To Claim His Mistress. Sara Craven
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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.
CHAPTER EIGHT
NEARLY a week, Cat thought, her heart lurching painfully, and still not a word from Liam.
I’ll be in touch, he’d said. But he’d made no promises about how soon the contact might be, and the need to see him again, to hear his voice and to touch him, was becoming well-nigh unbearable.
In working hours she was smiling, efficient, and determinedly busy. Even a little driven. If she could have stayed in the office twenty-four hours a day, she’d have been fine, she told herself wryly.
But at home, in the evenings, her comfortable flat became a cage, where she paced restlessly up and down, cooked meals she did not want, read books she did not remember, and watched television programmes she did not see. She was plagued continually by the idea that he’d had second thoughts about their arrangement and decided to abandon it. That one night