To Claim His Mistress. Sara Craven

he murmured. He allowed his gaze to wander over her for a meditative moment. ‘Tell me something—is that bed as comfortable as it looks?’

      Cat stiffened defensively, angrily conscious that she’d started to blush. ‘It’s all right. Why?’

      ‘Because you seem to be glued to it.’ He unhitched himself from the dressing table and came towards her. ‘Need a hand?’

      From somewhere she managed a steely glance. ‘No, I do not. Thank you.’ She paused. ‘I—I’ll join you downstairs.’

      ‘Will you, now?’ He was grinning again, she saw with chagrin. ‘I think it might be safer if I waited for you right outside—just in case you have some alternative getaway planned. And don’t be too long,’ he added softly. ‘Because I seem to be developing quite an appetite.’

      And he left her kneeling there, in that absurd ocean of sprigged bedspread, staring after him, her heart thudding unevenly and her arms wrapped round her body like a shield.

      CHAPTER THREE

      YOU don’t have to do this, Cat told herself as she ran the cold water tap over her wrists in an effort to calm her juddering pulses. You could simply call up the manager and tell him that a member of his staff is annoying you—something you should have done hours ago. He’ll then be removed, and probably fired. Following that, you proceed on your way.

      Always supposing Liam decided to go quietly, she amended unwillingly, which was by no means certain. After all, she had agreed to have dinner with him, and she could hardly deny that without telling a downright lie. And lying—even childish fibs—had always made her thoroughly uncomfortable.

      And if, as well, it meant him getting the sack…

      I don’t want him on my conscience, she thought with an inward grimace. Just out of my life.

      But then she didn’t want him smiling at her across the dinner table either. Her stomach gave an odd little lurch at the idea. And exactly what colour were his eyes, anyway—grey or green? And how did he manage that trick of laughing with them when the rest of his face was completely straight?

      Don’t even go there, she advised herself tersely, as she retrieved the compressed powder from her cosmetic purse and attempted to tone down the flaring colour in her cheeks.

      Maybe the best idea was just to have dinner with him. To treat him with faintly amused indifference, as a passing irritation to be dealt with and then discarded. A matter of no importance. Three courses and no coffee before she made her excuses and finally headed back to London. Alone.

      She certainly didn’t want him to think he had got to her in any way, so she would have to play it cool.

      She ran a comb through her hair, straightened her skirt, then walked with pretended composure to the door.

      She paused, drawing a deep breath. Let the game begin, she instructed herself silently, then turned the handle.

      Liam was leaning against the wall opposite, but he straightened instantly when he saw her, a lightning glance sweeping her from head to toe.

      ‘There’s really no need to be nervous,’ he mentioned softly as he fell into step beside her. ‘After all, everyone has to eat.’

      ‘I’m not nervous,’ Cat snapped. ‘Simply annoyed at your—unwarranted persistence.’

      His slow grin was unperturbed. ‘Oh, you were out of sorts long before I showed up. You’ve had a trying day. What you need is some rest and recreation.’

      She stared straight ahead of her. ‘I already had that planned—at home.’

      ‘Where, of course, you live alone.’

      ‘Yes,’ she acknowledged curtly. ‘If it’s any concern of yours.’

      ‘Naturally I’m interested,’ he drawled. ‘Or I wouldn’t be here now.’

      Fool, she castigated herself silently. You should have claimed you lived with a boyfriend—or shared a house with three other girls. The last thing you need is to sound vulnerable—or available.

      But the truth was she didn’t seem able to think straight. Merely walking down this wide staircase beside him was taking a strange kind of toll on her. He wasn’t touching her—there was actual space between them—but all the same she was trembling inside, her senses tuned to a kind of scared anticipation she had never experienced before.

      And just when she needed to be most in control, Cat thought, biting her lip.

      They were clearly expected in the dining room, where the head waiter conducted them to a corner table in an alcove without a flicker of surprise. And even, she realised, puzzled, with a modicum of deference.

      They must consider he can pay the bill, and that’s what matters, she thought with a mental shrug as menus were brought, napkins spread, the inevitable candles lit and aperitifs offered. Which she swiftly declined, asking for mineral water only.

      ‘Very circumspect.’ Liam’s lips twisted as he ordered a whisky for himself.

      ‘I’m driving,’ she said. ‘Or had you forgotten?’

      ‘Not at all. But I still think it’s a pity you changed your mind about staying the night,’ he added meditatively.

      Why does that not surprise me? Cat thought, sheltering behind her menu.

      ‘Is that what’s known as a dignified silence?’ her infuriating companion enquired, after a pause.

      ‘On the contrary,’ she returned. ‘I was merely trying to choose between the melon and the chilled cucumber soup.’

      ‘And have you reached a decision?’

      ‘The soup,’ she said. ‘And grilled Dover sole, please. Off the bone.’

      ‘Make that two.’ Liam turned to the hovering waiter. ‘But I’ll start with the goat’s cheese tartlet.’ He picked up the wine list and indicated his choice.

      ‘Not steak?’ Cat asked when they were alone, raising her brows in faint mockery. ‘I had you down as a red meat man.’

      Liam took a reflective sip of his whisky. ‘Any other assumptions about me that you’d like to share?’

      ‘Well…’ Cat considered. ‘You’re certainly a risk-taker.’

      He leaned back in his chair. ‘Based on what?’

      She shrugged. ‘Pestering a female guest to spend the evening with you. I’m sure that isn’t part of your job description.’ She tried another steely glance. ‘How did you know I wouldn’t make a formal complaint about you to the management?’

      ‘Because you’re Cat,’ he said softly. ‘And all cats are curious.’

      ‘That’s it?’ she queried scornfully. ‘You staked your future here on some old saying?’

      He grinned at her. ‘Not just one. How about “Faint heart ne’er won a lady fair”?’

      ‘You have not,’ she said, ‘won me.’

      His grin widened into provocation. ‘Perhaps I haven’t been trying.’

      It was an open challenge, and she knew it. She’d had plenty of time to absorb her surroundings and realise that theirs was the most secluded table in the restaurant, practically screened from the rest of the diners. The candlelight, too, seemed to enclose them in this private microcosm. And although she could hear the murmur of voices and the chink of glassware and cutlery from the rest of the room, Cat still felt cut off. Isolated. With him.

      She said coolly, ‘You have an inflated idea of your own charm.’

      ‘I’m sure your powers of resistance are equal to it.’ Liam paused as the wine waiter arrived at the table with an ice bucket and a bottle of white burgundy. He tasted it, then