The Mistress Deal

by Sandra Field

  “I was brought up to be polite.”

  “Then smile at me, darling,” he said in a silky undertone, “the waitress is coming.” Lifting her hand to his lips, he nibbled at her fingertips.

  As heat coursed through Lauren’s veins, she swayed toward him. The waitress said formally, “Have you had the chance to look at the menu, madam?”

  A blush stained Lauren’s cheeks. “Fruit salad, toast and coffee, please,” she babbled. Surely those were common enough items to be on any menu?

  “And you, sir?”

  Reece ordered, the waitress left and Reece said in a harsh whisper, “Every other woman I’ve ever had anything to do with has been an open book to me. But not you. You say you hate me and then you gaze at me as though you’d like to eat me for breakfast.”

  That was exactly the way she’d felt. For a wild moment Lauren was tempted to tell him they should skip the kayaking, go back to the bedroom and truly share the king-size bed. But what if Reece were then to give her the same message as Sandor: that she was a failure in bed, awkward and unresponsive, her beauty useless to her and to anyone else? She couldn’t bear that. It had been too humiliating, too shameful.

  She was afraid to go to bed with Reece. She’d rather face New York’s toughest art critics than the blue-eyed man sitting across from her at the table.

  “Lauren, what’s wrong? You look so unhappy.”

  The concern in his voice almost undid her. “Nothing that tomorrow won’t fix,” she mumbled, digging the tines of her fork into the linen cloth.

  He said tautly, “Let’s strike a deal. Let’s forget about Wallace and our bargain and that goddamned king-size bed and go out kayaking. Sunshine, tides and the sound of water…and maybe some killer whales. How about it?”

  The fork blurred in her vision; she was on the verge of crying again. Oh, God, what was the matter with her? “Sounds like a plan,” she faltered.

  “Good. I’m familiar with the area where they’ve been sighting the whales, so we’ll head straight there…the salmon migrations were late this year, that’s why they’re still around.”

  Lauren managed something like a smile. “Instead of a shark, I should have compared you to a killer whale.”

  “Not likely—they live in family groups,” he said, then added abruptly, “Good, here comes the coffee. Only way to start the day, wouldn’t you agree?”

  He hadn’t meant to say anything about families, Lauren thought, stirring cream into her coffee and gazing at her attractively arranged plate of fruit. As the waitress moved away, she said, “I’ve never asked you about your family.”

  “Nothing to tell…my parents are dead.”

  “No brothers or sisters?”

  After a fractional pause, he said, “No.”

  He was lying; she was almost certain of it. She speared a ripe strawberry with her fork, saying, “I was an only child. Every Christmas from age five to eight I wrote an impassioned letter to Santa Claus asking for a little sister to be left under the tree. Then one of my friends told me Santa didn’t exist.” Her smile was rueful. “The pains of growing up. Did you ever want a brother or sister?”

  “I had a sister. She died.”

  There was a small, dreadful silence. Lauren put her fork down. “Reece, I’m so sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago. Closed book. You should take sunscreen this morning—the light reflecting off the water can give you a bad burn.”

  The skin was taut over Reece’s knuckles; his eyes were hooded. He hadn’t meant to tell her about his sister, that was obvious. However she’d died, and however long ago, the pain of her death was still very much alive.

  Lauren longed to comfort him. Yet tomorrow afternoon when they arrived back in Vancouver, she was planning to turn her back on him. No, she’d said, I won’t keep in touch with you.

  Did she mean that? Could she simply turn her back on a man who made her angrier than she’d ever been in her life, whose body entranced her, whose character baffled and fascinated her in equal measure? What if she never saw him again? Was that what she wanted?

  She took a mouthful of raspberries and ate them as though they were made of Styrofoam. When in the last four years had she felt as alive, as vital as she had in Reece’s company? As frustrated, as happy and as furious? After Sandor, she’d buried herself in her work and neglected her sexuality, her very ordinary needs for intimacy. Her career had benefited. But what about the rest of her?

  “Did you hear what I said?” Reece demanded.

  “S-sorry?”

  “I asked how much kayaking experience you’d had.”

  She struggled to gather her thoughts. “Oh, quite a lot. With friends in Maine.”

  “Will you give me your home phone number?”

  She blinked. “I—yes. If you’ll do the same.”

  “I have a number where I can always be reached, I’ll give you that.”

  “Why, Reece?” she said faintly.

  “God knows,” he said in a raw voice. “I just can’t stand to say goodbye tomorrow and never see you again.”

  “I feel the same way.” She produced the ghost of a smile. “But—like you—don’t ask me to explain.”

  He said flatly, “I don’t believe Sandor anymore. I’m sorry I ever did.”

  A sliver of melon fell back on her plate. Feeling as though the earth had shifted beneath her feet, she whispered, “If I start to cry again, then you won’t believe me that I never cry.”

  “You’ve never used your sexuality to further your career, have you?”

  “Not unless you count Sandor in that category.”

  “I don’t. You were young. You were no doubt starry-eyed about being in Manhattan. And he was your mentor.”

  “I was in love with him. At least, I thought I was. Until one day he stole a design of mine and then denied it—and that was the end of that.”

  With sudden vigor Reece said, “Let’s go kayaking, Lauren. Now. I’ve had enough of the past and the fact that you and I lose our tempers with each other five times a day.”

  “Ten times.”

  “I refuse to argue about it,” he laughed, pushing back his chair. “How’s that for restraint?”

  It was she who was exercising restraint, Lauren thought. When he laughed like that he looked so carefree, so vital, so overwhelmingly male that it was as much as she could do to keep her hands off him.

  He believed her about Sandor. And he wanted her phone number. A big grin on her face, she followed him out of the dining room.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE waters of the strait were jade-green, thick strands of bull kelp aligned with the tide that surged between the islands. An eagle watched from a tall hemlock as the two kayaks passed; a seal slipped from the granite into the water. An hour after they’d set out, Reece said in a low voice, “Whales have been seen in this area. The tide’s just right, let’s hang around for a while.”

  “It’s so beautiful,” Lauren sighed.

  For once Reece was blind to the scenery; he had eyes only for Lauren. His mouth dry, he watched the sun on her profile as she drank in the graceful sweep of cedars and the dazzling white gulls that soared so effortlessly through the channels. She was totally unlike any other woman he’d ever wanted; he’d been a fool to judge her by stereotypes and secondhand reports.

  He had to bed her. Soon.

  Before they went their separate ways tomorrow? Was that what he wanted? To put some sort of claim on her, to say in the most primitive way possible to her and to the rest of the world that she was his? And his alone?

  She’d been happy that he’d asked for her phone number.

  “Reece,” Lauren said in an urgent whisper, “what’s that?”

  A dark snout had lifted itself from the water. Then the body followed in a sleek curve, the stark pattern of black and white dramatic and unmistakable. In a swoosh the whale blew, the mist hanging in the air as the tail vanished beneath the sea, leaving only ripples on the water. Then three more whales
surfaced, one much smaller than the other two. Their bodies arched with infinite grace, then they too were gone. The water rocked and was still.

  The first whale reemerged, twisting higher in the air, its flippers gleaming in the sun; it slapped down on the water, spray flying in all directions. A few moments later, the waves lifted the hull of Reece’s kayak. He spared a glance for Lauren. Her face was entranced. Would she look like that when he made love to her?

  How long was he willing to wait?

  The whales reappeared twice more. Then the water became once again an unbroken swath of dark green silk. Lauren said softly, “That was wonderful…thanks so much for bringing me here, Reece.”

  “A pleasure,” he said with a crooked grin. “Want to see some Kwakiutl rock carvings?”

  She smiled back, an uncomplicated smile of pure delight. “What do you think?”

  “Oh, I’m censoring my thoughts,” he said lightly.

  “Maybe it’s just as well we’re in separate kayaks.”

  “You could try sharing the bed tonight.”

  “On the strength of exchanging our phone numbers? I don’t think so.”

  She sounded very adamant. Too adamant? He said casually, “We’ll paddle between those two islands, the carvings are only ten minutes away.”

  She shot him a fulminating look. “Why do you want to make love to me, Reece? So tomorrow you can kiss me goodbye and go on to your next woman?”

  “I’ve never operated that way!”

  “You’ve never been in love, either. Never let a woman close to you. Are you going to tell me how your sister died?”

  Bloodstains on a city sidewalk… His paddle hit the water at the wrong angle and his boat slewed sideways. “No.”

  “You’re only interested in one kind of intimacy, that’s your problem.”

  “We’re arguing again, Lauren.”

  “The alternative seems to be for me to do exactly as you please.”

  Throwing her weight into her stroke, she dug her paddle into the water. Reece said innocently, “Want some chocolate-coated almonds?”

  “You drive me crazy,” she exclaimed, braking with one of her blades. “Yes, I do.”

  He brought his kayak closer to hers, reached in the pocket on his lifejacket and took out the package of almonds. But as she reached out her hand, Reece took her by the wrist, pulled her even closer and kissed her with lingering pleasure full on the mouth. His boat tipped dangerously. Releasing her with something less than finesse, he said, “You taste better than chocolate.”

  “Nicest compliment I’ve had all day. Well, the only one, actually.”

  He started to laugh, tipping some almonds into her palm. “You’re as graceful as a killer whale, how about that?”

  “You’re like a chunk of granite. Unmovable.”

  “You’re as beautiful as a sea cucumber,” Reece said solemnly.

  Earlier he’d pointed out some of the slimy, olive-green sea cucumbers that were draped over the rocks, their bulbous bodies adorned with livid red spots. “Yuk,” said Lauren. “I know what you’re like—the tides. Deep and dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “Oh, yes,” Lauren said, “very dangerous. I want some more almonds, then I want to see the rock carvings.”

  If only he didn’t like her so much. If only he weren’t convinced his money meant less than nothing to her. If only she wasn’t so heartstoppingly beautiful…if none of these were true, would he be able to turn his back on her tomorrow? And what if he did seduce her? Would that bind her to him even more tenaciously?

  Permanence wasn’t in his plans. The one thing he’d learned from Clea’s death was that there was no permanence. He tipped more of the almonds into her hand and said easily, “There’s some incredible driftwood along the shoreline near the yacht club. I’ll show you on the way back.”

  Lauren loved the rock carvings; but the driftwood induced in her a silence that Reece already recognized as her creativity going into high gear. As she wandered among the huge tangled roots and twisted branches, which were polished by the sea and bleached by the sun, he realized something else. The driftwood was free. He couldn’t buy it for her. And he’d be willing to bet that given a choice of a fifty-carat diamond and a stump rounded like an ancient turtle, she’d take the stump.

  He wasn’t falling in love with her. Of course he wasn’t. Falling in love, like permanence, wasn’t on his list.

  Lauren wandered back to him, her face abstracted. “I’m so glad you showed this to me.”

  Add generosity to her list of virtues, he thought, and fought against the temptation to strip her naked and bed her on the pale sand, where hemlocks whispered in the breeze and the driftwood would be their only witness. “I’ll tow your kayak back, if you want to stay for a while,” he offered. “You can walk back to the club from here.”

  Her smile was blinding. “Would you? That’d be wonderful.”

  As he paddled away from the beach, Reece was willing to bet she’d already forgotten all about him. He wasn’t sure whether to be angry or amused that she could so cavalierly dismiss him: that she was happy to be abandoned on a deserted beach in the wilderness. New experiences were supposed to stretch your character, he thought wryly. His must be way out of shape after a week in Lauren’s company.

  Not that that was permanent, either.

  Lauren stayed on the beach for almost two hours. In the end, she lugged a relatively small piece of driftwood back to the club, its branches curved like waves rising from the sea. She knew exactly what she was going to do with it. Walking to the deck that wrapped around Reece’s suite, she shrugged off her lifejacket, went inside and got right to work. Reece didn’t come back for lunch; at four in the afternoon, she realized she was extremely hungry. She’d have a quick shower and get something to eat from room service.

  Bundling her hair under a plastic cap, Lauren let the water beat on her shoulders and arms. The work she’d done in the last few hours had been deeply satisfying; but she was honest enough to realize she was also using it as escapism. In twenty-four hours, she and Reece would go their separate ways, he to London, she back to Charlie’s, and thence to her studio in Manhattan. Worlds apart.

  She was dreading the moment when they’d actually say goodbye; dreading it with a poignancy that had her nervous system on red alert. As the water streamed down her breasts and thighs, she wondered with an inner shiver of desire what it would be like to have Reece’s hands roam her body. If she made love with him, what barriers between them would fall? What would she learn about this man of contradictions, so complex and private, so forceful and intense? And what would she learn about herself? That she wasn’t the failure Sandor had labeled her?

  She mustn’t even think this way. Because once Reece returned to his true milieu, he’d forget all about her and their ridiculous bargain.

  She closed her eyes, letting the water lave her face. She’d called him dangerous. But her own thoughts were even more dangerous. Jerkily Lauren turned off the gold taps and stepped onto the mat, wrapping herself in a luxuriously soft towel. Pulling off her shower cap, she shook out her hair and walked out to the bedroom to get clean clothes. With her free hand, she picked out a long skirt of fine wool and an embroidered shirt, tossed them on the chair and rummaged in the drawer for underwear.

  A man strode into the bedroom, flipping through a sheaf of papers. Reece.

  As Lauren gave an exclamation of dismay, her hand slipped, the towel exposing the creamy slopes of her breasts. Reece stopped dead in his tracks. His papers dropped to the floor. He said hoarsely, “Oh, God, Lauren, you’re exquisite…”

  And then she was in his arms, and he was kissing her as though she was the only woman in the world and he the only man. As though she was his heart’s desire, she thought dizzily, and felt the first imperious thrust of his tongue. The towel slipped further. As she made a frantic grab for it, he stayed her hand. “I want to see you,” he said thickly. “All of you.”

  �
�But—”

  He drew the folds of the towel away from her body, his eyes drinking in her full breasts, the sweet curves from waist to hip, the nest of dark hair at the juncture of her thighs. Then he dropped the towel to the floor to join his papers. With one hand he ripped at the buttons of his shirt, with the other traced the swell of her breast to its tip.

  Fire streaked her flesh. She gasped with mingled shock and pleasure, in a wild surge of hope wondering if she might not, with Reece, enter a country she’d never traveled before. One from which Sandor had barred her. She swayed toward Reece as he tossed his shirt on the foot of the bed, her nipples rasped by his body hair, her flesh pierced again by that elusive streak of fire.

  He took her face in his hands, kissing her with such passionate intensity that Lauren forgot all the reasons why she shouldn’t be doing this. Forgot everything but the heat of his skin and her longing to be released from all her old fears and inadequacies. Dimly she sensed him fumbling with his belt; then he pushed her back on the bed, falling on top of her.

  He was naked, fully aroused, his weight pinioning her. She made a tiny sound in her throat, for this was going too fast and beneath it all she realized she was still afraid. He muttered, “Dearest Lauren,” and kissed her again, his tongue seeking hers, his hands roaming her body just as she’d fantasized in the shower. His palms clasped her waist, lifting her and arching her body to his, his mouth sliding down her throat to her breasts. As he took one rosy tip and teased it between his teeth, she gasped with delight.

  “Reece, oh, please, yes…”

  But before the fire could encompass her, he had moved from there like a man driven, assailing her with a host of sensations too sudden and too shattering to assimilate. She sought for words, and in a frightening flashback remembered how often with Sandor she’d tried to explain what she wanted, only to end up feeling that somehow she’d failed him.

  She didn’t want to fail Reece. But neither did she want to fail herself. As Reece’s fingers sought for and found the soft, wet cleft between her thighs, she said urgently, “Reece, I—”