Free His Temporary Mistress by Cathy Williams Page B

Listening to her had been like lifting a chapter from an Enid Blyton book, one where good mates sat around drinking cheap boxed wine and discussing nothing more innocuous than the fate of the world and how best it could be changed.
    Still, everything in life was a learning curve and being introduced to an alternate view would stand her in good stead.
    ‘How is your sister faring in Ibiza?’ he asked, an opportune reminder of why they were both here.
    Violet smiled. ‘Good,’ she confided. ‘Remember I told you about that job she wanted? The one at the tapas restaurant on the beach?’ Despite the artificiality of their situation, she had found herself chatting to Damien a lot more than she had thought she might. Taking the lift down after visiting his mother, wandering out of the hospital together, he in search of a black cab, she in the direction of the underground...conversation was always so much less awkward than silence. And he was a good listener. He never interrupted and, when he did, his remarks were always intelligent and informative. He had listened to her ramble on about her colleagues at work without sneering at them or the lives they led. He had come up with some really useful advice about one of them who was having difficulties with a disorderly class. And he had cautioned her about worrying too much about Phillipa, had told her that she needed to break out of the rut she had spent years constructing and the only way to do that would be to walk away from over-involvement in what her sister was getting up to. If Phillipa felt she had no cushion on which to fall back, then she would quickly learn how to remain upright.
    Had she mentioned Phillipa and the job at the bar? Damien thought. Yes. Yes, she had. Well, they saw each other every day. The periods of time spent in each other’s company might have been concentrated, but they conversed. It would have been impossible to maintain steady silence when they happened to be on their own. Admittedly, she did most of the conversing. He now knew more about the day-to-day details of her life than he had ever expected to know.
    ‘I remember.’ No references needed for a bar job. Good choice.
    ‘Well, she got it. She’s only been there two days but she says the tips are amazing.’
    ‘Let’s hope she’s not tempted to put her hand in the till,’ Damien remarked drily but there was no rancour in his eyes as they met hers for a couple of seconds longer than strictly necessary.
    ‘I’ve already given her a lecture about that,’ Violet said huffily.
    ‘And what about the partner in crime?’
    ‘He wasn’t a partner in crime .’
    ‘Aside from the forging of references technicality.’
    ‘He’s working on restoring a boat with his friend.’
    ‘He knows much about boat restoration?’
    ‘Er...’
    ‘Say no more, Violet. They’re obviously a match made in Heaven.’
    ‘You’re so cynical!’
    ‘Not according to my mother. She complimented me on my terrific taste in women and waxed lyrical about the joys of knowing that I’m no longer dating women with IQs smaller than their waist measurements.’
    They had reached the café and he pushed open the door and stood aside as she walked past him. The brush of his body against hers made her skin burn. So his mother was pleased with her as a so-called girlfriend. She thought back to the eye-catching brunette on the magazine cover. He must find it trying to have pulled the short straw for this little arrangement. He could have been walking into a café, or into an expensive restaurant because hadn’t he already told her that the women he dated wouldn’t have been caught dead anywhere where they couldn’t be admired, with a leggy brunette dangling on his arm. Instead of her.
    He ordered them both coffee and then sat back in his chair to idly run his finger along the handle of the cup.
    ‘Well?’ Violet prompted, suddenly uncomfortable with the silence. ‘I don’t suppose we’re here because you wanted