To Claim His Mistress: Mistress at a Price / Mother and Mistress / His Mistress's Secret

The dark hair was neatly combed, and he’d clearly shaved. She could breathe the tang of some expensive citrus cologne in the air.

He’d gone from extremely attractive to seriously glamorous in one stride, she thought, swallowing.

She, on the other hand, was desperately at a disadvantage, barefoot, flushed and dishevelled, kneeling in the centre of a large bed.

All this, she thought, is really bad news.

He sent her a mocking grin, as if he’d guessed the tenor of her thoughts. ‘Do you still want to wait until eight o clock?’ he queried softly. ‘Or are you hungry now?’

She took a deep breath. ‘Look,’ she began, ‘it was kind of you to offer me a meal, but I really have to get back to London tonight. I’m just waiting for the computer to produce my bill.’

‘Well, it’s not ready yet,’ he said. ‘So you may as well eat—with me.’

‘I think,’ Cat said, keeping her voice steady, ‘that you’re going to have to learn to take no for an answer. Starting now. So, will you please leave my room?’

He settled himself more comfortably against the dressing table, making her disquietingly aware of the lean strength of his body. And that he had the air of a man prepared to wait, as well.

‘Tell me something,’ he invited. ‘What are you so afraid of?’

‘Oh, that’s an old ploy,’ Cat said scornfully. ‘I’d have expected better of you.’

Liam shook his head. ‘It’s a positive request for information. You had a room booked for the night, yet you were so keen to run out on me that you asked the receptionist to lie for you. Why?’

‘I had second thoughts,’ she said curtly. ‘And I considered you might be troublesome about them.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I certainly got that right, didn’t I?’

‘What in hell,’ he said slowly, ‘do you imagine I’m going to do to you?’

‘Now you’re being ridiculous,’ Cat said, ignoring the fact that the imagination in question was currently running riot. Her stomach was churning in turmoil and her mouth was dry.

He said, ‘You seem—uneasy, that’s all. A trifle—on edge.’

‘Nonsense,’ she said, too quickly. ‘As I said, I have—stuff waiting for me in London. I decided I should make a start on it—that’s all.’

‘Even if it meant breaking a promise?’ His eyes met hers. Held them.

‘It wasn’t a firm arrangement.’ Cat bit her lip, aware that her breathing had quickened. ‘I—I didn’t think you could be serious—or that you’d believe that I was.’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Because I’m merely part of the hired help and you’re a lady from London with appointments to keep and deals to be made?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Because you’re a complete stranger, and it didn’t seem—appropriate.’

‘Yet that’s how things begin,’ he said. ‘With strangers meeting. And, according to statistics, a lot of those strangers actually meet at weddings too.’

‘We didn’t exactly do that—if you remember.’

‘I have total recall,’ he said. ‘Of every detail. You’re The Cat That Walks By Herself, and all places are alike to you. Isn’t that how it goes?’

Her brows lifted. ‘Bravo.’

‘But if that’s really the case,’ he went on, as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘there’s nothing to prevent you being with me for a while. Going my way for a change.’ He smiled at her. ‘After all, what have you got to lose?’

More, she thought, than I even want to contemplate…

She said tautly, ‘Are you always this persistent?’

‘Are you always this elusive?’

‘It doesn’t occur to you that I might—just prefer my own company?’

‘How can you know,’ he said, ‘until you’ve tried mine?’ He gave her a considering look. ‘Of course, if you’re too ashamed to be seen with me in the restaurant, we could always dine up here.’

‘No!’ The denial seemed to burst out of her.

He grinned at her. ‘No to the shame, or no to being alone with me?’

She lifted her chin. ‘Both.’

‘What’s the matter, Cat?’ His voice was soft—goading. ‘Discovered some hot bricks? You’ll feel better when you’ve eaten.’

She was silent, knowing that she’d run out of arguments yet hating to admit it. ‘Very well,’ she conceded reluctantly, at last. ‘If—if I must.’

‘You overwhelm me,’ he murmured. He allowed his gaze to wander over her for a meditative moment. ‘Tell me something—is that bed as comfortable as it looks?’

Cat stiffened defensively, angrily conscious that she’d started to blush. ‘It’s all right. Why?’

‘Because you seem to be glued to it.’ He unhitched himself from the dressing table and came towards her. ‘Need a hand?’

From somewhere she managed a steely glance. ‘No, I do not. Thank you.’ She paused. ‘I—I’ll join you downstairs.’

‘Will you, now?’ He was grinning again, she saw with chagrin. ‘I think it might be safer if I waited for you right outside—just in case you have some alternative getaway planned. And don’t be too long,’ he added softly. ‘Because I seem to be developing quite an appetite.’

And he left her kneeling there, in that absurd ocean of sprigged bedspread, staring after him, her heart thudding unevenly and her arms wrapped round her body like a shield.

CHAPTER THREE

YOU don’t have to do this, Cat told herself as she ran the cold water tap over her wrists in an effort to calm her juddering pulses. You could simply call up the manager and tell him that a member of his staff is annoying you—something you should have done hours ago. He’ll then be removed, and probably fired. Following that, you proceed on your way.

Always supposing Liam decided to go quietly, she amended unwillingly, which was by no means certain. After all, she had agreed to have dinner with him, and she could hardly deny that without telling a downright lie. And lying—even childish fibs—had always made her thoroughly uncomfortable.

And if, as well, it meant him getting the sack…

I don’t want him on my conscience, she thought with an inward grimace. Just out of my life.

But then she didn’t want him smiling at her across the dinner table either. Her stomach gave an odd little lurch at the idea. And exactly what colour were his eyes, anyway—grey or green? And how did he manage that trick of laughing with them when the rest of his face was completely straight?

Don’t even go there, she advised herself tersely, as she retrieved the compressed powder from her cosmetic purse and attempted to tone down the flaring colour in her cheeks.

Maybe the best idea was just to have dinner with him. To treat him with faintly amused indifference, as a passing irritation to be dealt with and then discarded. A matter of no importance. Three courses and no coffee before she made her excuses and finally headed back to London. Alone.

She certainly didn’t want him to think he had got to her in any way, so she would have to play it cool.

She ran a comb through her hair, straightened her skirt, then walked with pretended composure to the door.

She paused, drawing a deep breath. Let the game begin, she instructed herself silently, then turned the handle.

Liam was leaning against the wall opposite, but he straightened instantly when he saw her, a lightning glance sweeping her from head to toe.

‘There’s really no need to be nervous,’ he mentioned softly as he fell into step beside her. ‘After all, everyone has to eat.’

‘I’m not nervous,’ Cat snapped. ‘Simply annoyed at your—unwarranted persistence.’

His slow grin was unperturbed. ‘Oh, you were out of sorts long before I showed up. You’ve had a trying day. What you need is some rest and recreation.’

She stared straight ahead of her. ‘I already had that planned—at home.’

‘Where, of course, you live alone.’

‘Yes,’ she acknowledged curtly. ‘If it’s any concern of yours.’

‘Naturally I’m interested,’ he drawled. ‘Or I wouldn’t be here now.’

Fool, she castigated herself silently. You should have claimed you lived with a boyfriend—or shared a house with three other girls. The last thing you need is to sound vulnerable—or available.

But the truth was she didn’t seem able to think straight. Merely walking down this wide staircase beside him was taking a strange kind of toll on her. He wasn’t touching her—there was actual space between them—but all the same she was trembling inside, her senses tuned to a kind of scared anticipation she had never experienced before.

And just when she needed to be most in control, Cat thought, biting her lip.

They were clearly expected in the dining room, where the head waiter conducted them to a corner table in an alcove without a flicker of surprise. And even, she realised, puzzled, with a modicum of deference.

They must consider he can pay the bill, and that’s what matters, she thought with a mental shrug as menus were brought, napkins spread, the inevitable candles lit and aperitifs offered. Which she swiftly declined, asking for mineral water only.

‘Very circumspect.’ Liam’s lips twisted as he ordered a whisky for himself.

‘I’m driving,’ she said. ‘Or had you forgotten?’

‘Not at all. But I still think it’s a pity you changed your mind about staying the night,’ he added meditatively.

Why does that not surprise me? Cat thought, sheltering behind her menu.

‘Is that what’s known as a dignified silence?’ her infuriating companion enquired, after a pause.

‘On the contrary,’ she returned. ‘I was merely trying to choose between the melon and the chilled cucumber soup.’

‘And have you reached a decision?’

‘The soup,’ she said. ‘And grilled Dover sole, please. Off the bone.’

‘Make that two.’ Liam turned to the hovering waiter. ‘But I’ll start with the goat’s cheese tartlet.’ He picked up the wine list and indicated his choice.

‘Not steak?’ Cat asked when they were alone, raising her brows in faint mockery. ‘I had you down as a red meat man.’

Liam took a reflective sip of his whisky. ‘Any other assumptions about me that you’d like to share?’

‘Well…’ Cat considered. ‘You’re certainly a risk-taker.’

He leaned back in his chair. ‘Based on what?’

She shrugged. ‘Pestering a female guest to spend the evening with you. I’m sure that isn’t part of your job description.’ She tried another steely glance. ‘How did you know I wouldn’t make a formal complaint about you to the management?’

‘Because you’re Cat,’ he said softly. ‘And all cats are curious.’

‘That’s it?’ she queried scornfully. ‘You staked your future here on some old saying?’

He grinned at her. ‘Not just one. How about “Faint heart ne’er won a lady fair”?’

‘You have not,’ she said, ‘won me.’

His grin widened into provocation. ‘Perhaps I haven’t been trying.’

It was an open challenge, and she knew it. She’d had plenty of time to absorb her surroundings and realise that theirs was the most secluded table in the restaurant, practically screened from the rest of the diners. The candlelight, too, seemed to enclose them in this private microcosm. And although she could hear the murmur of voices and the chink of glassware and cutlery from the rest of the room, Cat still felt cut off. Isolated. With him.

She said coolly, ‘You have an inflated idea of your own charm.’

‘I’m sure your powers of resistance are equal to it.’ Liam paused as the wine waiter arrived at the table with an ice bucket and a bottle of white burgundy. He tasted it, then nodded, and the waiter turned to Cat, filling her glass before she had a chance to refuse.

As the man departed Liam lifted his glass. ‘A toast,’ he said quietly, his eyes meeting hers. Lingering enigmatically. ‘To the promise of the evening.’

Cat felt her skin warming involuntarily under his gaze. She bit her lip, raising her own glass in turn with open reluctance. It was certainly not the toast of her choice, she thought broodingly.

She hadn’t planned to drink any alcohol, either, but had to concede that it was a wonderful wine, filling her senses with its cool, seductive fragrance.

Under other circumstances, she thought, with something approaching regret, this could indeed have been an evening to remember. As it was…

She lifted her chin. ‘Not just a risk-taker,’ she commented with faint derision chilling her voice. ‘But an optimist, too.’

‘Everyone is allowed to have their dreams.’ He was still watching her. ‘What do you dream about, Cat?’

‘Oh, I never remember,’ she said untruthfully. ‘Anyway, I think I’m too busy to dream.’

‘Really?’ His brows lifted. ‘So, what keeps you so occupied?’

Studiedly, she put down her glass. Gave him a brief, composed smile. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘No more personal details.’

‘Won’t that tend to make conversation tricky?’

‘Not my problem.’ She shrugged. ‘After all, I didn’t choose to be here tonight. Which means I reserve the right to protect my privacy. No other options available.’

‘But hardly the ideal way to start a relationship.’

‘We’re having dinner,’ she said. ‘Nothing more than that.’

He was leaning back in his chair, his face half hidden in the shadows beyond the candlelight. ‘To you, perhaps,’ he said. ‘But not to me. It will take a damned sight more than a meal to satisfy me tonight.’

She bit back a gasp. She said huskily, ‘How—dare you? Are you mad?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m a risk-taker—and an optimist. You said so yourself.’ She could hear the sensuous huskiness in his voice. Could feel the smoky intensity of his gaze on the roundness of her breasts under the clinging top as acutely as if he’d touched them naked, cupping the warm swell of them in his hands.

She felt suddenly breathless, the pounding of her heart like a trip-hammer, as she found herself imagining how his touch would be…

Oh, God, she thought, retreating from the brink. This cannot be happening. Pull yourself together.

Now, if ever, was the time to tell him with flinty emphasis that he’d finally overstepped the mark, pick up her bag and leave—even if it meant leaving the hotel a blank cheque for her bill.

Only, she realised, dismayed, the first course was arriving and their table was surrounded. Bread was being offered, butter pats placed within reach, and glasses were being topped up. An exit was no longer a simple option—if her legs would even carry her so far.

Instead, as if she’d been programmed, she found herself picking up her spoon and addressing her soup. Its cool, delicate flavour was just what she needed to ease the dryness in her throat. And maybe food would stop the trembling inside her—if anything could…

‘Good?’ Liam asked casually, host to guest rather than predator to prey, and she nodded jerkily.

‘Wonderful,’ she managed. ‘The food critics seem to be absolutely right.’

‘I’ll make sure I tell the chef.’

‘Yes, please do.’ Cat reached for the nearest glass, intending to drink some water, only to find she’d taken another gulp of wine.

But if she confined herself to one glassful only there’d be no real harm done, she assured herself hastily. Perhaps it would even calm her a little—help her to relax and endure the remainder of the meal.

Because that was what it was going to be—an endurance test. And she had to be the winner. There could be no other result.

So perhaps it was time she tried to recover a measure of control over the situation.

She took another deliberate sip of wine, then smiled at him with direct charm. ‘What a good idea this was,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

‘My God,’ he said mockingly. ‘And I thought you were all set to sprinkle hemlock on my salad.’

It was an effort, but Cat retained the smile. ‘On the contrary. I’m always excited to try out new restaurants.’

‘I was sure you would be,’ he said gravely. ‘Although eating in can be fun, too.’

‘Possibly,’ she said. ‘In the right company.’

His mouth slanted in wry acknowledgement. ‘Do you like cooking?’

‘That’s another personal detail,’ she said. ‘Therefore taboo.’

He considered this for a moment. ‘Don’t you find the maintenance of your defensive shield a little wearing?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Then may I find it tedious on your behalf?’

The swift bubble of laughter escaped her before she knew it.

She tried to regain lost ground by glancing at her watch. ‘Well, tedium won’t last for much longer. I have to be on the road within the hour.’

His hand reached across the table and took hers, keeping it in a light clasp, his thumb stroking the slender bare fingers.

He said quietly, ‘Don’t go. Stay here tonight.’

In an instant the whole atmosphere had changed—become electric. Cat felt her throat tighten as she heard the deafening throb of her own blood. Felt the heat begin to build inside her.

She shook her head, not trusting her voice, her entire body awakening to his light, sensuous touch. It shocked her to know how much she’d wanted to say yes—to abandon herself to whatever the night might bring. She was bewildered and almost frightened by this strange turmoil in her senses.

She looked down almost wonderingly at the hand still holding hers, and stiffened slightly, a faint crease appearing between her brows. His fingers, she saw, were long and lean, and very strong for all their gentleness.

But, she realised, they were also smooth, and without calluses, and his nails were immaculately clean and neatly trimmed.

She said shakily, pulling her hand from his grasp, ‘You’re not a gardener at all, are you? Or any other kind of manual worker?’

His voice was quiet. ‘I never said I was.’

‘No, but you let me think so.’ Cat paused, vexed, as the waiters returned to clear the plates and serve the next course. She drank some wine, the stem of her glass gripped tensely, as she watched them bone the fish and place the fillets on to plates. A bowl of tossed green salad was set on the table, with a dish of tartar sauce, and a platter of tiny sauté potatoes was offered.

All of which gave her a chance to think—to regroup and regain her composure. But also prompted her to start wondering about him all over again.

She’d already noted, of course, that his change of clothes was expensive, but there were few other clues. He wore a watch on a plain black leather strap, and no rings, which could mean anything or nothing.

When they were alone again, and had begun to eat, she said, striving for lightness, ‘It seems I really must stop jumping to conclusions.’ She paused. ‘So, if you’re not the gardener, what’s your real connection with this place?’

Liam tutted reprovingly. ‘You’re breaking your own rule, sweetheart. The embargo on personal details works both ways.’

Cat stared expressionlessly down at her plate. Caught, she told herself, without humour, in my own trap. Why didn’t I see that coming?

Because he’s knocked you sideways, said a small mocking voice in her head. And you’re not thinking properly. He’s awoken all your senses except common sense.

She forced a smile. ‘Maybe I should rethink my position.’

‘On the contrary.’ His answering grin was totally relaxed. ‘I’m starting to enjoy this enforced anonymity.’ He began to count off on his fingers. ‘No searching for common ground. No discovery of mutual friends or wincing over tastes in books and music. No mobile phone numbers or e-mail addresses.’ He paused, adding softly, ‘No past and no future. Simply—the pleasure of the present.’

Which is exactly what I spent most of the afternoon telling myself I wanted, Cat thought startled. So I can hardly complain now that it’s here.

She said crisply, ‘Pleasure is something of an exaggeration.’

‘Ah,’ Liam said gently. ‘But the night is still young.’ His eyes met hers, then moved down slowly to absorb the quiver of her parted lips.

She drank some more wine, her mind whirling again. There’d been hunger in his gaze, and purpose too, and her body had warmed under the overt suggestion.

Oh, God, she thought, what am I getting into? Am I actually contemplating making love with someone I didn’t know existed when I woke up this morning? Am I seriously that crazy?

Because it was one thing to declare her own sexual independence in the mid-afternoon under a blazing June sun, and quite another to go from theory to reality by plunging into intimacy with a stranger in the warm shadows of the night.

That would be a huge—maybe an irrevocable step for her. And she wasn’t sure whether she had the courage—or the sheer bravado—to take it.

She lifted her chin. ‘Why, yes,’ she said lightly. ‘And there could even be chocolate for dessert.’

‘I can guarantee it,’ he said. He paused. ‘And after dessert?’

Cat tensed. ‘What do you mean?’ She tried not to sound breathless, but wasn’t convinced she’d succeeded.

‘I thought—coffee,’ he said. ‘And armagnac, perhaps? After all, I suspect you’re already over the driving limit.’

She looked at her empty wine glass—at the upturned bottle in the ice bucket. So much, she thought, for good intentions.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I—I suppose I am.’ She swallowed. ‘Well—that sounds—good.’

The chocolate torte, when it came, was good too—sublimely rich and totally delicious—and she ate every crumb, her concentration on the food masking the fact that her mind was churning.

There were things about him she really needed to know, she told herself as the coffee and brandies arrived. And first and foremost among those was his marital status. After all, he already knew she was single. She wanted the same assurance about him.

He might be sending her body wild, but there was no room in her life or ethos for other women’s bored husbands.

And there was no way of finding out except by direct questioning, which, as she’d already seen, would get her nowhere.

‘I’d give a year’s pay,’ he said quietly, ‘to know what you were thinking.’

She glanced up, smiling wryly. ‘I imagine that could be quite a sacrifice.’

Liam took a sip of brandy. ‘Another fishing expedition?’

‘Not at all.’ She gave him a composed look. ‘I was thinking that we’ve both absorbed a certain amount of information about each other already. For instance I know that you like uncomplicated food—beautifully cooked—and that you like to play games,’ she added.

‘That,’ he said, ‘seems to be something we share.’ He paused. ‘And I know, of course, that you’re not a big fan of weddings. Tell me—was bloodshed actually avoided at today’s affair?’

‘Fortunately, yes.’ If you discount the internal bleeding, Cat thought, wincing. ‘But it was still fairly grisly,’ she added lightly.

‘Was that why you decided to change your clothes? A kind of ritual cleansing?’

She shrugged evasively, lifting a nervous hand to the neckline of her top. She said, ‘I needed something more comfortable to travel in, that’s all.’

‘Yet you haven’t been comfortable at all.’ His voice was gentle. ‘You’re still very much on edge—aren’t you?’

Cat bit her lip. She knew that he was right—that she’d been restless throughout the meal, her fingers pushing back her hair from her face, playing with the gold bracelet of her watch, or constantly raising her napkin to her lips.

He, on the other hand, the cause of her unease, seemed supremely relaxed, long legs stretched out in front of him, while she sat with her feet tucked primly back under her chair, making sure there was no contact.

‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘It’s been a hell of a day, but I—I didn’t realise it had affected me that much.’

‘Treat it as a learning curve.’ His long fingers were playing casually with the stem of his glass. She watched their movement from under her lashes, as if mesmerised, just as she’d covertly studied his every gesture, each turn of his body throughout the meal. Intensely aware of him, she realised, all the time. Unable to break free. Drawn ever more deeply into his web with every second that passed.

He gave her a faint smile. ‘Decide here and now that your own wedding day will be completely different. Totally angst-free.’