Memoirs of a Millionaire's Mistress by Anne Oliver - Memoirs of a Millionaire's Mistress

Author:Anne Oliver - Memoirs of a Millionaire's Mistress [Oliver, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance: Modern, Contemporary, General, Romance, Romance - Contemporary, Fiction, Fiction - Romance, Adult, Romance - General, AcM
ISBN: 9780373236787
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2010-04-01T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

DIDI backed up on the mattress towards the edge of the bed, holding the sheet in front of her breasts, her gaze scouring the room. Better, she thought, to look for something to cover herself than to look him in the eye because one glance at her response and he’d know the effect he’d had on her. And that would be a distinct disadvantage.

So he’d used the word ‘lover’ in this morning’s conversation—now he was suggesting an ‘arrangement’. And suggesting amazingly coolly for something as hot as an affair with Cameron Black would be. Too coolly. As if he were negotiating one of his property deals.

‘You know exactly what I mean,’ he murmured. ‘What do you say?’ His tone told her he expected an affirmative answer.

And how easy would it be—mistress to a millionaire, a heap of money in commissions? She’d walk away richer at the end. Ah, but would she still be happy when she walked away? Better, safer, to stick to their original agreement.

‘I…don’t think so,’ she said. Pleased with how calm she sounded even if she was coming apart inside, still avoiding eye contact. Still feeling vulnerable. ‘Um…do you have a bathrobe I can put on?’

With that same cool confidence he padded naked to the bathroom, plucked a terry robe from behind the door. Ah, and she couldn’t help but look, could she? But it didn’t seem to faze him—nor the fact that he was in a state of semi-arousal. No, well, it was that male pride thing, obviously.

He tossed her the robe on his way back and retrieved last night’s discarded trousers from the floor. He didn’t bother with underwear. He came around to her side of the bed. Her body hummed as remnants of last night’s electricity arced between them. Then he ran a thumb over her lower lip. ‘So…you don’t think so, huh?’

She jerked as if that electricity had zapped her. ‘I told you last night, I don’t like your type.’ To put on the robe she had to let go of the sheet…She closed her eyes so she couldn’t see him watching her and slipped her arms inside. Rising, she moved to the window and watched the morning traffic build.

‘No,’ he said behind her. ‘Last night you said you didn’t like me. There’s a difference. Tell me more about my type.’

‘I’ve told you before…’ She trailed off as she tightened the sash, aware of the robe’s familiar soap scent enveloping her. Cameron’s scent.

Her opinion of the type of man he was had changed since that first night. She’d seen a different side of him: a caring, thoughtful man who’d trusted her with a large sum of cash and allowed her to stay in his apartment—and look what she’d done to repay him. She’d brought in an uninvited guest last night and she’d barely scratched the canvas she’d promised she’d start.

Still, she didn’t have to like him on principle, she decided, hugging her arms around her. With his million-dollar lifestyle and Italian-made suits.

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