Sara Craven - To Claim His Mistress

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.

‘Hey, where are you going?’

‘I have to get dressed,’ she said. Because it’s far too beguiling, lying in your arms like this. I could get to enjoy it far too much, and I can’t afford to do that. It’s too dangerous. ‘Besides,’ she added quickly, ‘this towel is getting clammy, and the chambermaid could come back.’

‘The door is locked,’ he said. ‘And I hung the “Do Not Disturb” sign outside.’

‘You were very sure of your welcome.’ She introduced an austere note.

He grinned at her. ‘Not at all. Just—hopeful.’

‘But we can’t stay here,’ she said. ‘There’s a check-out time.’

‘And you have to get back to London.’ He sighed. ‘If you insist on putting your clothes on, could you walk round the room without them a couple of times? I want to check if my photographic memory still works.’

It was ludicrous, after what had happened between them, but Cat felt herself blushing.

She made her voice sound light as she reached for her clothing. ‘I think we both have enough memories to be going on with.’

‘Spoilsport.’ Liam lay back, watching her, his head pillowed on his folded arms. ‘I’m going back to London too,’ he said, after a pause. ‘Which makes it convenient.’

‘In what way?’ Cat zipped herself into her skirt.

‘In that I won’t have to travel from one end of Britain to the other when I pick you up for dinner tonight,’ he returned.

There was a long silence. Cat’s hands fumbled on the button of her waistband, then reached for her top and dragged it over her head.

Liam studied her, brows slightly raised. ‘You don’t object to that, I hope?’

She said slowly, ‘You don’t know where I live.’

‘But I’m relying on you to tell me,’ he said. ‘Address, telephone, fax, e-mail, date of birth, favourite flower—every last detail that you wouldn’t tell me last night.’

She touched dry lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘I—I don’t think I want to do that.’

Liam threw off his share of the towel and stretched indolently, making her sharply aware of every lean, suntanned inch of him. ‘Then I shall have to rely on my powers of persuasion.’ He held out his hand, his smile wickedly enticing, making the breath catch in her throat. ‘Come here, darling—please.’ His voice was husky.

She felt her pulses begin to race. Experienced the first stirrings of that delicious melting sensation all over again.

Realised how much she wanted to do as he asked—how desperately she ached to go to him and allow herself to be drawn down into his arms.

Into his arms and into the trap, she reminded herself with sudden force. Lured there by the possibility—the dream of a shared future.

Forgetting how starkly the past twenty-four hours had demonstrated how the dream could turn to nightmare. The harsh evidence from her own family circle.

You begin as strangers, she thought, then you allow yourself to be seduced—confused by passion into believing that this time it will be different—eternal. But when passion dies you’re strangers again, with all the hurt and bitterness that implies. And the loneliness.

The image of Aunt Susan sitting alone, a silent statue amongst the post-wedding clutter, came into her mind. And for some reason that odd expression on her father’s face as he watched her mother catch Belinda’s bouquet. Even Belinda, putting a brave face on the humiliation she’d suffered on what was supposed to be her great day.

‘Cat?’ Liam was sitting up, his brows drawn together in a frown. ‘Cat—what is it? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’