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

She began to chat inconsequentially about a fashion show she’d attended, an exhibition opening soon at the National Gallery, a play she’d seen, long past its shelf-life.

It was all light-hearted stuff, faintly spiced with malice, and at any other time Cat would have sat back and enjoyed the performance. But not now. As the time relentlessly approached the hour she was on tenterhooks, in case Liam grew tired of waiting for her.

And when her mother finally put down her glass, and reached a leisurely hand for her bag, Cat could have shouted aloud in relief.

‘So why don’t you come to the Savoy on Tuesday morning?’ Vanessa suggested as they walked to the door. ‘We can go and look at the flats the agents have found for me, and then have lunch at Vanni’s.’

Cat had been working a lot of extra hours lately. Andrew was not likely to object to her having some time off, she thought.

‘Fine,’ she agreed. ‘Shall we say around ten?’

‘Well, certainly not before,’ Vanessa said with a touch of acerbity, then paused. ‘I suppose cabs are the usual nightmare round here? Perhaps your driver would take me on to the hotel after he’s dropped you at your assignation,’ she added innocently.

Nice try, Ma, thought Cat. ‘I think he’d find it easier to go via the Savoy,’ she returned evenly, catching a glimpse of chagrin in her mother’s eyes. ‘Otherwise, no problem.’

Except that it meant she was going to be later than ever, she realised, as, with Vanessa duly delivered, the car threaded its way back through the evening traffic in the West End.

The flat was quiet when she let herself in, but she could see a narrow ribbon of light under the sitting room door. So he had waited after all, she thought, her heart leaping.

She was rehearsing her apology as she opened the door and went in, then paused, the words dying on her lips.

Liam was lying back in the corner of the sofa, one arm thrown along the top of the cushions, eyes closed, his breathing soft and regular, so fast asleep that he didn’t stir as she shut the door behind her, or even when she said his name. Twice.

His jacket was on the floor, along with his tie, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. He looked comfortable and extremely peaceful, she decided as she took her case through to the bedroom. But it wasn’t the reception she’d expected by any means.

When she returned, he still hadn’t stirred. Cat stood watching him for a moment, then kicked off her shoes and curled up beside him, resting her cheek against his chest, breathing the unique male scent of him.

He murmured something indistinguishable and his arm encircled her shoulders, drawing her nearer. She responded instantly, nestling closer and sliding her hand inside his shirt, relishing the warm, smooth texture of his skin under her palm and the deep, steady beat of his heart.

She would let him go on sleeping for a little while, she thought, and then she would kiss him awake, so that their time together could begin. But for the moment she felt curiously, almost luxuriously content. And even a little drowsy herself.

Which was ridiculous, of course, she told herself firmly, and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, the first thing she saw was the bedroom window, with sunlight seeping through the curtains. The next was her blue dress, draped over a chair.

And the third was Liam, beside her in the bed, propped up on one elbow as he watched her.

He said, ‘Good morning,’ and there was amusement in his voice. ‘I was jet-lagged. What’s your excuse?’

Cat shook her head. ‘I don’t understand. What happened?’

‘I woke up on the sofa, around two a. m., and found you in my arms, dead to the world. So I carried you in here, and put you to bed.’

She stared at him. ‘You took my dress off—and I slept through it? How did you manage that?’

His faint smile became a wicked grin. ‘Years of practice, darling,’ he drawled, and moved with the speed of light to grab the pillow from her hand before she could hit him with it.

‘Actually, I think you’d have slept through the Last Trumpet,’ he went on, drawing her into his arms. ‘Whereas I was unusually restless, having seen those lacy scraps under your dress. But I didn’t trust myself to dispose of them as well.’

Cat smiled against his shoulder. ‘I’m glad they weren’t completely wasted.’ She pressed her lips to his skin and began to move down his body, feathering a trail of soft, beguiling kisses. ‘Maybe we could still make use of them.’

Liam halted her with a groan of regret. ‘Darling, we can’t. Have you seen the time? I have early meetings.’

‘Hell.’ Cat gave her watch a despairing glance. ‘I should be out of here too. Oh, I can’t bear it.’

Liam bent his head, kissing her mouth with rueful hunger. ‘Would it break any rules if we met again tonight?’ he murmured. ‘I promise to stay awake this time.’

‘I’d love to,’ Cat whispered back. ‘But only if you also promise to stay all night.’

‘Agreed.’ He kissed her again. ‘But on one condition. That you bring an alarm clock.’

Cat lay watching him search for his clothes, nerving herself. At last she said, ‘Talking of rules…’

‘Mmm?’ He was buttoning his shirt, but he shot her a lightning glance.

‘I don’t really need a car and a chauffeur to get me here,’ she said. ‘I can make it on my own.’

‘He’ll be here for you shortly,’ he said. ‘But it can be the last time, if that’s what you want.’

‘Please.’ She paused. ‘Also, I got held up last night, and there was no way to warn you. So—maybe—it would be sensible to exchange mobile phone numbers—for emergencies.’

Liam looked at her, brows raised. ‘I thought that was exactly what you didn’t want?’

She hunched a shoulder. ‘We’re both busy people, and—things happen. I don’t want any misunderstandings either. Numbers only,’ she added hastily. ‘No other details, of course.’

‘Naturally.’ There was a note of irony in his voice. ‘And emergencies only. Then let’s do it.’

Cat was thoughtful when he’d gone. It had hardly been an eager concession on his part. It seemed that he’d really bought into the idea of separate lives.

But then, so have I, she reminded herself. I didn’t ask what had caused his jet-lag. He didn’t ask why I was late. And that’s a kind of trust—isn’t it?

How will I ever know? she thought. And sighed.

She had just come out of a meeting, and was returning to her desk via the coffee machine, when her mobile phone rang.

She looked at the screen with a kind of stunned disbelief as she answered.

‘Liam—has something happened?’ She swallowed. ‘Can’t you make it this evening after all?’

‘Nothing like that. I just needed to hear your voice.’

She realised she was smiling absurdly, her face warming. She tried to sound severe. ‘That’s hardly an emergency.’

‘You have your definition,’ he said softly. ‘I have mine. And I want you to know I’m counting the hours until tonight.’

‘Me too.’ Her voice was husky, shaking a little.

After they’d disconnected, she sat staring at the little electronic miracle in her hand. My lifeline, she thought, to him. And he’d called her.