Sara Craven - To Claim His Mistress

She put on the horn concerto while her bath was running, then lay back in the water, hair pinned on top of her head, eyes closed, letting the glorious notes drive any lingering demons from her soul.

She was safely covered in her comfort blanket, and on her way to the kitchen, when her doorbell sounded. She paused, frowning slightly, wondering who the caller could be. God forbid it should be Tony, come to do penance.

She was in two minds whether to answer the door or not when she remembered that it might be her neighbour, with a parcel that she’d taken in. Those books, perhaps, that Cat had ordered on the Internet.

As the bell sounded again she called, ‘Yes, I’m here.’ She dealt swiftly with the safety lock and flung open the door.

‘I’m sorry,’ she began, then stopped dead, her eyes dilating in shock and the apologetic smile fading as she saw who was confronting her.

‘Good evening,’ Liam said quietly. He was in full City gear this evening—dark blue suit with a faint pinstripe, crisp white shirt and silk tie. His face was unsmiling and weary, his mouth taut.

Her voice was small and hoarse. ‘What—what are you doing here?’

‘I hardly know myself.’ There was a dull flare of colour along the high cheekbones. ‘I swore that I wouldn’t do this, but it seems I no longer have a choice.’

He flung back his head and looked at her, the smoky eyes cool and unflinching. He said, ‘If the offer you made me is still open, then I’ll take it. I want you, and I’ll pay any price to have you.’

She shook her head. ‘I—I don’t understand.’

‘You suggested we should meet,’ Liam said evenly. ‘On neutral territory and in comparative anonymity in order to pursue our mutual enjoyment of each other. At the time, I didn’t agree.’

His mouth hardened. ‘Since then I’ve had plenty of opportunity to think,’ he continued. ‘And I accept your terms. All of them.’

He paused. ‘But it’s up to you to say whether you still want this or not. And naturally I’ll abide by your decision. If you send me away, you won’t hear from me again.’

There was a silence. Her mind was whirling as she tried to take in what he’d said. To understand it.

He’d offered her a get-out clause, she realised numbly. She could tell him she’d made a mistake—even that it had all been a joke which had misfired—and he would be out of her life for ever, and she could return to some approximation of peace and normality. Perhaps.

Instead, she heard herself say shakily, ‘What’s made you decide to—throw down the gauntlet like this?’

‘Seeing you again last night,’ Liam said levelly. ‘Knowing that all my efforts to put you out of my head had been completely useless. Although, my God, I tried,’ he added with feeling.

Her voice sank to a whisper. ‘So did I.’

There was another silence. He said carefully, ‘Do I take it, then, that the answer’s yes?’

She nodded, swiftly and jerkily, not looking at him. She said, ‘Do you—would you—like to come in?’

‘No,’ he said, his mouth twisting. ‘No, I don’t think so. It’s probably best if we obey your rules from the outset. And you want our encounters to be on neutral territory.’

‘We also said no personal details.’ She swallowed. ‘Yet you’ve clearly discovered where I live.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But that was before I knew there were any rules, and even longer before I agreed to obey them.’

‘So how did you get my address? From the hotel?’

‘Yes.’

Cat bit her lip, remembering the pretty receptionist who’d manned the desk on Saturday evening. ‘Using your famous powers of persuasion, no doubt?’

He shrugged equably. ‘If you say so. But from now on I won’t cheat. We’ll keep our meetings strictly elsewhere.’

She went on staring at him. She said slowly, ‘My hotel bill. Was there really a problem with the computer?’

Liam propped a shoulder against the doorframe, a faint ruefulness in his expression. ‘Who knows? There often is. That’s what computers are like.’

‘You—really went to all those lengths?’ Cat shook her head. ‘I can’t believe it.’

‘Believe it and more.’ His voice was almost fierce. ‘I needed to see you again. I didn’t want you to turn into the Cat that walked by herself and slip away until I’d had a chance to talk you round to my point of view.’ He paused. ‘Am I eternally condemned for that?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I think it’s a little late for that.’

Liam nodded. ‘So, do you trust me to find somewhere sufficiently neutral for our first rendezvous?’

Just like that? Cat thought bewilderedly. Without even a kiss or a touch? As if he was arranging a business appointment?

‘Yes,’ she said, numbly. ‘That would be—fine.’

He took a personal organiser from his inside pocket and scanned through it. ‘Next Thursday would be good for me.’ He glanced up. ‘How about you?’

‘Yes.’ She still had that curious sense of disbelief—of detachment. ‘Yes, I can manage that.’

‘Then that’s agreed.’ His smile was brief and formal. ‘I’ll send a car for you at ten o’clock. Until then.’

Send a car—as if she was a parcel to be collected? And at ten? Clearly there was to be no leisurely wooing over dinner this time .

He was actually turning away when she said his name. ‘Did I forget something?’ His brows lifted in enquiry.

So many things, Cat thought, swallowing. But there’s a barrier, suddenly, and I can’t get round it. I can’t reach you .

She clutched at a straw. Forced a smile of her own. ‘I wanted to mention last night—to explain…’

‘But you don’t have to do that,’ he said, quite gently, but with a faint trace of something like mockery in his voice. ‘Under the rules we see each other when we wish, but the rest of our lives remain a closed book. And the beauty of that is no excuses or explanations. We can both do exactly as we like.’

So he doesn’t care about Tony, she thought, with a touch of bleakness. But I’m not allowed to ask about his companion either, and that’s a different story.

‘Yes,’ she said, her voice faintly constricted. ‘Yes, of course.’

He lingered, his meditative gaze considering her in silence, and she suddenly realised what he was seeing—her face scrubbed as clean as a child’s, without a trace of cosmetic, and surrounded by the damp tendrils which had escaped from her pinned-up hair. The elderly velour dressing gown, kind as an old friend, but undoubtedly sacrificing beauty to comfort, however you looked at it. Not a speck of allure anywhere.

Her hand went almost protectively to the base of her throat, drawing the worn edges of the robe together.

She looked back at him, her chin lifting in challenge. ‘Having second thoughts?’

‘Having all kinds of thoughts,’ Liam returned coolly. ‘Which I look forward to sharing with you on Thursday night. I can hardly wait. And wear something glamorous,’ he added softly. ‘Something I’ll enjoy removing.’ His smile touched her like an intimate caress. ‘Goodnight.’

Ridiculously, she found herself blushing. Felt a warm tide of colour spread up from her toes to her forehead, and knew it would not have escaped his attention, or his amusement.

Wordlessly, she stepped backwards and closed the door between them. She sagged against the frame, her breathing ragged, her heartbeat tumultuous.

My God, she thought, swallowing. This was pragmatism carried to the nth degree.

She made herself walk over to the sofa and sat down in its corner, her feet curled under her.

What am I getting into here? she wondered incredulously. Some kind of business arrangement controlled by dates and logistics—efficient but passionless?