Mistress: At What Price? (7 page)

Shaken at his own callousness, Dane caught up, touched his father's shoulder. He was shocked at the frailty he felt beneath the shirt. ‘If you need anything…'

His dad nodded without turning. ‘I know.'

And as Dane watched him shuffle towards the stairs that lonely little boy inside him ached.

 

He'd never been so impatient for a night to end. With Mariel never far from his side, he discussed the upcoming trip north with those involved, made small talk with people he barely knew.

Outwardly he maintained his calm, professional façade, but anticipation sharpened his focus on the night ahead to a pinpoint. He couldn't wait to get Mariel alone upstairs.

Finally his hand tightened on Mariel's as the few remaining guests drifted out of the ballroom. They remained where they were while staff bustled in and out, glass and metal tinkling as they cleared tables, stacked chairs.

He looked at her. She looked back. Awareness glimmered in her eyes, desire softened her mouth. She drew a breath, drawing his attention momentarily to the amply displayed cleavage. But it wasn't only her body and the delights he knew that were awaiting his discovery that drew him to her and held him in thrall. It was the whole package.

Words were irrelevant. The whole evening had been building to this moment. Tension gripped him when their linked hands accidentally brushed his trousers. His kiss, when he leaned in, was restrained and chaste. He motioned to the door with their joined hands. ‘Shall we?'

‘Good idea.'

Still holding hands, they reached the door to their suite. He swiped the keycard and tugged her inside. City lights filtered through the window, casting an
amber glow about the room. Even before the door clicked shut his lips were feasting on hers, and they went right on feasting as he whirled her around, pinning her against the wall. He didn't know where to put his hands first, so went with her shoulders. Smooth and fragile-boned. He barely lifted his lips to mutter, ‘I can't be gentle, not tonight.'

‘I never said I wanted gentle. Those were your words, not mine.' She laughed, a lightly hysterical sound. ‘And you were referring to a car.'

She didn't object, and that was all he needed to know.

Tonight she was his, to pleasure and enjoy. The knowledge careened through his mind, through his limbs, as he gorged himself on her sweet honey taste. Like a crazed bee in a field of clover, he left her lips to sample every patch of bared skin, finally settling to suckle the tender spot between neck and shoulder.

Her fingers rushed up his shirt, popping buttons. Yanking the hem from his trousers, she spread the fabric wide to rub circles over his chest. The heat from her palms scorched and seduced, their impatience thrilled and tantalised.

There was no sound in their thick-panelled room save for the sounds they made themselves. It accentuated his harsh breaths, her desperate moans, fabric abrading fabric, skin rasping skin. The urgent sounds detonated small explosions inside him that reverberated like gunfire through his limbs. What they'd begun as a foil for the press had become something else entirely.

Or had they already known this was how it would be?

Impatience born of desires too long denied made his hands clumsy as he pushed the dress from her shoul
ders, leaving her breasts dazzlingly, breathtakingly exposed. Pale, creamy flesh. Dark, erect nipples.

Greedy now, he wanted more. He wanted all. He met her eyes, dark in the dimness. ‘How does this creation come off?'

‘Here.' She guided his fingers to the zip. ‘It's tight.' He fumbled for a frustrating moment, then came the satisfying sound as it shirred downward. She helped him shimmy it over her hips. Her panties—if she was wearing any—went the same way as the dress. All she wore were sparkly stilettos.

Sweet heaven.

She reached out, flicked his belt buckle open, wrenched his zip down… In seconds he was as naked as she.

He toed off his shoes. His pulse was jack-hammering, his heart felt so huge, so tight, he thought it might be going into cardiac arrest. Was it possible to die of anticipation?

He twisted his fingers into her hair, pulling out pins, letting them drop wherever. Lifting her arms, she teased the silken mass out with her fingers so that it tumbled over her shoulders.

And then she was twining herself about him like a vine, gyrating her hips against his throbbing erection. She was all lean limbs and strong lines, and if his heart didn't give out he was probably going to spontaneously combust.

He'd never wanted like this, never burned this way. Tomorrow, that might concern him, but at this moment the only thing in his mind was their mutual goal. All the years till now, all the women till now, had been a dress rehearsal for this command performance.

Seemed he'd waited half a lifetime.

She'd waited a lifetime. Dane Huntington, teenage fantasy, here. With her. Mariel rubbed her lips over his, opened her mouth and drugged herself with his taste. Heat, desire, impatience. Dragging her towards oblivion. She couldn't think; her head was too filled with his scent. She could only feel. Sensations, lovely sensations, streaking over her skin and zapping through her body like golden lightning.

The ache low in her belly grew, expanded, until she was a writhing mass of wanton need. ‘Now,' she demanded, arching her hips against his pulsing hardness. Instinctively she reached down between them.

His answering groan, harsh against her ear, had her shuddering. ‘Protection?'

‘On the Pill.'

He hefted her higher and her thighs wrapped around his waist. And he snapped, tension tearing free, his eyes smoking in the half-light, the hard planes of his body taut beneath her hands. No preliminaries—she didn't want them this time, didn't need them.

Still watching her, he shoved inside with one long thrust. They stared at each other for what seemed an endless moment, while needs and desire pulsed through their bodies and the air softened around them.

Then he withdrew a little, but only to push again, harder. Again. In a rhythm they both knew how to move to. He took, he possessed, and she met him hunger for hunger, greed for greed.

Her climax shot her into the realms of dark pleasure and bright chaos. She clung to him as he crested the wave and joined her in the sheer mindless joy of shared delight.

D
ANE
was roused from sleep by a pounding on the door. Instantly awake, he grabbed one of the hotel's robes, stepped around last night's discarded clothing and padded to the suite's door.

Room Service with their requested breakfast. ‘Good morning, sir.' The waitress smiled as he stood back to let her enter.

‘Good morning.' He pushed a hand through his bedroom hair. ‘It's nine o'clock already?' He'd slept like the dead. Hadn't slept like that since he didn't remember when. He did remember they'd finally found their way under the bedcovers together.

‘Yes, sir. Five past, actually. We're running a little behind this morning.'

He found his wallet, dug out a tip while she set the tray on the table in the entertainment area. ‘Thanks.'

‘You're welcome. Have a nice day.'

‘And you.'

Picking up the tray, he headed to the bedroom. Mariel blinked owlishly at him in the morning's golden light, then sat up, pulling the sheet modestly over her breasts and securing it firmly beneath her armpits.

‘Good morning.' The words sounded formal and stilted to his own ears. He followed it up with a more congenial, ‘I hope you're hungry.'

‘Morning.'

Her hair was a wild dark halo around her face, and there was a glow in those cheeks this morning. He held himself personally responsible. But a thread of something approaching morning-after nerves wound through the satisfaction. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt that way with a woman. Awkward. Clumsy with words.

Determined to banish it, he climbed onto the bed and set the tray between them, poured two coffees, handed her one. He figured they might both need it. He'd never felt the need nor the inclination for inane morning-after chit-chat. He either left a lover's bed before dawn or called her a taxi as soon as she woke.

‘We slept in the same bed,' she said, surprising him. ‘All night.' She didn't sound happy about it.

‘There wasn't a lot of night left.' Thoughtful, he sipped the thick black brew. ‘And, since there's only one bed, after we…' He drew back from the words. ‘I figured you'd share.'

‘A one-bedroom suite.' She added sugar, stirred. ‘So…you
planned
this?'

Seduction 101: Never leave a woman feeling she's been taken advantage of.

He went with a smooth, ‘Yes. I told you—the press want details.' He lifted the cover on a plate of fried eggs and bacon. ‘We give them details—that was the plan we agreed on. Whether I slept here or on the daybed, the press will assume what we want them to assume.'

She sipped at her coffee. ‘Okay. Fine.'

He was unsettled by this strange tension that had sprung up between them. He didn't understand her emotional tug of war. Last night she'd been molten lava in his hands. She wouldn't be thinking this was more than it was. Would she? She'd made it clear that after her Frenchman she wasn't going to get emotionally involved with anyone again.

‘Why don't you tell me what the problem is?'

‘There's no problem.' Her reply was quick, brisk, the tone casual. She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes, and took another sip of coffee.

‘We used to be able to be honest with each other—'

‘Not completely.'

‘Okay, you'll probably never forgive me for that, and I accept it. But I never deliberately lied to you. If we can't deal with issues that arise with our new relationship, then we
will
have a problem.'

She was silent a moment, and he thought she wasn't going to answer, but then she said, ‘This is going to sound totally gauche, but I woke up and you were lying next to me naked and I don't know how to deal with this…us.' Colour bled into her cheeks and she looked down at the cup in her hands.

‘Okay.' He took their cups, set them on the tray. ‘I'll let you in on a secret. That makes two of us.'

‘Really?'

She felt insecure. He heard it in her tone, saw it in her eyes as she darted a glance at him. ‘Yes, really.' He tucked a finger under her chin. ‘And don't look so surprised. I think the best thing now is to finish our breakfast, take a shower and head home. Maybe we both need some breathing space.'

‘Good idea.' She took a token nibble of toast, then
dusted off her fingers in quick jerky movements. ‘I think I'll just go and have that shower now.'

‘Slow down.' He reached for her hand, lifted it to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss to the pulse racing at her wrist. ‘Just slow down. You haven't tried your eggs. You were always crazy about cooked breakfast, if I remember correctly.'

She seemed to relax some, and managed a smile. ‘And I remember you had an appetite big enough for both of us.'

He lowered her hand to the sheet. ‘Still have.'

There was something dark, almost primal, in his gaze, and it had Mariel wondering whether he was still talking about food. A night's worth of stubble shadowed his jaw, and his untamed hair fell over his brow. Her heart started up the irregular beat that had become almost familiar over the past couple of days.

Clutching the sheet to her, she slid to the side of the bed. ‘Good. Okay…' Her limbs went to water. She simply couldn't do sophisticated this morning—not with Dane watching her with those eyes. Eyes that soothed, yet excited. She even struggled with casual. Dane had seen every exposed inch of her last night, but in the light of day…

‘I think I'll take this out onto the balcony,' he said, hefting the tray without giving her so much as a glance. Giving her privacy. Allowing her to keep her dignity. ‘Nice view of the river from up here.'

She could have kissed him. No.
Erase that thought
. Before he changed his mind, she dashed naked to the wardrobe, grabbed her change of clothes and high-tailed it to the bathroom. Closed the door. Let out a ragged breath.

So much for her woman-of-the-world reputation.

She was immediately faced with her own reflection in the large mirror above the vanity. Sweet Lord, was that tousled woman with the thoroughly loved look really her? She stepped closer, staring at the wide eyes smudged with last night's mascara. The rest of her make-up had rubbed off hours ago. She explored her cheeks with her fingertips. Was that afterglow or whisker burn?
Emotion or lust
?

She whirled away and turned on the shower, waited for the room to steam up. Why couldn't she be as casual about last night as Dane? No mention of whether he'd enjoyed what they'd done—he'd been more interested in breakfast.

Not that she'd expected pretty words or a tender declaration of feelings. Not from a man like Dane. The truth was she didn't know what to expect from a serial playboy. After one short-lived relationship with a fellow Aussie she'd met while on a weekend in London, she'd only ever slept with Luc.

Dane's lifestyle was light-years from anything she'd ever experienced. She might have a glamorous career and international exposure, but he was still way out of her league. Nor did she believe for one moment his confession moments ago that he was still coming to terms with their altered relationship. He'd just said that to soothe her pride.

It hadn't, but it had been thoughtful of him to try.

She stepped into the black-tiled cubicle with its gold fittings and double showerhead to see if the soft spray could do the job instead. If she felt confused and somehow hollow and…dissatisfied, that was her problem, not his. She didn't know what he expected of her today or
tonight. Tomorrow or even next week. Whether whatever he felt for her had changed in the past few hours.

Her head fell back against the tiles as the water caressed breasts still tender and tingly from last night. She only knew how he'd made her feel when he'd been inside her. Like nothing she'd ever felt before. Strong, fragile—a contradiction. It was too much.

It wasn't enough.

Desire—even overwhelming desire—could never be compared to love. And what Dane felt for her was desire.

But love… Love could make a fool of the most rational of people. It could tempt one to throw away every belief, every plan, every dream, and swallow you whole.

She should know.

She stepped out of the shower with renewed resolve. Love would never make a fool of her again. From now on it was logic and reason.

From the beginning of this arrangement it had been a tacit acknowledgement that they'd end up becoming lovers. It had been inevitable.

Just as it was inevitable that they'd end up going their separate ways.

 

They returned home together, then Mariel spent the next couple of hours at her new business premises a few moments' drive away. Not to avoid him, she told herself, but because it was vital to make a start.

The little room was bland, cramped and would need extensive renovations if she intended to use it for retail purposes. For now she concentrated on arranging the meagre furniture Dane had supplied, sorting through
stock she'd brought with her from Paris and setting up her sketching easel. Since it was Sunday, she opened her laptop and made a list of potential suppliers and tailors to contact in the coming week.

Mid-afternoon, unable to concentrate, she gave up trying to work on her latest design and headed home again. She wanted to talk Dane into some photos of her work for advertising and display purposes. And it was time he was fully informed about her work.

 

She found him in the pool. He was stretched out on an inflatable raft, wearing brief black bathers and apparently asleep behind those sunglasses, because the only movement coming from the pool was the gentle lilt of the raft in the light swirl of air.

And, oh, my… She might have seen him naked last night, but it had been shadowed and frantic. She hadn't seen him like this, in full daylight. He was long and lean and liberally sprinkled with black masculine hair. The sun gods had hammered his skin to a burning bronze and spun streaks of fine gold through his unruly dark mane. Broad shoulders, six-pack abs, firm, flat abdomen…

She breathed in a lungful of searing heat and he must have heard it, because his head swivelled in her direction.

‘Hi.' His deep voice rippled across the water. She still couldn't see his eyes, and wondered if he'd been awake and watching her the entire time she'd been staring like some infatuated schoolgirl.

She shifted inside her sticky blouse, laid her tote bag on a nearby lounger. ‘Hi.'

Tossing his glasses onto the side of the pool, he
rolled off the raft and disappeared into the blue depths, then popped up again at the edge, hauled himself out.

Water sluiced off his practically naked body, leaving rivulets in the dips and hollows. Droplets snagged on his chest hair. She noticed because he was walking towards her, his shadow looming ahead of him on the cement. She took another breath and lifted her gaze.

Perhaps it was the sun's glare behind his head, but she saw nothing except that wicked grin. She recognised that look. She'd seen it too many times as a teenager to dismiss it. It stunned her that he could change from lover to friend just that casually.

‘No.' She took a step back.

He grinned, revealing even white teeth. The crease in his right cheek. A black sense of humour.

She backed up another step. ‘Don't be ridiculous. We're not kids…'

Grabbing her around the waist, he rubbed his wet body against hers and shook his hair, scattering drops.

She screamed, wriggling out of his grasp, her breasts grazing hard, muscled body. ‘Not fair!' She glared down at her wet-splotched blouse, then at him, and grinned despite herself. For a moment—deliberately, she thought—he'd made her forget the morning's awkwardness. It calmed her, settled her. Almost. To her surprise, she found herself playing his game. ‘You idiot—just look at me.'

‘I am.' His voice dropped a notch, and his eyes turned from mischievous to molten, but he reached for a towel and rubbed it over his chest. The rasping sound reminded her of how that crisp masculine hair had felt last night, rubbing against her breasts. Her nipples tightened against her bra.

To divert his attention from her wet blouse, and to give herself a moment to steady, she yanked the towel from his hands and used it to swipe at her linen trousers. Then hunted a tissue from her pocket and dabbed moisture from her face and neck.

‘Just for that, you can pour me a drink.' She sank onto the nearest recliner under a large green umbrella. A moment later ice chinked as he poured lemonade into tall glasses and set the pitcher back on the little ceramic table beside her.

He handed her the tumbler. ‘How did you go?'

‘Good. Thanks.'

He leaned down and moved in to touch his lips to hers, lingering. ‘You should have let me come and help you.'

‘You already helped, letting me have the room. And I didn't want the distraction,' she murmured against his mouth, while the fingers of one hand grazed the side of her face.

Dane was tempted to let his fingers drift lower. To unbutton her blouse. To unzip her trousers and make love to her here in the sunlight. Instead he drew back, planted a kiss on her nose and straightened.

He retrieved his sunglasses, slid them on, and sat on the other lounger, enjoying the sun's heat on his water-cooled body while he watched Mariel reclasp her hair on top of her head. The action pulled her blouse tight across her breasts.

He turned to study the sparkles dancing on the water's surface. She didn't know the outline of her filmy bra and two aroused nipples showed clearly through her damped-down blouse. He could smell her—a blend of make-up, perfume and sun-warmed
skin. He also sensed her need for space right now. Closing his eyes, he made an effort to unwind.

‘Dane?'

‘Hmm?' His eyes snapped open to see a camera shoved near his face.

‘Smile and look sexy.'