(Ebook - English) - Carrie Alexander - His Mistress

by His Mistress [Lit]

  He yanked it off over his head. "I can't say the same for you." Unerringly, his fingers found the single button that held up her halter-style bodice. It fell away easily, revealing her naked pink-and-white flesh with a suddenness that shocked him into a moment of inaction. He inhaled sharply through gritted teeth. "You're beautiful, Calla. Exquisite."

  She blushed, feeling the searing touch of his gaze on her bare breasts. William and she didn't seem to need actual physical contact to be connected. She was experiencing his pull from the pit of her stomach to the tingling alertness of her beaded nipples.

  With a raspy growl reverberating in his throat, William came to her, lowering his head as his hands lifted and squeezed her full breasts. His warm, suckling lips eased her aching need. "Oh!" she breathed. "That's incredible." She kissed the thick black hair at the crown of his head. His teeth nipped and she trembled with a sweet agony, tugging his lips back up to hers. They kissed flowingly, indulgently, taking smug pleasure in it.

  Dispensing quickly with buttons, Calla smoothed William's shirt away from his chest with her palms, drawing them delightedly over the contours of firm, rounded muscles and fuzzy hair she'd uncovered. Her lips tweaked his flat nipples in turn, nuzzling playfully.

  William's hands spanned her waist, pressing her torso to his. Their naked flesh fused. "Does that feel as good for you as it does for me?" he asked huskily, stroking the satin-smooth skin on her back. "So —"

  Calla's tousled head lifted. "Indescribable," she provided, letting her breasts shift tantalizingly against his abdomen, nipples grazing the crisp, black curling hair. Her arms tightened around his shoulders. She didn't ever want to let go.

  William was investigating the rest of her dress, his hands filling with filmy, glittering fabric until he found the zipper and eased it downward. The dress fell to the floor and Calla unconcernedly stepped out of it as her own hands moved lower, traversing the tight, flat muscles at William's waist to reach the heavy bulge beneath his zipper. She chuckled at his harsh intake of breath as she boldly and intimately caressed him. "Too many clothes," she muttered again, eager to unleash the throbbing, turgid shaft under her fingers. A feminine satisfaction curled her lips at the knowledge of her effect on William.

  "The bedroom," he uttered hoarsely. "I think we need the bedroom."

  Suddenly the ceiling tilted at a crazy angle and Calla lost her sense of direction. Then she realized William had picked her up, and she nestled into the broad expanse of chest before her eyes. Let him do as he would. Any direction he took would be the right one.

  Before she could fully savor the novel experience of being carried to bed, William had set her upon it. She lay back and stretched luxuriously, preening like a cat as she smiled up at him in invitation. He quickly stripped off the remainder of his clothing and she saw for the first time the blatant masculine power of his nude body. Desire rippled through her, and her heart thundered out of control.

  He lowered himself beside her in a crouch. His hands slid over her ivory thighs and carefully eased the emerald silk panties off her rounded hips. She kicked them away. His heavy body settled atop hers and she reached again for his shoulders, needing to grasp his solidity, to clasp him to her heart. "That's right," he breathed into her ear. "Hold on tight, Calla sweet."

  Calla felt herself melting into the fire William had kindled. She gave herself up to passion, confident that if it wasn't the right thing to do, it couldn't possibly feel so perfect.

  Her gently curved belly jumped under the charge of his electric touch. "Easy," he murmured. His blunt fingertips found the moistening heat of her secret, feminine center and dipped inside. Back arching, she gasped out an unintelligible cry and pressed against his palm. He knew what to do and how to do it. Delicately. Dexterously.

  "I want to touch you, too," Calla whispered thickly.

  "Yes," he answered. "Touch me."

  Her hips circled in a lazy motion that elicited another shuddering moan from William. She felt his hard shaft against her thigh and then held it — delightfully hot, deliciously heavy — in her hand. "Calla!" he muttered urgently. "Take me inside you. I can't wait any longer."

  She guided him to the entrance of her hungering body. William found Calla's mouth, taking it in a deep kiss as she was slowly filled by his long, easy stroke. "Oh — yes —" she said on a sigh. Her body automatically molded itself to his, legs wrapping around his hips as he established their rhythm. "I knew you would feel this way," he said in a dark, tight voice. "So warm. So wonderful."

  She met and mated with his thrusts, the incredible feeling of it escalating ever higher as he surged deeper and faster. She clung to his sweat-slick shoulders, sinking her nails into them when she thought she must surely explode. But William knew better. He took her even higher. He teased and taunted her, teaching her secrets about her body she hadn't even suspected. When she was ready to scream with the knowledge, he finally released a million quivering spasms over every inch of her skin.

  "William!" she shouted, caught up in a whirlwind of sensation she feared would sweep her away from him.

  "I'm with you," he answered. "All the way." Beneath her clenching hands, she felt the muscles in his back ripple with his last deep thrust and then go rigid. His gutteral shout of release joined her high-pitched cry as they plummeted, intimately and blissfully joined, back to earth.

  Chapter Ten

  So right. So absolutely right.

  For a long time, Calla was aware of nothing but a dark drowsiness. William was a pleasantly heavy weight anchoring her to the mattress as she absently stroked his back with one lazy hand. Gradually gathering her senses, she became aware of tingling sensations in muscles rarely so thoroughly used. She smiled to herself. Becoming William's lover had been a wise choice. The right choice.

  Her mind drifted. Was this how other women felt — smug, sassy, eminently pleased to have provided the ultimate pleasure for their men? Now she knew why Vivien was as glossy and sated as a cream-fed cat. Now she knew why so many women made themselves into fools for love —

  Calla's eyelids popped open. Was this how it had been for her mother? The reason she'd stayed in a demeaning, destructive relationship for far too long? A relationship that had, Calla believed, ultimately led to her mother's early death?

  William stirred to life, lifting his head. He touched his lips to hers. "Mmm. Should I move?"

  She hugged him tightly, like a miser with a bag of gold.

  "This is nice."

  He shifted a little to the side, settling one hard thigh between her softer ones, running his hand lightly over her warm hollows and curves. "I wonder what's going on behind those cat's eyes of yours. No regrets, I hope?"

  She closed her eyes, almost purring as she buffeted her head on his chest. "I'll never regret making love with you," she finally answered, remembering a time not so long ago when she'd been ready to deny herself the experience.

  William laid back against the pillow. This was the moment for lovers to whisper sweet promises in each other's ears, even though those promises were often rash and most likely impossible. Calla needed words of love, but, dammit, he was still holding back.

  "My mother was a rich man's mistress," she said.

  "What?" He was instantly wide awake.

  Calla bit her lip, appalled at the way she'd blurted it out. She'd meant to ease into this explanation of her conduct.

  "Your mother," William repeated thoughtfully. "A mistress."

  She nodded, eyes downcast beneath a puckered brow. "It's time you knew the real me," she said haltingly. "I meant to tell you, but we — you know, before we'd —" She gestured helplessly at the rumpled bed as she took a deep breath and sat up, carefully pulling the splashy Hawaiian print sheet up to her armpits. "I'm not the demure, well-bred lady I was pretending to be. I prefer lace teddies to lace handkerchiefs, sequins and lamé to tailored wool. I can sometimes be goofy and raucous, and I've been known to eat canned spaghetti — straight from the can."

  Willi
am waved the confession off. He already knew or had guessed all that. "If I'd wanted a tame, well-bred companion, I would have bought a registered poodle. Why don't you get back to the part about your mother?"

  Her nervous fingers had pleated the sheet like an accordian. "Lily worked as a legal secretary for a well-respected firm in Boston. That's where she met my — her lover." Calla squeezed her eyes shut and hunched her shoulders, praying he hadn't caught the slip of the tongue.

  "Go on."

  She exhaled with relief. "He was an attorney, great-grandson of one of the founding partners, progeny of a Mayflower family with a house on Beacon Hill. You know the type."

  "I'm beginning to see why —"

  "He was also engaged," Calla said tightly. "He didn't bother to inform my mother because they were already having an affair." In her mind's eye, Calla pictured her mother. As a young woman, Lily Quinn had looked and acted very much like her daughter did now, although she'd been a smaller and softer doe-eyed brunette. Lily had been lively and fun, but her fatal flaw had been a will nowhere near as strong as Calla's.

  "Somehow Edward convinced her to continue the affair, even after his marriage to a blue-blooded equal." Calla's laugh was short and bitter. "He was afraid someone in the office would figure out what was going on, so he set her up in an apartment and paid her living expenses. Lily officially became his mistress."

  William raked both hands through his short hair, back and forth, several times as if to beat some perspicacity into his stupid brain. "Oh, Calla," he said in anguish, "I've been such a jerk."

  "How could you have known? I certainly wasn't about to tell you. I was too busy painting my fingernails pink and thinking it would make me a lady." One worthy of marriage, her yearning heart persisted.

  "I'm sorry." William curled his arm around her to pull her comfortingly close. "I shouldn't have made such an insensitive offer in any case. Can you call it dumb, macho ineptitude and forgive me?"

  She nodded. "If you can forgive my silly, feminine masquerade. And if you can forgive me for shoving you out of the rowboat."

  He laughed. "I figure I deserved that one." They kissed and Calla began to relax, hoping the worst was over. Then William asked, "How did it finally end?"

  She rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Finally, in a dry voice, she continued the story. "The affair lasted for eight years. Eight years — can you believe that? Eight years of waiting for his phone call, for a few stolen hours, eight years of lonely, listless holidays —"

  Calla grew quiet, remembering the woman her mother had eventually become — a pathetic, dependent creature, warping her life to accommodate her lover's schedule, centering her existence on the illicit relationship that took place almost completely within the confines of her apartment. Edward wouldn't risk being seen in public with his mistress.

  "She thought he was the love of her life. He strung her along with the promise of a tomorrow when he'd leave his wife."

  William heard the sorrow for wasted years, saw the bitterness in her eyes and the disdainful curl of her lip. "What happened?"

  She shrugged. "You know what they say about tomorrow. It never comes."

  She blinked back a tear. "Edward decided he wanted to become a judge, and having a mistress was too risky. He arrived with flowers and informed Lily the affair was over. She was devastated. When she tried to see him again at his office, he settled a lump sum on her and whisked her out the door, as if money was going to make up for breaking her heart. The buy-off included a couple of one-way tickets back to Colorado — Lily was born here, you know. Some flunky from his office even escorted us to the airport. Just to be positive we left, I'm sure."

  "You were with her?" William quickly asked. "How old were you?"

  Calla clutched the sheet as if it were a life preserver. She didn't want to reveal all. Not yet. "Old enough to know I'd never let it happen to me," she said stonily.

  "I wish I could take back all the pain I must have caused you when I asked you to be my mistress." With her every word, William realized just how hugely he'd misjudged Calla, to the extent of making what she had every right to term an indecent proposal. "My only excuse can be that if I'd known about this, if I'd known the real you better, maybe I wouldn't have been so blinded by my own prejudices."

  "I guess everyone who's gone through a hurtful relationship brings a certain number of insecurities and scars to a new one." She drew a shaky breath and sneaked a peek at him from the corner of her eye. "But I was always fairly sure you wanted more than a business arrangement."

  Her voice trailed off hopefully and William knew he was supposed to make some sort of heartfelt declaration. Instead, he brushed his lips across her cheek, her shoulder, the plump curves of her breasts above the sheet. "I am definitely rescinding that offer. It was obviously rash and foolish. You are not that sort of woman." He kissed the slant of her patrician nose, which was dotted with tiny freckles.

  "No, I'm not," she whispered, but doubt had been inscribed across her frowning forehead. She tried to brush off her disappointment that William had not replaced one proposal with another. She'd give him a bit of time to get used to the idea. At least she was his lover, not his paid mistress. William was warm and caring and considerate, not cold and selfish and calculating as Edward had been. Yet — had she fallen in love with a man she could never marry, as her mother had?

  Was something that felt so right — loving William Justice — actually going to turn out so wrong?

  Chapter Eleven

  "What you have," Vivien shrewdly concluded after hearing the less-intimate details of the night before, "is a major case of the morning-after jitters. Almost everyone gets them sooner or later."

  Calla chewed on an already ragged thumbnail. "I have more reasons than most."

  Vivien's voice sounded hollowly from inside the open fridge. "You should be comforted." She withdrew with a big panful of French-toast casserole she'd prepared the night before, anticipating that there'd be four for brunch. While William and Calla had taken their truncated walk, she'd hacked up a long loaf of French bread. Now she slid the glass dish into the oven.

  "You told William about how your mom had been a mistress," she patiently reiterated. "So now he understands why you reacted so strongly against his — offer. He was nice about the whole thing. And he didn't immediately reject you as 'unclean,' as you'd feared." Viv shook her head as she placed a bottle of syrup on the counter. "I told you most people aren't as hung up on class distinction as you. Why would William care that you're the illegitimate product of an old affair?

  "Uh, well, that's the thing." Calla tucked her fingers into fists. "I didn't exactly tell him that part of the story."

  "The syrup should be warmed," Vivien was murmuring, "and the juice iced — What part?"

  "The part about being illegitimate."

  "Oh, Calla, Calla, Calla." Vivien rapped her knuckles against her friend's head. "What in the world is going on in there?"

  "Not all courtships go as smoothly as yours."

  "Don't tell me you've already forgotten how batty I was over Alex. I know very well the havoc love can wreak on a person's thought processes." Vivien looked at Calla sympathetically. "So this is a courtship?"

  "Yes. Except I'm not sure when William will realize it."

  Vivien glanced into the living room, where Alex was ensconced on the couch with the newspaper, oblivious to the machinations of the women in the kitchen. "You'd better tell him the whole truth," she advised, remembering the terrifying raft ride she'd taken in a misbegotten attempt to convince Alex she was the outdoor type when the closest she'd ever come to adventure was the celluloid Indiana Jones.

  "I will. But not yet."

  "Wait too long and you could be sorry," Viv warned. "These things have a way of popping up at the most inopportune times. And whatever happened to, and I quote, 'I will show him the error of his ways. What could be simpler?' William sounds like a tough nut to crack."

  "Just because
my priorities got a little jumbled when he swept me off my feet doesn't mean I've given up. I am going to marry that man."

  Viv chuckled. "So what's next, then?"

  "I'm going to let William settle in to the realities of this relationship for about a week. Then, just when he's happily accustomed to my pleasant companionship, I'll zap him out of his complacency."

  Vivien's eyebrows rose. "You'll zap him?"

  "I'll zap him," Calla smugly repeated. And she knew just how to do it. William wouldn't know what hit him.

  A grumble in her tummy prompted Vivien to check on the browning casserole. "I don't know why you couldn't have let William stay for brunch. I made enough French toast to feed an army."

  "Part of my plan," Calla said. "William can settle in, but not too far. Brunch would've been too cozy, too intimate. Why should he have the comforts of marriage and hearth when he's not yet willing to admit he wants them?" When she thought about the coldhearted way she'd kicked William out of bed after their second bout of lovemaking, Calla's thumbnail edged back up to the danger zone. He'd been quite ready to snuggle in for the night, a thoroughly satisfied man. But a second after his head had landed on the pillow, she'd thought better of allowing him to get too comfortable. Driving back to Denver in the chilly dawn seemed like a good lesson for him, even though her bed had become vastly empty after his departure.

  Calla nibbled on her fingernail, wondering how long it would take for William to realize he wanted to fill her big brass bed on a more permanent basis.

  She hoped he wasn't a slow learner.

  Nine days later she sailed past Mrs. Pennyworth with a wink and a breezy wave of her wicker picnic hamper straight into William's office in the 17th Street

  Justice Bank and Trust building. She'd been by once before, so she didn't waste any time admiring the view from William's floor-to-ceiling windows or the expensive polished granite-and-leather decor and museum-quality artwork. She saluted his startled face and plunked herself into the smartly designed Eames chair in front of his desk.