by Heidi Betts
“It is,” Bridget replied without hesitation. “It can be a pain in the butt, too, but any time I’m in trouble or need something, I know I can turn to them.”
A beat passed before Bridget said, “You can, too, you know. Once you and Cullen get married, you’ll be as much an Elliott as the rest of us and can come to me or the others whenever you need anything.”
Misty started to protest that she and Cullen weren’t going to marry, then thought better of it. He had probably already told his family they were, and no amount of argument from her would convince them differently.
Besides, she really didn’t want to bring Cullen’s cousin into the debate. It would become clear enough to everyone that a wedding wasn’t going to take place when no plans were made and she flew back to Las Vegas.
She also took exception to the idea that she would fold naturally into their family and automatically become one of them just because she married Cullen. Bridget herself had said that their grandfather, Patrick Elliott, had been overheard claiming, no grandson of mine is going to marry a stripper!
She wasn’t a stripper and never had been, but doubted the eldest Elliott would appreciate the distinction.
A lot of people felt the same way, so she could hardly blame him for the misconception. It bothered her more that he had apparently made up his mind about her and her relationship with Cullen before even meeting her. But then, she couldn’t blame him for that, either. In his shoes, she probably would have had a similar reaction.
From the outside, she was sure she looked like a gold digger, out for the Elliott money. An exshowgirl, searching for a way out of Las Vegas and into one of the wealthiest and most successful families in the northeast.
First, they would say, she lured Cullen in with hot sex and a convenient affair. Then she managed to get herself pregnant and trap him into a loveless marriage.
If only people—Cullen’s family included—knew the truth. How much she really did care for him, and that this pregnancy had been as much of a shock to her as it had to anyone else.
Her hand moved to cover the slight bulge in her lap as the Town Car moved through the stop-and-go Manhattan traffic.
That was another reason she couldn’t marry Cullen—because no matter what they did or said, no one would ever believe she hadn’t gotten pregnant on purpose to tie him to her and gain ready access to his money.
She might be a kept woman, but she wasn’t a gold digger and didn’t think she could live with the knowledge that everyone in the world thought she was.
Hours later, Misty and Bridget sat at a white latticework table on the patio of a local delicatessen. A slight breeze ruffled the umbrella over their heads as they made slow work of their sandwiches and fruit salad.
They probably would have been at the restaurant much earlier, except that Bridget had insisted they stop along the way. After hearing about what Misty had done so far on her first visit to New York, she had declared Misty’s outings boring and pedestrian and decided to give her a taste of what the Elliott women considered a fun day of shopping.
She had taken Misty to several jewelry stores and boutiques, encouraging her to buy something at each. She kept telling her he wouldn’t mind, and a part of Misty knew it was true. But she felt extremely uncomfortable at the notion of making or asking Cullen to pay for anything more than necessities for her.
Providing for their child was one thing, but she refused to accept baubles and superfluous gifts that would make her feel like more than just a mistress. They would make her feel like a whore. No better than the type of woman everyone already assumed her to be.
She didn’t say as much to Bridget, even though she suspected the woman would have understood if she’d explained. Instead, Bridget had shrugged one slim shoulder each time Misty declined to make a purchase and went ahead to buy a hat and pair of calf-high boots for herself.
On and off while they strolled through the shops and rode through town in the luxury sedan, Bridget filled her in on all kinds of family gossip and the goings-on at EPH.
Some of it made her laugh, such as the story Bridget told of one of The Buzz employees attending a meeting with the word Urgent stamped across the back of his rumpled shirt, giving everyone a pretty clear idea of what he’d been up to in the copy room with one of the magazine’s young receptionists.
Other parts made her wonder, like the apparent competition Patrick Elliott had set up between his children by issuing the challenge that whichever one of them made the biggest success of his or her magazine by the end of the year would be given the position of CEO of EPH when Patrick retired.
Misty couldn’t imagine pitting siblings against one another in any manner, let alone over something as inconsequential as a family business. She realized how large an empire EPH was, but it was still just a company, just a job, not nearly as important as family and children, love and respect.
Hearing such a thing about the man who would be her own child’s great-grandfather made her feel slightly ill. She wasn’t particularly looking forward to meeting Patrick, but she swore that no matter what, she would protect their child from him and his gruff demeanor, his disdain—or outright hatred, as the case may be—and his manipulative personality.
“He’s a controlling old bastard, is what he is,” Bridget told her, munching on her sandwich as she continued on the topic of her grandfather. “His interference in my life and the rest of the family’s lives drives me insane. Somebody needs to either shake some sense into him or tell him to leave us the hell alone.”
Misty sipped at the glass of cranberry juice she’d ordered with her meal, nodding in agreement. She certainly didn’t have anything to offer other than her own personal concerns about how Patrick would affect her and her baby’s life, and Bridget seemed content to have a captive audience while she talked.
“He made Uncle Daniel marry Aunt Amanda when she got pregnant right out of high school. And I guess we should all be grateful or we wouldn’t have Cullen to love.” She shot Misty a knowing, lopsided grin. “But they still should have been allowed to make up their own minds about how to handle the situation. They might have ended up together anyway, and then wouldn’t have gotten divorced. Even if they wouldn’t have, I’d bet you anything Daniel still would have been a great father and done right by both Amanda and Bryan.”
She washed down the sandwich with a gulp of soda. “And forcing Finola to give up her baby when she got pregnant at fifteen was just wrong. I mean, I don’t think poor Aunt Finny has ever gotten over it. She’s let her job as editor in chief of Charisma completely take over her life. She won’t even date.”
Leaning back in her chair, Bridget added, “I don’t want the magazine to take over my whole life, that’s for sure.”
A second later, she leaned forward again and whispered conspiratorially, “If I tell you something, will you promise not to breathe a word of it to anyone? Not even Cullen?”
Misty sat in stunned silence for a moment. She felt both honored that Cullen’s cousin wanted to confide in her and unworthy at the same time. But she nodded, anyway, stretching over her plate to hear what Bridget had to say, because she was loathe to put an end to the camaraderie she’d found with this young woman.
“Cross your heart?” Bridget demanded.
“Cross my heart…” she promised, forming the invisible symbol on the front of her shirt.
“I love running the photo department at Charisma, don’t get me wrong. And I’ve never told this to anyone before, but…I’ve been working on a tell-all book about the Elliott family. Granddad would die if he knew. As it is, he’ll probably kill me when he finds out. But it has to be done. Somebody has to let the world know what kind of man Patrick Elliott really is and what he’s done to get where he is.”
Almost before Misty had a chance to digest all that, Bridget’s expression went from harshly determined to soft and unsure.
She huffed out a breath and shoved a wedge of cantaloupe in her mouth. “Do you think I’m crazy?
Do you think I’m risking not only my grandfather’s wrath, but my entire family’s rejection?”
“I don’t know,” Misty answered honestly. She didn’t know any of them, save Cullen, well enough to predict how they would react to Bridget’s clandestine actions or to a tome that would reveal to the world the inner workings and private scandals of the Elliott family dynasty.
“I think…” She took a deep breath and then dove in with her honest opinion. “I think you need to do what feels right to you. It sounds like you’re very passionate about this project, and I can only think that’s a good thing. You shouldn’t spend your life working at a job you don’t love or doing something that makes you feel unfulfilled.”
She took another sip of juice before bravely forging on. “Just because you write this book doesn’t mean you have to seek publication for it. You could do it for your own satisfaction and no one else would ever need to know.”
At that, Bridget’s face fell. It was obvious her aspirations for this tell-all were much larger than simply a secret hobby.
“But if you do publish it…I’m not an Elliott, so maybe I shouldn’t even be saying this, but maybe airing out some of the family linens is exactly what your grandfather needs to realize he’s been too controlling of his children and grandchildren.”
“Really?” Bridget reached across the glass-topped table and squeezed Misty’s hand. “Oh, Misty, thank you. That makes me feel so much better. At least you understand. Someone has to be brave enough to tell the truth about the Elliott family—not just the truth as Patrick Elliott has concocted it.”
The rest of their lunch passed without any more heavy disclosures, but Misty still felt herself withdrawing emotionally. She liked Bridget very much, but knew that forging too much of a friendship with her would be unfair when she probably wouldn’t be in town much longer and might never return to New York after that.
When they pulled up in front of Cullen’s town house, Bridget immediately leaned across the seat to embrace Misty before she could step out of the car. Misty hugged her back, her eyes stinging with tears as she realized she’d finally met someone with whom she could truly become friends.
And that she might never see the young woman again.
Eleven
“H ow was your lunch with Bridget?”
Misty was sitting at the kitchen island, staring at, but not really solving, the crossword puzzle from yesterday’s paper.
She raised her head at Cullen’s question, realizing she hadn’t heard him come in. Hadn’t heard the front door open…his footsteps across the hardwood floor…his keys hitting the hall credenza. He’d shrugged out of his suit jacket and set down his briefcase, but she hadn’t heard or witnessed those actions, either.
And it was no great mystery why. Spending the afternoon with Bridget had filled her mind with a million different thoughts, all of them centering on Cullen and whether or not she should risk staying with him in New York any longer.
Scratching her head in a distracted gesture, she pasted a smile on her face that she didn’t quite feel and twisted around on her stool.
“Good. I like your cousin,” she answered. “How about you? How was your day?”
“Good.”
He continued forward until he stood directly in front of her, hedging her in, his breath dancing over her cheeks, her lashes, her lips. Lifting his hands, he set his palms against the edge of the island on either side of her and leaned in.
“I missed you, though. I was thinking,” he murmured, his mouth grazing her temple, them moving down along the line of her jaw, “maybe tomorrow you could come into work with me. That way, whenever I start daydreaming about you, you’ll be right there instead of so far away.”
The corners of her lips turned up in amusement at his exaggeration of the distance between his office and his house.
“Wouldn’t that be distracting for you?” she asked, driving her fingers through his hair and letting her head fall back as he kissed a molten path down the column of her neck.
“Not half as distracting as it’s been wanting you and not having you in easy reach.”
Her heart gave a little flip at his words, and her toes curled inside her shoes.
She wanted to ask if he’d found her equally distracting for the past four years, while they’d been carrying on their affair, living at opposite ends of the country. But she was too afraid of what his response might be. Too afraid he hadn’t thought of her much at all, while she’d thought of him each and every day.
His nose nuzzled the scoop neck of her shirt just above her breasts, his tongue darting out to wet her rapidly heating skin. Her eyes slid closed and a low purr sounded at the back of her throat.
“Let’s go upstairs,” Cullen growled.
“Aren’t you hungry? Don’t you want dinner first?”
He straightened and her eyes popped open. Before she could guess his intent, he scooped her up in his arms and turned for the foyer.
“The only thing I’m hungry for right now is you. Food can wait.”
He took the stairs quickly but carefully, moving toward the bedroom like a man on a mission. When he reached the foot of the bed, he laid her gently atop the mattress and followed her down.
The look in his eyes was intense, possessive…adoring, and it caused her stomach to clench with regret. She would miss him so much when she left.
And she would leave. She had to. But it would be one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do. Because she loved him.
Deep down in her soul, she knew she always had. All the denials and claims that she was in the affair because he was a good man and treated her better than any of the guys from her past were just so much smoke.
She loved him in a way she hadn’t known possible, and for the first time thanked God she was carrying his child. It might be selfish of her to think it, but at least by having his baby, she would always have a piece of him, always have a connection to him that no one and nothing could break.
If she could, she would marry him, spend the rest of her life with him. But that would require her to have been working as something other than a showgirl when they met, and for their relationship to have begun as something other than an illicit, red-hot affair.
His being an Elliott didn’t help, either. Maybe if he weren’t, then some of the hurdles between them wouldn’t have looked quite so insurmountable.
Moisture prickled behind her eyes and she bit the inside of her lip, blinking rapidly to keep her emotions in check. If Cullen noticed she was close to tears, he would want to know what was wrong, and wouldn’t let up until she told him.
But how could she tell him that she was leaving him because she loved him? Tell him and make him understand that it was for the best—for everyone.
She knew Cullen would try to talk her out of it. When that didn’t work, he would try to argue her into changing her mind. And if she was still determined to go, he would likely tie her to the bed until she came to her senses.
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. His stubborn streak and single-mindedness were two of the things she loved most about him. They made her feel cared for and protected.
But this time, she couldn’t let his Elliott arrogance stop her from doing what she knew was right.
Brushing his thumbs over the twin arches of her brows, he stared down at her, his body pressed along hers from shoulder to ankle.
“You look so serious,” he said softly. “What are you thinking?”
The words I love you were on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t let them escape.
For one thing, love hadn’t been part of the agreement when they’d first started sleeping together; it wouldn’t be fair for her to bring such a sentiment into the deal now.
For another, she couldn’t bear to tell Cullen she loved him and not hear the words in return. Or worse, to see his face turn stony and tense as he tried to figure out a way to extricate himself from a mistress who had suddenly become too clingy and emotionally i
nvolved.
Pregnancy or no pregnancy, shared child or no shared child, she had to remember that they were still only a mister and mistress.
She shook her head, raising her arms to run her fingers through his silky hair.
“Nothing important,” she answered in response to his question, pushing all other thoughts and feelings to the back of her mind. “I was just thinking about how nice it is to be someone’s substitution for food and drink.”
“Not someone’s,” he growled. “Mine.”
His teeth closed on the muscle in her throat, over the jugular vein, in predatory possessiveness. Her pulse sped up, pumping blood even harder past the area where his hot, wet tongue now swirled against her skin. She writhed beneath him, wanting closer, wanting more.
He released her throat and moved to her mouth, kissing her with a heat and passion that sucked the air from her lungs and left her breathless.
While his tongue parried with her own, his hands caressed her arms, her waist, her breasts.
Little by little she felt her clothes loosen and begin to fall away. Rolling and shifting, she let him strip the black slacks and hot pink top from her body, leaving her in only panties and bra.
Returning the favor, she slipped the end of his tie through its knot and pulled the entire length away from his collar. Next, she slowly ran her fingers down the front of his shirt, releasing each of the small buttons until the material gaped open, leaving his broad, smooth chest bare to her touch.
He inhaled sharply, his abdomen going rigid as her nails trailed along his sides and into the waistband of his dress pants. She flipped the catch open with her thumb and forefinger, easing the zipper down as she continued to drink from his lips, nipping, licking, sucking.
When she delved into his briefs to gently cup his straining erection, Cullen pulled away and jumped to his feet to shed his shoes and trousers so quickly, she chuckled. He came back to her blessedly naked and wasted no time freeing her from the constriction of her matching bra and panties.
Their mouths met. Breaths mingled and limbs tangled as they twisted and rolled around on top of the bedclothes. He kissed the side of her neck, drew the lobe of her ear into his mouth, then his lips moved lower, across her chest, until they reached the peak of one breast.