The Mistresses Collection. Оливия Гейтс

never really felt in.

      He spent months of his life living in cramped quarters but he’d always been able to maintain a sense of isolation. Some degree of privacy—even if it was just within the confines of his sleep roll and a mosquito net. To be sharing a bed, bathroom, and his body with Caitlin, there was no degree of separation. Right now his life was incredibly intertwined with hers. They were involved with everything together—their every waking and sleeping moments. He shook his head. He couldn’t be fretting about losing that intensity, could he? It wasn’t real—it was just a holiday fling after all. Yet the thought of her spending the day without him—seeing those treasures without him?

      Lord, he was tragic. He needed to push back and find some distance for himself. Some perspective. One of James’ medical colleagues walked by and James collared him in relief.

      ‘How long are you in town?’ the doctor asked.

      ‘Couple weeks,’ James answered. ‘Getting restless actually. If you need a hand with any tight shifts...’ The guy worked at the hospital that James occasionally locumed in when in between assignments.

      ‘You’re kidding. You’re offering to come and work?’

      James nodded. Work was good. Consistent. Easy in terms of its emotional demands—he knew how to manage those. It wore him out—but not in a bad way. It didn’t leave him unsettled. How the hell could a holiday leave him this unsettled?

      ‘You never want time off?’

      He wasn’t sure he did. He hadn’t had time off in so long and these few days with Caitlin... He wasn’t sure how he felt—whether it was too much already or not enough. So he fudged answering, talked work for a while, then got talking sport, then back to business again with Lisbet when she arrived. He reminded her, and himself, that he was ready to go back to work whenever she needed him to. And he was, right?

      Ready.

      In the meantime Caitlin and Peggy and who knew who else kept chatting. He kept half an eye on her but she was fully engaged. For ages. He was almost angry by the time Caitlin turned back to him as Peggy walked away to speak with someone else. She took one look at his face and her brows lifted.

      ‘You spent hours talking to her,’ he whispered in her ear as he handed her a fresh glass of champagne.

      ‘What?’ she answered back sassily. ‘You missed me?’

      Part of him sure had. And it wasn’t the obvious. And there was the problem.

      Caitlin kept stealing surreptitious glances at James as they chatted to various people for the next hour or so. He was very smooth, very polite, maintaining conversation on all kinds of topics. Yet she sensed his mind wasn’t fully focused on the event at all. That inside, he was thinking about something else altogether. And for once she didn’t think that something else was sex. Indeed, despite the impression she had that he didn’t really want to be there, she didn’t feel as if he was champing at the bit to leave either. She’d been thrilled at the possibility of getting in backstage at the theatre, but what she’d overheard now overshadowed that. Was he over them already? Was that why he’d offered to work at the hospital? Was he ready to fling their fling?

      She smiled, she chatted. She tried not to care.

      Back at the condo he sat down on the edge of the bed with a sigh.

      ‘You’re tired?’ she asked blandly, still trying not to care.

      He didn’t answer. Just sent her a killer, heated look. His eyes black, his thoughts clearly back to carnal.

      Oh. My. The coldness within Caitlin melted. Heat surged violently through her veins.

      ‘No kissing? No dancing?’ He growled. ‘You almost killed me.’

      ‘You want me to make it up to you?’ She straddled his lap, her knees sinking into the mattress on either side of him. He put his hands firmly on her waist. She inhaled deeply as she felt his strong thighs shift beneath her. Definitely not tired.

      The intensity of his expression didn’t lessen. He looked fierce, almost angry.

      ‘What are you thinking about?’ She cupped his jaw, running the pad of her thumb over his lips.

      His tongue chased her thumb and he groaned as he caught a small lick. ‘That this holiday is unreal.’

      Unreal? Was that good or bad? She chose not to ask, but to tease instead. They did tease so well. She pulled her hand free, dropping it to her hip. ‘Yet you offered to do some shifts at the hospital.’

      His breathing hitched. ‘You heard that?’

      ‘Why do you want to work?’

      He shrugged but she’d felt his initial flinch.

      ‘I might as well do something useful,’ he said.

      ‘You do something useful all the rest of the time. You’re allowed a holiday.’ She walked her fingers up his chest. ‘You need a holiday. Otherwise you’ll get burned out.’

      ‘Are you concerned for my welfare?’ He was smiling, but there was an underlying note of something in the softly asked question. A warning? An edge. As if he was wondering what business was it of hers?

      Time to back-pedal. ‘No,’ she said. ‘My concern is that if you start putting all your energy into work, what’s going to be left for me?’

      Her words pulled a low laugh from him and he leaned forward, sliding his hand on her back to draw her closer. ‘You don’t need to worry. I think I can still manage to turn you on.’

      She pressed her palm to his chest, stopping him from bringing her close enough to kiss. ‘You only “think”?’

      ‘I promise to save enough energy to be able to satisfy you. That okay?’

      ‘It’ll do. Just.’ She wanted more than satisfaction for herself. She wanted his as well.

      His hand clamped over hers, holding it over his head.

      ‘So it’s okay for you to want to work, but not me?’ he baited.

      Was he bothered by the idea of her spending a couple days at the theatre? She tilted her chin high as she whispered, ‘You’re easier to get off than I am.’

      He laughed roughly. ‘You think?’

      ‘Oh, yeah.’ She nodded seriously. ‘So easy.’

      ‘That right?’ he asked slowly.

      She saw the dare in his eyes. ‘You think you can hold out on me?’

      ‘I don’t just “think”.’

      ‘Such a man. Have to have the challenge, don’t you?’

      ‘That’s right. We can’t deny a dare.’ He shifted beneath her. ‘And you women know it. That’s why you dare us with just a look.’

      ‘Like this?’ She inclined her head and coyly looked at him. ‘So you’re going to try to resist?’

      ‘For as long as I can,’ he confirmed, releasing her to stretch his arms out behind him on the mattress. He spread his feet a little further apart.

      ‘You’re already hard,’ she pointed out with a quick stroke.

      ‘Admittedly, this may be one dare I lose. But really, it’s a win, win deal.’

      ‘True.’ She shrugged. She liked a dare too. She wanted to turn him on to the point where control was impossible. She wanted to do that fast. Yet there was pleasure in slow. Pleasure in stringing things out for him. Making him ache for more—unable to stop himself moving to reach for more.

      She slipped off his knee and knelt on the rug. She looked up at him, unable to stop her smile. Usually he led their dance, liked the dominant role. The chance to take him, tease him, thrilled her. Because while it might look as if she were bent low to serve him, she was really