His Mistress For A Week

Not that she wanted it.

She could find her own man.

Eventually.

‘Good to know,’ she said and buried her nose in the magazine.

* * *

Alistair could have done with a stretch of his legs but Clem had fallen asleep with her head resting on his shoulder. His nostrils were tingling with the scent of her perfume, an alluring mix of summer flowers with a grace note of something that was unique to her. The magazine she had been reading had slipped to the floor, her hands now resting on her lap, the fingers long and slim but the nails bitten almost to the quick. What made her indulge in such a childish habit? Was she insecure? Worried? Anxious? But then, who wouldn’t be, with the kind of family she had?

Not that he could talk. If he thought too much about his father’s behaviour, he’d be chewing his nails back to his shoulders.

Clem gave a murmur and shifted in her seat, turning her head so her hair tickled his chin. He had the inexplicable desire to stroke her silky head. Her body was soft and feminine with curves in all the right places. Beautiful curves. Tempting curves. Curves he wanted to put his hands on and—

Keep your hands off her.

The alarm bell of his conscience was a timely reminder to keep his boundaries secure. He hadn’t had a relationship for a while; that was the problem. Not that he was a sex addict or anything. He had a very practical approach to his physical needs. If he had time in his busy schedule for a relationship, he invested in one. Lately his work as chief architect on a multi-national project had been a priority, so too dealing with his father’s screw-ups. Or screw-downs, which seemed more accurate.

His father’s taste in women appalled Alistair. After twenty-five years of marriage to his poised, elegant and articulate mother, Helene, his father had taken up with the very opposite type of woman. Brash and loud, in-your-face gold-diggers. Women who cared more about their sexual desires than their children.

Alistair wasn’t against marriage and commitment. Far from it. He planned to settle down one day with a woman who shared similar interests and values. Build a life together, have a family and do all the things his parents had done with him before his mother had become ill. He wouldn’t be the sort of husband his father had been. He had no problem with commitment and faithfulness. He believed in it...at the right time and with the right person. But he wasn’t going to make that commitment until he was sure it was the right person. He couldn’t stomach the thought of doing what his father had done—was still doing—working his way through a host of unsuitable partners in a pathetic attempt to avoid spending even half a day alone.

Everything had changed once his mother had got that devastating diagnosis. His father hadn’t had the decency to wait until his wife had died of liver cancer before he’d taken up with another woman. It was as if the prospect of losing Helene had triggered something in him. The loss of Alistair’s baby brother, Oliver, at two years of age had been the first stumble. Not that Alistair had known his father had strayed during that tragic time; his mother had forgiven the affair and done her best to rebuild their relationship. But once she’d got sick that same panic button had been pressed and this time there had been no way of turning it off. No amount of lecturing or pleading from Alistair had worked. His father had been like a runaway train. Unstoppable.

Alistair had desperately tried to keep his mother in the dark about his father’s affair with Clem’s mother. But Brandi had taken it upon herself to turn up at the hospice and introduce herself as Lionel’s new partner. Her reasoning had been she wanted to assure Helene her husband would be in ‘good hands.’

But the anger Alistair felt about his father’s affair had gone up five-hundred-and-fifty-thousand notches when he’d gone to his parents’ home to collect some fresh clothing for his mother because his father had been ‘too busy.’ He’d found Clem in his childhood bedroom lying in wait for him on his bed, fresh from a shower. Seeing her young, lushly curved body curled up there in a towel had made something in him snap. He’d been furious with her but even more furious with himself for feeling a flicker of lust at her gauche attempt to seduce him.

He barely remembered what he’d said to her. All he recalled was it had been long and heated, a blistering tirade that had vented all of his rage on her sixteen-year-old shoulders. If he had upset her she’d showed no sign of it. Not then. She had stood there with the towel wrapped around her body, a sullen look on her face, and a defiant I-don’t-care-what-you-say-to-me glare in her eyes. But, when he’d come back the following day to pack up the rest of his mother’s things, he had found a long scratch mark on his car from tailgate to front fender as if someone had taken a key or a screwdriver and driven it deep into the paintwork.

That was what he had to remember when dealing with Clem. He couldn’t afford to take any chances. She wasn’t to be trusted. She was one enemy he was going to have to keep close.

Too close for comfort.

* * *

Clem woke just as they were coming in to land. She blinked and straightened from where she had been resting on Alistair’s shoulder. Dead embarrassing. Just as well she hadn’t drooled. Or snored. Yikes. Maybe she had. ‘Sorry I creased your shirt,’ she said. ‘You should’ve pushed me away.’

‘I was grateful for the peace and quiet.’

She glanced at him but his expression was inscrutable. So, maybe she hadn’t snored. ‘So what’s the plan?’

His eyes met hers. ‘The plan?’

Clem kept her gaze trained on his while trying to ignore the magnetic pull of his mouth. It was like a force inside her body with its own chanting mantra. Look at his mouth. Look at his mouth. Look at his mouth. ‘Yeah, after we land. Where do we start?’

‘We start by picking up the hire car. Then we’ll find a hotel.’

Clem’s heart jumped like it had been zapped with defibrillator paddles. She hadn’t got as far as thinking about accommodation. Of course they would have to find a hotel. Not that she could afford anywhere flash. She could barely afford a trailer park. ‘Two rooms, right?’

‘No.’

This time her heart skipped so fast it would have won a jump-rope competition. ‘What do you mean, no?’

His eyes had an unmistakable glint in them. A determined I’m-not-letting-you-out-of-my-sight glint. ‘It will be cheaper to share a suite.’

Clem’s stomach swerved like a novice skater. Share? ‘But you can afford to stay anywhere you like.’

‘True, but you can’t.’

‘You’re expecting me to...to pay my own way?’

‘Would that be a problem?’