Claiming His Mistress

Claiming His Mistress
Emma Darcy

When hotshot financier Carver Dane attends a masked ball, he isn't expecting a fiery encounter with a woman who ignites the same compelling desire he once knew with Katie Beaumont.Katie is stunned by her response to a sexy stranger. The last time she felt such intense longing was ten years ago - in the arms of a man she was forced to give up.When the masks come off, and the past comes alive, Carver is determined to claim Katie. But as his mistress or more?

“Is this…all you want from me, Carver?”

“No, it’s not,” he answered, unable to stop his gaze from skimming the lush curve of her waist and hip and thigh. “I’ll call you…set up another time for us….”

He raised a challenging eyebrow. “Unless this is all you want from me?” Carver’s confidence in their mutual desire was instantly affirmed.

“It’s nowhere near all I want….”

Australian author EMMA DARCY has written more than seventy-five novels, including the international bestseller, The Secrets Within, published by MIRA

books. Her intense, passionate and fast-paced writing style has made Emma Darcy popular with readers around the world, and she’s sold nearly sixty million books worldwide.

Claiming His Mistress

Emma Darcy

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

HER hair caught Carver Dane’s eye first. Hair like that invariably did—a long lustrous spill of black curls. His mouth twisted self-mockingly. It was said that people were always attracted to the same physical type, but two relationship disasters really should have some deterrent effect on him.

He waited for a negative switch-off.

It didn’t happen.

His gaze kept being drawn to her.

Of course it could be a wig since this masked ball was also a fancy dress affair. It was impossible to tell from this distance across the dance floor, especially with the glittery scarlet and purple mask she wore, disguising her hairline. Purposefully he moved his partner in a sequence of steps that brought him closer.

The hair belonged to a woman dressed as Carmen, the femme fatale gypsy from Bizet’s opera. Warning enough to stay clear of her, he told himself. Her body was definitely packaged dynamite, poured into a slinky red gown with a provocative fishtail of red and purple frills. The front of the hip-hugging skirt was even more provocative with a thigh-high slit revealing a flash of shapely legs as her partner twirled her around.

Gold bangles on her arms, gold hoops dangling from her ears. A very sexy piece all around, Carver decided, keeping her in view, determined on claiming her for the next dance. The loose tendrils curling down in front of her ears proved her hair wasn’t a wig. Third time lucky, he wryly argued, though he didn’t believe it. He simply wanted to pursue the desire she stirred.

Katie Beaumont was enjoying herself. She hadn’t let her hair down, in a fun sense, for a long long time. Being dressed as Carmen amongst a crowd of people she didn’t know, and who didn’t know her, was definitely liberating. There was no need to maintain a responsible image. This was a wonderful slice of freedom from any care, especially the care of what others might think of her.

Her toreador partner was sweating rather heavily by the time the dance bracket ended. “That was great!” he puffed, making a grab to pull her close. “Come and have a drink at the bar with me.”

“Thanks so much, but I’m expected back at my table,” she excused, smiling as she twirled out of reach. “Enjoy your drink,” she tossed back at him, not wanting to leave him completely flat. He was an enthusiastic dancer, but she didn’t want his company off the floor, and tonight was about pleasing herself.

It was easy to slip away through the milling crowd. She was actually placed on one of the official tables, next to her old school friend, Amanda, who’d set out to marry spectacularly well and had accomplished it with Max Fairweather, a leading stockbroker at Sydney’s top financial levels.

Katie was glad to have met her again after so many years of being out of contact—a lucky coincidence with Amanda placing her four-year-old son at the day-care centre where she’d been working for the past six months. While she had no ambition to slide into the high-flying social scene, having Amanda’s amusing company from time to time, definitely put a bit of sparkle in her life.

She grinned at her friend’s extravagant gestures as Amanda entertained her other guests at the table with some outrageous story. No doubt about it, she was a great hostess. And looked fantastic tonight, dressed as an exotic belly dancer in vibrant blues and greens, with a gold mask attached to a gold mesh cap, from which hung strings of glittery beads, winding through her long blond hair.

“So how was the toreador?” she archly queried the moment Katie had settled on the chair beside her.

She grinned, knowing she was about to dash Amanda’s devious plans to find her a life partner. “Good on his feet but a bit too full of himself.”

“Mmm…we obviously need a better prospect,” she mused with unabashed candour. “The guy I fancy is the very sexy buccaneer. A pirate king if ever I saw one.”

“A pirate king?” Katie effected a careless shrug. “I haven’t noticed him.”

“Well, he noticed you,” came the loaded reply. Amanda always had ammunition ready to fire at Katie’s single status. “He was eyeing you off during that last dance.”

She laughed, aware that many men had been eyeing her off, so one in particular carried no real meaning. The Carmen costume was blatantly sexy. Amanda lived by the rule—if you’ve got it, flaunt it—and she’d certainly pressed the principle on Katie tonight. Not that she minded. Tonight she didn’t care how many men looked at her. It was harmless enough, letting herself revel in feeling desirable when there was no danger attached to it.

“You’re not supposed to be fancying anyone, Amanda,” she teasingly chided her friend. “I’m here in place of your husband, remember?”

“Don’t remind me. I’m seriously annoyed with Max for missing tonight’s ball. Especially when I’m on the fundraising committee for this charity. Him and his golfing weekends,” she muttered darkly, reaching for the bottle of champagne to refill their glasses.

“Didn’t you tell me the contacts are good for his stockbroking business?” Katie put in politically. “This lifestyle does come at a price.”