At His Service: Millionaire's Mistress. Kelly Hunter

hand. ‘I don’t know where these kids would be without him.’

      Every so often Didi saw Cameron walk through the canteen, talking to kids. Holding a hand, squeezing a shoulder. Listening. Caring.

      Who was this man? She’d mentally accused him of not wanting to soil his suit yet here he was, hands-on and involved. Again, why? In the short time they’d known each other he’d not spoken of family and she hadn’t asked. What was the point? It wasn’t as if he were going to introduce her, nor did she want to meet them. Their relationship wasn’t the kind that involved family.

      Shaking off the hollow feeling, she plastered ham and tomato onto buttered bread. She didn’t want to dissect her emotions because right now they were too close to the surface and too vulnerable. If she let him, he could steal her heart and leave her dead inside.

      No. Once was more than enough. But now, as he leaned over a table to speak with a couple of boys in their late teens she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off him.

      She tried observing him from a purely feminine viewpoint without the tug of emotion. Below the T-shirt’s short sleeves, the hard definition of his arms, olive-skinned and dusted with dark hair. The innate strength in that upper body. The way his jeans hugged his tight backside, the faded denim down the front of his thighs and where the zipper chafed …

      I know what’s inside those jeans.

      The recent memory of his body over hers—inside hers—speared through her and the knife she held slipped on the tomato she was holding. Which was okay, she told herself. It was a purely sexual zing—no emotions hence no vulnerability.

      Until he glanced over as if he’d known she was watching and their gazes locked. Intense cobalt eyes studied her. Even from across the room she felt the heat all the way down to her toes. Sexual attraction, she assured herself. Tonight they’d act on that attraction. Again. Another zing hummed through her like an electrical jolt. Anticipation.

      But the sound of voices, the smell of food and kids, faded. The whole scene blurred around the edges. Only Cameron remained in focus, as if she were looking through a tunnel. She saw his fingers tighten on the edge of the table. His jaw tightened infinitesimally. He didn’t straighten but she knew the muscles in his back had turned rigid.

      She knew because it was happening to her.

      His eyes relayed a message she didn’t want to read—emotion. She felt her own emotions flow to him on a tide of something perilously close to trust.

      Vulnerability.

      No. Dragging her eyes away, she concentrated on loosening her grip on the knife, rolled tension from her shoulders. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Wasn’t going to happen. Not even when she noticed he was making his way towards her, still watching her with those bluer-than-blue eyes.

      ‘Not your boyfriend, eh?’ Joan chuckled. ‘He’s been distracted all evening. And you too, I think.’

      Didi glared at the sandwich as she sliced it into ruthless triangles, not being distracted by the man and her unwise reaction to him. ‘I don’t need a man in my life.’

      ‘Ah, but maybe he needs you,’ Joan murmured.

      Didi’s laugh came too fast, sounded too brittle. She reached for more bread, more ham. Cameron’s ‘need’ for Didi wasn’t the kind Joan was referring to. It would never be anything else. Cameron had made it quite clear their three-week arrangement was all there was.

      And she’d agreed.

      So … maybe that made it okay to watch him as a purely sexual being … She lifted her eyes … He was talking to a boy with a baseball cap on backwards and dirt-stained hands.

      A shout nearby had Didi turning sharply. A teenager had collapsed and was lying on the floor. Cameron was beside the girl in seconds. ‘Call an ambulance!’ he yelled as pandemonium broke out amongst the crowd gathering around the unconscious girl. ‘Everyone move back. Joey, go wait out the front for the ambos.’

      Joan flew into action, phoning the emergency services while Didi rushed around the counter and elbowed her way to Cameron’s side. ‘Anything I can do?’ Didi’s heart was thumping. The girl was sheet white, her lips blue, skin cold to the touch when Didi took her hand.

      ‘Stay out of the way.’ His attention didn’t waver as Didi chafed the girl’s hand and kids jostled for a better look.

      ‘And get those kids back,’ he barked. ‘She’s unresponsive, barely breathing.’ He shoved up her sleeve, revealing the telltale bruising. ‘Overdose.’ He expelled a four-letter word, then muttered, ‘Lizzie, when are you going to learn?’

      He knew her name, Didi thought. He knew the kids’ names. Didi absorbed that information for a split second, then, snapping into action, she shooed the audience back, giving Cameron air and space to work.

      He checked the patient again. ‘Mask.’ His voice snapped with authority—no nerves, just an iron control—obviously he’d done this before, and more than once.

      Joan appeared, dropping to her knees beside him, handing him the requested mask. He placed it over the girl’s mouth and nose and immediately began resuscitation.

      Seconds dragged by without end. Cameron worked steadily, breathing for the girl while Joan checked her pulse and Didi kept a clear space between them and the onlookers.

      Finally, finally, the wail of a siren. Chaos, noise as paramedics rushed in with equipment. Pressing her lips together to bring the circulation back, Didi turned away. She couldn’t look at Cameron right now. Black spots danced in front of her own eyes. Blame her earlier migraine and medication and lack of food, but, damn, she would not pass out in front of him.

      She knew now why he’d been so panicked when he woke her earlier. She’d left her pills on the night-stand, he’d jumped to conclusions. And little wonder. She sank onto the nearest chair.

      A few moments later she heard the wail of the sirens fade as the ambulance sped away, the background noise of voices and chairs scraping and the drum of her own heartbeat.

      She didn’t know how long she sat there. She knew Cameron and Joan were busy, calming kids, talking to those who’d been with Lizzie. Making phone calls.

      ‘You okay?’ Cameron sat down at the table opposite her, his warm steady hand enveloped her own and dark eyes met hers. Sweat dotted his brow. The lines around his mouth looked deeper. He’d probably been on the go all day and then this … and now her. ‘Yes. Is … she going to be all right?’

      The worry lines etched deeper into his brow. ‘We’ve done what we can, now we wait. I’ll phone the hospital later.’

      ‘You were brilliant back there.’

      He shook his head. ‘You look beat. Let’s get you out of here.’

      She squared her shoulders and sat straighter. ‘I might look a little under the weather tonight, but I’m not the fragile woman you think I am. I’ve worked in drop-in centres like this in Sydney. I’ve seen it before.’

      She saw a new respect in his eyes but he only said, ‘You were ill this afternoon.’

      ‘I’m fine now. I can wait if you’re not done.’

      ‘I was on my way over to tell you we were leaving.’

      ‘I need to help Joan clean—’

      ‘She’s got it covered. We’re closing up now.’

      Didi noticed the kids dispersing. A security guard manned the door. ‘Where will they go now?’

      ‘Wherever they came from.’ He blew out a breath. ‘At least they know they’ll be safe here, if only for a little while. Come on.’

      ‘They trust you,’ Didi murmured. And trust, not the sexual buzz she got from his touch, had her putting her hand in his when he offered it