"Then I'll go start a fire."
He exited and Calla slumped against a bleached-pine cabinet, pressing her hand to her pounding heart. This situation was out of control. William should've been on his way home, not parading about her apartment, gloriously naked beneath a flimsily knotted towel. She needed to assert her command and order him to leave. Only where was all the vehemence she'd shown in the rowboat? She felt about as firm as a jellyfish.
William had settled onto the couch as if he meant to stay awhile, his hairy legs crossed, bare feet propped atop the chunk of carved Grecian column that served as a coffee table. He stared broodingly into the crackling fire. Calla, watching from the open doorway, thought he looked devilishly wicked, hellfire flickering in the depths of his dark eyes as he plotted the downfall of an innocent. Well, she wasn't all that innocent, was she? If she'd been sure what girding of loins entailed, she would have done it. Instead, she spunkily flipped her newly braided hair over her shoulder and strode into the room with a long-legged confidence she was far from feeling.
She halted between William and the fireplace, crossing her arms over her chest. "Your clothes will be dry in a few minutes. Then you can leave."
Not even bothering to look up at her, he shrugged nonchalantly and took another sip of the golden liquid he'd been warming between his palms.
"I — I'd just as soon you'd leave, William. Let's not prolong this — this — fiasco. I'm tired and I want to go to bed."
"So do I."
The statement was blunt, obvious in its meaning. "Impossible," she said flatly, but her knees went weak and she suddenly dropped into the bright yellow armchair opposite the couch. She couldn't help herself — It did sound tempting. Defensively, she curled up in the chair, tucking her bare feet beneath her legs and holding on to her crossed arms.
"As I see it," William said in a smoky, lazy drawl, "ultimately, we both want the same thing."
Calla bared her teeth. "You can't be as dense as all that. I would have thought the cold dunking had cleared your head of such, well, lusty notions."
He swallowed the last of the brandy and set the empty snifter on the table. The motion emphasized the slide of lean muscles across his wide shoulders. "Perhaps I have been dense in my miscalculation of your intentions. As have you in your assessment of mine."
"My intentions?" Calla repeated blankly.
"Yes, your intentions. Don't pretend you didn't have them or that they were all that different from mine."
"But you want me to be your mistress. A kept woman," she sneered.
"And you were expecting to be offered the position of wife."
William let his words trail off meaningfully, telling Calla all she needed to know of his respect for the role of a wife in a marriage. She felt like a fool for even hoping to marry a man with such a narrow and mercenary view of women. She could thank her lucky stars she'd escaped so nasty a fate. "I expected nothing," she lied boldly. "Which is fortunate, since that's exactly what I got."
"Ah, Calla. So stubborn, so contemptuous. But you can't fool me."
Although his tone was lightly teasing, she caught the darker undertone. Leaning her head against the high back of the armchair, she contemplated him through the fringe of her lowered lashes. His rough-hewn face would brook no nonsense; the chiseled perfection of his big hard body backed it up. He would make a formidable opponent for anyone. An image of a feral black cat toying with a defenseless mouse popped into her mind. Calla had never seen herself as mousy, but she was vividly aware that she must maneuver carefully now or he would pounce.
"Is the idea of marriage so repugnant to you?" she asked. "The Justice family is well known and respected among society, yet you prefer to offer me the socially unacceptable position of paid mistress. Tsk, tsk, William. Would your mother approve?"
The gleam in his eyes as he sat forward was incendiary. "I look for nobody's approval."
"Except mine."
William's grin was full of smug male confidence. "The woman who came alive with greedy passion and begged for more of my kisses shouldn't be difficult to persuade."
Calla fingered the gold braid stitched down the front of her robe, flushing at the memory of all she'd said and done when William had kissed her. Would she never learn to control her imprudent tendencies? "You are not a gentleman," she said tartly. "Please try to conduct yourself with a modicum of discretion."
"I can be very discreet about what will occur between us in the bedroom. You'd be surprised how many gentlemen conduct circumspect affairs away from public view and censure."
"Of course. How naive of me. You're only asking me to join history's long line of courtesans, concubines, and harlots!" Furious, Calla jumped up and stared down her nose at William. "How dare a penniless girl without a proper pedigree wish for more? I should be complimented to be offered a paid position by a man of your stature!"
Chapter Five
How magnificent she was, William thought. As regal as a queen, yet as lush and passionate as a voluptuous wench. Her crown of titian hair was tipped with gold by the firelight, her chin lifted proudly above the high, hooded neckline of her burnoose.
He could only imagine the full curves hidden beneath the thick red-velvet folds. True, she was feeling quite scornful at the moment, but he had no doubt once she fully understood his reasoning she'd come around. "As long as it's kept hush-hush, why shouldn't the respected William Justice enjoy a tumble with whatever tempting tidbit he fancies," Calla continued.
She intended to steamroller his indecent proposal as thoroughly as he'd steamrollered her heart. "Shall we get down to the nitty-gritty? Exactly what are the practical details of your offer? Do I get furs and diamonds, a fringed and swagged love nest? Or perhaps only a little trinket when I've been especially pleasing? How much am I worth to you, William?"
"You've misunderstood my offer," he patiently explained, trying to stay rational despite her wild accusations. "When I asked you to be my mistress, I was thinking of us as lovers, not client and professional."
"Lovers? Ha! Not a chance!"
William's arm flashed out to catch her around the waist. Before she could protest, Calla found herself flat on the couch beneath his heavy, immovable body. "You wouldn't say that if you realized how it's going to be between us, honey." His voice had thickened with an unquenched passion. "Let me show you how good it will be. Let me make love to you, Calla."
She looked away from the chiseled face looming above her. The need and desire branded upon it was palpable. "Release me, William," she said past the lump in her throat."Or I may scream."
"I can bring you to the point of ultimate release. I can make you scream with ecstasy."
"Do you really believe that sex is what this is all about?" she demanded, nonetheless feeling her outrage abate as his grip eased and his body shifted atop hers in a languidly sensual movement. She couldn't stop her body's automatic response even though her heart was crying out for love.
"William, please. I want more than just a —" Her heart's wish was lost as lips descended to hers.
His breath was warm and flavored with brandy. Her mouth opened and she drank many small kisses from his lips, intoxicated by their taste. His tongue taunted her hungering mouth, dancing along her lower lip, then finally thrusting inside and doing all the secret, sexy things she craved. Her fingers tangled themselves in his short, thick hair, urging him to continue.
This was definitely not one of the boring good-night kisses that left her feeling empty and frustrated. The promise of complete fulfillment was there in every flick of his tongue as it traced patterns over her lips to her arching neck to her delicate ears; it was there in the pleasurable weight of his strong shoulders, the roughness of his heavy thigh parting her legs, the words, hot and exciting, he whispered in her ear.
The promise was especially there in the evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against her lower belly. Calla moaned and lifted her knee, causing her robe to fall away and bare one long leg. The dull
gleam of white flesh in the dim light drew William's hand. As he trailed his sensitive fingertips from her ankle to her thigh, Calla felt her skin tingle with a sharply undeniable need. She wanted him to touch her everywhere.
William's palm curved around her breast. "The shrew's tongue is no longer so sharp," he said with a low chuckle.
Calla's hands stilled over the terrain of smooth male skin and corded muscle they'd been freely exploring. Her fingernails sank into his firm biceps.
"But she still has sharp claws," he grunted, the lines of his face tensing as he gritted his teeth. Exhaling with a hiss, he lifted his head to study her with glittering eyes. "I can see I'll have to be careful with such a spitfire of a mistress."
"Mistress?" Calla sharply repeated.
William groaned. He'd blown it. "Haven't we already played out that scene?"
"Is that what you think this is? Bedding your mistress?"
"I'd hoped so."
Her false laugh was bitter. "Silly me. I thought we were making love." She thrust mightily at his chest, succeeding in lifting it an inch or two, enough for her to squirm partway out from beneath him. Flailing wildly, urgently, she struggled for her release.
William stood without warning, and she lost her balance on the edge of the couch cushions, falling awkwardly to the floor in a tangle of bare legs and twisted burnoose. Fuming, ignoring William's helping hand, she scrambled to her feet and fumbled with handfuls of fabric before the hem finally dropped to her toes.
She whipped up her head to glare at him. William seemed to have a knack for humiliating her. With an angry finger, she poked him in the chest. "Now I see all I was doing was making a mistake." Although she meant to sound defiant, there was no denying the regret in her voice. It was not easy to turn off all the feelings their near-coupling had aroused.
William caught her hand and pressed it to his chest as though his heartbeat could convey the truth better than words. Her fingers instinctively curled into the thick mat of ebony hair, and she felt with a shock the heat he was generating like a blast furnace. "It would not be a mistake for us to make love," he murmured, unerringly pulling her closer. "Let me love you, Calla, honey."
Resolutely inviolate, she shook her head. Yet she made no move to retreat. His scent filled her nostrils, warm, pungent, 100-percent male. She laid her head alongside her hand, his crisp hair scratchy against her cheek as she closed her eyes and sighed with longing. "I wish it was that simple," she whispered.
"It can be." William cupped her chin in his palm and lifted her face to receive his kiss. "Simple" was exactly what he'd been aiming for.
Calla's lips were tender and slightly swollen, the kiss sweetly poignant because she'd decided it would be their last. It had to be. Her hands trembled as they framed his face, and when she pulled away, it was with great reluctance. "If it would be making love, I'd say yes."
She wouldn't allow herself to plead with him. A pledge of love was worthless unless freely given, and it was now terribly clear that he'd always been scrupulously careful about not making such a statement. He hadn't promised her a thing. Calla's lips thinned, her eyes darkening to shutter the tattered remnants of her dreams from William's view. "Since it's not, the answer is no."
William made a motion with his empty arms that was pure frustration. Acute despair tore at him, stronger than he'd been prepared for, but even then he was too honest to make promises he wasn't sure he could keep. Loving Calla might have come easy, especially after the past two months together. There had been moments he'd found himself dangerously close to falling full-fledged in love with her. Each time, though, he'd forced himself away from the brink, because he knew that saying "I love you" was never enough. Like every other woman he'd known, Calla would want more. She'd want the guarantee of a marriage license, the one thing he was extremely reluctant to ever give again.
Chapter Six
Why were women such complicated creatures? Why couldn't Calla be satisfied with the prescribed parameters of an affair? They could have great sex, good companionship, no surprises or uncomfortable demands. They would be beyond the unsteady vagaries of dating and the unrealistic expectations of marriage. He thought he'd come up with the perfect compromise. Why couldn't Calla agree?
"I've never deceived you," said William. "I told you about my disastrous first marriage. You had no reason to expect a proposal."
Maybe William was right and she'd deluded herself completely on her own. It wouldn't be the first time she'd gotten carried away by her enthusiasm. "Lots of divorced people remarry," she persisted. Her shaky fingers ran over her hair, trying to contain the flyaway tendrils escaping from her braid. She was mussed and uncertain and flustered. "Was I so wrong to believe you felt more for me than lust?"
"Of course not." William hitched up the towel that was dropping dangerously low, wondering how he was to negotiate this treacherous path. Once a woman knew you were vulnerable to falling in love, she wouldn't give up until she was walking down the aisle. "I — like you." That sounded incredibly lame, even to him. "The whole point of these past weeks was to get to know each other. I've found you to be smart, witty, talented. Despite your sometimes too-well-behaved demeanor, I know you're also sassy and outspoken. You're passionate. Very passionate. That's the woman I truly —" he surprisingly found himself wanting to say love "— want."
Calla closed her eyes and groaned. She should never have attempted the genteel, white-glove approach. Naturally, a well-bred specimen like William Justice would see through the charade, even when she called it "improving herself."
The woman he'd described — the woman she was at heart — was just the type a man of his stature would see as a mistress, not a bride. And he didn't even know the whole truth. She'd set herself up for a fall, and he was trying to be gentle about letting her down.
"I'm appalled at myself," she mumbled. "I've been a fool."
"No, Calla. I'm the one at fault here. I should have realized my intentions needed to be spelled out." He paced back and forth in front of the stone fireplace, mentally berating himself. Calla looked so dejected. He should've been up front. Instead, he'd acted like an ignorant dolt, making assumptions right and left.
"Try to understand. Nowadays a man has to be careful. It's too dangerous to play musical beds. I was hoping we could settle into a steady, caring relationship. One with no false expectations, however."
Oh, he'd fixed her false expectations, all right! She was seeing things rather more harshly now. It was not a pretty sight. "Perhaps you wanted to set up an appointment with a doctor of your choice?" she asked sourly. "You shouldn't close the deal without an ironclad guarantee that your chosen mistress is verified disease-free."
"Now, Calla," he chided. "This arrangement can be beneficial to both of us"
"The only thing I'd like to arrange is your brain, since it apparently belongs where your heart should be."
He ignored that and headed toward her. "I've given plenty of thought as to what I can do for you."
"Really?" She backed away, batting at his hands.
"You could quit your job. No more toiling on commercial illustrations for whatever product Frogg, Underwood is pushing next. I'd give you the freedom and space to set up a studio, to concentrate on your talent without worrying about paying bills."
"How thoughtful and generous of you," she said sarcastically. "I suppose this nirvana you describe would entail a move?"
"Why not? I've heard you complain about the small size of this place. My staff can easily find a condo or a town house in the city. It would be more convenient for both of us."
"This whole thing is a setup for your convenience, isn't it? Can't you see how arrogant it is to ask me to rely on your charity for everything from shelter to — to toothpicks?"
"I'm sure you'd soon be making enough from the sale of your artwork to pay for incidentals. You wouldn't have to come to me every time you wanted to get your hair done or buy a pretty frippery."
Calla's distaste burned in the p
it of her stomach. "How nice to know you've got such belief in my talent," she said. "I do so want to pay for my own fripperies."
"Calla, I'm just offering to take care of you. I thought that was what you wanted."
She stared at William in amazement. He seemed sincere. Couldn't he understand that she wanted him, not his money? "This is not the Dark Ages," she said with real anguish in her lowered voice. "All options are open. Women no longer have to choose between the roles of wife, nun, and prostitute." Breathing hard, she paused and knew her decision had been made long before.
She stalked out of the room. William heard the slam of a small metal door and then she was back, flinging an armful of clothes in his face. "My choice is to throw you out of my small, inconvenient apartment. Put on your damned clothes and leave."
Like any staunch businessman, William continued to outline his plan, perhaps a bit desperately, while he yanked a pair of oddly warped trousers up beneath the damp towel. "We could travel together, Calla. I'd like company on my business trips to San Francisco, Jackson Hole, Coeur d'Alene, Portland. We could go to Europe. You'd like to visit Paris, wouldn't you? And that would be difficult on a Frogg, Underwood salary. I'd give you nothing but the best —"
"Never." Calla turned her back on the sight of his bare chest and flexing shoulders as he shrugged into a ruined dress shirt. This was not the time to be seduced by a display of gorgeous male anatomy. "Why are you making me such a crude offer?" she asked plaintively. "Never in a million years would I lower myself to being a kept woman."
A long pause was finally broken by William's gruff voice.
"But you would lower yourself to take your revenge out on my suit."
Calla started and spun around in a swirl of red velvet. He was standing directly behind her, fully dressed in a mass of wrinkles and misshapen cloth. Everything was askew, shrunken, or sagging. He spread his hands, dumbfounded by what she'd wrought.
Calla choked back a chortle of vengeful mirth. "I guess your suit was dry-clean only. What a shame I left the dryer on so long."
(Ebook - English) - Carrie Alexander - His Mistress Page 4