Mistress At A Price

‘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.’

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.