Not a hint of the man who’d practically worshipped her body last night with hands and mouth and … more. He could have been talking to anyone. The only concession he made was a chaste almost impersonal kiss on her cheek. ‘Have a productive day.’
She was tempted to throw her arms around his neck and demand something of last night’s passion but she kept her hands at her sides, remembered their deal and said, ‘You too.’
He didn’t even give her time to see if a remnant of the night’s heat lingered in his eyes because he was already walking away, leaving a souvenir of his scent on the air.
She stood watching the elevator doors long after they’d closed. Long after she’d heard its muted hum as it took him away to his world of wheeling and dealing and knocking down buildings.
Didi forced the hot memories to the back of her mind the way he obviously had. Think business arrangement. For Cameron there was no blurring of lines. She needed to do the same. Keep it in perspective. In three weeks their business would be concluded.
Didi did her best work to music so she chose one of her own CDs and slid it into Cameron’s sound system, cranked up the volume. Ravel’s ‘Bolero’ throbbed out of the speakers, eerie, edgy.
She closed her eyes a few moments, absorbed its building passion, the throbbing swirl of emotion. Not until she’d visualised the finished work did she slip on her glasses and begin.
Hours passed. Hunger was forgotten, cramped muscles ignored, aching fingers disregarded. She worked until the surrounding buildings’ lengthening shadows slid through the windows and the sky grew scarlet behind the silhouette of the Rialto Towers, turning the Yarra River to blood.
It took a few moments to emerge from her labours. Placing her glasses on the table, she stood back to study the day’s work with a critical eye. Nothing much to see yet, but she’d made a start on the foundation.
Stretching, rolling tense shoulders, she moved to the window and watched the city’s lights appear in a rainbow of colours. That tension at the base of her skull was back, a dull echo to her heartbeat, and her eyes felt gritty. It occurred to her that she had no idea what time Cameron would be home.
The thought of seeing him again sent a wave of excitement through her, and a rising panic. Did he expect her to dress up for him? Or dress ‘down’—as in gauzy negligee with a welcome-home glass of champagne in her hand? Did the ‘evening’ part of their arrangement begin at sunset? Or did it only exist between the sheets?
When did his employee transform into his magical mistress?
She scoffed at her new persona, but her laugh caught in her throat when she stepped into the bedroom. The unmade bed, with its sheets wrinkled and quilt dragging on the thick carpet, was a testament to their torrid night. Was making beds a part of her job description now? Which had her wondering, did Cameron carry out those domestic tasks himself or did he have a regular cleaning service?
The phone on the night-stand shrilled. ‘Hello?’ As had happened yesterday, whoever it was disconnected without speaking. She stared at the receiver while a sick feeling of betrayal rose up inside her, throbbing in time with the pulse in her head. A woman, she was sure of it.
His ex that maybe wasn’t an ex any more?
She shook her head. Just because Jay had gone back to his ex-lover didn’t mean Cameron would. It was paranoia making her think that way. But it was a timely reminder of the temporary nature of their relationship.
She picked up her towelling robe from the bed, determined to put the incident out of her mind. She needed to stretch out the kinks with a long, fragrant soak in that guest bathroom’s spa before she felt even human again, let alone magical.
And as for dressing up—or down—it wasn’t an option. Either he accepted her somewhat offbeat and eclectic style or he didn’t. She no longer had the luxury of money to waste on frivolous dresses or seduce-me nightgowns, nor did she feel a need to conform to the gurus of fashion.
And if she didn’t do something about this developing migraine, she thought as she rummaged in her bag for medication, she’d be no use to anyone, including herself.
She stripped off, shrugged into the robe’s comforting warmth, sat on the edge of the bed. Tempting to lay her head on the pillow—the one that smelled of him—just for a moment. Then she’d have that soak and then …
CHAPTER NINE
CAM closed his folder and glanced at his watch as the last of the attendees exited the room. The meeting had run late. He’d been running late since he arrived this morning.
It didn’t usually bother him—he practically lived at the office, often making up for lost time well after midnight when necessary. Tonight wasn’t one of those nights. Tonight anticipation snapped at his heels and he couldn’t wait to be out the door.
That brought him up short. Slow down, Cam. It wasn’t as if he needed to see her, he assured himself. He didn’t need anyone. Need threatened control, something he’d fought for most of his life, and won.
So he sent his driver home and set out to walk the forty minutes to his apartment. He deliberately took his time, strolling along tree-lined Collins Street where spring was showing itself with tiny green buds gleaming in the street lights. Ducking rattling trams and harried pedestrians at one of the busy intersections. Workers were cramming cafés for an early dinner, hitting the city gyms or shopping. The smell of fast food mingled with car exhaust fumes.
He found his pace picking up and slowed once more. Didi was in his head again, and too much for his peace of mind. He wanted to see how the work was coming along, the artist herself was a … fringe benefit. A diversion.
Yet even as he told himself that was all it was he knew he was fooling himself. Didi O’Flanagan was one hell of a diversion … and a whole lot more. The fact that they clashed on so many points only added to the appeal.
And the sex was. More … It was the only description he could come up with.
He found himself outside his apartment building and rode the elevator up. He’d been surprised to learn she came from wealth; she clearly championed for the disadvantaged. Why would her parents have nothing to do with her? There was obviously more to it than she was willing to let him see. A woman with secrets—a good reason not to trust her too easily.
The apartment was silent when he stepped inside. Charlie trotted towards him, twining himself around his legs, a furry ribbon with an appetite. Priorities, he reminded himself. He went to the living room to view the work-in-progress. Not much to see yet, but she’d been busy. Her glasses lay amongst the scatter. He fed the cat. So, now … where was Didi—and what was she doing?
His pulse rate accelerated as he headed for his bedroom and his steps quickened. As he stepped inside the spill of low light from the bedside lamp highlighted her face, glinted on her hair. Fast asleep, her complexion pale, smudges beneath her eyes.
Then his gaze fell on a bottle of pills on the night-stand. Gut-curdling dread clawed its way up his throat, choking off his air. Visions from the past flashed before his eyes. Amy had done this to herself on a regular basis. His mother had died of an overdose of prescription drugs.
He grabbed the bottle as he shook her shoulder with rough impatience. ‘Didi.’ For God’s sake. ‘Wake up!’ Belatedly a glance at the bottle informed him they were prescription pills for migraine.
She stirred. ‘Huh? What?’ He saw her wince as she opened her eyes, squinting in the glare. ‘What is it?’
He blew out a slow breath. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have woken you. I just …’ He noted his hand wasn’t steady as he brushed hair from her brow. ‘Go back to sleep.’
She blinked up at him as her eyes adjusted to the light. ‘I was going to take a dip in that swimming-pool spa of yours.