The Mistress Deal

by Sandra Field

  “Yes,” he muttered huskily, “you want me as much as I want you, don’t you, my darling?” and thrust deep within her.

  Again fear was eclipsed by wonderment. She clutched him by the shoulders, glorying in his strength and fierce impulsions, and cried out his name in a broken voice that she scarcely recognized as her own. As though it was all the signal he needed, his mouth plummeted to hers. As she opened to him, she brought his hand to her breast, aching for that streak of fire; but before it could reach her, she felt him break within her, a deep throbbing that both excluded her yet was so intensely intimate that she wanted to weep.

  His heart was pounding against her ribs, his quickened breathing stirred her hair. He said thickly, “Lauren, beautiful Lauren…oh, God, that was much too fast, but I’ve desired you for so long. Too long. Let’s spend the rest of the day in bed, so we can—” His eyes fell on his watch, still on his wrist. In utter consternation, he said, “I left the meeting to get those papers…they’ll be wondering where I am.” Sudden laughter gleamed in his eyes. “I don’t think I’ll tell them. What do you think?”

  Through a haze of frustration and despair, Lauren managed to find her voice. “None of their business,” she said raggedly. Yet her heart was tripping in her breast, for surely that was tenderness shining from his eyes and warming his smile. Tenderness and concern.

  “Sweetheart,” he said, “I’ve got to go, but I’ll be back as soon as I can—give me two hours. Why don’t you stay just where you are, and we’ll pick this up where we left off? Because this is only the beginning, you know that, don’t you?”

  She didn’t. But she produced a creditable smile of her own, saying almost too casually, “I’ll tidy your papers while you get dressed.”

  But the first thing she did was find the towel and knot it firmly above her breasts, knowing she didn’t want to be naked in front of him anymore. The papers were still in order; she aligned them carefully and passed them to him as he finished doing up his shirt, her eyes somewhere at the level of the top button. He said urgently, “Lauren, I shouldn’t have fallen on you like that, it all happened too quickly. But when I saw you, I—”

  “You’d better hurry,” she said with another of those meaningless smiles, smoothing his shirtfront so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

  “Yeah…” He gave her a quick, fierce kiss. “We’ve got the whole night,” he said huskily. “A whole night for me to show you how much I want you.”

  He jammed his feet in his loafers and turned away. A moment later Lauren heard the outer door close behind him. She flung open the closet, grabbing a pair of bush pants and a shirt. She had to get out of here. Out of the bedroom. Out of the club. Go somewhere where she could think.

  The beach, she thought. The beach with the driftwood. That’s where she’d go. Maybe there she could make some sense out of a lovemaking that had tantalized her with what might have been, yet had withheld true fulfillment.

  Hadn’t it simply proved Sandor right? That she was a cold woman, whose creativity and imagination stopped short of the bed? Pain flooded her heart. Reece had had no problem unleashing his passion. So what was wrong with her?

  Desperate to be outdoors, she went through the patio doors to the deck, going down the steps and crossing in front of the club. There was an attractive wild garden flanking the dining room; as she ducked beneath a dogwood tree, a voice said cheerily, “Hi, there, Lauren. What are you up to?”

  She gave a nervous start. “Oh, Ray,” she said. “I—I was just out for a walk.”

  She’d met Ray Hardy and his wife Diane last night at dinner, and had warmed to them both. They’d won a lottery four years ago, and now were taking a great deal of pleasure in spending their gains. Their enormous power-boat, Winner, was moored in the bay.

  “Another nice day,” Ray said contentedly. “We plan to leave shortly—Diane’s got a hankering to do some shopping in Vancouver, and I’ve had enough of hanging around these financial types. Don’t get me wrong, your Reece is a fine fella, just a touch too high-powered for me.”

  For me, too, Lauren thought unhappily. “You seemed to be holding your own at dinner last night.”

  “Decided when I won all that money I should learn a bit about looking after it. A couple of financiers took me for a ride before I smartened up—that’s why I pay attention to a guy like Reece, you can see he’s honest as the day’s long.”

  It was an interesting perspective on Reece. Even though part of her was desperate to be alone, Lauren was reluctant to hurt Ray’s feelings by hurrying off. “I’m sorry you got cheated out of some of your money.”

  “I said to the second one, ‘Wallace,’ I said, ‘you’re the real loser here because you get to live with yourself.’ Not that that recovered any of my losses, mind you—but I felt a whole lot better for saying it.”

  Lauren’s brain had stopped dead. Wallace meant one person to her—one person only. It couldn’t be the same man. “Wallace?” she repeated faintly.

  “That’s right. Wallace Harvarson. Charming fella, all the right connections, but crooked as the branches on this tree.”

  Lauren clutched the trunk of the tree, her head whirling. “You’re saying Wallace Harvarson cheated you out of a lot of money?” she said incredulously. “Are you sure?”

  “Sure as I’m standing here… Hey, what’s up? You don’t look so good.”

  She said weakly, “Wallace was my stepfather. Wallace is the reason I’m with Reece.”

  Ray took her by the elbow and steered her toward a cedar bench tucked in the shade. “Now you sit right down and tell me what’s the matter,” he ordered. “I feel real bad that I’ve upset you like this.”

  His plump face was full of genuine concern. As briefly as she could, Lauren described the bargain between her and Reece. “I didn’t believe a word Reece said—I couldn’t imagine that Wallace, whom I adored, had been responsible for fraud. But he must have been. If he cheated you, he cheated Reece, too. Oh, God, I’ve been such a fool. Such a blind, stupid fool.”

  She pressed her palms to her cheeks. The evidence Reece had spoken of at their first meeting had been real, not fabricated; how he must have laughed at her impassioned defense of a man whose true character had been unknown to her. She’d been oblivious. She’d seen the man she’d wanted to see.

  Ray said comfortingly, “Now then, you did what you thought best. This bargain to protect your stepfather’s name—you did it in good faith, and that’s what counts.”

  She said with true desperation, “I can’t face Reece after this. I couldn’t stand to see him again.”

  “Well, now, he did kind of take advantage of you.”

  In the most basic way possible, she thought miserably. Less than an hour ago in the big bed that overlooked the ocean. “Ray,” she said urgently, “would you and Diane take me to Vancouver with you? Then I could get the first flight to New York—I really need to go home.”

  “Sure thing. Why don’t you get your bags, and I’ll bring the dinghy to meet you? That way they won’t see you from the main desk… I kind of like to read spy stories,” he explained apologetically.

  “Give me five minutes,” she said, and ran back to the wing where she and Reece were staying. It no longer mattered that she would be breaking the bargain. When Reece published the story of Wallace’s fraud—because he would publish it, there’d be nothing stopping him—he’d be telling the truth. The stepfather she’d loved had been a figment of her imagination.

  As pain engulfed her, she stumbled on the rough ground, throwing out a hand to keep her balance. A lovemaking that had confirmed all her fears, a revelation that had destroyed her beloved stepfather…how could she bear it?

  She’d bear it because she had to. What she couldn’t bear was to see Reece again. Because the worst thing of all was that she couldn’t trust her own judgment. Wallace’s many kindnesses had blinded her to his duplicity. Then she’d fallen under the spell of Sandor’s charisma, only gradually realizing that his outw
ard charm masked cruelty and a need to dominate.

  What of Reece? What was he really like?

  Drawing a long, jagged breath, she climbed up the slope to the deck and slipped through the door. Four minutes later she left by the same door, her suitcase in her hand, her driftwood sculpture in a plastic bag. She’d left the briefest of notes on the bed, its gist that she’d found out the truth about Wallace, that she was going home, and that she never wanted to see Reece again.

  Ray had pushed the dinghy against the bank. She clambered in, positioning her case amidships and sitting where it would be hidden should anyone be watching from the club. They boarded Winner from the far side, and the crew started the engines. The wind blowing her hair around her face, Lauren watched the yacht club grow smaller, then vanish from sight as they rounded a pine-clad peninsula.

  It wasn’t Wallace she was thinking of. It was Reece. With every moment, as the wake spread behind them, she was being carried further and further from him; her whole body felt as if it, too, were being stretched, clinging to him in desperation.

  She wasn’t in love with him. She couldn’t be: she’d told him she never wanted to see him again. So why did her heart feel as though it was being torn in two?

  CHAPTER TEN

  AT FIVE minutes after midnight, Lauren unlocked the door of her Manhattan studio. She was exhausted from jet lag and emotional stress; yet she was also wide awake, every nerve jangling. She put down her case and saw that the light on her telephone was flashing. Messages, waiting for her. Was there one from Reece?

  Would he come after her?

  A plan which had been playing in the back of her mind sprang fully-fledged into existence. She’d go to Maine. Now. She’d sell the house by the sea that Wallace had left her and she’d send the proceeds to Reece. She wouldn’t get five hundred thousand for it, the full amount of Wallace’s fraud; but she might get three. That would be a start.

  It was the only way she knew to make reparation for the wrong Wallace had done.

  Ignoring the telephone, she put on a pot of coffee in the kitchen, then found the key to the Maine property. Tossing the clothes she’d had at the yacht club on her bed, she quickly packed an overnight bag. She loved to drive. She’d take her time, stay at a couple of bed-and-breakfasts, try and sort out her life and get it back on track after an interlude that would surely, very soon, be relegated to the realm of temporary madness. The sooner forgotten, the better.

  Once Lauren got out of the city, she drove steadily through the night; midmorning, she booked into a pleasant country inn, phoned Charlie to let her know where she was, then fell asleep like one stunned. When she woke up, she got in touch with a real estate agency in Maine that was near her house in Fox Cove. She then traveled along the coast the rest of the day. To her dismay, it was Reece who persisted in usurping her thoughts, rather than Wallace. Reece, whose hurried lovemaking had left her bereft.

  She stayed the next night near the New Hampshire border, rather enjoying the sense of being in limbo, of no one knowing where she was. About noon the following day, she pulled up outside the house that Wallace had bequeathed her.

  It was a restored saltbox house with white trim, set on an acre of prime property; in summer, roses and honeysuckle filled the air with their rich perfume, overlying the salt tang of the sea. Lauren had always planned to live in the house when she tired of New York. But how could she, now that she knew the property had come to her under false pretenses? From a man who’d been a liar and a cheat?

  As she stood there, feeling the first deep ache of loss for a landscape she’d always loved, a silver Mercedes drew up behind her. The large voluble woman who climbed out was named Marjorie; she was the real estate agent and had already found a buyer. “He went ’round it yesterday, and he’s submitted an offer, along with a postdated cheque,” she said. “Rather irregular, but he’s had his eye on it for months, so he was delighted to hear it was for sale and didn’t want anyone else beating him to it. This can all be cleared up in no time, Ms. Courtney.”

  That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Better a quick, clean break than protracted negotiations. Lauren looked over the offer, skimming through the fine print. The man’s price was more than fair, and his conditions minimal. As she took out her pen and signed the document, Marjorie heaved a big sigh. “I wish all my sales were that easy. You wouldn’t believe how fussy people can be.” She checked the date on the offer. “You can move out that quickly?”

  “I want this over and done with,” Lauren said. “I’ll call the removal firm in a few minutes. Thanks so much, Marjorie, and I’ll talk to you later this afternoon.”

  Marjorie took the hint and drove away. Lauren unlocked the front door and walked in. The rooms were awash in sunlight that had an added clarity from the ocean’s nearness. Normally the pine floors, pastel walls, and carefully garnered antiques welcomed Lauren back; but not today. Wallace’s past and her own decisive actions had exiled her from a house that had always been a refuge and a place of renewal.

  Tears streaking her cheeks, she slowly walked from room to room, occasionally picking up a knickknack or running her fingers along a picture frame, saying her private farewells. She was so immersed in this ritual that the scrunch of tires in the gravel driveway and the slam of a car door came like a physical intrusion. Then the doorbell rang.

  She could ignore it. But perhaps it was the purchaser, come to discuss some further details. She swiped at her cheeks and walked downstairs, her dark green skirt swaying around her knees.

  As the door swung open and Reece saw Lauren standing in the sunlight, his heart gave a great thud in his chest. He hadn’t been at all convinced she’d be here. She looked very unhappy; then in swift succession shocked, frightened and aghast. He said, “You sure took off from the yacht club in a hurry.”

  He’d planned to sound conciliatory; but the total lack of welcome in her face infuriated him. Part of his anger, he knew, arose from sheer relief that she was safe. But not all of it.

  The color had drained from her cheeks. “Reece?” she whispered, gripping the door frame as though it were all that was holding her up. “What are you doing here? How did you know where to find me?”

  “Oh, it wasn’t easy. I had all the Vancouver hotels checked, then your studio—no sign of you anywhere. So I thought you might come here, and flew in an hour ago.”

  “I thought you had to go to London.”

  “Haven’t you heard about delegating?”

  “Am I supposed to feel flattered?”

  “You’ve been crying,” he said abruptly.

  “If I’ve just had hysterics, it’s nothing to do with you.”

  “It’s everything to do with me,” he retorted; and listened to the words replay in his head.

  “Oh, no, it’s not. So why don’t you fly right back where you came from and leave me alone?”

  “We’ve got some unfinished business.”

  “I absolve you—you can publish anything you like about Wallace. What a fool you must have thought me! But I adore Wallace. I knew him through and through, he’d never do anything dishonest…well, I’ve learned my lesson. I couldn’t trust Sandor and I shouldn’t have trusted Wallace and as for you, you can’t get out of my life too soon.”

  Reece planted one foot firmly on the step so she couldn’t slam the door in his face. “The unfinished business has nothing to do with Wallace.”

  She ignored him, her cheeks now bright as red flags. “As you’re here, you can take this. It’s a start, at least.” And she thrust a piece of paper at him.

  He unfolded it. It was a postdated cheque for three hundred thousand dollars, made out to Lauren. “What’s this all about?”

  “I’ve just sold the place. Those are the proceeds. I now owe you two hundred thousand, which you’ll get as soon as I can sell my studio.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” he asked in a cracked voice.

  “You think I can live with myself knowing my stepfather cheated you out of h
alf a million dollars?”

  “You didn’t cheat me! He did.”

  “For years he was the only real family I had. I feel responsible. Or is that a concept you don’t understand?”

  “Lauren,” Reece said strongly, “I don’t like standing on the doorstep like an insurance salesman. Let’s continue this indoors.”

  “There’s nothing to continue.”

  She looked as though she meant it. He tugged her fingers free of the door frame, and stepped up so he was level with her, his body very close to hers. The result was entirely predictable: he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her until she melted in his embrace.

  Right. Just like the last time.

  Which was, of course, the unfinished business he’d mentioned. However, if he had any sense, he’d wait a few minutes before broaching the subject of sex. She didn’t exactly look receptive.

  Pushing past her, he looked around in genuine appreciation, feeling the old house welcome him, hearing through an open window the soft rhythms of the sea. “Have you spent a lot of time here over the years?”

  She was backed against the wall, her eyes inimical. “When are you going to publish the evidence against Wallace?”

  “What makes you think I will?”

  “I broke the terms of our agreement.”

  “So did I. We said no sex.”

  Her lips tightened. “I’m glad you’re not laboring under the delusion that we made love.”

  “Low blow, Lauren.”

  “It’s the only language you understand.”

  “Why don’t you just come right out and tell me what a rotten bastard I am?” he said pleasantly.

  She straightened, jamming her fists in the pockets of her skirt, which swirled around her hips. “You’re a destroyer,” she said bitterly. “I loved Wallace. I loved this house. If my mother cared about me when I was little, she certainly gave no evidence of doing so as I got older. I don’t remember my real father, and my second stepfather couldn’t wait for me to leave town. So I put my need for a loving parent onto Wallace, and my search for security into this house. And now you’ve smashed both of them. Do you destroy everything you touch?”