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

Cat poured herself some more coffee, thankful that she could keep the cafetière steady. ‘Actually, I’ve been far more decisive than that.’ She sent him a cool smile. ‘Because I’m planning not to have a wedding at all—ever.’

There was a silence. Liam looked at her, his brows lifted. ‘Isn’t that a little radical?’

She shrugged again. ‘I have it filed under “necessity”. As far as I’m concerned, the whole concept is outdated—and totally surplus to my requirements.’ She paused. ‘You disagree?’

‘I can’t say I’ve ever given it a great deal of thought.’ He leaned back in his chair, his face meditative. ‘And I’ve certainly never been tempted to try it,’ he added. ‘If that’s what you wanted to know in some convoluted way.’

He allowed that to sink in before continuing, ‘And isn’t this conversation straying back into the forbidden zone?’

‘Perhaps.’ Cat met his gaze squarely—full eye contact. ‘So, having yielded a point, do I get to know what you’re thinking too?’

There was a silence, then he said quietly, ‘Are you sure that you want to? You might not like the answer.’

‘It’s seems only fair,’ she said. ‘So I’ll take the risk.’

‘Then I have to confess that I’m indulging all the basic male fantasies.’ His eyes went to her mouth, then travelled down to the swell of her breasts. His tone was clipped, his mouth unsmiling. ‘I’m remembering that moment this afternoon when I held you, and felt you tremble against me. I’m imagining what it would be like to have you in my arms again, and to kiss you—and how you’d look without your clothes.’

She felt as if all the air had been sucked out of her lungs. She was shaking again, but not from shock—or fear. Her heartbeat quickened almost painfully.

From some great distance she heard herself say quietly, huskily, ‘How strange, because I’m wondering much the same about you.’

Liam pushed back his chair and rose. He came round the table to her, taking her hand, pulling her to her feet.

He said softly, ‘So why waste any more time? Why don’t we simply go upstairs—and satisfy our mutual curiosity?’

He looked deeply into her eyes. ‘Well?’ he asked, and she nodded mutely in reply.

Still holding her hand, Liam strode through the restaurant, threading his way between the tables.

Cat tried to hang back. She said breathlessly, ‘But we can’t just leave. There’s the bill to pay…’

‘They’ll know how to find me,’ he said. ‘When they need to.’

They climbed the stairs together, side by side. When they reached the door of her room Cat said, ‘Will you give me a few minutes?’

He framed her face in his hands, looking down at her, his mouth wry. ‘Having second thoughts, Cat? Planning to run away again—or lock your door against me?’

She shook her head. ‘None of those, I—I promise. I just—need a little time to myself.’

‘Maybe we both do.’ He released her, his hand stroking the hair back from her face. ‘But don’t keep me waiting too long.’ And strode away.

The room, she discovered, had been made ready for the night—curtains drawn, bed turned down, the lamp lit on the night table and her nightgown fanned across the coverlet.

The hotel staff must have known all along that she would stay, Cat thought, biting her lip. Just as she had known it herself, of course, in spite of her denials.

She undressed without haste and put on her nightgown, adjusting the narrow straps on her shoulders. She brushed her hair, and sprayed her pulse-points with her favourite scent.

Then she turned off the lamp and drew back the curtains, opening the window a little so that the cool fragrance of the night drifted into the room along with the moonlight.

As she turned back into the room she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. In her filmy gown, with its low-cut bodice and straight skirt, she looked like a slender ghost. But the swift hammer of her pulses and the heat invading her body told her that she was all too mortal.

His knock at the door was quiet.

‘Come in.’ Her voice was equally subdued, even shaking a little.

He had changed too, she saw. He was barefoot, and she knew that his dark blue silk dressing gown was his only covering.

He stood watching her for a long moment, the open hunger in his gaze mixed with a kind of wonder that made the breath catch in her throat.

He said huskily, ‘You are almost—too beautiful. Do you know that? So lovely that you scare me.’

She shook her head, colour sweeping into her face. She felt shy, suddenly, and incredibly vulnerable in the face of his passion.

She tried to smile. ‘I’m frightened too—a little.’

He came slowly across to her, resting his hands lightly on her bare shoulders, his thumbs stroking the delicate hollows of her collarbone.

He said, ‘But I’m not the first? I can’t be.’

‘No.’ Cat, for one strange moment, found herself wishing desperately that her answer could have been different. That she could have told him she was still a virgin—that there had been no other man in her life and that the night ahead with him would be her true initiation.

She said, ‘Liam…’

‘Shh,’ he whispered. ‘The past doesn’t matter. Just the pleasure of the present—remember?’

He bent his head and found her mouth with his. Her lips parted willingly, eagerly under the questing pressure, meeting the sensuous invasion of his tongue with her own ardent warmth.

His fingers slid down her arms to her waist, then moved to the base of her spine, his hands hard as he drew her against him and the heated passion of his arousal, and Cat sighed brokenly as she felt her body respond to his desire with its own surge of liquid fire.

When the long kiss finally ended, she was trembling like a leaf caught in the wind, her breathing shallow and driven, astonished at the depth of emotion he had engendered in her.

She took one small step backwards, away from him, staring at him with enormous eyes as slowly she hooked her fingers under the thin shoulder-straps and pulled them away and down, releasing herself from her nightgown.

As it slipped to the floor the delicate fabric seemed to shiver against her fervid flesh, grazing the hardening peaks of her expectant breasts, lingering for the length of an indrawn breath over her hips, until she faced him, naked, her body an exquisite challenge.

Her voice was a husky wisp, half lost in the depth of the silence between them. ‘Now it’s your turn.’

Liam made a small harsh sound in his throat. He untied the belt of his robe and shrugged it away, then lifted her in his arms and carried her to the waiting bed.

He lay beside her, his lips on her mouth, her throat, as he caressed her breasts with gentle, awed fingertips. She arched towards him, yielding and sinuous, her hands beginning an exploration of their own, stroking his muscular shoulders, then moving slowly down his spine to the flat male buttocks.

He had, she thought, a wonderful body—lean, tanned and smooth-skinned, apart from a shadowing of body hair on his chest. Cat buried her face in his shoulder, absorbing the scent of his skin, marvelling how familiar and precious his nakedness seemed.

Only a few hours ago they’d been strangers, she thought wonderingly. Now, in this moonlit bed, they were becoming lovers, intimate and enthralled.

He muttered hoarsely, ‘Hold me,’ and she obeyed, her fingers encircling the taut velvet hardness of him, paying delicate tribute to his potent masculine strength.

Sighing with pleasure, Liam lowered his mouth to her breasts, his tongue adoring the engorged nipples until she moaned aloud with the pain and glory of it, aching for his possession, and felt him smile against her skin as he whispered, ‘Wait, my love.’

He moved slightly, turning away from her, and she murmured his name in disappointment and appeal, only to realise he was simply taking care of her by using protection.

He came back to her, framing her face with his hands, kissing her deeply and sensually. Then his fingers were parting her thighs, exploring the sweet, scalding heat of her, his touch light, but almost agonisingly precise. Now gossamer, now fire.

And at the moment when the sheer agony of her need was threatening to overwhelm her Liam slid his hands under her hips, raising her slightly to receive him in one powerful thrust.

She responded instantly, fiercely, her hands gripping his shoulders, her legs lifting to enfold him and draw him even closer.

He moved rhythmically and without hurry, sinking his body deeply into hers. Taking her with him quite inexorably, it seemed, to some distant place. Somewhere she had glimpsed so many times, but arrived at so rarely.

This time, she told herself. This time…

She heard his breathing change, the pace of his movements quicken, and knew that, for him, the moment was there. But that once again it had passed, leaving her behind. So when his body shuddered its way into the ultimate rapture, and he flung back his head, calling her name, she cried out too, her panting voice rapturous.

She pulled him down to her, clasping him as he groaned out his release, her mouth seeking his with unassuaged hunger. When it was over for him he lay very still, eyes closed, his body slick with sweat.

At first she thought he was going to sleep, and that was something she was also accustomed to. But to her surprise he moved, lifting himself away from her. Clearly he did not plan to sleep in her arms, and the realisation gave her an odd pang.

For a few long moments there was only silence, and Cat lay motionless, not wanting to disturb him.

Then she felt him stir, and the next moment his hand reached out, gently but firmly taking her chin and turning her to face him. He was lying, propped up on one elbow, apparently replete and relaxed. He was smiling faintly, but his eyes were narrowed slightly as he regarded her.

‘So,’ he said quietly, ‘how was it for you?’

‘Wonderful,’ she said, and smiled back into his eyes. ‘Surely you don’t need to ask?’

He said slowly, ‘If it was that great, why didn’t you come?’

She swallowed. ‘But I did…’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m not a fool, Cat, and I know you were pretending. You were with me almost to the last moment—I could feel it—and then I lost you somehow. You seemed to—drift away.’

There was a silence, then Cat released herself from his clasp, biting her lip. ‘I—I’m sorry.’

‘You have nothing to apologise for.’ His tone was dry. ‘Obviously I should have taken more time—been more considerate.’

She didn’t look at him. ‘I don’t think that would have made much difference. It just—doesn’t happen for me very often.’

‘Yet you wanted me,’ he said gently. ‘You weren’t faking that.’

‘I can’t explain it,’ she said in a muffled voice. ‘It’s as if I reach—and reach—but there’s nothing there.’

‘And is it like that every time?’

To which the answer was, Pretty much, Cat thought. But she had no intention of saying it.

‘I don’t think that’s up for discussion,’ she said. ‘After all, we agreed—no past, no future, just the pleasure of the present.’ She paused. ‘Or are you some kind of psychotherapist, wanting to delve into my subconscious? Because I’m not buying.’

‘No,’ Liam said, a sudden harshness in his voice. ‘I’m the man who’s just failed to satisfy you. But at least I can do something about that.’

He pulled her to him, stifling with his mouth any protest she might have planned. But at the first touch of his lips Cat was beyond resistance, her surrender absolute.

His hands were travelling slowly down her pliant body, lingering, arousing. Making every sense, every nerve-ending quiver in this new awakening. And where his hands touched his mouth followed, feathering kisses on her vulnerable flesh.

His tongue teased her breasts, turning the rosy peaks to tingling hardness, and she closed her eyes, sighing, conscious of nothing but the piercing delight of the sensations he was evoking.

When he raised his head, she heard herself say thickly, ‘Don’t stop—you can’t stop…’

‘I’ve only just begun.’ There was a shadow of laughter in his answering whisper.

His lips travelled on down, over the flat plane of her stomach, caressing the tiny whorls of her navel, the hollows of her hipbones. His hands were stroking her thighs, and her body slackened in anticipation of the contact she yearned for, but which, tantalisingly, he did not seem to be offering.

‘Please.’ Her voice did not seem to belong to her. ‘Oh—please.’

Then she cried out as his mouth reached the joining of her thighs and found the molten, aching sweetness within. For one shocked, bewildered moment she tried to push him away, scared of this depth of intimacy, but he captured her wrists with one hand and held her helpless.

His tongue was a flame, gentle but intense, as it began to explore her most secret being, seeking her small hidden bud and coaxing it to exquisite life. He made it flicker against her, then stroke her with delicate finesse, before circling on her with voluptuous control. And without mercy.

Cat was breathless, small sounds coming from her throat as her head twisted on the pillow. There were tiny golden stars dancing behind her eyelids, and she could hear the blood roaring through her veins like the echo of a remorseless tide beating on the shore.

Everything else—each sense, each nerve, each atom of emotion—was focused, concentrated on this passionate agony of sensation he was creating for her. Nothing else existed but this lesson in her own sensuality that she was being taught by a master. She wasn’t even aware of the moment when he released her wrists.

Her inner heat was raging like a furnace. She realised in some outreach of her mind that she had reached the brink and was being held there endlessly, her body a silent scream for release.

When it came, it was like a quiet pulse beating deeply and insistently within her, gathering power and strength, rising to some undreamed-of height. Until he took her across the edge, and her body imploded into rapture, shuddering violently as each tremor tore through her.

And his name on her lips was a thanksgiving.

CHAPTER FOUR

AFTERWARDS, Cat lay, held close in his arms, absorbing the small ripples of delight that still assailed her, like the aftershock of an earthquake, with tears running down her face.

‘My darling,’ Liam said softly, kissing her wet eyes. ‘My clever angel. Don’t cry.’

Her voice trembled. ‘I never knew it could be like that—never dreamed…’

‘I knew,’ he told her gently. ‘From the first moment that we looked at each other, I knew.’

She sighed. ‘Maybe I’m not as sophisticated as I thought.’

‘So I discovered.’ There was a wry twist to his mouth as he stroked her cheek. ‘Along with the fact that Cat the Tigress does not take her claws to bed. You’re quite an enigma, my love.’

‘Is that better than being a male fantasy?’ she queried sleepily, her head tucked into the curve of his shoulder.

A laugh shook him. ‘Just different.’ He added softly, ‘But I think you’ll still be fulfilling my fantasies long after I’ve solved the mystery.’

She barely heard him. She was already drifting, heavy-lidded, into sleep. Sinking down through waves of contentment into a haven of dreamless rest.

When she awoke it was daylight, and fitful sunshine was glancing into the room through the open curtains. And she was alone in the big bed, with the covers drawn neatly over her.

What was more, she was once again wearing the nightgown she’d discarded a few hours previously, she realised, touching the soft fabric with disbelieving hands.

As she sat up and looked round the room Cat experienced a curious sense of disorientation. Because there was simply no sign that the room had ever been occupied by anyone but herself. Even the pillow beside her was plumped up and pristine.

Had the events of last night simply been a figment of her imagination? A kind of wish fulfilment? Could she have only dreamed Liam, and the rapture she’d found with him?

No, she thought, her body quickening with excitement. That wasn’t possible. Her senses were still basking in the afterglow of his lovemaking.

And her last memory was breathing the scent of his skin as she lay with her head on his shoulder and her face turned towards the curve of his neck.

Broodingly, Cat drew her knees up to her chin, her mouth tightening.

Falling asleep in his arms had not been part of the plan—if, of course, she’d ever had a plan. Somewhere along the way she’d been hijacked, all her good intentions blown to the four winds.

But sharing her bed for an entire night had always seemed to her to be a dangerous step towards sharing her life. There was an ocean of trust implied in abandoning one’s consciousness in the presence of another person, and it was something she’d always avoided in the past, offering some light and credible excuse—she had an early start in the morning, or she was a poor and restless sleeper. Anything that would send them on their way and re-establish her privacy, her inviolability.

On the other hand, how did she know he’d spent the night with her? After all, she had no idea when he’d decided to leave, not when she’d been so dead to the world that he’d been able to dress her in her nightgown without waking her, for heaven’s sake.

She bit her lip hard. It seemed ridiculous to jib at that when there was not one inch of her body that he had not caressed and kissed with such passionate skill and artistry. When she’d not just accepted all the intimacies of their lovemaking but gloried in them. Yet somehow having her gown replaced when she was asleep and helpless seemed a familiarity too far.

However, it seemed unlikely she would ever be able to take him to task about it, she told herself. Because he was probably no more committed to the idea of a relationship than she was herself. And maybe the way he’d erased all signs of his presence was his version of goodbye, avoiding all excuses or explanations.

She’d set herself up, she thought with sudden bleakness, for a one-night stand. So she could hardly complain that Liam had taken advantage of that—and of her. Or that he’d walked away afterwards.

Cat bent forward, resting her forehead defeatedly on her knees and squeezing her eyes so tightly shut that they hurt. At the same time she was aware that no physical pain could even compete with the small, bewildered ache deep within her. Or the inexplicable sense of loss.

A sudden rap at the door had her shooting upright, her whole body tense, her mouth dry.

‘Who—who is it?’ she managed.

‘Room service, madam.’ A woman’s voice. ‘Your breakfast.’

A key rattled in the lock and she came in, middle-aged, brisk and efficient in a striped overall, carrying a tray. Swiftly she unfolded its supporting legs and placed the tray across Cat’s lap.

Cat, bewildered, was confronted by fresh orange juice, warm croissants in a basket, with dishes of honey and black cherry jam, and a tall pot of coffee. And a single red rose in a narrow crystal vase.

She hadn’t ordered any food, but maybe breakfast came with the room—and she couldn’t deny that she was hungry, she thought, as she thanked the woman with a smile and unfolded her napkin. Besides, she had the journey back to London ahead of her, and she had no wish to undertake it on an empty stomach.

Although there was nothing she could do about the strange void which seemed to have opened up inside her where her heart should be.

Don’t even think like that, she adjured herself with sudden fierceness. It’s irrelevant. You’re not looking for a soulmate but a lover, for the occasional night of mutual passion and fulfilment, and in that respect Liam could have been the answer to your prayer.

But he’s gone, so you’ll just have to forget the ‘might-havebeen’ and continue the search elsewhere—one of these days.

And, with a determined nod, Cat applied herself to her breakfast.

The meal over, she repacked her case, leaving out only a change of underwear and the clothes she’d worn the previous evening, then went into the bathroom to have a shower.

She stood for a while, eyes closed, under the powerful cascade, relishing its sting against her flesh, then reached for the soap.

But someone was there before her.

‘Allow me,’ Liam murmured, sliding warm arms around her and drawing her back against him.

Cat yelped, her heart banging against her ribcage in shock. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded raggedly as she started to breathe again.

‘I came to wish you good morning,’ he said, deftly taking the soap from her unresisting hand and making it into a lather. He began to apply it slowly and gently to her damp skin, making little circular movements, covering her breasts, belly and thighs with the creamy foam.

Cat felt an almost drugging weakness begin to invade her senses under his ministrations, and realised that if he hadn’t been holding her she would probably have slid limply to the floor of the shower.

‘But I’m not going to ask if you slept well, because I know you did,’ he added softly in her ear.

‘Yes.’ It was barely more than a croak. Her head fell back against his shoulder as the delicate movements of his hands shifted to a more intimate dimension.

‘But now…’ his lips found the sensitive spot beneath her ear ‘…now you’re awake again.’

Her only answer was a sigh, as Liam discarded the soap and began to caress her breasts, teasing the excited nipples with his fingertips. She could feel the pressure of his arousal, and moved against him with deliberate provocation.

His reaction was immediate. He turned her to face him, his mouth seeking hers hotly and without reserve, then lifted her in his arms and brought her down to him, his wet, slippery body joining effortlessly with hers in one swift act of possession.

Cat clung to him, mouth locked to his, her arms round his neck and her legs twined round his waist, her whole self attuned to the burning rhythm of his powerful thrusting. Her own response was ardent and complete.

When the first tiny tendrils of pleasure began to uncurl inside her she gasped against his lips, but as the sensations intensified, and she felt all control sliding away, she gave a small, frightened cry.

‘Don’t fight me, darling.’ He muttered the words hoarsely into her mouth. ‘Just—let go.’

The breath sobbed in her throat as she obeyed, and felt the first fierce shaft of ecstasy piercing her to the soul. She could hear herself moaning in a kind of delirium as her body seemed to dissolve in one rapturous convulsion after another, and was aware of him shuddering against her as his body found its own powerful release.

She was still clinging to him, sated, exhausted, when he turned off the water and lifted her out of the cubicle. He grabbed a bath sheet from the rail and flung it round them both as he carried her into the bedroom.

When she could speak, she said, with a kind of wonder, ‘Is that—really how you say good morning?’

They were lying on the bed together, still wrapped in towelling, as well as each other’s arms.

Liam kissed her gently on the mouth. ‘Indeed it is,’ he murmured. ‘Also goodnight, and on really lucky days good afternoon, too.’

‘My God,’ she said faintly. She moved back a little, studying him. ‘How did you get in here, anyway?’

‘The chambermaid left the door open for a moment when she came for your tray.’

‘How—extremely fortunate.’

‘Indeed,’ he said gravely. ‘I must remember to leave her a generous tip.’

‘I thought you’d—simply gone.’ Now, why had she said that? Cat wondered with vexation. It sounded really needy. And that was the last impression she wanted to convey.

‘No,’ he said. ‘That was never part of the plan. As you should know by now. I merely thought it would be more discreet if I had breakfast in the restaurant, that’s all.’

‘Yes,’ Cat said. ‘Of course.’ She began to disentangle the bath sheet, and his hand shot out and captured her wrist.