To Claim His Mistress: Mistress at a Price / Mother and Mistress / His Mistress's Secret

‘You’re very cheerful this morning,’ Megs commented on her way past. ‘You must be on a promise.’

Cat returned a dutiful smile as she slipped her phone back into her bag.

How wrong can you be? she thought, dragging herself back down to earth with painful effort. There were no promises—no commitment. Just this one tenuous and strictly temporary link.

So I’ll have to make the most of it, she told herself soberly. For as long as it lasts.

CHAPTER NINE

‘REALLY, darling,’ said Vanessa. ‘You’re being no help at all.’

Cat, still lost in the blissful euphoria of the previous night, gave a slight start, and hurriedly reminded herself why she was there.

‘What’s the matter?’ Vanessa went on, giving her a shrewd look. ‘Doing a little nest-building on your own account?’

Cat bit her lip. ‘Please don’t be absurd. I have somewhere to live, if you remember.’

‘A bachelor girl’s pad,’ her mother said with a sniff. ‘I hoped you might be broadening your horizons.’

‘My horizons are just fine, thanks. Regarding what we’ve seen so far…’ She paused as the waiter brought their desserts. ‘I liked the little house in Chelsea best. And Holland Park wasn’t bad either.’

‘Bad vibes, sweetie.’ Vanessa shook her head. ‘I don’t think the previous tenants were very happy.’

‘Anyway,’ Cat went on, ‘shouldn’t you be asking Gil what he thinks rather than me?’

Vanessa shrugged. ‘He’ll go along with whatever I decide. And you seem very concerned for his feelings all of a sudden,’ she added. ‘You’re not becoming fixated on him, I hope, because it wouldn’t do you much good.’

‘Not at all,’ Cat said crisply. ‘I just find it odd you haven’t consulted him.’

‘Well, don’t worry about it, darling. Gil and I understand each other very well, believe me.’ Her mother paused. ‘And you’re right; it will have to be Chelsea. Such a pretty garden, and the right atmosphere, too.’ She sighed contentedly. ‘That’s so important for me, particularly now.’

Cat observed her with narrowed eyes. ‘Why now?’ she enquired. ‘And also, why the rush? Mother—what are you up to?’

Vanessa spread her hands. ‘Darling—I’ve always needed absolute peace when I’m studying a part. You know that.’

‘Is that why the house in Beverly Hills was always teeming with people?’ Cat asked drily.

‘But I was filming then.’ Vanessa’s eyes were limpid. ‘Live theatre is entirely different.’

Cat put down her dessert fork and sat forward. ‘You’re—going into a play?’ she said slowly. ‘When did you decide this?’

Vanessa inspected a minute fleck on her nail. ‘When adorable Oliver Ingham offered me the role of Anne Hathaway in his new production,’ she said lightly. ‘I went up to Scotland at the weekend to discuss it with him and agree terms. Nevil Beverley wrote the script, and, believe me, sweetie, it’s to die for.’

‘So I’ve heard,’ Cat said grimly. ‘And death could well be involved.’ She paused. ‘You do know, I suppose, that my father’s playing opposite you as Will Shakespeare?’

‘Well, they were bound to mention it,’ said Vanessa. ‘And I think if Oliver can cure him of some of those tiresome mannerisms he might be quite good.’ She smiled reminiscently. ‘In fact, it could be quite like old times.’

‘Oh, God,’ Cat said weakly. She looked her mother in the eye. ‘Are you completely crazy—going into a production with David and his girlfriend? It’ll be a nightmare. You must see that. Why, you don’t even speak.’

‘Well, neither did Shakespeare and Anne Hathaway for most of the time, so the story already calls for a certain amount of tension.’ Vanessa purred. ‘I feel it could be quite a challenge—for all of us, especially the little American. Such a change from pantyhose commercials.’

She put her napkin on the table and rose. ‘Now, order us both some coffee, darling, while I go to the powder room.’

And she departed, amid a flurry of excited whispers from neighbouring tables, leaving a troubled Cat staring after her.

Whether she liked it or not, there were clearly stormy times ahead, she thought as she signalled to the waiter.

There was no chance, of course, that her father would pull out of the production. He would regard that as a serious defeat in the ongoing post-marital war with his ex-wife. No, he would do it if it killed him.

And the press, of course, would have a field day. David Adamson and Vanessa Carlton starring together in the West End for the first time since their very public divorce. There would be vultures gathering from all directions, awaiting the latest furore. Plenty of rats in the arras to cover the inevitable spats during rehearsal. She could see the headlines now.

But David and Vanessa were actors, she told herself with an inward shrug. They thrived on publicity, whatever form it took.

Her main concern would be to avoid getting caught in the power struggle between them. Which meant extending her policy of non-involvement somehow.

And that reminded her of another, quite different problem. Because this property hunt had turned out to be seriously bad news, she told herself grimly. Galling as it might be, Vanessa had not been far out in her comment about nest-building.

Cat reluctantly admitted to herself that she’d been viewing the flats and houses on offer totally through her own eyes, having all kinds of illicit daydreams about moving into them with Liam. In her mind, she’d filled each space with furniture that they’d chosen together. Picked the room where they would spend every night in each other’s arms. Imagined how their life might be together.

And there was no point in that kind of thinking, she chastised herself vehemently. Because it was not only stupid, but dangerous. And also totally out of character.

I must have been led astray by last night, she thought wryly.

Which turned out to be the stuff that dreams are made on. And the breath caught in her throat as she remembered…

She’d arrived to find Liam already waiting for her, his hunger and impatience undisguised and unashamed as she walked straight into his arms, her lips parting under his, her body already on fire for him.

There had not even been time to draw breath, let alone undress. He had drawn her down with him onto the heavy rug in front of the fire, freeing himself from his clothing and tearing her underwear aside before taking her with stark, passionate urgency.

It had been harsh, glorious, and over much too soon, her body driven to climax with a fierce absorption that had matched his own.

Afterwards they had lain together, shaken by the power of their mutual consummation, caught between laughter and tears. And later Liam had taken her to the bedroom, where he’d removed her clothes, slowly and gently, between kisses, and made love to her again with exquisite, almost languid restraint, tempting her, leading her on with the promise of release, until a voice she’d hardly recognised as her own had whimpered in pleading for the long withheld fulfilment, all remaining inhibitions lost.

Sheer exhaustion had impelled them to sleep at last, but at dawn Cat had been woken once more by his hands on her body, turning to him warmly, eagerly, offering herself to his caresses and all that would follow, her senses already anticipating the peak of rapture.

It had been the most wonderful night of her life, she thought, her body shivering in swift delight, but it had done nothing to ease the inevitable morning parting from him.

She had not expected, she realised with bewilderment, to need him so much, in so many ways that transcended simple desire. Against her will, her feelings were becoming more complex—and more disturbing. And that was where the real peril lay.

Because she had no idea what Liam felt in return, if anything. Oh, he enjoyed her. There was no doubting that. He seemed to derive the same incredible pleasure from her body as he gave.

But he seemed to accept completely the strict limitations that she’d imposed on their relationship, and gave no hint that he wanted more than the fevered delight of physical union with her.

And it was these limitations that she was beginning to find so irksome. Because each time she saw him she found more and more that she wanted to share other things with him as well. She wanted to tell him about her job, and ask about how he spent his working day.

She’d been aware from the first of the dynamic, restless energy he concealed under his laid-back manner. Only when he was asleep was it ever wholly subdued. He looked younger then, too, and Cat thought she sometimes detected a trace of vulnerability. But that might be wishful thinking. Another vain attempt to figure him out.

His life was clearly hectic. He was either flying off somewhere, or going from meeting to meeting. Money was clearly not a problem either, she told herself wryly. He wore expensive clothes, and he still refused point-blank to let her contribute towards the running expenses of the flat they were sharing.