Sara Craven - To Claim His Mistress

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.

‘You’re very cheerful this morning,’ Megs commented on her way past. ‘You must be on a promise.’

Cat returned a dutiful smile as she slipped her phone back into her bag.

How wrong can you be? she thought, dragging herself back down to earth with painful effort. There were no promises—no commitment. Just this one tenuous and strictly temporary link.

So I’ll have to make the most of it, she told herself soberly. For as long as it lasts.

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