Kelly Hunter - At His Service - Millionaire's Mistress

The woman moved swiftly towards Didi’s room, keeping close to the wall. ‘I’m calling Security if you don’t identify yourself.’

‘Go ahead. In fact, I’ll call them for you.’ Keeping his eye on her, he backed up to the security panel in the wall, hit the button. ‘Davis, Cam Black here. There’s a woman in my apartment calling herself—what’s your name?’

‘Veronica Davenport.’

Cam listened while Davis explained that Miss O’Flanagan had a guest staying overnight and enquired was everything all right.

‘Fine,’ Cam clipped, and disconnected.

‘Not Veronica O’Flanagan, then.’ He studied her from the top of her shiny dark hair to the tips of her manicured toenails, saw her register the fact that he knew Didi’s surname.

The woman reeked of wealth. The kind of inherited wealth Cam despised. It didn’t fit. Didi was nothing like this model of sophistication in any way, shape or form.

‘Davenport’s my married name.’ She tilted her head so that she looked down her nose at him, but he didn’t miss the appreciative way she cast her eyes over his body. ‘You haven’t explained yet who you are.’

No, I haven’t, have I? ‘Where’s Didi now?’ he demanded. He strolled to the entrance to Didi’s room, blocking the other woman’s path and casting a quick glance inside. The bed was empty and he could see an open Louis Vuitton suitcase on the floor by the window.

‘She’s gone to bed.’ She indicated behind him with a stiff tilt of her head.

His room.

His whole body stiffened. Didi was sleeping in his room? In his bed, between his sheets. Heat and anger warred within him but desire snaked through the mix like a restless serpent in a stormy sea. He moved away from the door, gestured her inside. ‘Then I suggest you do the same, since you’re obviously spending the night.’

‘Not until you identify yourself to my satisfaction. How do I know you’re not here to do my sister harm?’

He pulled out his driver’s licence, flashed it at her. ‘I told you—I live here. You want to speak to Security yourself, be my guest. Otherwise do as I ask. Leave Didi to me. I assure you, she’s perfectly safe.’ If he didn’t throttle her first.

But the woman must have read something in his expression because a small smile twitched at the edge of her mouth, as if she’d just discovered a delicious secret. ‘Didi didn’t tell me she had a man in her life.’

His jaw clenched at that but he aimed an imperious finger at the door and spoke through stiff lips. ‘Goodnight, Veronica.’

Still clutching her toiletry bag and her innate poise—and the smile—she slipped inside with a murmured, ‘Goodnight,’ and closed the door.

Cameron let out the breath he hadn’t realised had backed up in his lungs. Steeling himself for the sight of Didi’s tartan pyjama-clad body in his bed, he strode to his room, his traitorous palms tingling in anticipation of waking her.

He didn’t knock, shoving at the door with an open-handed thwack . The scent of his soap and Melbourne’s glimmering skyline through the windows greeted him. He was halfway across the room, arm outstretched to wake her, before he realised that she wasn’t in bed. That the sound he could hear wasn’t his blood pounding through his ears, it was running water, and that the fragrance billowed from steam clouds through the door of the en-suite.

The partially open door.

Too late to deny what he’d seen. Somehow he dragged his gaze away from the outline of her body in his shower stall, but it was indelibly printed behind his retinas. Her creamy flesh in a pose that rivalled anything in a men’s magazine. The swell of her buttocks, the way she’d tipped back her head against the tiles so that her throat arched wantonly. As if waiting for a lover to take a bite. His mouth turned dry, his body hardened.

The water stopped and he heard her open the shower door. He stood rooted to the floor as possible scenarios flashed through his mind in that split second. Stranger. Stalker. She’d scream. Veronica and the cops would join the party.

He took the best option he could think of, given the circumstances. Diving into the bathroom, he grabbed a towel from the rail and held it in front of her with one hand. He did not see the tight rosy nipples, the cute little belly button, the erotic patch at the juncture of her thighs.

Her eyes widened and predictably she opened her mouth but his free hand got there first, clamping on damp, petal-soft skin. ‘Didi. It’s Cameron. Don’t scream.’

Her shoulders relaxed a little but he watched as her predicament dawned on her and they tensed right back up again. She struggled to cover herself with the towel, her breath hot on his palm as she made a noise of distress.

He felt her delicate jawbone tense beneath his fingers but his hold didn’t slacken. ‘Don’t,’ he warned. ‘Veronica’ll have my balls for breakfast.’

Her lashes flickered at that and she nodded, continuing to watch him steadily. Satisfied she wasn’t going to cause a ruckus, he relaxed his hand a little but he didn’t want to let her go quite yet. He was enjoying her rare quietness and it gave him a moment to think how he was going to handle this.

Drops of water lay on her flushed skin, her hair, her eyelashes. The knowledge that she’d used his personal soap on her body spun through his head like an aphrodisiac. She was clutching the towel to her breasts, pushing them higher. He watched as a single droplet fell from her hair and trickled into that forbidden valley.

It occurred to him that she could have pulled away without too much effort. No doubt she was using the time for reflection and planning her excuses as well. He clenched his jaw and reminded himself that she’d helped herself to his apartment behind his back.

Mind spinning, Didi stared up at the man gripping her jaw and mouth, watching her with a speculative glint in his midnight eyes … and something more … something predatory? And no wonder; dear heaven, he’d seen her naked. How long had he been standing there while she lingered provocatively against the tiles like some hooker?

She shivered as her mind veered in another direction while he continued devouring her with that rapacious expression. He was here . In his bathroom. Not in Sydney.

Oh. My. God. What had she done? And how was she going to un do it?

His hand moved away from her mouth but one finger continued to slide sensuously over her lower lip, a dangerous touch, a hypnotic caress that slowed time and wiped everything from her mind but the pleasure it provoked. Beneath their calloused texture she could feel the tension ready to clamp her mouth shut again if she didn’t co-operate.

His voice held the same deceptively languid quality when he said, ‘So, Didi … or should I call you Dymphna?’

Her whole body rebelled and she speared him with her eyes. ‘Don’t call me that—never call me that.’

His mouth curved slightly. ‘I agree it’s a crime to punish an innocent child with such a name. Then again …’ he whisked his thumb back and forth over her jaw, firmed his other hand against the back of her head, imprisoning her ‘… maybe it isn’t such a crime … Maybe you’re not so innocent.’

In the room’s dimness the lights from a nearby skyscraper stroked the unyielding angle of his jaw, his eyes mesmerised her, his grasp on her head paralysed her. His finger continued to fondle the edge of her lip, sending shivery tingles to every extremity and sparking erotic images of letting him use that same lazy thoroughness to explore other body parts. She fought an insane urge to suck its pleasure-giving warmth into her mouth.

‘Well, are you going to try and defend yourself?’ His tone sharper, eyes piercing. ‘Or maybe I’ll tell you what I think and you can try to deny it.’