If she did become his mistress, chances were he would very soon get tired of her. He was used to sophisticated lovers; her virtually total lack of experience would soon pale to a man of his taste. God help her! She was actually seriously considering his proposal.
'Champagne for you, Katy, hmm?'
'No, thank you. I'm not in the mood to celebrate; a Perrier water will be fine.' She shook her head in a negative gesture, but more to dispel her traitorous thoughts than in any refusal of the champagne.
'I am inclined to agree with you—I prefer my women sober,' Jake said smoothly, and, turning to the waiter, gave the order.
Katy ignored his provocative comment and looked around the room, anywhere to avoid having to face the man opposite. On a small stage at one end of the room was a trio playing a kind of mainstream jazz, easy on the ears and enhancing the relaxed atmosphere. A handful of couples occupied the circular dance-floor, moving easily to the soft sound of a blues number.
'Would you care to dance?' Jake's voice broke the lengthening silence between them.
'Not really; this was your idea, not mine,' she responded sullenly, and, picking up the glass of water the waiter had carefully placed on the table, she took a long cooling swallow, which went some way to settle her churning stomach.
'But I will not take no for an answer, my dear,' and, rising to his feet, Jake walked around the table and with one hand under her arm virtually lifted her from the seat.
She shot him a startled glance, and she knew by the grim determination in his eyes, the tight line of his mouth, that he would brook no refusal, and his words had not just referred to dancing...
'At least let me put my glass down,' she said caustically, and, giving in to the inevitable, she allowed him to lead her on to the dance-floor.
She raised her right hand as Jake's arm encircled her waist, but he ignored it and swiftly linked his other arm around her waist, pulling her closely into his hard body; she dropped her hand to his chest, her fingers splayed on his shirt front, trying to put some space between them, but her efforts were futile.
Jake chuckled, a dark melodious sound, and with consummate ease slid one hand down to her buttocks, while his other hand stroked up her spine to rest between her shoulder-blades. 'Come on, Katy,' he murmured into her hair, 'don't disappoint me now. Lena Lawrence would never object to dancing cheek to cheek,' he drawled cynically.
Cheek to cheek! That was not how Katy would have described it. Jake held her imprisoned against his hard frame, their bodies clamped together from breast to toe. She felt, the hard muscle of his thigh slide between her slender legs as with an amazing expertise he executed a skilful turn. She held herself rigid in his arms, but the heat of his body, his hand trailing an exploratory path up and down her back, sent quivers of awareness down her spine.
'For God's sake, relax,' Jake said bluntly, 'and enjoy the music. I'm not about to rape you on the dance-floor.'
His hand curved up to clasp the nape of her neck and pull her head back slightly so she was forced to meet his eyes.,
'I didn't think you were, but let me remind you, I had no desire to dance,' she snapped back quickly, hating the way he smiled sardonically down into her flushed face. 'I'm tired,' she excused curtly.
'Poor Katy,' he taunted softly. 'But unfortunately this is necessary to let the world at large know your new status.'
'What do you mean?' What new status was he talking about? She frowned, knowing she was not going to like his answer.
'Look around you, Katy. What do you see?'
Katy did as he said and she recognised a minister of state, a few captains of industry—the beautiful people.
'Yes, my dear, this is a very discreet supper club where the elite, or the jet set if you prefer, can dine with their friends in the certain knowledge the worst that can happen will be a few lines in the gossip column of the better newspapers. Our appearance here tonight will give credibility to our new arrangement, while informing anyone who may be interested that Katy, or Lena Lawrence, model, has changed her allegiance yet again, and is no longer the live-in lover of the renowned Claude.'
Katy's stricken face conveyed her feelings. She had not agreed to Jake's demand, but he was so certain she would that it made her blood run cold. 'I wouldn't be so sure about that, Jake,' she said through tightly clenched lips. His assumption yet again rankled. She had never been anything but a friend to Claude, even though she had once tempted Jake to think differently, and as for the rumours of her other men, that was all they had been—rumours. But she saw no reason to defend herself to Jake. Let the man think what he liked; she didn't care...
He shrugged. 'Why fight it, Katy? You'll only get hurt.' He gave her a chilling smile. 'I always get what I want eventually, and you will be no exception.'
'No.' She rejected his assertion vehemently, but knew it was a lie. Financially he held all the cards, and physically just the sight of him was enough to arouse fluttering sensations in the pit of her stomach.
He pulled her closer, his hand easing her head down on to his chest and settling his other arm more firmly around her, if such a thing was possible.
'Ah, but, Katy, darling, you want me, almost as much as I want you, and that gives me an advantage.' One hand slid up to clasp the nape of her neck and she felt the pressure of his long fingers on her throat. 'You threw me out of your bed a few months ago, but I think you will not make the same mistake twice...'
'I hate you,' she whispered, but the words were muffled against his shirt front, and if Jake heard them he gave no sign.
Katy wished with all her heart she had not dismissed him so crudely from her bed. She should have been more diplomatic—or, more accurately, not let him in her bed in the first place. He completely confused her, and being held so close to him, his warm male scent enveloping her, did not help her thought processes one jot.
Why was he forcing her to be his mistress? Because her father had married Monica, Jake's girlfriend? But Monica was free now—there was nothing to stop Jake marrying the woman himself. No, the underlying bitterness, the anger she had sensed in him all day, was directed at her. She had attacked the most sensitive part of the male ego when she had insulted Jake so badly, and she had only herself to blame for the mess she found herself in.
'Stop worrying, Katy, it will put premature lines on your lovely face.' The softl