Her Improper Affair

by Shea Mcmaster

  Carrying the filled glass with him, he answered the door.

  “Darling, I’m disappointed in you.” The pouty voice belonged to Deirdre Portman-Wright in the flesh, dressed in her usual slumming outfit. Designer jeans, glittery T-shirt, dark brown leather jacket that matched the boots with four inch heels.

  “How did I do that?” The last person on this earth he wanted to talk to right now. Should have never answered.

  “You missed my dinner party last night. I left the invitation on your voice mail three days ago.” Deirdre reached out a perfectly manicured red-tipped claw and touched his chest. The touch did absolutely nothing for him.

  “Sorry, but I was in California for Drew’s wedding. I’m sure I mentioned it.” He knew he had. In fact, the announcement had been in all the social columns.

  The woman actually fluttered her overly made up eyelashes. “I thought that was last week.”

  Harsh restraint prevented him from rolling his eyes. Deirdre only followed her own calendar and never paid attention to anyone else’s. “No, it was this week. Tuesday.”

  Her finger continued to make lazy circles over his chest. “Well you can make it up to me now. I’m dying for some fish and chips at your favorite pub.”

  “Sorry, love. Just got in, literally five minutes ago, and I’m knackered. I’m heading for a shower, afterward I’ll warm something for dinner, and then it’s off to bed for me.” Then again, he hadn’t had a serious workout in a while. While dinner cooked he could go a few rounds with the punching bag in the gym he’d set up in the basement and shower on his way to bed.

  “Sounds wonderful. I’ll join you.”

  Oswald sighed and took a long drink from his glass. It gave him a moment to consider his words. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he let himself meet her gaze. “Really, I’m not up for entertaining.” Especially the kind she wanted. After last night, or rather the night before, with Courtney, he wasn’t open to taking Deirdre to bed. In fact, he wasn’t open to taking anyone to bed. Unless Courtney showed on his doorstep, and then maybe he’d change his mind. Since she was getting ready to climb on a plane, that was highly unlikely. Impossible, in fact. Oswald rolled his shoulders. Yeah, a workout was a great idea.

  “Darling, don’t disappoint me two nights in a row. Nobody likes to eat dinner alone.” The sexy pout did nothing for Oswald this time. In the past he’d indulged her need to slum from time to time, but not tonight.

  “I didn’t disappoint you on purpose last night, but I’m afraid I’ll have to do so, consciously and with great guilt, tonight. I’ve been gone over a week and I need to be up and into the office before the birds tomorrow. I’m afraid my schedule is booked for the foreseeable future.” And if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t admit it to her.

  She tried the eyelash fluttering again. Still didn’t work on him. “All work and no play makes Oswald a dull boy.”

  “I just spent a week doing no work other than playing groomsman to an old friend. I have a boss to impress and a new hire to situate next week. There’s also the England portion of the nuptials to attend before the newlyweds head off to their new life. It’s going to be a busy week, and tonight is my one night to get some real sleep. And I do mean sleep. Something that usually doesn’t happen when you stay over, love.”

  Deirdre’s laugh was throaty, and her hand slipped down to hold him by the waistband of his jeans. Obviously she thought she still had a hold over him. Something he’d let her believe for the last eighteen months. A hold that had been slipping from the moment he’d met Courtney. A fact that would have repercussions the moment Deirdre figured out his attraction had shifted. Not that he’d ever had the illusion of a long-term relationship with Deirdre. He was a diversion for her when everyone else was tied up, and he’d known it from day one. Since she wasn’t the type who’d ever marry him, he’d been happy to accommodate her when she got the itch to see him. But he wasn’t going down that road again. He just had to be careful how he broke it to her.

  “All right.” The smile was conciliatory, if a little brittle. “I’ll forgive you this once if you include me as your plus-one for the celebrations. I haven’t seen Drew in ages, and I’d like to meet his bride. I’ve heard she’s a beauty.”

  “That she is.” Oswald gently removed Deirdre’s hand from his jeans. “She’s also gentle and kind on the surface, with a steel backbone beneath. Anyhow, you’ll love her. She’s wonderful and good for Drew.”

  “I look forward to it. Call me!”

  With that she leaned forward and placed a brief kiss on his chin before turning and sauntering toward the sidewalk with an over exaggerated sway of her hips. Oswald heaved a sigh of relief, and gently closed the door, double checking the locks. Now he had to figure out how to not invite Deirdre to the reception on Sunday celebrating the newlyweds. Courtney would be there and Deirdre would have no issue with letting Courtney know about their relationship. As it had been. The one that no longer existed. The one he had to tell Deirdre was over.

  * * * *

  Oswald managed to stick to his plan of digging into work until late Saturday afternoon. His vow to stop thinking of Courtney, not so much. He was just considering a short break for dinner when his cell phone rang. Since Court’s number showed, he answered.

  “There you are,” Court said. “Tried your flat and couldn’t get through the office switchboard, have to fix that on the weekends. Hate calling your cell because of what I might be interrupting.”

  “You aren’t interrupting a thing. I’m at the office and just considering a break for dinner.”

  “Perfect. We’re at the flat, got in yesterday, and spent today getting people sorted. Randi’s rustled up something involving pasta, seafood, and some of that San Francisco sourdough she smuggled over. It’s just family, which includes Larry, so haul yourself over here. By the size of the salad and the pasta pot, I do believe Randi means to feed half of London.”

  “Who can resist an offer like that? Shall I pick up some wine on the way? A cake for dessert?”

  “We’re set. Just bring yourself and your appetite.”

  And maybe somewhere along the way he’d find his courage. How would Courtney greet him? As for him, he planned to act as he always did. Reserved. Removed. One step back from the inner circle. Larry being there would help. He loved to tease Courtney, and Oswald could watch from the sidelines.

  With the flat not far from the offices, Oswald managed to make it there in fifteen minutes, and that was dragging his feet. Easy commute for Court. Probably where Courtney would stay while her parents traveled. Not that they needed a house sitter, but Court would probably insist because of the building security and the vicinity. At least there were few gangbangers in this section of well-lit and patrolled streets. Although the temptation of her living so close to the office could be harder to ignore. A brisk walk for a midday break, if one could wait long enough to avoid scandal at the office.

  The doorman let him in, and the security man at the desk gave him a nod. They knew him well, and Court had probably called down to expect him. The elevator ride to the top floor was fast, and he found the flat door open when he approached. The level of trust and acceptance extended by the Robinsons never failed to impress him. It humbled him. Gave him ideas of grandeur above his accepted station in life. The only Robinsons to ever look down their noses at him had been Drew’s mother, Beatrice, and his grandmother, old Mrs. Robinson. But then again, both women looked down on everyone. Mrs. Robinson had been kinder about it, more along the line of not wanting to be bothered with little boys, rather than seeing him as low class trash. That had come from Beatrice. As far as he could tell, no one missed that woman.

  “Oswald!” Larry greeted him at the door with a glass of aged liquor. “Good to see you, m’boy.”

  Before he could get a word out, the distinctive opening of Osborne’s “Crazy Train” screeched out from the speakers, then the volume dropped. Courtney looked up from the stereo set
and gave him a snarky smile. One he couldn’t resist returning despite his resolve to distance himself from her. Something that was going to be harder to accomplish than he’d originally thought. Especially if they continued to invite him to intimate family events like this one.

  “Oswald’s here,” Randi sang out from the kitchen where delicious smells emanated.

  “Evening, everyone.” He shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the coat tree near the door. Larry handed him the drink, and they made their way deeper into the flat. The music volume was now at background level, and it was easy to let the heavy metal tune roll off his shoulders. Maybe one day he’d confess to Courtney he liked heavy metal as much as baroque, whatever the setting called for. Then again, it was a bit of fun to watch her try to rile him with her musical introductions. It was even more fun to watch her dance to the tunes rocking the sound system. The tight stretchy leggings she wore called to mind the dancers from videos made in the eighties. All she needed was big hair instead of her sleek ponytail. Still, a bloke had to admire the curve of her bottom and the long legs on display. The T-shirt she wore wasn’t so loose he couldn’t make out other curves. He’d probably shock her into a faint if he danced over to her playing air guitar. The very fantasy was almost too rich to ignore before he reminded himself of his plan to back away.

  * * * *

  Birdie wasn’t quite sure how she felt seeing Ozzie again. Well, she wanted to rush to his arms and kiss him silly. Her mouth actually watered at the thought of kissing him. His taste, the feel of him was like a ghost feeling in her mouth. Oh, God, what if he could see that on her face? Cheeks flaming, she turned toward the stereo and fiddled with the play list while waiting for her face to cool.

  He looked good. He also looked tired, and she guessed that was to be expected. She was pretty wiped out herself. The wedding, the travel, the dreams. Oh Lord had she had dreams. Every night since the wedding she’d dreamed of Ozzie in full color. And much to her embarrassment, she’d even dreamed of him while curled up in her seat on the plane. She still wasn’t sure if it was a good thing she’d been sitting next to a stranger, who was no longer a stranger, but he hadn’t said anything, not that once they’d been formally introduced she’d had a chance to talk with him. Dad had spent most of the last two hours of the flight sitting with Mom’s favorite rock star, catching up on family business. Mostly she was thankful Ozzie hadn’t been her seatmate as originally planned.

  “Dinner’s on the table,” her mom called out. What was supposed to have been a small dinner party had become a dozen people. Her parents. Drew and Meilin, of course. Meilin’s parents. Paul and Larry. Both her grandfather and grandmother. Ozzie. And her. Chairs shuffled as people found their seats. Corks popped as her father and Drew opened half a dozen bottles of white wine and passed them down the table. Two large bowls on each end of the table held a mountain of tossed green salad and steaming vats of seafood Alfredo. Four bread baskets held the also steaming slices of sourdough bread. Everyone had carried at least one loaf in their carry-on luggage. Birdie herself had carried two.

  As she approached the table with two pitchers of water, she found the only chair left was between Ozzie and Paul. Ozzie stood holding the chair for her. After taking the pitchers from her and setting them on the table, he pushed her chair in for her, then took his seat.

  “Courtney.”

  Well, at least he remembered her name. “Ozzie,” she replied, impressed she’d managed to keep her voice as impersonal as his.

  Like the gentleman he was, he poured her glass and then filled her grandmother’s glass before filling his own with the crisp Chardonnay her father had imported from Napa Valley the year before.

  Her father raised his glass. “To the most beautiful cook in England.”

  Which raised a blush on her mother’s cheek. “Thank you.”

  The next glass up was Paul’s. “To the bride and groom for bringing us all together.”

  “Hear, hear.”

  Not to be outdone, Drew raised his glass. “To our families for their unwavering support. Mum, Dad”—he saluted first his parents, then turned to Meilin’s—“Mom and Dad. We’re blessed to have both sets of you.”

  “Enough with the toasting.” Birdie’s mother laughed. “Eat before it gets cold. And just so you know,” she raised her voice to speak over the sudden clatter of dishes and serving spoons, “the pasta is a lightened up version. Still not completely healthy, but less heavy on the fats. However, there are enough carbs to send everyone into a nice coma for the night to help regulate the internal clocks.”

  Everyone laughed and Birdie helped herself to a large serving of the tossed salad. Paul held the bowl for her; then she turned and held it for Ozzie. Next came the pasta bowl and finally a bread basket. If she ate everything on her plate, indeed, she’d sleep like the dead tonight. Much as she had after Ozzie had finished with her. A shock of electricity sizzled up her finger from where he touched her briefly. The sizzle zipped right up her arm, igniting newly awakened nerve endings. Nerve endings she’d never known could be awakened until Ozzie had touched her.

  The same man who caught the bread basket before it completely left her hand. The same man who wouldn’t look at her now.

  Bastard.

  Diddle with her, then leave her without a word? Well, they’d see about that.

  Chapter 8

  Dinner was an experience for sure. Paul sat to her left doing his best to avoid Mom’s super-fan hero-worship, although Birdie thought she was admirably restrained, while Ozzie on her right barely said a word to anyone. Just sat there slowly eating, answering when asked a question, but not initiating any sort of conversation.

  Across the table Larry looked on with sympathy in his eyes, but really in no position to rescue her. Fortunately most of the conversations were loud, and Birdie was able to listen to the small talk taking place around her. Mostly it was a recap of the upcoming schedule with a few questions directed to Paul, who rolled his eyes every time someone tried to call him Khan. Something she could identify with all too well.

  Tomorrow morning they’d all pile into various vehicles and make the drive down to the house in Sussex. Fine. Mid-afternoon, for a selected number of friends and the older extensions of the family, Drew and Meilin would say their vows again, and the house would open up to whatever guests felt like dropping in to congratulate the newlyweds. Far less formal than the big wedding not quite a week ago. Martin had the entire event well in hand. Cook had been preparing for a solid week. All Birdie had to do was throw on her pretty dress, smile, and make polite conversation. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

  Tomorrow afternoon Ozzie would stand up with Drew for the smaller ceremony at the local church while Birdie would stand with Meilin in a pink bridesmaid’s dress. Again, easy enough. But this time she’d be standing across the aisle from Ozzie. Would he look at her then?

  Who knew what had crawled up his butt. Was he angry she’d fallen asleep and left him hanging? Or rather in a state of pain? She’d told him not to let her fall asleep for long, but when she’d woken several hours later he was not only gone from her room, but gone from California. The entire country! What the hell did that mean?

  So all through dinner she ignored Ozzie as much as he ignored her. Other than to keep her wineglass full and make sure she had bread and butter, or more salad. Then he’d eaten what she couldn’t finish of the cheesecake Cook had sent up from Sussex for dessert.

  And when her head dropped forward, she admitted defeat. Mom’s plan to carb-load everyone had worked on her first.

  Strong male hands gently landed on her shoulder. Her father whispered in her ear, “Time for bed, Bird. You’ve had a long week.”

  She let her head drop back against his shoulder and blinked up at him. “Okay, Daddy.”

  At least he still loved her. His eyes softened and his lips touched her temple as she heard Ozzie say, “I’ve got her, sir.”

  One strong arm slid under her knee
s, another behind her back. Instinctively she raised an arm to drape it round the neck of the warm, spicy smelling man lifting her against a hard chest. “Ozimander,” she whispered. Even now she recognized his scent, despite the garlic they’d all had. “I can walk myself.”

  “Easy, princess. Your mum is leading us to your room so she can get you tucked in.”

  “Mmmm.” She also heard Meilin tiptoeing down the hall.

  “Don’t drop her, Oswald.”

  He didn’t deign to answer more than a grunt. Lord, she hoped it wasn’t because she was too heavy. That almost woke her up, but then his lips brushed the top of her head.

  “Sleep.” His order was soft, but gruffly spoken.

  “Aye, aye,” she murmured. “But I really can put myself to bed.”

  “Let us play,” Meilin said. “Practice for your niece or nephew. Future niece or nephew.”

  That sounded interesting enough to almost wake up for.

  “Really?” her mother asked. “Thank you, Oswald. We’ll be out in a few moments. Maybe you could encourage the men to start clean up?”

  “Happily.” The bedroom door closed softly behind him.

  “I can undress myself,” Birdie muttered as her mother tried to tug off the T-shirt she wore over comfortable yoga pants.

  “I know you can. But you’re exhausted, kiddo. Besides, I want to hear more about this subject of babies from Meilin.”

  Birdie accepted her mother’s help in pulling the shirt off, holding back further complaint because she, too, wanted to hear what Meilin had to say.

  “No news there yet,” Meilin said, sitting on the side of the bed as Birdie struggled out of the clinging yoga pants, leaving her undies in place. “We’re not actively trying, but neither are we doing anything to prevent it.”

  Birdie’s mother pulled a large sleep shirt over her head. “I think you can take it from here, Bird. I’m not removing your bra.”