all, what he’s thinking…

And if any painful secrets were uncovered along the way she would simply have to endure them, she thought with a sigh. But for now she had to cope with bewilderment and a deep and abiding loneliness.

She turned over, burying her face determinedly in the pillow. Sometimes she managed to doze a little, but inevitably woke again too soon, reaching across the width of the bed to find him, with tears scalding in her throat.

It had simply never occurred to her that they would not spend the entire night together. She’d believed that dawn would find them still in each other’s arms. Imagined herself in the bath while he shaved, talking together. Even making plans, as lovers do. Until he had tacitly reminded her that this was no conventional love affair.

She’d even brought a frying pan and a coffee pot with her, and had planned to make scrambled eggs with smoked salmon for their breakfast. A mistake, she thought, with a pang, that she would not make again.

At last she gave up her attempts to sleep as a bad job, and decided to make her own preparations for leaving.

She finished mopping the bathroom floor with the discarded towels, then put them in the linen basket. She knelt beside the bath and began to wring out the saturated black silk. It was completely spoiled, but she would wrap it in one of the supermarket carriers and dispose of it at home, together with the unwanted food.

She would leave no trace of herself. No memory of last night. No anticipation of the future. From now on she would stick to the rules of their bargain and live only for the present.

Yet, in spite of her good intentions, her thoughts returned to him constantly—relentlessly.

He’d said he was catching a plane, but not whether his trip was business or pleasure. And for a moment she had an image of the leggy brunette he’d dined with at Mignonette. Would she be in the adjoining seat on the aircraft? Sharing his bed tonight in some foreign hotel?

She realised she was twisting the silk as if it was a throat, and paused, controlling her flurried breathing with an effort.

Flying could be dangerous, she told herself as she cleared the kitchen. Even before the threat of hijacking and terrorist attack, planes had been known to crash.

He could be killed, she thought with piercing desolation, and no one would bring me the news, or even acknowledge it had happened. Because there’s probably nobody in his life who knows that I exist. And for all I know his name might not even be Liam. And he doesn’t have to be dead.

All he need do is go—and not come back.

I would just be left feeling this appalling—eternal—emptiness, without hope or respite.

She knelt on the floor beside the empty refrigerator, resting her forehead against the chill of its door as she realised, shocked, what she had just allowed herself to admit.

How can I be so sure of this? she asked herself numbly. How can I possibly have come so far, and so quickly, when it’s the last thing on earth I ever wanted to happen? When it’s what I’ve been fighting against, for heaven’s sake.

She gave a small, broken sigh, then got slowly to her feet.

Liam, she thought wretchedly, is not the only one with secrets. Not any more. But mine are going to be so much harder to keep.

Oh, God, I shall have to be so careful—so very careful.