(Ebook - English) - Carrie Alexander - His Mistress

by His Mistress [Lit]

  "Like very few men."

  They smiled at each other, shaking their heads in mutual chagrin. "Men!" Calla said with age-old exasperation.

  Vivien nodded wisely. "Every woman should have one."

  Chapter Eight

  Wednesday. Four minutes after three P.M. He'd waited long enough.

  William pressed a button on the intercom. "Mrs. Pennyworth? Get me Calla Quinn at Frogg, Underwood." If only it were so easy.

  Thirty-six interminable seconds went by.

  "Ms. Quinn is on line one, Mr. Justice."

  "Hello, Calla."

  "Hi, there!"

  He hadn't expected her to sound so damn perky. His heart was hammering in his throat. "How've you been?" Brilliant.

  "Quite well. Working hard to pay the bills."

  Score one for her side. "So —" he said, drawing the word out expectantly. She didn't respond. "What was it you wanted to speak to me about?"

  "You're the one who called me."

  "I had a message you'd called."

  "Mmph." Her breath chuffed into the phone. "Wasn't me. Perhaps you know another Calla."

  He shuffled a sheaf of handy papers near the mouthpiece. "Maybe it was an old message. My mistake, I guess."

  She paused for so long he thought his nerve endings would be rubbed raw from the tension of waiting. "Well, as long as I've got you on the phone —" she said tentatively.

  "Yes?" He sounded calm, but he wanted to shout.

  "Why don't you come over for dinner? We have something to discuss."

  Yes! He shoots, he scores! "Sure," he said gruffly. "Good idea."

  "Friday night?" She was as cool and pointed as an icicle.

  "Yeah. I'll be there."

  "Okay. And William? Maybe you should replace Mrs. Pennyworth with a ditzy blonde. A bubbleheaded secretary would make your lame excuse much more plausible. In case you ever have to use it again."

  * * *

  She was absolutely the most gorgeous woman he'd ever seen.

  Had his heart grown fonder with a week's absence, or did she really look even better than before? More vibrant and alive? It seemed to him that she'd usually contained her hair in clips, twists or braids; tonight, it was gloriously released over her bare shoulders, rich red curls licking at her upper arms like tongues of flame.

  She'd tended to dress conservatively, in classic dresses or suits that never looked quite right on her voluptuous figure; tonight, she was glowing with color and movement and a lot of bared skin, her flowing dress shimmering with tiny threads that caught the light, blinking gold and blue and red.

  A stack of bright enamel bracelets clacked together as she reached out to close the door. Her glossy deep red lips stretched into a smile of greeting.

  William thrust a green tissue-paper cone of daffodils at her with a touch less than his usual gallantry. "Calla lilies might be the appropriate flower, but I thought these looked more like you." He hadn't realized at the time how true that was. She was no sleek, subtle, expensive lily. The name was a misnomer. Calla was bright, showy, bursting with life, absolutely the most gorgeous woman he'd ever seen.

  Calla took the bouquet in her arms. "How perceptive, William. I've always loved daffs best of all. They're so bold in declaring springtime."

  William felt like a gawky kid on his first date in the face of her graceful ease, and he'd never even been a gawky kid. "Something smells good," he said to fill the awkward pause.

  "Oh, I minced and diced under Viv's direction. She's the Michelangelo of spatulas."

  "I meant you smell nice." Like a drift of wildflowers hidden deep in a fern-filled forest grove.

  Calla laughed and twirled away from him. "I always dab a bit of beef gravy behind each ear before a big date." She waved the flowers at the living room. "Make yourself comfortable while I get these into a vase. Alex is tending bar."

  William pulled up short in the doorway. Two people already occupied the room, both of them looking very much at home. The woman glanced up from selecting one of the hors d'oeuvres off a tray on the coffee table. "Hello again, William." She smiled brightly and he belatedly recognized her as Calla's Frogg, Underwood friend.

  Calla swept grandly into the room, her full skirt sparkling and swishing. "I know you've already met Vivien, William. This is Alex Grey, her husband," she introduced, indicating the tall blond Viking. "He's a freelance writer, an inveterate sportsman and intrepid adventurer."

  Alex's big hand rubbed across the stubble on his chin.

  "You have a way with words, Calla."

  While the men exchanged handshakes and went to mix drinks, Vivien popped a dill-garnished salmon on pumpernickel into her mouth. Her quick chocolate-brown eyes studied William as she licked her fingers. Under the pretense of helping Calla arrange the daffodils in a dribble-glazed urn, she whispered, "William looked like he was choking on a horse when he saw Alex and me. He definitely wants to be alone with you." She shot him another assessing glance. "You'd be crazy not to want the same."

  "Stick around a while longer," Calla pleaded under her breath. "You promised you'd stay to break the ice."

  At the temporary bar arranged in the pass-through, Alex dropped three cubes into a glass with a clatter. "Fab flowers," Vivien announced loudly for William's benefit.

  Calla held out the platter of hors d'oeuvres, urging everyone to sample. The foursome chewed and swallowed and chewed again, the women sending each other wide-eyed silent messages, the men unsure of what was going on, so they lapsed into baseball talk. Calla passed the tray again.

  "It always takes time for an expansion club," said Alex. "Look at the Seattle Mariners."

  "I'd rather not," said William, laughing.

  Calla stared at the tray's contents. Nobody was eating the stuffed grape leaves. Viv had warned her that nobody ever ate stuffed grape leaves. She crammed one in her mouth and chewed to the accompaniment of "Defense wins games" and "His screwball has more moves than a belly dancer." A ripe cherry tomato filled with hummus burst on her tongue. Vivien mouthed, "Say something!" and Calla looked down at the tray again. She'd disarranged the perfect pattern of rows.

  "Oh, my, we're running low," she trilled. "Excuse me while I replenish the stuffed grape leaves."

  William interrupted himself right in the middle of saying something about the designated-hitter rule and set his glass on the coffee table. "Excuse me," he said, and followed Calla to the kitchen.

  Calla was poking at her hair, holding up a shiny silver serving spoon as a mirror. It clattered to the floor when William barged through the swinging door. "What's going on here?" he whispered urgently. "I thought we were going to be alone tonight."

  "You don't like Alex and Vivien?" she asked, attempting to keep her tone light as she rinsed the spoon at the sink.

  "They seem very nice, just not what I expected." Calla pretended that arranging a semicircle of pineapple-and-ham spears needed all her concentration. "You said we have something to discuss," William persisted. He grabbed the platter from her hands as she was about to sail past him. "I'd assumed we would be speaking privately."

  "Never assume, dear William. I don't like to be predictable." She tried to take the tray, but he wouldn't let go. "One might think —" she exerted more pressure "— you'd never attended a friendly cocktail party before. Can't you go out there and chat with Alex like a good little boy?"

  His grip tightened. "This is a friendly party only on the surface, and I am anything but a good little boy. Is that it? Alex and Vivien are here because you're counting on me being the perfect gentleman in front of them?" Calla yanked the platter, not answering. Sometimes William was too astute for his own good. Or hers. "News flash, honey," he continued brusquely. "Tonight I'm not any more a perfect gentleman than I am a little boy."

  His demeanor was extremely heated. She got cold feet.

  Vivien poked her head into the kitchen and interrupted their tug-of-war. "It's getting late. Maybe Alex and I should be —"

  Calla suddenly
abandoned the tray, and a dozen mushroom caps popped into the air. The stuffed grape leaves didn't even quiver. "You can't leave yet," she hissed, rolling her eyes at William, who was wondering what he'd wanted with the hors d'oeuvres in the first place.

  Calla's social voice returned. "We haven't had dinner yet. You haven't even finished your drinks. And goodness knows we haven't run out of baseball talk." She herded Vivien out of the kitchen, glancing briefly back over her shoulder. "Quit fussing with the hors d'oeuvres and come along now, William."

  He gave her a black look. Women! Well, two could play this game.

  He set the platter beside the vase of daffodils and approached Calla from the rear. She jumped as his arms suddenly circled her possessively, pinning hers beneath them. He nuzzled her ear, setting her long metallic earrings jangling. "William," she muttered warningly, turning in his arms.

  He lifted his head and looked her straight in the eye. A communication passed between them. "A pinch hitter is always up at bat with other players on base," William said seemingly out of the blue, which made Vivien snort in amusement.

  "Okay, that's enough baseball talk," Calla commanded, her social voice strained.

  "Or take the outfielder. There he is, playing deep in the field, all alone."

  Vivien definitely giggled this time. Nodding, Alex poked a mushroom cap in his mouth and washed it down with the last gulp of his vodka.

  "Now, the umpire," William continued, his strong arms quelling Calla's attempt to wriggle free, "There's a lonely job. It's all up to him, call the runner safe or — you're outta here!"

  "Yeah, absolutely," Alex agreed, grinning hugely. He grabbed his wife's hand. "Say, Viv, did you forget those tickets we had?"

  She stared up at him through the curly wisps of her bangs. "Tickets?"

  "To the ballet. Or maybe it was the symphony." He looked at William apologetically. "You know wives, always trying to insert culture in a guy's life. But, hey, can't disappoint my sweetheart, right?" He put his arm around Vivien's shoulders, discreetly pointing her toward the door. "Gotta run or we'll be late."

  "Oh, yes, the symphony tickets," said Vivien, looping her arm around Alex's waist. "Sorry we couldn't stay longer, Calla. But I'm sure you two won't mind being alone."

  Calla opened her mouth to protest. She caught William's warning eye. She closed her mouth.

  "It's been great," William said cheerfully, shaking hands with Alex. "We'll have to get together and take our ladies to a ball game real soon."

  "I love baseball," announced Vivien. "Especially the game within the game. Baseball has a very intriguing subtext, don't you think?"

  "Shut up, Viv," Alex said through his broad smile as they departed. William waved and nodded and smiled and quickly shut the door behind them. Calla, still standing at the living-room window, watched Vivien scurry after her husband as he strode across the yard to their side of the duplex. Vivien, glancing back and spotting her through the window, shrugged, apparently not too contrite about leaving her best friend swinging on a trapeze without a safety net.

  "Alone at last." William's proclamation held a great deal of satisfaction. He thought he'd handled that very neatly.

  Calla's stomach somersaulted twice and went into free fall.

  Chapter Nine

  William dropped his napkin. "That was a fantastic meal, Calla."

  She looked up from fiddling with her pilaf and arched a skeptical brow. "Shall I call Vivien back over here so you can thank her properly?"

  "They had tickets to the symphony."

  She stood up and started stacking plates, clashing the china together like cymbals. "You know as well as I do that they had no tickets." She accusingly pointed a knife at him. "You practically forced them out the door."

  "All's fair in love and war, honey."

  Calla caught her breath. "And which is this?"

  "Maybe a little bit of both," he said.

  Calla escaped to the kitchen. Her throat was growing tight, as if she'd stuck her head in a noose. The choice that had seemed so clear and easy last Saturday morning at Vivien's was now most difficult to act on. William was unnervingly solid, a boulder in her prettily imagined path to marriage. How was she to move him? She dumped the dishes she'd gathered into the sink and realized the kitchen was suffocatingly close. She charged the door, bursting into the dining area like a cork shot from a bottle of champagne.

  William was watching her curiously. "Something wrong?"

  Calla waved her arms, no words forming. The apartment had never seemed so tiny. And when she thought of the bedroom — Her tongue was as thick and coarse as a brick. She couldn't breathe.

  William's hands dropped onto her bare shoulders and he looked closely into her face. "Calla, what is it? Can I get you anything? A drink?"

  "Air," she croaked.

  "Air? Okay, let's go for a walk." With his customary efficiency, William propelled Calla out the door, pausing only to retrieve her keys and toss a light sweater over her shoulders. Fingertips on her elbow, he escorted her down the front steps. "We could go for a ride," he suggested solicitously. His sleek, forest green Jaguar was parked at the curb.

  The cool night air was clearing Calla's head. "A stroll would be nice," she managed to say calmly. "The house seemed so stuffy all of a sudden." A lame excuse, but better than trying to explain her panic. William gently took her hand in his and they sauntered along the sidewalk. A breeze whispered through the aspen trees with a rustle, carrying upon it a hint of wood smoke. Calla breathed deeply. The touch of William's hand was both steadying and exhilarating.

  "Nice night," he mildly observed.

  "Yes," she agreed softly. Their bodies were finding a matching rhythm, now and then brushing against each other in an intimate way that sent ripples of awareness up Calla's spine. Passing a yard with mounds of lilacs clustered at the gate, she let her free hand furrow through them to release their perfume into the night.

  "In this moonlight, you look like a Gypsy enchantress."

  She turned to him in surprise — it wasn't like William to be so poetic — and the wind caught her loose hair, making her earrings chime, and billowed her skirt, making the fabric shimmer in the dark. William's arms slipped around her.

  Calla thought of all she'd meant to say tonight, all the words she'd use to make him realize he loved her. They no longer seemed to make a lot of sense. "I thought I knew what I was doing," she said wistfully, without elucidating.

  He touched his cheek to her forehead. "Maybe this would go more smoothly if we don't discuss it. That seems to be where we run into trouble."

  Calla's long red nails flashed as she reached up and pressed her palms to his chest. "I need to make you understand why —"

  His hands slipped lower to cup her bottom in a gentle squeeze. "Believe me, Calla, I understand. You don't have to explain a thing."

  Her body was imprinting itself on his. She brushed her cheek against the soft, silver-gray sweater he wore under his tweedy jacket, inhaling his unique scent. Her head whirled with the sensations of the spring evening, the beating of William's heart, the gentle persistence of the masculine body under her fingertips. It would be very easy to abandon rational thought and submerge herself in pure feeling. But among all the things she wanted to say, there was one very important declaration that had to be made. Her throat began to tighten.

  "William?" she whispered. He was bending toward her lips. "William, I can't be your mistress. I can't."

  Her lips were dark and moist, trembling slightly. He very much wanted to kiss them. "Oh, God, please don't say that, Calla. After so many weeks of frustration, I don't think I can bear it if you turn me away again. I want you so much. Please don't say no." His voice was roughened by a wild surge of need for her that went beyond the physical.

  Calla's last-minute jitters disappeared. She'd heard a message from the deepest part of William's heart in his voice. It didn't matter that he wasn't yet aware of it. For the moment, this wonderful, glorious moment, she'd all
ow her heart to answer his on the most basic level.

  Fingers tangled in his short dark hair, she dragged his face down to meet hers. "I don't want to be your mistress, William. I want to be your lover."

  She kissed him with such deep sensuality he felt it to the bottom of his soul. He groaned in his chest and wrapped his arms so tightly around Calla that for an instant she lost her breath. A hiccup of laughter escaped her mouth and William eagerly captured it. He greedily drank the essence of Calla — fiery, impetuous, romantic — into his body, absorbing her with an unquenchable thirst until she had become a part of him in a way he hadn't known he needed.

  "Will you be my lover?" she gasped against his hungry mouth.

  His voice was almost indistinguishable from the moan of the wind. "Yes. Of course." They kissed again, clinging, clutching. "Can't you tell?" he whispered.

  She could indeed. If they stayed any longer on this street corner, all her neighbors would, too. Somehow they made it back to her house, a slow progression that required numerous passionate pauses. William fumbled with the keys, dropping them on the doorstep, then thrusting them into the lock with an impatience Calla had never seen. His control had deserted him.

  She basked in the heat of such intense desire, remembering previous kisses on this step. She now knew they'd been mild only because he hadn't wanted to tip his hand. He'd thought it was because they were negotiating a delicate agreement for a no-strings relationship. Calla thought it might be because he was leery of allowing himself to feel too deeply. Once they were lovers, could he still deny their love? The question made her pause as he flung open the door.

  Calla tossed her head, ready to take any chance if it might bring her William for keeps. He was worth the risk. Taking a deep breath, she hooked William's belt loops with her index fingers. He came willingly, kicking the door shut behind them. Laughing, she besieged him with kisses, quickly covering his cheeks and jaw and forehead while her hands tore away his jacket and dropped it to the floor. "You're wearing too many clothes," she accused him breathlessly, tugging on his sweater.