At His Service: Millionaire's Mistress. Kelly Hunter

told herself she was not disappointed. She did not need another reminder of her own mistakes. Rather, she felt a growing unease that he was leaving his own apartment on her account. Guilt because he shouldn’t have to do that. She set the spoon on the counter top with a chink of silver on granite. ‘I thought you’d finished for the day?’

      ‘I’ve got some last-minute details to finalise before I leave for Sydney.’

      ‘You’re going to Sydney?’

      ‘First thing in the morning. I’m viewing some glass figurines and wooden carvings I intend purchasing for the gallery. I’ll be gone a couple of days. You’ll be okay here alone, won’t you?’

      He didn’t pause for an answer, just dragged a wallet from the back pocket of his trousers, pulled out a couple of business cards and a wad of fifty-dollar bills. ‘I haven’t had time to organise a credit card but this should cover your expenses while I’m away. I use a limo service; I’ll let them know the car’s at your disposal.’ He counted the cash, laid it on the table.

      She stared. She’d never seen anyone lay down such a large amount of cash at one time and not blink an eye. Perhaps it simply wasn’t enough for him to bother about. ‘You’re not afraid I’ll do a runner with your money?’

      He shook his head once. ‘You’ll hang out for the prize. You stand to earn ten times that amount—and earn a name for yourself at the same time.’ Spoken with an almost indiscernible disdain for those beneath his privileged position of wealth and power. She recognised it and anger flared, hot and harsh. ‘How dare you presume to pigeonhole me—or anyone else for that matter—because I don’t live at a fancy address?’

      He flashed her a look, a cold blue flame that froze and burned, holding her in its grip for a few tense heartbeats, and for a gut-curdling moment a stranger seemed to stare back at her. He’s not the man you think he is. The poster pinned to the ladies’ room mirror streaked through her mind.

      She slid off the stool and took a step back, rubbing arms that suddenly felt chilled. Who was this man she’d committed herself to work for? Whose apartment she’d be living in for the next couple of weeks?

      The man who’d kissed her with toe-curling expertise.

      The man she’d kissed back.

      His gaze relented a little but his face remained stony and unforgiving, the lines around his mouth suddenly looked deeper. ‘You’re mistaken,’ he said quietly. ‘I judge people by the way they live their life, not their address.’

      ‘I’m—’

      ‘Any problems, speak to Davis downstairs or call my mobile.’ He turned and headed to the dining room, collected his jacket.

      Trailing in his wake, Didi nodded, hugging her own threatened security within her crossed arms.

      As he shrugged into his jacket he said, ‘If you’re cold, turn up the thermostat; it’s on the wall by the front door.’

      ‘I’m not cold.’ Just uncertain.

      ‘I’ll be late back tonight and gone early. Have some work in progress for me to look at when I get back.’

      ‘I will.’ Spoken with a certain amount of trepidation.

      He paused, looking grimly awkward. ‘We should clear the air about that moment …’

      She was almost tempted to let him bumble through an explanation, but, really, she didn’t want to discuss it either. ‘I told you, it was a bit of fun. Let’s leave it at that.’

      He nodded and she sensed his relief. His remote expression relaxed into some semblance of the guy who’d toasted their partnership with her less than an hour ago. ‘See you on Friday.’

      Then he was gone. Didi sank into the nearest available sofa. She hoped her creativity wasn’t shot to pieces. Charlie wandered in, jumped up onto her lap and began purring, bumping his head against her hand. ‘There you are. You just wanted in on the action, didn’t you? Or were you jealous, hey? Well, you don’t have to worry, there won’t be any more.’ Cameron’s kiss might be the hottest thing since supernovae were discovered but they’d never be compatible.

      Except in bed.

      She had no doubt he’d be an absolute god in bed. But he’d never be suitable in the ways that counted. Yet she hardly knew him, how could she make any kind of judgement?

      Well, she knew some things. He’d never understand what it was like to wonder where your next dollar was coming from or where you were going to sleep tonight. Mind you, neither had she until she’d made the decision to go it alone.

      ‘Don’t bother coming back until you’re prepared to take your place as a part of our family and communicate rationally,’ her mother had said when Didi had flounced into the lounge room and announced she was leaving. Fitting in with her family’s lifestyle had never suited her. A lifestyle Cameron Black would be totally at home with.

      But who was he really? With his lifestyle, looks, his way with women, he reminded her too much of the man who, to her humiliation, had left her to cancel their wedding plans alone. But she’d seen glimpses—shadows—of someone else behind that polished façade. Drained of energy, she closed her eyes. Cameron Black Property Developers might have a reputable name but Cameron Black, the man, was someone else entirely.

      The wide steel doors slid open on a cushion of air and Cam stepped into his night-darkened office on the fifteenth floor with its twinkling vista of lights below, but he barely gave them a glance as he strode past the empty reception area. He’d kissed her. Didi. The woman he’d commissioned to work for him.

      Why, for God’s sake? Because he’d been unable to help himself. He’d been bewitched. No, he told himself, it was simpler than that—he was horny. Scowling, he rifled through his files until he found the Sydney contacts. She didn’t call the shots where his sex life was concerned. So why had it felt as if he’d been sledgehammered? As if he’d been the one out of control?

      He tossed the necessary paperwork into his briefcase then moved to his computer, booted it up. He’d not go to Sydney next weekend as he’d originally planned, but tomorrow.

      Just a kiss. That was all it was, right?

      Who knew what might have happened if the damn cat hadn’t decided to take a piece out of him?

      Sex might have happened.

      Fast furious sex on his kitchen counter. The image of him whipping her leggings down and plunging himself into that warm wet heat had his pulse stepping up, his blood rushing to his groin. He swore. He didn’t do emotional, he didn’t do trust, not where women were concerned. Not any more.

      He tapped keys, booked a seat on the six a.m. flight and printed out his boarding pass. He wanted the best Didi could do with her needlework. He needed her creativity on the wall, not in his bed.

      Didi spent the following morning designing something on paper, deciding on materials, sorting through what she already had and what she needed to purchase.

      This was what she needed to concentrate her thoughts on, she told herself as she pulled out skeins of tangerine and vermilion silk and matched them to the aubergine. Not the sexy man who was paying her, offering her the chance she’d been waiting for.

      Next she took Cameron’s offer of the limo service and shopped like a queen—for supplies. But it was liberating selecting materials without having to think of the cost. Paying for them with the cash he’d left, then riding back to his apartment without having to depend on an unreliable car, the hassles of parking or public transport. The carefree way she’d done as a child.

      She and her sister had been raised as the privileged daughters of a society couple. Their parents graced the social pages regularly and she’d attended numerous functions over the years. As a teenager, she’d accompanied her mother to her charitable events, had witnessed firsthand what it was like