The Married Mistress. Kate Walker

he had shaken her was there again, more strongly this time, in the undercurrents in his voice, a note that sent a shiver down her spine in unnerved response.

      This was the Damon she had seen in the past, when some member of his staff had angered him with a foolish mistake, or a journalist had proved too intrusive. It was the prelude to a much more savage outburst, one that made her shudder in fearful anticipation. She had only ever experienced that side of Damon briefly, but that had been enough. She never wanted to see it again.

      ‘Everyone?’

      Damon bent his dark head again until his sensual mouth was level with her ear, the warmth of his breath stirring the auburn tendrils of hair that lay against her cheek.

      ‘Do you want me to get rid of him or not?’

      Oh, yes, she wanted Jason out of here. Out of her house, and out of her life. And she wished he’d take Damon with him. But that, she knew, was not the slightest bit likely.

      And so, grasping at what she could see was the only possible lesser of two evils, she clamped her lips tight shut on the furious protest that almost escaped her once more and forced herself to nod in silent acquiescence.

      It was all that Damon needed. Satisfied that she had handed over control of the situation into his hands, he faced Jason again.

      ‘Was there anything else you wanted to know?’

      Everything, if she knew Jason, Sarah thought. But he contented himself with one question, his voice wobbling on a note of disbelief.

      ‘You claim that you two are an item?’

      ‘Not claim,’ Damon retorted sharply. ‘We are.’

      As if to prove his point, he pulled her closer, one steel-hard arm coming round her to hold her just where he wanted her, staking his claim. One ear, one cheek was against his chest, muffling her hearing. But she caught Jason’s dumbfounded response.

      ‘And you agree with this, Sarry?’

      Another silent nod was all she could manage. Just let Damon get rid of Jason, she prayed inwardly, and then she would get rid of Damon. If she could. Damon in one of these stubborn, determined moods was as immovable as a rock, and every bit as hard.

      ‘So when did you two meet—and where?’

      ‘The art gallery reception last night,’ Damon stunned her by retorting immediately, and totally unexpectedly. ‘You must have noticed that she didn’t come home. Or perhaps not…’

      The movement of his head told its own story. Sarah didn’t even have to look to know that he had directed his black-eyed gaze across the room and up to where Jason’s bedroom companion still lingered, watching everything, silently agog with curiosity.

      So silently that Sarah had almost forgotten she was there.

      ‘I’m sure you were otherwise engaged.’

      Damon was fast losing patience now. The sordid little drama he had interrupted might have amused him for a while, but its appeal was strictly limited, and it was evaporating rapidly. He wanted Jason and his trollop out of the house as fast as possible. If they didn’t move now then he couldn’t guarantee that he would be able to keep a strict hold on his temper. And if it slipped from his control then he couldn’t be answerable for the consequences. Things could get really messy.

      And the worst part of it all was having to admit just what was affecting him most. Which certainly wasn’t this sleazy rat and his cheap little tart, that was for sure.

      ‘I wasn’t here last night! My name’s Andrea, by the way.’

      It was the other woman who spoke, and Sarah felt a shock of instant recognition at her tone, bringing with it the kick of some primitive reaction deep down inside her. Even fresh from another man’s bed as she was, this Andrea had still responded to Damon’s forcefully macho appearance with a predatory interest that put a husky purr of sensuality into her tone. Wriggling slightly in the iron-hard hold, Sarah could just peer upwards to where the voluptuous woman was leaning over the banisters, displaying an ample amount of what she clearly thought was enticing cleavage.

      But Damon appeared far from enticed.

      ‘You’re here now,’ he flung up at her. ‘And I’d much prefer it if you weren’t. So get some clothes on and get yourself and your lover out of here—fast! Or I won’t be answerable for the consequences.’

      Andrea pouted petulantly at his tone, but she read it well enough to know that he meant exactly what he said. Flouncing into the bedroom, she must have tossed on clothes at speed, pushed into action by the threat in Damon’s tone, because it was only minutes before she reappeared, fully dressed in a tight white shirt and the miniest of miniskirts, the red satin robe slung carelessly over one arm. Clopping inelegantly down the stairs in white sling-back stilettos, she marched over to the small group in the hall.

      ‘I believe this is yours.’

      She tossed the robe onto the floor at their feet, then turned to the still staring Jason and caught hold of his arm.

      ‘C’mon, Jace,’ she said. ‘It’s time we were out of here.’

      ‘I should listen to the lady, Jace…’ Damon laced both the nickname and the word ‘lady’ with the stinging bite of acidic sarcasm. ‘It is time you were going.’

      ‘But—’ Jason began, then looked straight into Damon’s deep black eyes and clearly thought better of what he had been about to say.

      ‘OK,’ he muttered. ‘I’m coming.’

      But there was something in his voice that told Sarah he was not finished yet. That he had more to say—or do—before he left them in peace.

      Instinctively she tensed in Damon’s arms, waiting, wondering…

      But whatever she had feared never came.

      The slam of the door behind the departing pair was a sudden shock to her system, jarring every nerve in her tense body and making her head jerk upwards from its secure pillowing on Damon’s hard chest.

      ‘It’s OK.’

      Lazily he stilled her, soothed her with a stroking hand down over her hair, her shoulder, her arm.

      ‘They’ve gone.’ He looked down at her, grinned into her warily watchful green eyes. ‘It’s safe to come out now.’

      ‘I wasn’t scared!’

      Desperately, Sarah tried to gather together some of the tattered strands of her shattered self-esteem so as to meet the smile in his eyes with some degree of composure. He looked too damn pleased with himself by half.

      ‘I wasn’t!’ she repeated more emphatically, to answer the tormenting question that was clearly in his thoughts, lifting the corner of one jet-black eyebrow in mocking inquiry. ‘I was simply—held prisoner by you.’

      To emphasise the point she twisted in his still restraining arms, attempting to pull herself free. At first, for a heart-stopping moment, she thought he was going to resist, forcing her into either an ungainly and undignified struggle or a humiliating submission. But then, suddenly, he released her with an abruptness that had her swaying uncomfortably on unsteady feet, stubbornly refusing to reach out a hand and cling on to the strength of his arms for support.

      The fact that he so obviously knew exactly what was going through her mind only added a hundredfold to her discomfiture. She hated the way that the gleam in his eyes brightened, the tiny quirk upwards at the corner of his lips revealing his amusement.

      ‘So now you’re free,’ he drawled softly.

      ‘Yes,’ Sarah managed, adding because she felt she had to, ‘Thank you.’

      ‘My pleasure.’

      He was bending as he spoke, reaching down to scoop up the red robe from where Andrea had tossed it moments before.

      ‘This