by Mel Teshco
She sighed. Not yet twenty-five years old and already she was looking forward to retiring from her profession. She turned on the taps and adjusted the temperature to hot, before stepping under the spray. But more than anything, she looked forward to having an ordinary, uncomplicated life.
She felt slightly better after a shower. Even more so after she’d dragged on old denim shorts and a faded grey T-shirt. Slipping her feet into an old pair of sneakers, she tied her hair up and walked out the front door.
Her smile was pained. Thanks to Mack, she had the rest of the afternoon off with full pay. It was time to lose herself in Mrs. Gracie’s garden.
Chapter Eight
‡
Mackenzie sat in his car with his hands clenched around the steering wheel. Indecision pulled him every which way. He’d parked just down the street from Scarlet’s house, but his legs refused to obey his compulsion to get out, knock on Scarlet’s door, then take her in his arms and make love to her for the rest of the day.
Not because he’d officially paid for her time. He wanted her because … he wanted her.
He blew out a slow breath. If only the violence simmering inside him after seeing Emma’s physical injuries hadn’t given him second thoughts about Scarlet. Given him second thoughts about the woman he wanted more than anything else in the world.
What if he truly was like his father?
What if, in a moment of anger, he struck the woman who he wanted only to care for; to love and to hold? He scraped a hand over his face. In his mind, Scarlet was the woman he imagined as his future wife, the mother of his children.
But he couldn’t help but ask himself if he was selfish to even consider dragging her into a life where his genetics might one day win out over his love for her.
Love.
He blew out a breath. When she’d left him the first time he’d dismissed the bitter ache within, imagined he’d forget her by losing himself in other women. He’d been a fool. Each woman only reminded him how much he wanted Scarlet back.
He’d only stayed away all those months because of her words, which had rung in his ears for weeks. He leaned his head back against his seat, her cool voice again echoing in his head like it was just yesterday.
I don’t have feelings for you … not the way you want me to.
She’d reopened a part of him that his father had tried to destroy. Peeled off the scab to his deepest wound.
He’d never wanted a woman more than he’d wanted Scarlet. He’d grown used to getting what he wanted, used to women hanging onto his every word and falling over themselves to date him.
Her rejection had been a kick in the guts and a smash to his ego, and it had taken him too long to ignore his hurt pride and go after her like he did everything else. But although he’d relished learning she did indeed have feelings for him, in some ways he wished he hadn’t made that discovery.
If she loved him half as much as he loved her, would he be doing her a greater service in letting her go?
His belly cramped in rejection even as he reached for the ignition. About to fire up the engine, he watched as the door to Scarlet’s house swung open and she stepped outside. His breath caught. God, she was gorgeous. Stunning. Her long, creamy legs were bared in little denim shorts, her tee hugging her slender curves and full breasts. Her hair was pulled up into its usual topknot, enhancing her gorgeous features. But this time her face was free of makeup, and she looked younger, almost virtuous.
He frowned. He had no idea of Scarlet’s age. He swallowed. Fucking hell. He wanted to marry her, but he still knew very little about her. Hell, he could have dated her on her birthday and he wouldn’t have known.
His stare followed her as she stepped onto the pathway and walked briskly up the street. He watched until she was nearly out of sight, before he started the car and eased it forward.
There was no harm in following her for a bit. At the very least, make sure she was okay. Except the moment she stepped through the gate of an old house, and then knocked on the door to have it opened by a good-looking young man, all his do-gooder instincts rushed out the window.
He pulled the car to the curb, every instinct on high alert. She might be a call girl, with God knew how many clients, but he couldn’t deny it any longer. She. Was. His.
*
Claire was shocked to see who opened the door to Mrs. Gracie’s home. “Bradley!” She stepped into his arms for a hug that was all friendship before looking up at him. Aside from a scruffy beard and his blond, tousled hair needing a cut, he’d hardly changed. “When did you get here?”
He grinned. “Just this morning. But if I had known you still visited Gran I would have been here much sooner.”
Claire was aware of Bradley’s infatuation, and maybe in another life she might have explored something more meaningful with him. But in this life, she had her profession, which pretty much wiped out any chance of a relationship. And even if that alone didn’t destroy things, Mackenzie had taken away her desire to be with anyone else.
She shook her head and smiled wryly. “Still a charmer, I see.”
He stepped back, his grin not quite so broad at her making light of his affections. “Come in. I’m sure Gran would love to see you too.”
“Thanks.”
Mrs. Gracie was in the kitchen, a smile creasing her already lined face. “Hello, dear. So nice to see you. And you’re just in time for afternoon tea.”
Bradley nodded. “It’s a bit later than we intended, but my flight got delayed.”
Mrs. Gracie slathered her scones with jam and cream, before placing them on a plate. Claire’s belly rumbled. She’d barely touched her lunch when she’d met up with her friends, not to mention she’d had far too much to drink. Not the best combination. “Thank you, that’d be lovely.”
Mrs. Gracie handed the plate of scones to her grandson, and gave Claire the tray with a teapot, milk, sugar and cups. “Go on out the back. I’m sure you and Bradley have lots to catch up on. I’ll be out as soon as I freshen up.”
Claire followed Bradley to the back patio, placing her tray next to his on the glass-topped table. He poured her a tea and she smiled thanks even as she took hold of a scone and bit deep. “Mmm.” She closed her eyes. Little wonder Mrs. Gracie had won numerous awards for her baking at regional and rural shows. “This tastes like heaven.”
He chuckled. “You always did love your food.”
Her eyes flicked back open as something brushed the corner of her mouth. Bradley placed the napkin back on the table, but otherwise didn’t move. “Sorry.” He looked anything but sorry. “You had a little spot of cream and I couldn’t resist.”
His mouth was inches away from hers, and she stared at him with censure. “Bradley, we grew up together, went to the same school. Hung out together as friends.”
“And that’s the way you want it to stay,” he muttered, looking more than a little deflated. “I get it.”
She smiled and covered his hand with her own. “You know I’ll always love you.” But only ever as a friend.
“Scarlet.”
She jerked back, pressing a hand to her mouth. Not just because her professional name sounded like a clap of thunder, and had been announced to all and sundry, but because the one man who’d been constantly in her thoughts had somehow found his way here.
She turned around. Mackenzie stood beside Mrs. Gracie, dwarfing the older lady. “What are you doing here?” she squeaked.
“I could ask the same of you.” His stare was cutting. “Does your boyfriend know about me?”
Boyfriend. She gaped at him. Was he serious? Hurt twisted her belly, even as shame burned across her face. “I’m visiting an old friend,” she said in a level voice, even as she wanted to scream and cry and stamp her feet.
His eyes glittered. “Do you tell all your friends you love them?” he gritted.
Mrs. Gracie sent Claire a considering look. “What’s going on, Claire?”
Bradley stepped forward. “Is everything
okay?”
She nodded, even as she pushed to her feet and glanced at Mrs. Gracie and back to Bradley. “I’m sorry to cut short my visit, but … I’ve lost my appetite. I think I’ll head home.”
Bradley bristled, clearly suspecting the worst. He stood beside his grandmother. “Claire, if you need me, you know where I am.”
She sent him a weak smile. “Thank you.”
Mackenzie gave them a curt nod, and then put a hand on the small of her back to guide her through the house and out the front door. The moment they were clear, she turned to him and hissed, “How dare you show up here! This is my personal life. And you don’t belong in it!”
She glimpsed fleeting pain, before his face became a mask and she wondered if she’d imagined it. He swept a hand toward the house. “And that man in there belongs in your personal life?”
“Yes, he does.” She shook her head. “You don’t always get what you want, Mackenzie. I’m not one of your many possessions. My free time is to do with what I want.”
She spun on her heel, about to walk away, but he clapped a hand on her elbow and twisted her to face him. “Your time is hardly free. I paid for you this whole weekend, remember?” he growled. “If you want me to ring Maisey to confirm it, I’ll be more than happy to.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she whispered, but she could see in his hard, uncompromising face, he’d do that and more.
“You know I would … Claire.”
She gasped, a whole kaleidoscope of emotions barreling through her at hearing him say her name. Despite it going against her work ethic she wanted to hear him say it again, wanted to pretend that being plain, ordinary Claire meant as much to him as sex goddess Scarlet did.
She bit her bottom lip, needing the pain to distract her from giving into him. “What do you want from me?”
“Damn it, Claire, isn’t it obvious?” He blew out a hard breath, before tucking his hand around her elbow and escorting her to his car. A dark, low-slung sports model she’d never seen before.
It took no more than a minute or two at most before he pulled into her driveway.
Were there any more rules left to be broken? Her anonymity was to be protected at all costs, and yet she’d given it all away to a client who had drilled through the protective barriers of her heart with remarkable ease.
He killed the engine and turned to her. “Just give me what’s left of this weekend, okay?”
She stared straight ahead, torn between longing for him and disgust that he was taking advantage of her profession to keep both the women he wanted in his life. “What about Emma?” she said woodenly, determined not to let envy creep into her voice.
“She’s sound asleep.” He exhaled heavily. “I just hope the second I’m out of her sight she doesn’t go running back to the sack of shit she married.”
She unclipped her seatbelt and climbed out of the car before he had a chance to open her door. She was paid to have sex with men, yet the thought of Mackenzie keeping a married woman in his bed while he fucked Claire on the side almost tied her heart in knots.
You’re Scarlet now … not Claire. Never Claire with Mackenzie.
He appeared at her side. “Look, I’ll tell you everything you want to know about Emma tomorrow. I might even have my head wrapped around the whole thing by then. But the rest of today … I want it to be just you and me.”
Pain seared its way through her veins. This was why she should have stayed away from Mackenzie. She’d known from the start he had the power to hurt her, had recognized an undeniable attraction in their client–call girl relationship that trod on dangerous ground.
She lifted her chin. All she could do now was fall back on her role as his fantasy woman, dredge up every last ounce of her acting ability, knowing that after this weekend they were over.
He’d go back to Emma, while she’d go back to clients who wanted nothing more from her than her body.
In the meantime, there was one rule she would never break. “I won’t conduct business in my own home.”
His face tightened even as he nodded. “Of course not.” He dug in his pocket for his phone. “I’ll book a room for us tonight at the Sheraton.”
She managed a smile. Any other call girl would be happy getting fucked in luxury. Despite her earlier warning, deep down she wanted only to take him into her modest home and spend the night with him in her bed, and pretend they were a normal couple.
She saw a curtain twitch in a window of the house next door. She sighed and opened her front door. She couldn’t afford what the neighborhood gossip might do for her career. Do to her sisters.
Of course if Mrs. Gracie or Bradley put two and two together, idle gossip would be the least of her concerns.
She paused on the threshold, glancing up at his forbidding profile before she said tightly, “You might as well come in.”
Chapter Nine
‡
Mackenzie nodded. As far as invitations went, it left a lot to be desired. Yet his step was eager as he entered Scarlet’s home.
No, not Scarlet. Claire. She’d always be Claire to him now.
The dining, lounge and kitchen were one open room, and spotlessly clean. A real home, the very opposite to the house he’d grown up in. But what caught his attention were the photos decorating the cream walls. A hutch revealed even more pictures, alongside decorative plates and vases.
“I’ll freshen up, get changed and pack an overnight bag,” Claire said, before pointing to a small bar opposite the cabinet. “Help yourself to a drink.”
He nodded, and as she walked down a hallway and into her bedroom, he strode toward the photos on the wall. The biggest portrait revealed Claire with two younger, identical women and a pretty middle-aged woman.
He could see the resemblance in all of them. The dark-haired twins were drop-dead gorgeous, and he could only imagine the mischief and mayhem they’d put Claire through. It was also obvious their mother had been a beauty in her day, but even in the photo she looked faded and weary around the edges.
He guessed the shot had been taken not long after she’d been diagnosed. Sadness for Claire, for the whole family, plucked at his damn heartstrings. He scraped a hand over his face. He was getting too bloody sentimental. But nothing about his feelings for Claire were simple. He’d fallen for her hard; it’d just taken him eighteen months too long to realize he couldn’t live without her.
He moved on to another photo, where Claire stared out to sea as she sat on a white-gold beach in a little yellow bikini. She was a sex goddess, and yet she didn’t seem aware of it. He had a feeling she viewed her body as simply the key to a bank vault. Her call girl career was nothing more than a way to pay the bills and keep her sisters in comfort.
His stare narrowed. He had no doubt Claire had shouldered the brunt of financial and emotional stress for the twins.
He swung away from the photos and paced the small room. He’d do anything to take care of her. But hearing her tell another man she loved him still cut him up inside. It’d been a knife to his heart and a swift kick to his balls all at the same time. In that one moment he’d almost turned and walked away for good, let her be with the man she loved. But then his better judgment kicked in and shook off his momentary weakness.
He had the rest of the weekend to help her change her mind. To make her realize the other man wasn’t the one she loved.
If only his weakness hadn’t also transformed into seething rage that the one woman he wanted with everything he had, wanted someone else. If only it hadn’t taken all his willpower not to act on the rage that had erupted inside him when he’d overheard Claire’s admission.
As a businessman he relied on being cool, calm and composed. But the more he wanted Claire in his life, the more ready he was to tear any opposition apart with his bare hands.
His breath shuddered. What he wouldn’t do to hear her say she loved him. To see her eyes shine with more than physical passion. He wanted her heartfelt adoration. But more than anything he wanted h
er trust, because without it she’d never be his, not in the way that truly mattered.
He sensed her presence a nanosecond before her faint tread had him pivoting to face her. “Wow.”
She put down her overnight bag and smiled self-consciously at his approval. Her sexy, lilac dress plunged front and back, its cinched waist falling in gossamer layers to her knees. Even her high-heeled strappy shoes were sexy.
Her hair was piled up into its usual upsweep, but long wisps framed her face at the sides, and she tucked a strand behind her ear with a restless hand. Damn, she really was self-conscious. Somehow it made him want her all the more. She was a contradiction of fire and ice, sexuality and reservation.
His dick jerked and he suppressed a wry grin. He looked forward to taking her to the room he’d booked for the night, just the same as he looked forward to bringing her pleasure. Her little cries of ecstasy turned him on like nothing else. There had to be nothing better in the world than watching her fall apart beneath him.
He reached for her overnight bag, his dick twitching yet again. “Ready?” he asked huskily.
She looked surprised when a few minutes later he pulled up outside a local steakhouse. “We’re eating first?” she asked.
He raised a brow. “I know how much you enjoy your food, the same as me.” Almost as much as we enjoy sex. He grinned. “I’m sure we’ll work off the calories and then some later tonight.”
The restaurant was overflowing with patrons, but when the young waitress saw him approach, her eyes lit up with recognition. No doubt she’d read about him in the social or business pages of the latest newspaper.
It was one of the negatives of being a wealthy bachelor. Women found his wallet as attractive as his physicality. His lips thinned. His personality … well, more often than not, it barely rated a mention in the grand scheme of things.