His Convenient Mistress by Cathy Williams Page A

years just been good friends, Sara?’
    Pride struggled with weary helplessness and she shrugged. ‘You don’t understand. You go out to work because you want to not because you have to. I’ve worked so that I could pay off the mortgage and raise a child. I haven’t had a choice and there’s no room to clock-watch when you’re a commodity trader. It’s not a nine-to-five job and just the smallest hint of weakness would have cost me my job. I haven’t had…had time to devote to cultivatinga relationship.’ She found that she was wringing her hands together and she made an effort to still them.
    â€˜So you worked from dawn till dusk and spent your leisure time feeling guilty because you had to leave your son in the care of a stranger.’
    â€˜She wasn’t a stranger,’ Sara said, hearing the misery in her voice with distaste. Self-pity was an indulgence which she had always viewed with contempt, except in the very early hours of the morning, when the rest of the world was asleep and she could allow her mind to drift over its past and build castles that were never going to be.
    â€˜You could have got another job, something less demanding. Moved out of London, worked somewhere in one of the counties.’
    â€˜You don’t understand,’ Sara muttered, tugging her face out of his controlling grip so that she didn’t have to look into those disturbing, piercing navy blue eyes.
    She knew why he was doing this, sitting on this sofa, encouraging her to spill out her life history. He wanted to sleep with her and was prepared to help her over this little stumbling block simply as a means to an end. What confused her was her own temptation to yield. She had spent too long on her own, she thought feverishly, too long warding off the rest of the world. She had confided in Phillip and look where that had got her.
    â€˜So you keep telling me. Well, then, why don’t you enlighten me?’
    He watched the fractional tilt of her head and the stubborn compression of her mouth and thought that if he had any sense at all he would leave her to her zealously protected thoughts and walk right out of the kitchen door. He wasn’t interested in playing lengthy games with the opposite sex.
    â€˜Scared, Sara?’ he murmured softly. She didn’t answer, just continued to stare unblinkingly in front of her. ‘What did that bastard do to you?’ he enquired and it was the gentleness in his voice that did it for her.
    She felt the prick of tears behind her lids and was mortified when one oozed out of the corner of her eye.
    â€˜Sorry,’ she mumbled, rubbing her fist against her eye and taking several deep breaths. He silently handed her a crisp white handkerchief and she dabbed her eyes without looking at him and then clenched the handkerchief in her hand. ‘I bet you hate women who cry.’
    He flushed darkly when she slid her eyes sideways to catch the expression of discomfort on his face.
    â€˜Thought so.’
    â€˜I don’t hate women who cry, per se ,’ James said, wondering how he had suddenly happened to find himself on the back legs.
    â€˜You just hate it when they cry because they want more from you than you’re prepared to give.’
    â€˜We weren’t talking about me ,’ he rasped uncomfortably and Sara impulsively reached out and stroked the side of his cheek. It was the first time she had glimpsed any loss of that phenomenal self-control and he suddenly looked like a boy, caught having to confess to something he didn’t want to.
    James caught her hand in his and nipped her soft palm, looking into her face as he did so. ‘Witch,’ he murmured, ‘don’t think you can change the subject whenever you want to. I’m not through talking to you quite yet.’ He trailed his tongue lightly against the soft underside of her wrist and she gasped at the burst of pleasure that the simple touch