"Ah, my mercurial Calla," he murmured, instead. "So sweet and accommodating one moment, sending out sparks the next. There's only one thing a man can do with the likes of you."
Calla's yearning soul brought her chin down a trifle and arched her spine as her torso swooned to connect with William's. "And that is?"
William's hands caught her forearms to hold her in place. He wanted to look into her face a bit longer. This close he could see every curling lash fluttering over the liquid pools of her verdant eyes. Desire stirred anew in their depths. She wanted the same thing he did. "Calla, beautiful Calla," he said softly. "I adore you. Will you be my —"
Every cell of Calla's body was poised to say yes!
"— mistress?"
Chapter Three
Only quick reflexes stopped Calla from shouting her joyful answer. She swallowed the yes! with an appalled gulp, and it lodged in her throat like a stone. She emitted a humiliating glugging sound, her body awash with shock waves. Maybe she'd heard wrong, maybe it was a trick. The word "mistress" hung over her head for a long moment of suspended animation, then dropped like a 10-pound anvil.
"Mistress?" she repeated in a quavering, quizzical voice. Reality slammed into her. A cry of anguish rose in her throat but she muffled it, determined not to be a victim. Anger followed, an emotion she found easier to accept.
She leapt up, outrage spewing from her pores like lava from a volcano. The boat rocked wildly from the force of her catapult as she steamed and seethed, a rumbling Mount Saint Helens of insulted woman
. "Mistress!" she shouted at top lung capacity. Waves lashed the boat, and William hastily tried to steady the rocking. Calla was bound to go overboard.
"Sit down!" he ordered in the stern Justice Bank voice nobody ever disobeyed. "You want me to be your mistress!" Calla yelled, waving her arms, oblivious to the precariousness of her footing. She glared at him in fulminating, volcanic style. "How dare you ask me to be your mi —" The offending word was cut off by her gasp as William did the only sensible thing.
Releasing his grip on the gunwales of the boat, he wrapped both arms around Calla's legs in his best linebacker imitation and yanked. At the sudden jerk, her knees buckled. Arms cartwheeling for balance, a cry of surprise on her lips, Calla's derriere hit the bottom of the boat with a healthy whump.
The small craft tossed back and forth, waves splashing over the sides. Neither noticed when one of the oars bounced out of its lock and dropped into the lake.
"U-u-ungh — let go of me, you Neanderthal oaf!" Calla raged. William was trying, but her voluminous cape had metamorphosed into a tentacled squid wrapped around his neck. Beneath the sodden cashmere, he found himself in an ignominious position: flat atop Calla, one hand captured beneath her squirming bottom, his face mashed into the cushion of her full breasts.
"If you would help me get this thing off my neck," he said in an amazingly calm, but rather muffled voice. There were worse positions a man might find himself in — such as ones that involved 25 feet of cold lake water.
"I have only one free hand." Calla screeched as she realized exactly where his other hand, and his face, was.
"Get off of me, William Justice. Immediately. I-am-not-your-concubine!" Her voice came out in staccato reports as she struggled to twist away from six feet of heavy damp male.
Another cold dose of water swamped the rocking boat. The wet tongue of cashmere fell from his neck and glopped into her mouth as she opened it for another verbal assault.
"Shut up for a second, Calla," William commanded as she spat out the fuzzy fabric with disgust. He levered himself up and off her shuddering body. "May I assist you?" he asked wryly. Without waiting for an answer, he clamped his hands over her elbows and almost effortlessly hoisted her uncooperative body onto the seat.
He fished the seat cushion and her purse out of the inch of water in the bottom of the boat and placed them, dripping, beside her. "There you go. A little the worse for wear, but at least we didn't capsize."
"I'd like to capsize you, you low-down skunk."
William's waterlogged aplomb had returned. A wry grin quirked his lips. "It seems we've crossed our signals."
"I'll show you crossed signals." Quick as a striking rattlesnake, Calla snatched up the cushion and threw it at his stunned face. It bounced off his forehead and into her lap. Unsatisfied, she whipped up the beaded bag, intending to smack him in the side of the head. He could pick bugle beads and sequins out of his ears for the next week and see how much he had to smile about then!
This time William was ready. His hand caught her wrist in a squeezing grip that caused her fingers to fly open. The purse sailed over his head and into the lake.
"Now see what you've done!" Calla grabbed his lapels. "Go get it before it sinks, William. My credit cards and driver's license are in there."
"You should've thought of that before using it as a lethal weapon." He forced Calla's clenched hands into her lap. "Sit quietly and don't move. I don't relish having to contend with an attack from the rear while I rescue your damned purse."
She pressed her lips together to prevent the reply "attack from the rear" begged for. William picked up the oar that still remained in place and dipped it into the lake, triumphantly lifting the soaked purse out of the water by its long shoulder chain. He redeposited it on the seat. "Now that's twice I've rescued your purse and once I've prevented your suicide dive into the lake. You might show a little gratitude," he said.
The water that had washed into the boat hadn't doused Calla's flame at all. "Gratitude for what?" she replied haughtily, determined to deny her hurt by keeping a stiff upper lip. "Frankly, swimming to shore seems preferable to sharing a boat with a man as despicable as you, William Justice. The sooner I'm away from you the better."
"Aren't you overreacting a little? I'm not really such a bad guy."
She was trying to gauge his feelings, but his face was as hard and implacable as granite. Such complete control annoyed her, she abruptly decided. Why hadn't she seen that the two of them were as compatible as a rock and a bird? Would that she could fly away from this humiliating situation! "Don't tell me how to act, Mr. Justice," she said icily, but her stiff upper lip quivered.
"I thought we had an understanding. Or were coming to one, anyway."
Shivering, Calla drew the damp cape around herself to combat the cool night air. "I have no idea what you're talking about." She sniffed. "Furthermore, I'm cold and wet and mad. Please get this stupid boat to shore so I can go home. Alone." She sneezed.
"Poor girl. You look like a tabby that's lost a battle with a fish tank." William reached for her, wanting to warm her up, but Calla shrank back to avoid the contact.
"Do not touch me, Mr. Justice!" she snapped. "I'm in no mood to be toyed with." Which was all he wanted to do, she now knew.
"The drowned cat can still hiss and spit," he said, unperturbed. "As the laureate of lip lock, I believe I know a way to warm you up."
"I've changed my mind about that," she bit out through chattering teeth. He would bring that up! "You are — loathsome."
"It seems my sweet Calla has a temper," William said, not terribly insulted by her name-calling. Actually, he was pleased she was no longer hiding behind a sugary facade. Perhaps they could still come to an understanding. He picked up one oar and looked for the other. A roaring fire would feel very good about now, and then he knew several ways to warm her up for further negotiations. The evening might yet be salvaged.
"I am not your Calla," she protested lamely. Dejection was threatening to overtake the anger that had fired her veins.
"You will be."
The statement was neither a threat nor a promise; it was spoken in the tone of flat-out, undeniable fact. Frustrated by his unrelenting stolidity, Calla glared at William in smoldering exasperation. She might as well beat her head against a stone wall. If the man was so dense he couldn't see that she'd been expecting a proposal — She snuffled, beginning to feel sorry for herself. She didn't un
derstand how she'd misjudged William's intentions so badly, how he could be so callous as to ask her to be his mistress. Callous — or astute? A self-doubting voice inside her head whispered.
"No," Calla said aloud. No! She'd been docile and demure and well behaved; he had no reason whatsoever to believe she'd become his mistress. The nerve of the man! The unmitigated gall of his assumption! He was selfish and conceited to the extreme if he thought she'd fall into his bed like a cheap floozy!
Glowering anew, she continued to stare at William as he searched out the missing oar in the gathering darkness. His short black hair had gone a little spiky from the water and his cheeks were ruddy with cold, but he was otherwise untouched by their mishap. Calla shivered. She'd been the one tackled in a puddle of water. Her teeth chattered, yet her lips still held the memory of their warm kiss. Had she so misread the feeling behind it? She'd been sure it was love. And love was supposed to progress from courtship to marriage to children and a lifetime of happiness. Nowhere in that scenario was there room for a mistress. Calla sighed deeply. Maybe she was ridiculously optimistic; the divorce statistics said so. Maybe she was a hopeless romantic; certainly her childhood should have taught her otherwise. Or maybe she was just a big fool to believe she could escape her destiny. The sins of the father —
"Perfect," William muttered. His expensive leather shoes squidged soggily as he shifted to point out the missing oar to Calla. It was floating in the choppy water some yards away.
"So?" she retorted grumpily. "Go and get it."
"You're wetter than me. Why don't you hop in and swim for it?"
"You are no gentleman, William Justice," she huffed. Clearly, neither did he consider her a lady.
He was paddling the boat with one oar, awkwardly circling closer to his quarry. Stretching to the limit, he couldn't quite snag it. Cold waves buffeted the boat. "I'm sorry this evening hasn't been a success, Calla," he said, "but do you think it's possible to set aside your animosity long enough to cooperate? Or would you prefer to spend the night here?"
With numb fingers, she poked at the wad of wet hair that had fallen over one eye. "Well, I'm not going overboard."
"Would it upset your delicate sensibilities too much if I told you to get your sweet butt over here to act as ballast while I reach for the other oar? If anyone goes overboard during this maneuver it's going to be me."
Revenge flickered in Calla's injured psyche as they moved into position. She stared at William's backside as he perched precariously on his knees to reach for the drifting oar. The jerk deserved it. She'd opened her heart to him and he'd steamrollered it. He'd insulted her terribly and apparently didn't even care. Then he'd tackled her, flung her to the bottom of the boat like a flounder and jumped on top of her. How much indignity was one woman supposed to take?
She deserved better. She deserved respect. Since William had shown her none, it was only fair —
Calla didn't think further. She just shoved.
When William felt the hands on his posterior, for a split second he thought she was trying to steady him. Then he belly flopped into the water. Instantly, he came up gasping for breath, the water having flash frozen vital body parts, like his lungs. His flailing arms hit the oar and he latched onto it like a pit bull. Something had to help keep him afloat.
Calla felt an immediate remorse for her impetuous action. She knew she'd made a huge mistake as William surfaced, fierce eyes burning in his frigid white face. But she wasn't one to go back and correct her errors. Nor did she want to wait around to find out what he would do to her. Frantically, she seized the remaining oar and began rowing madly.
"Don't leave me here, Calla."
Her hands spasmed on the oar, reflexively lifting it from the water. William's voice was low and icy and hard, the force of his will almost making her obey. But he humiliated me! her mind shrieked. He wants me to be his mistress, not his wife!
"Maybe a cold dunk is what you needed, William," she flung back over her shoulder. "Maybe you'll think twice before making some other woman such an insulting offer!"
"Calla!" he bellowed.
"I'm not your mistress, William. I don't have to follow your orders." She put all her strength into rowing, her aroused temper fueling the physical surge. It seemed very important that she get away from William as quickly as possible.
An arrow of adrenaline shot through William's system, counteracting the frigid temperature that was making his limbs as heavy as blocks of cement. His heart started to pump again. He could even almost manage a laugh. Calla was stroking the oar so strenuously, face going red beneath a flopping mass of sodden hair, that she hadn't even noticed the boat was moving in jerky circles like a mallard gone berserk. Still clutching the other paddle, he swam closer in a numbed sidestroke.
Calla screamed as though she were being beset by a sea monster when his shiny, water-slicked head popped up beside the boat. William grabbed the thrashing oar before she could wallop him in the head and finish him off for good. Calla yanked back. "Let go of my oar!" she yelled. "I want to go home!"
"You're not going anywhere with only one oar, you little idiot."
She froze, looking up at the still-distant shore in confusion. She hadn't made an inch of progress. Slumped in defeat, she simply stared as another flood of lake water swirled around her low-heeled pumps when William pulled himself into the boat. Shuddering mightily, he chafed his arms and thighs to get the blood flowing again.
He made a sorry sight. Calla reached for his tie, fumbling fingers wringing it out, then patting it comfortingly back into place against his broad chest. It was a very nice gold silk tie.
"Thanks a lot," William said sarcastically. He peeled off his streaming suit jacket and dropped it in the bottom of the boat. "I can't believe you did that."
"Neither can I," she answered in a small voice.
He took off his shoes and tipped out a cupful of water. "Does that prove it?"
Well, he didn't have to be so self-righteous. There was more than one injured party here. Still, Calla couldn't quite work up her previous level of indignation. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "I shouldn't have pushed you overboard. No matter what you'd done to me," she couldn't help adding defensively.
Water sluiced off William's bent head as he pressed his palms to his skull. Calla's little-sad-girl tone was heart wrenching. Then again, so were 25 feet of cold, dark water. "I suppose I could apologize, too." He grabbed the oars, twisting his shoulders to limber them up as he muttered beneath his breath, "Although I'm not sure why."
Calla instantly decided he'd gotten what he deserved. Why waste her remorse on such a boor? "In that case, don't bother!" she snapped. "Your apology isn't worth spit to me, anyway!"
Matching Calla glare for glare, William rowed the boat ashore.
Chapter Four
She stealthily opened the door and peeked inside. Steam clouded the air, but she could still make out the blurred male figure behind the clear-plastic shower curtain. He was standing in side view, twisting slightly to allow the shower's spray to wash away the soap foaming on his body. Rivulets followed the contour of muscles and tendons from his chest to his thighs; her eyes traced the same path. His skin had a healthy tan beneath the wet whorls of dark hair — hmm, except for the intriguing band of paler skin on his lean hips and tight buttocks. After a brief inner tussle, she averted her eyes and reached for the pile of wet clothes on the tiled floor. Clutching them to the front of her crushed-velvet burnoose, she retreated to the kitchen.
Calla smiled to herself. No matter what happened next, she'd been right about at least one thing: Without his staid business suits, William Justice looked nothing like a banker.
The ride to her small duplex apartment in the Denver suburb of Aurora had been silent and tense. Warming her hands in front of the car heater, Calla had acknowledged that discretion was indeed the better part of valor. She'd half expected William to drop her off in a swirl of exhaust smoke and a squeal of spinning tires. She wouldn't have blamed him
if he had. To her amazement, and sudden apprehension, he'd followed her inside without a word. He'd promptly preempted her into the shower, stalking to the bathroom and shutting the door in her astonished face.
Calla held up the wrinkled, fishy-smelling mass of William's tailored suit and shook her head. It would never be the same. She brushed aside her blame in the matter and violently wrung lake water into the kitchen sink. It was a pity, but he could easily buy another. She couldn't do the same when it came to her indulgent purchase of the costly cashmere cape. With a hard heart, she tossed the clothing into the dryer tucked inside a convenient closet between the kitchen and bath. She couldn't take the time to wash it first. She had to get William out of here as quickly as possible.
The drumming water in the shower ceased. Calla scurried back to the tiny kitchen, not eager to be found lurking near the door as if she were dying to catch a glimpse of William's hot bod. Since she'd failed to convince him she was a true lady, she could at least emerge from this incident with some semblance of pride.
She was fiddling with a coffee filter and a scoop of freshly ground Jamaican when William entered the kitchen wrapped in one of her copper-and-cream-striped bath sheets. He looked like a pagan beast, sleek and dangerous as he padded barefoot to the counter that held the big balloon glasses and bottle of brandy she'd set out earlier.
"I've got coffee coming up," she ventured calmly. Her insides were tumbling and churning like a clothes dryer set on high.
"What I need right now is liquor." He splashed a prodigious amount of brandy into one of the glasses and took a swallow. "Care to join me?"
"Uh, no, thanks. I'm sticking to coffee." She had to keep her wits about her.
(Ebook - English) - Carrie Alexander - His Mistress Page 3