To Claim His Mistress. Sara Craven

outside without causing too much fuss, and into a cruising cab. He tried tipsily to persuade her to accompany him, but she declined tersely, freeing herself forcefully from his wandering hand.

      And a minute later another cab was speeding her in the opposite direction. Back to safety.

      She leaned back in her corner and closed her eyes. ‘Thank God that’s over,’ she muttered under her breath, somewhere between laughter and tears, then paused, the breath catching in her throat as she recognised the fuller implications of her words.

      Her hands clenched together in her lap, and she turned to look out of the window in an attempt to refocus her thoughts on the brightly lit shops they were passing. But all in vain.

      The only thing she was aware of was her own reflection in the glass—a pale girl, with quivering lips and an ocean’s depth of pain in her eyes. And from that there was no distraction—and no retreat.

      Cat walked into her flat the following evening, closed the door and leaned back against it, her shoulders slumped in weariness. The weekend stretched ahead of her like a desert, punctuated only by such excitements as dusting, vacuuming, and doing some laundry.

      She might even stir up a frenzy by sorting her DVDs into alphabetical order. Hell. She pulled a face. How sad was that?

      One thing she was determined on. She was not going to cry herself to sleep for a second time tonight. As soon as she’d turned off her lamp the previous evening all the suppressed emotion had come welling up inside her and she’d started to sob hopelessly—desperately—her tears soaking the pillow.

      And even when exhaustion had finally claimed her there had been no respite. She’d woken near dawn to find her face wet again, and the taste of salt on her lips.

      So, she would start as she meant to go on tonight—plan her evening like a campaign. A relaxing bath, she thought, with the new toiletries that held no inconvenient memories, then into the dear old velour robe. Some music, naturally—probably Mozart. And, because she’d had lunch with a potential client, just a light supper. A cheese omelette, maybe, with a glass of wine. And then she’d get her laptop and start mapping out some preliminary ideas for the new suite of offices, which had been the reason for the lunch. That should fill the time nicely.

      Even two weeks ago I’d have been perfectly content with an evening like that, she told herself. And I can be again. I just need to take control.

      She put on the horn concerto while her bath was running, then lay back in the water, hair pinned on top of her head, eyes closed, letting the glorious notes drive any lingering demons from her soul.

      She was safely covered in her comfort blanket, and on her way to the kitchen, when her doorbell sounded. She paused, frowning slightly, wondering who the caller could be. God forbid it should be Tony, come to do penance.

      She was in two minds whether to answer the door or not when she remembered that it might be her neighbour, with a parcel that she’d taken in. Those books, perhaps, that Cat had ordered on the Internet.

      As the bell sounded again she called, ‘Yes, I’m here.’ She dealt swiftly with the safety lock and flung open the door.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she began, then stopped dead, her eyes dilating in shock and the apologetic smile fading as she saw who was confronting her.

      ‘Good evening,’ Liam said quietly. He was in full City gear this evening—dark blue suit with a faint pinstripe, crisp white shirt and silk tie. His face was unsmiling and weary, his mouth taut.

      Her voice was small and hoarse. ‘What—what are you doing here?’

      ‘I hardly know myself.’ There was a dull flare of colour along the high cheekbones. ‘I swore that I wouldn’t do this, but it seems I no longer have a choice.’

      He flung back his head and looked at her, the smoky eyes cool and unflinching. He said, ‘If the offer you made me is still open, then I’ll take it. I want you, and I’ll pay any price to have you.’

      She shook her head. ‘I—I don’t understand.’

      ‘You suggested we should meet,’ Liam said evenly. ‘On neutral territory and in comparative anonymity in order to pursue our mutual enjoyment of each other. At the time, I didn’t agree.’

      His mouth hardened. ‘Since then I’ve had plenty of opportunity to think,’ he continued. ‘And I accept your terms. All of them.’

      He paused. ‘But it’s up to you to say whether you still want this or not. And naturally I’ll abide by your decision. If you send me away, you won’t hear from me again.’

      There was a silence. Her mind was whirling as she tried to take in what he’d said. To understand it.

      He’d offered her a get-out clause, she realised numbly. She could tell him she’d made a mistake—even that it had all been a joke which had misfired—and he would be out of her life for ever, and she could return to some approximation of peace and normality. Perhaps.

      Instead, she heard herself say shakily, ‘What’s made you decide to—throw down the gauntlet like this?’

      ‘Seeing you again last night,’ Liam said levelly. ‘Knowing that all my efforts to put you out of my head had been completely useless. Although, my God, I tried,’ he added with feeling.

      Her voice sank to a whisper. ‘So did I.’

      There was another silence. He said carefully, ‘Do I take it, then, that the answer’s yes?’

      She nodded, swiftly and jerkily, not looking at him. She said, ‘Do you—would you—like to come in?’

      ‘No,’ he said, his mouth twisting. ‘No, I don’t think so. It’s probably best if we obey your rules from the outset. And you want our encounters to be on neutral territory.’

      ‘We also said no personal details.’ She swallowed. ‘Yet you’ve clearly discovered where I live.’

      ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But that was before I knew there were any rules, and even longer before I agreed to obey them.’

      ‘So how did you get my address? From the hotel?’

      ‘Yes.’

      Cat bit her lip, remembering the pretty receptionist who’d manned the desk on Saturday evening. ‘Using your famous powers of persuasion, no doubt?’

      He shrugged equably. ‘If you say so. But from now on I won’t cheat. We’ll keep our meetings strictly elsewhere.’

      She went on staring at him. She said slowly, ‘My hotel bill. Was there really a problem with the computer?’

      Liam propped a shoulder against the doorframe, a faint ruefulness in his expression. ‘Who knows? There often is. That’s what computers are like.’

      ‘You—really went to all those lengths?’ Cat shook her head. ‘I can’t believe it.’

      ‘Believe it and more.’ His voice was almost fierce. ‘I needed to see you again. I didn’t want you to turn into the Cat that walked by herself and slip away until I’d had a chance to talk you round to my point of view.’ He paused. ‘Am I eternally condemned for that?’

      ‘No,’ she said. ‘I think it’s a little late for that.’

      Liam nodded. ‘So, do you trust me to find somewhere sufficiently neutral for our first rendezvous?’

      Just like that? Cat thought bewilderedly. Without even a kiss or a touch? As if he was arranging a business appointment?

      ‘Yes,’ she said, numbly. ‘That would be—fine.’

      He took a personal organiser from his inside pocket and scanned through it. ‘Next Thursday would be good for me.’ He glanced up. ‘How about you?’

      ‘Yes.’ She still had that curious sense of disbelief—of detachment. ‘Yes, I can manage