The Mistresses Collection. Оливия Гейтс

So she was a showgirl at heart? It certainly hadn’t taken much to pop that cork and get her flowing. Good. It was a perfect neutral topic. Because he wasn’t going to get personal. They were just sharing a sleeping space. Nothing more complicated than that. ‘You wish you were up there onstage?’

      ‘Oh, no.’ She sounded appalled.

      ‘Just a fan?’ She seemed too enthralled for that.

      There was a momentary pause. ‘I really do like the costumes. That’s what I studied. Costume design.’

      ‘Wow.’ She was a designer? ‘That’s great.’ But it didn’t quite seem right to him. She looked more suited to limelight than lurking in the wings. With those aquamarine eyes, the blonde hair, the camera-conscious sleek figure, she was the epitome of starlet-in-waiting. ‘So that’s what you want to do? You’re not really a wannabe actress hoping to make it big here?’

      ‘Never.’ Oddly, her laugh verged on hysterical. ‘No. I’m all for the costumes. I like the backstage stuff. I’d love to get a wardrobe technician job here.’

      ‘And a wardrobe technician...?’

      ‘Preserves the integrity of the costumes, keeps them pristine and looking the way the designer envisioned,’ she answered.

      ‘They don’t stay pristine?’ He half laughed.

      ‘Not always, no,’ she answered primly. ‘The dances are energetic so sometimes things tear. And get sweaty.’

      Ah. He really didn’t want to think ‘energetic’ and ‘sweaty’ right now. Not when he’d only just mastered his own mind. For a nanosecond.

      ‘They’re really heavy,’ she continued. ‘And hot. And they take hours of work.’

      Hot. Like him, then. ‘You’re fully into it.’

      ‘That’s what I want to do, yes. I’ve finished a design course in London. Now it’s time to get the job.’

      ‘But first you have this month in New York.’ Spending all her money on seeing the shows and half starving in the process. He heard her draw in a deep breath and let it out in a sleepy sigh.

      ‘Yes.’

      He rubbed the heel of his hand hard over his forehead and told himself she was answering the comment he’d actually muttered aloud, not answered the question he ached to put to her. Now other questions pressed. How did she know George? Why had he offered her the use of the condo? Why was she so wary of the media? But the question bugging him most of all was whether he’d still taste that chocolate if he kissed her now.

      He wanted to kiss her everywhere.

      Yeah, the lustful thoughts hadn’t gone far for long.

      ‘Goodnight,’ she murmured. ‘Sleep tight.’

      He wryly smiled in the darkness at her last sweet mumble. With temptation lying a mere breath away, sleep wasn’t going to win in a hurry.

       FOUR

      An endless, high-pitched screech shattered the silence. Bleary-eyed, James squinted up at the ceiling, wondering what the hell the noise was. Then it dawned. A phone. A real phone. Who used a land-line these days?

      On auto he reached a hand out to find it and encountered a lump of something soft. Then he remembered the pillows. The reason for the pillows.

      Shit. He flinched. It was too early. Caitlin would still be asleep. Should still be asleep after her big day yesterday. He jerked over and fell off the bed in his haste. Damn. He’d been clinging to the edge for fear that while asleep he’d act out his dreams and desires and move too close to her. Blinking fast, he peered round the floor to find the phone. The thing was right underneath the bed. One of the builders must have plugged it in thinking he was being helpful. He snaked an arm and hauled the receiver off the hook and put it to his ear.

      ‘Yes?’ he bit out in a furious whisper.

      ‘James?’ George’s surprised tones burst loud from the handset. ‘I didn’t think you were back for another couple of months.’

      Well, that was obvious, given the appearance of Caitlin in his bed. But James fought to suppress the irritation. How could George know James was going to be back if James hadn’t told him—didn’t ever tell any of them? It was his own fault for being so crap at communication. ‘It was a surprise to me too.’ He pressed the receiver closer to his ear and lowered his voice yet more. ‘I didn’t know we loaned the condo out.’ It was their private escape.

      ‘You’re not the only Wolfe who helps out people in trouble,’ George answered.

      James paused as his pulse did a quickstep. Then he couldn’t resist asking, ‘She’s in trouble?’

      ‘She’s had a rough time. So be nice and don’t make her life any harder than what it is.’

      Harder than what? James gritted his teeth. He knew there was something up. He should have asked her more. ‘Who is she? What happened?’ He held his breath, aware she was only a few feet away and probably awake and listening to every word.

      ‘Why don’t you ask her? Actually talk to a person for a change.’ George laughed, clearly missing the tension stringing out James. ‘How are you both squeezing in there? I thought the refurb was going to take a few weeks.’

      ‘Longer. But we’re managing,’ James hedged. ‘I’m only here for a day or two. Where are you?’

      ‘The cottage.’

      At home? ‘Really?’ The knowledge kicked him under the ribs. His twin was back. With his family.

      ‘Uh-huh. And Mum’s coming. She’s going to want to talk to you—’

      ‘George, no, don’t. Tell her I’m—’

      ‘Tell her yourself.’

      ‘Tell me what?’ A third, distant, voice echoed along the line.

      Damn. ‘Hey, Mum.’ James pressed his body into the rug and closed his eyes tight.

      ‘James! You’re in New York?’ His mother sounded breathless in surprise. ‘When are you coming to see us?’

      There it was. No preamble. No niceties—no ‘how was your trip’. It was straight into the expectation. The demand. And it was fair enough—she was his mum after all.

      ‘It’s been so long since we’ve seen you,’ she added.

      ‘It’s been busy.’ He gripped the handset tightly.

      ‘But not now?’

      ‘No, still busy. I’m only in town a couple of days. I’m not going to have time to—’

      ‘Months, James. It’s been months.’ She spoke quietly.

      He turned up to Thanksgiving, to Christmas, to his parents’ birthdays. Couldn’t that be enough? But it wasn’t. He knew his absence bothered them. But he couldn’t sit back and relax. He liked to stay busy. Needed to. James covered his closed eyes with his hand.

      ‘Is a quick visit too much to ask?’ his mother asked.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ James spoke briskly. ‘I’m only in New York another day.’

      ‘Oh.’ There was a pause. Then she rallied. ‘Where are you going next?’

      ‘Uh.’ He tried to think up something plausible. ‘Conference in Northern Japan.’

      ‘Japan? Nice.’

      James winced at the disappointment his mother was trying so hard to hide. But if he showed up at home she’d only be more disappointed. Better to keep his visits quick, painless and rare. ‘It should be interesting.’