To Claim His Mistress. Sara Craven

the last button gave way Liam pushed aside the loosened edges of the robe with a sharp indrawn breath, his eyes feasting on her with a hunger he did not bother to hide.

      ‘You are loveliness itself.’ His voice was husky, and a little strained.

      She smiled at him as she shrugged the robe from her shoulders, freed her arms from the damp cling of the sleeves and let the ruined silk slide down into the water.

      She moved closer to him, lifting herself on to her knees and straddling his thighs, her hands gripping his shoulders. She leaned forward, letting her mouth brush his, swiftly, teasingly.

      With one hand she stroked the side of his throat, feeling the race of the strong pulse at its base.

      Then, with her free hand, she began to touch herself lightly and pleasurably, in deliberate incitement, letting her fingers brush the dark rose peaks of her breasts then slide down to her belly, and the soft curls at the parting of her thighs. Hearing him groan softly in response as he watched her almost mesmerised.

      She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him again, running her tongue softly along the inner fullness of his lower lip. Then she bent her head, licking his hot, flat nipples with the point of her tongue, while her hands strayed downwards, exploring the strength of his arousal with delicate greed.

      Liam’s arm circled her, supporting her spine like an iron bar as she leaned backwards, her eyes half closed, her fingers holding him, guiding him to her secret threshold. And as he entered her her body opened for him like a flower.

      It was no leisurely possession. Their mutual need was too forceful—too driven for that. Her body echoed his thrusts almost frantically. She could already feel the spiral inside her uncoiling, carrying her upwards to rapturous oblivion.

      ‘Is it safe?’ The urgent words rasped from his throat.

      Panting, wordless, she nodded, her hands gripping his shoulders, the only reality in a disintegrating world.

      His hand slid down between them, seeking and finding her tiny hidden bud, coaxing it to an almost painful tumescence with the tips of his fingers. Taking her to the edge, and then, suddenly, beyond it.

      She heard herself cry out in a cracked voice, her body shuddering violently as the spasms of pleasure engulfed her, and heard him answer, the sound torn from him. ‘Catherine.’

      She felt herself collapse against him, lay wrapped in his arms, the surge of her heartbeat mingling with his.

      ‘This water’s getting cold,’ Liam murmured into her ear eventually. ‘Why don’t we go to bed?’

      She smiled against his skin. ‘Why don’t we, indeed? Oh, God,’ she added as they slowly disentangled themselves. ‘Have you seen the state of the floor?’

      ‘Yes.’ He was laughing as he helped her out of the bath. ‘Careful you don’t slip.’ He took one of the towels from the rail and began to dry her, patting her skin gently.

      She selected a towel of her own to use on him, learning him with her hands and loving it. ‘Shouldn’t we do something about it?’

      ‘We can put these down when we’ve finished with them to soak up the worst.’ He shrugged. ‘But clearing up is someone else’s job.’

      ‘Oh.’ She digested that, frowning. ‘Liam, is this your flat?’

      ‘No.’ He smiled down at her. ‘It’s our flat.’

      She said slowly, ‘You mean you’ve—rented it? For us?’

      ‘Yes,’ he said, and paused. ‘For as long as we want it.’

      Cat’s hands faltered a little. She was being reminded, she realised, that this was a strictly finite relationship.

      She said hurriedly, ‘But that’s not really fair. You must let me make a contribution.’

      He framed her face in his hands, kissing her mouth. ‘You have,’ he told her quietly. ‘You’re here.’ He kissed her again. ‘Now, come to bed with me and convince me all over again that I’m not dreaming.’

      He took the towel from her unresisting hand and dropped it on to the wet floor to join his own, then lifted her into his arms and carried her into the lamplit room beyond.

      She lay in his arms, her sweat-dampened body joined passionately to his, blind, mindless, oblivious to everything but the mounting crescendo of exquisite sensation that he was creating within her, her lips parting in a silent scream as her entire being splintered once more into ecstasy.

      When she could speak, she said hoarsely, breathlessly, ‘I—I never believed I could feel like this.’

      ‘Or so often,’ Liam murmured, his lips against her hair.

      She twisted to look up at him suspiciously. ‘You’re laughing at me.’

      ‘No, darling.’ His hand stroked her shoulder, soothing her. ‘Never at you. But with you, maybe.’

      He drew her closer, fitting her against him as if it was what she’d been created for.

      She relaxed into his embrace, her eyelids drooping. Making love with him was like being cast adrift on a river, she thought drowsily. Finding herself caught irresistibly in some strong but peaceful current, but only at first. Because the rapids were waiting, and beyond them the edge of the waterfall, lifting and tossing her out into its brilliance and thunder. And, at its foot, a deep, serene pool into which she was happy to sink, knowing that sunlight waited above the misty green water.

      There would be kisses, she thought, as she surrendered to the dreamy aftermath of delight, and the skilful, beguiling caress of his hands leading her once more to pleasure. When she awoke in his arms.

      But when she finally stirred it was to a very different reality. Because the bed beside her was empty, with the covers thrown back, and the room was no longer in darkness, as it had been when she fell asleep.

      Suddenly she was aware of movement, and sat up, pushing her hair out of her eyes.

      Liam was standing on the other side of the room, almost fully dressed and fitting links into the cuffs of his shirt.

      Her voice was husky with bewilderment. ‘What’s happening? Where are you going?’

      He looked at her, his brows drawing together in a frown of compunction. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you, Cat. I’m sorry.’

      ‘Sorry?’ She shook her head, trying to clear it, and squinted at her watch. ‘My God, it’s half past two in the morning.’ She stared at him. ‘You’re leaving? Already?’

      ‘I must.’ He began to knot his tie, swiftly and expertly. ‘I have an early flight from Heathrow. Try and go back to sleep.’

      She sat up, the covers sliding down from her body, and heard his short intake of breath as he looked at her uncovered breasts. Heard it, and smiled inwardly. Maybe he would be checking in late today—if he made the flight at all.

      She lay back against the pillows, watching him through half-closed eyes. She said softly, ‘I thought you’d be staying all night. That we’d have breakfast together. I’m—a little surprised.’

      He gave her a level look. ‘You wanted us to meet secretly to make love. And that’s what we’ve done. I don’t think breakfast was included in the terms.’ He walked into the living room and came back with his jacket. ‘Unless, of course, you want to renegotiate?’ he added silkily.

      ‘No,’ she said lightly, concealing her sense of crushing disappointment. ‘No, it’s fine. After all, we both have busy lives.’ She paused in her turn. ‘I’m well satisfied with the arrangement,’ she added demurely, her lashes veiling her eyes and a little smile playing round her mouth. Deliberately changing herself into the cat that got the cream, and making him know it. ‘So far.’

      His own smile was cool, and he did not come over to the bed to her, as she’d