Memoirs of a Millionaire's Mistress Read online

  ‘She’d be thirty-one now—she’d’ve changed.’

  ‘Exactly.’ She shook away the odd feeling and changed the subject. ‘Let’s eat. I’m starving.’

  Ten minutes later they were tucking into sweet chilli roast pork and king prawn combination.

  ‘I’ve got a fund-raising dinner next Saturday night,’ Cameron said between mouthfuls. ‘I want you to accompany me.’

  The sudden punch of nerves caught Didi off guard. ‘Are you sure?’ She’d known it was likely. But being seen in public as his partner, however temporary, was something new. She had no idea what type of woman he usually dated, but she knew she wouldn’t fit in. She’d never fitted in with the elite. She’d be more of an embarrassment. ‘Perhaps it’s better if you just go on your own.’

  ‘Of course I’m sure, and, no, I’m not going on my own—I’ve already paid for two tickets. The money raised is going towards a dozen local charities. You’ll want to come—this’ll be a good opportunity to talk about your art, mention the gallery opening and make some contacts.’

  The alternative would be to chaperone another woman…

  There was no alternative.

  She bit off a corner of bamboo shoot, then nodded. ‘Okay.’

  On the inside her stomach was churning. How would his business associates view her? Would they know she was only his short-term lover?

  And what the heck was she going to wear?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘I GUESS my sequined leggings and macramé top are out?’ Didi murmured, only half joking. She liked the glitzy outfit she’d bought at a recycle boutique. It made her feel happy and it drew looks whenever she wore it. She also knew her taste didn’t conform to the conventional fashion trends.

  Cameron looked up, his mouth open in astonishment. ‘This is a formal dinner, Didi. The “rich and famous” will be there. You’ll need to wear something suitable. A dress.’

  She scowled down at her half-eaten meal. ‘I don’t own a dress.’ Not any more.

  ‘I told you I’d pay for whatever you need. Leave it with me. My secretary, Chris, knows how to shop and what’s appropriate. Write down your dress size and preferences and I’ll have her send around some items for you to choose from.’

  His condescending attitude sent prickles up her spine and she stiffened. ‘I’ve attended a few of these formal shindigs in my time,’ she said coolly. ‘You think I don’t know what’s appropriate?’

  He stared at her and she could see him trying to dig his way out of the hole he’d got himself in. ‘Of course you do,’ he said placatingly. In that same condescending tone. ‘But I know you’re busy here. I’m just trying to save you some time.’

  He had a point. She couldn’t afford to fall any further behind.

  In two weeks their working relationship would be over. Their private relationship would be over. A stark reminder that this was a temporary arrangement and she’d be better off remembering that. But a hollow feeling opened up inside her.

  ‘You’ll find something we both like,’ he went on, oblivious to her inner turmoil. Mr Super Confident twirled his chopsticks through his meal, picked up a prawn.

  She needed to retain her independence and some control over her life. Their tastes were light years apart—she’d seen the way he looked at her clothes. But what he liked wouldn’t matter in two weeks. ‘I still have that cash you gave me. You don’t need to fork out any more.’

  ‘That’s an advance on your commission. It has nothing to do with this.’ He glanced at her, his smile indulgent. ‘Call the dress a gift.’

  A gift. Wasn’t that what men like him gave their mistresses? Oh, how she hated that word. She hated that that was all he wanted from her. She realised she wanted so much more. A chill wrapped around her heart. Don’t you dare cry. Instead she dared herself to look him in the eye and ask, ‘Would that be for services rendered, then?’

  His smile disappeared, his eyes locked on hers. ‘Didi.’ He put down his chopsticks, stood and rounded the table. Crouched in front of her and took her face between his hands. ‘You know damn well that’s not what I meant.’

  She’d never heard his voice so quiet, so firm. It wrapped around her like blue velvet. No, Didi thought, he wasn’t at all sure how she’d interpreted him. Maybe she wasn’t so sure herself. And when had he become more to her than a casual lover?

  He couldn’t be more; she couldn’t let him.

  ‘Hell…Didi.’ He smoothed his thumbs over her cheeks. His eyes glinted in the down-lights. ‘If I insulted you, I apologise. I want you with me on Saturday night. Only you.’

  Her heart melted and a smile tugged at her lips. ‘Ah, but would you want me with you in my sequined leggings and macramé top?’

  His eyes flickered, then he blew out a slow breath. ‘Can we compromise on this? If Chris organises some stuff for you to look at and you don’t like anything…’ He rubbed his lips over hers. ‘Let’s just see how it goes with Chris first. Now…come up here.’

  He stood, taking her with him, lifting her higher so that his body bits lined up with hers in all the right places. Their mouths feasted on one another’s as he headed for the black rug between the sofas. He laid her down on its luxurious pile, his hands diving beneath her top.

  ‘Do we have a deal?’ he murmured against her mouth.

  Her own hands got busy with his belt buckle. ‘Deal.’

  The next few days passed in a blur. During the day Cameron worked at the office. Mostly. And they kept things platonic—well, almost. If you didn’t count Monday’s lunchtime session in the spa or the interlude in the sky garden. Her exhibition piece was growing, taking shape slowly but surely.

  One of Cameron’s employees took Charlie. Didi was devastated to see him go, but happy he’d found a safe new home where he’d be cared for. One day perhaps she could have him back. She missed him. Get used to it—very soon she’d be missing Cameron as well.

  In the evenings they went out for a quick bite or purchased dinner from the numerous takeaway stores nearby. Either way, they walked, taking in the fresh evening air so Didi could stretch her legs after working all day in the one spot. And every night was another magical journey of discovery.

  The dresses were delivered to the apartment on Tuesday. A boutique full of beautiful expensive designer outfits. Accessories. Shoes. Any woman would have been beside herself. Didi wasn’t any woman.

  Did Cameron want to help her decide? she phoned to ask. No. Anything the lovely Chris chose was sure to be a knockout and he was looking forward to seeing Didi all dressed up on Saturday night. And by the way—had he told her?—Chris had booked her in to Tiara’s Spa and Beauty—the latest ‘in’ place—for Saturday afternoon. The massage and hot stone treatment would do her good.

  It wasn’t the massage she worried about. No hairdresser had come within cutting distance of her hair in a long time. She trimmed it herself with the aid of mirrors. And make-up? She didn’t bother with more than the basics of foundation, lip gloss and blusher.

  Compromise. They’d made some compromises over the past week and Didi was realising it didn’t mean she had to give up her control or her independence. That she could look at a situation from another’s point of view, another’s needs. But this transformation? She wasn’t so sure.

  A stranger stared back at Didi in her mirror on Saturday evening. A sophisticated-looking woman in a short black organza dress with kohl-rimmed eyes, siren-red glossed lips and her hair carefully styled to wisp softly around her face. At least they hadn’t cut it. She wanted to cry, but the truckload of mascara they’d applied would probably run.

  She wanted to run.

  She’d seen something she wished she hadn’t while flicking through an out-dated magazine at the salon—a photo of Cameron and a stunning brunette almost as tall as he was. The don’t-date-him poster girl? Possibly. The woman on the other end of the mystery phone calls? Again, possibly. How could she compete with that kind of woman?

  She could hear Cameron
pacing the marble floor beyond. She’d cloistered herself back in her own room since she’d arrived back from her salon appointment. She was now fifteen minutes behind their agreed time.

  What would he think when he saw her? Would she come up to scratch? With no hope of competing with women like that brunette, Didi felt the same insecurities that had haunted her when she’d attended functions with her family.

  Turning away from the unnervingly false image, she picked up the tiny red velvet evening purse. She wasn’t sophisticated, why was she pretending to be someone she wasn’t?

  Because she was Cameron’s partner for the evening. Tonight she’d try to be the poised cosmopolitan woman he expected. She could play the part for one night. One more week, one gallery opening and their no-strings arrangement would be over.

  Cameron knocked on her door. ‘Ready?’

  Her heart gallumphed. Her hands turned clammy and cold. She primed her lips for a smile, took a steadying breath and said, ‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’

  She got a glimpse of dark eyes and clean-shaven jaw as she opened the door. A whiff of aftershave as she ducked under the arm he’d leaned against the jamb and hurried to the hat stand to grab her new black coat, which was part of the package.

  ‘Hey, what’s the rush?’

  ‘We’re running late, my fault. Sorry.’ Her fingers closed over the soft wool but Cameron took it from her.

  ‘We can run a little late,’ he said, his deep voice vibrating along her spine, his breath disturbing the hairs on her nape. ‘Turn around and let’s get a look.’

  She almost forgot her own insecurities when she swivelled on her stilettos and got a look at Cameron in full formal getup. Oh, my…Damn, he looked good. She almost reached out to finger the bow tie and give herself an excuse to drift her knuckles against his throat, until she saw him staring at her as if he’d never seen her before…and remembered why.

  She’d gone for elegant black. As she turned Cam stepped back to take in the full effect. The dress hugged her petite figure like a charm. Tiny straps showed off her creamy shoulders, the waistline was cinched with a sparkly clasp. Its short skirt flared, leaving plenty of thigh to admire. And the arch of her feet in those gold strappy heels made his mouth water. ‘You look sensational, Didi.’

  She smiled, drawing his attention to her carefully outlined lips and the shimmering charcoal framing her silver eyes. He doubted he’d ever escorted a more beautiful woman, but something about the stunning image niggled at him.

  She seemed to pick up on that vibe and the smile disappeared. ‘Let’s go, then,’ she said briskly, reaching for her coat draped over his arm.

  ‘Hang on.’ He returned her coat to the stand, fingered the box in his pocket. He’d wanted to give her some token, something to show how he felt about her. Even if he wasn’t sure yet what that feeling was. Would she be offended? Only one way to find out. He withdrew the box.

  She looked at it, then up at him with wary eyes. ‘Soft centres…?’

  Her voice was unsteady, the way his knees suddenly felt. ‘It’s just a little something to wear tonight,’ he said, holding it out to her. ‘I’m not sure if you’re a jewellery girl but figured what the heck, a bit of bling couldn’t hurt.’

  When she made no move to take the box, he opened it himself. The single teardrop gem winked on its glittering chain.

  ‘Is that real?’ she whispered, and squinted closer. ‘It looks real.’

  ‘It’s an Argyle pink diamond on a platinum chain. You being the creative sort, I thought something simple was probably wise.’

  She looked up, met his eyes. ‘I don’t call that simple or wise.’

  And didn’t that just about sum up their relationship? ‘Wear it for me, Didi.’ Without waiting for a reply he stepped behind her to slip it around her neck, unaccountably disappointed that her almond-honey scent had been drowned out by cosmetics and styling lotion and a darker cloying fragrance that on any other woman would have been seductive.

  On Didi it was just…wrong. She didn’t need heavy fragrance to seduce, all she needed to be was herself. Shaking away the dangerous thought, he stepped in front of her again to see how the stone looked against her skin.

  She touched the stone lightly with one finger, but her eyes gave him no clue to her feelings, as if she’d deliberately blanked her expression. ‘Thank you. It’s the most beautiful piece of jewellery I’ve ever worn.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ He wanted to lay his lips on hers and feel them smile against his as she had last night but the slick red gloss looked more like a shield than an invitation. Instead, he reached for her coat. ‘Shall we go?’

  The hotel ballroom was all glitz. Crystal and silverware sparkled on snowy cloths sprinkled with colourful foil confetti. Towering floral arrangements spilled their early spring fragrance, mingling with French perfume and hors d’oeuvres being circulated on silver trays.

  Cam lifted two glasses of champagne as a waiter passed. Then he saw a tall slim blonde wearing gold leopard-skin lamé as if she’d been born in it heading in their direction.

  ‘Let’s find out where we’re seated,’ he murmured to Didi, handing her a glass and turning away.

  ‘Cam.’ The woman caught at his arm. ‘You weren’t trying to run away, were you, darling? I know you’ll want to buy a ticket or three in tonight’s raffle.’ She swept between him and Didi waving her little box of tickets, then reached up to buss both his cheeks.

  He forced a smile. Dominique was in her mid-forties and had been pursuing him for at least five years. ‘Evening, Dominique.’ He stepped around her to create a triangle. ‘I’d like you to meet Didi O’Flanagan. Didi, this is Dominique Le Hunte. She’s our fund-raiser extraordinaire.’

  ‘Di-di.’ Dominique’s latest Botox treatment prevented her eyebrows rising but she tinkled out a laugh. ‘What a quaint little abbreviation.’ She proffered a limp hand dripping with diamonds. ‘Why…what’s so terrible about your birth name?’

  ‘It’s Dee-aahn,’ Didi replied with exaggerated aplomb. ‘My sister never could get it right so she said Didi. I’m afraid it stuck.’

  Cam smiled privately at the way Didi’s lie rolled off her tongue and raised his glass to her with an intimate grin that had Dominique frowning. Or would if she could, he mused.

  ‘Well—Dee-aahn—it’s…nice of you to…attend.’

  ‘Certainly is. Very nice,’ Didi drawled as she gave Cam a smouldering look and took a long slow sip of champagne.

  Dominique didn’t have a comeback.

  Cam cleared his throat to cover a chuckle and signalled a waiter bearing spring rolls. Not many people stopped Dominique in her tracks. But then hadn’t Didi O’Flanagan stopped Cam himself in his tracks?

  Dominique recovered enough to turn on the charm again. ‘So where did you two meet?’

  Cam smiled at Didi, remembering the event-filled evening with a certain fondness and said, ‘At a function a few weeks back.’

  ‘I was waitressing, actually,’ Didi said with dead calm, meeting his eyes as she plucked a roll off the proffered plate. ‘Thank you.’ This directed at the waiter with a sunny smile.

  ‘Oh…’ Dominique laughed uncertainly and glanced at Cam. ‘Helping out in a volunteer capacity?’

  ‘Making a living.’ Didi bit into her spring roll.

  ‘Making a living?’ Dominique echoed faintly.

  ‘I’ve commissioned Didi to complete an arts project for me,’ Cam cut in to curtail what looked like developing into a ‘situation’. He placed his hand on her back, cruised it up the black fabric till he found skin. Heaven knew what Didi was capable of under such circumstances. He nudged her forward, excusing them both. ‘I think they’re about to start seating us and we haven’t found our table yet. Catch you later, Dominique.’

  ‘Rich bitch,’ Didi muttered beneath her breath. ‘Your friends—’

  ‘They’re not my friends. They’re mostly business associates. It’s important to project the correct image at these event
s.’

  He felt her spine stiffen beneath his hand. ‘Yeah, and haven’t I heard that before.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Do you have friends, Cameron?’ She stopped mid-stride to look up at him. ‘And I don’t mean bed partners.’

  A muscle in his jaw ticced. ‘Yes, of course I do. That’s our table.’ He prompted her forward.

  But how many could he name? He realised he’d been too busy making his mark in his new life without any links to his past to form any lasting friendships.

  Mouth-watering food was served on elegant dishes, the wine flowed, the speeches were made. Didi sat opposite him conversing easily with the people around her, as if she’d been born to it. Which, he had to constantly remind himself, she had.

  But every time he looked at her it was like looking at someone else. And when their eyes met—there it was again—that vulnerable, sad look in her eyes as her smile dropped away. Just a glimpse before she snapped her gaze to Lady Johnson beside her and with a smile renewed their conversation.

  He fingered the stem of his wine glass and watched her. She was easily the most beautiful woman in the room, but she wasn’t his Didi.

  His Didi.

  It steamrolled over him with a force that made his heart thud harder and his muscles cramp and his hand tighten on his glass till he thought it might snap. They had one more week. He didn’t want their relationship to end yet. She was like stepping into spring sunshine after a long cold winter. He wanted to bathe in that warmth a little longer. What would she say if he suggested renegotiating their arrangement, extending it a little?

  He didn’t get a moment to ponder that further because it was time for the lucky door prize. ‘And the winner is…Didi O’Flanagan,’ the MC announced. ‘Dinner for two at the Candle-side restaurant. Come on up, Didi O’Flanagan.’