A Mistress, a Scandal, a Ring

by Angela Bissell

  He would end it now.

  He would be so angry about what she’d told his mother he’d change his mind about her staying and ask her to leave.

  And this time his rejection wouldn’t just sting, like it had the night he’d spurned her by the pool. It would burn. Painfully. Horribly.

  Because she cared now. More than she had before.

  How could she not? They’d been intimate together. They’d shared things. Oh, she wasn’t fooling herself with romantic delusions. She understood this was an affair, not a proper relationship. But she’d have to be carved from stone to feel absolutely nothing.

  And she knew him better now. He was proud and honourable and generous and hardworking. She didn’t only desire him, she liked him. Respected him.

  Oh, come on. It’s more than that.

  Desperately she shut out the voice in her head. Feelings of love—true love—took time to develop. You couldn’t fall head over heels for someone in less than two weeks...

  With a groan of despair—because she feared that was precisely what she’d done—she stopped again and covered her face with her hands.

  For a moment—just a moment—she thought about how easy it would be to flee. Not to have to face Xavier. To avoid his anger, the inevitable rejection—

  ‘Jordan?’

  She froze. No. She wasn’t ready for him. Not yet. She needed more time. More time to shore up her emotional defences. More time to slip into whatever kind of cool demeanour mistresses adopted when they were about to be unceremoniously dumped.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Did he sound angry? She couldn’t tell.

  She pulled in a deep breath, dropped her hands and faced him. He moved towards her, as darkly handsome as ever in his tailored suit, his short hair glossy black in the sunlight. His expression was serious but not, she registered with a rush of surprised relief, angry.

  Perhaps it was that which gave her the courage to answer candidly. ‘I don’t know... Panicking, I think.’

  She huffed out a small, self-deprecating laugh, but Xavier’s expression remained serious.

  ‘Why?’

  She eyed him warily. ‘Has your mother spoken with you?’

  He came closer. ‘Sí.’

  Her shoulders slumped under the weight of guilt. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said in a rush. ‘I got such a shock when she walked in—I’m sure she did, too. And then she introduced herself and I realised she was your mother and... She was so lovely... I was just—I couldn’t lie to her about who I was. It felt wrong—’

  She broke off and looked at him, feeling utterly wretched, conscious she was babbling. She felt as discomposed as she had the day he’d summoned her to his study at the villa. Why did he have this effect on her? No one else had ever done this to her. Turned her into a flustered, scatterbrained wreck.

  She tipped her head back to look at him, said hesitantly, ‘Aren’t you angry?’

  He lifted his hands and curled them over her shoulders, his thumbs brushing the sides of her neck. ‘That you respected my mother by not lying to her?’ He shook his head. ‘No, querida. I’m not angry.’

  Another surge of relief, this one even more powerful, made her legs feel weak. Or maybe that was simply the impact of Xavier standing so close. She’d lost count of how many times they’d made love, yet still her body ached for his touch so intensely it frightened her.

  ‘I still feel awful,’ she confessed, letting her hands slide up between them, flattening her palms on his chest. She couldn’t stand this close and not touch him. ‘Talking with your parents about Camila was something you were entitled to do in your own time, whenever it felt right. Now, because of me, it’s been forced on you...’ She bit her lip. ‘Was she upset?’

  The sides of his thumbs idly stroked up and down her neck, sending tiny shivers of sensation across her skin.

  ‘Only a little. My mother has a very understanding nature.’

  ‘Do you think she guessed that we’re...?’ She felt her face flame. ‘You know...’

  He gave a glimmer of a smile. ‘Having a relationship?’

  Her heart missed a beat. Relationship? Was that how he thought of their affair? She nodded, telling herself not to read anything into it.

  It’s just a word.

  ‘She didn’t ask me outright,’ he said. ‘But I suspect she’s guessed.’

  Jordan let out a little groan of embarrassment, her gaze darting down to her T-shirt and shorts. Elena de la Vega had been pleasant and friendly, but what must she have been secretly thinking? That her son’s standards had dropped considerably from the sophisticated women he usually saw, no doubt.

  Xavier, as though he’d read her mind, tilted her chin up and said, ‘She thought you were very charming. And very beautiful.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘She did?’

  ‘Sí.’ He paused, his gaze moving thoughtfully over her face for a long moment. ‘In fact you’ve made such an impression she’s asked me to invite you to a luncheon at my parents’ house tomorrow.’

  She blinked. ‘Really? Gosh, I...’ Her heart beat a little faster. Lunch with his parents? ‘How do you feel about that?’ she asked carefully.

  ‘I think if I fail to persuade you to accept my mother will be extremely disappointed and I may never hear the end of it.’

  An evasive answer, revealing nothing of his true thoughts.

  Jordan pressed her lips together, silencing the urge to push, to dig for some declaration of feeling that would probably never exist outside her fantasies.

  Anyhow, perhaps it didn’t matter what Xavier thought or felt. The invitation was from Elena de la Vega, not her son. Jordan had liked her immensely—had felt a bond of sorts as soon as they’d started talking about Camila.

  Elena’s eyes had clouded with sadness and compassion on learning of Camila’s passing, and then with tears when Jordan had explained that she’d met Xavier because she’d brought a letter to him that her stepmom had written.

  She’d hoped Elena might assume that she was simply staying as a house guest at the apartment, but if the older woman had already guessed something more was going on... Well, there wasn’t anything to hide, then, was there?

  Her mind made up, she smiled. ‘It’s kind of your mother to invite me, and I wouldn’t want to disappoint her—or offend her. So...yes. I accept.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, although she couldn’t tell whether he truly meant it.

  He dropped a swift, perfunctory kiss on her mouth that was barely satisfying, then took his hands off her shoulders. Immediately her body craved their weight and warmth again. She let her own hands fall from his chest before the desire to grab his shirt and pull him back for a proper kiss overpowered her.

  He glanced at his watch. ‘I won’t be later than six. We’ll stay at the villa tonight, sí?’

  She nodded, pasting on a bright smile that slid off her mouth as soon as he was gone.

  Xavier mightn’t have been angry, but he hadn’t looked particularly happy, either.

  * * *

  Jordan dressed for lunch in a simple sleeveless pale lemon sundress she’d bought on impulse from a boutique sale in Madrid, and paired it with open-toed shoes. She carefully applied a bit of make-up, attached plain gold hoops to her ears, and was attempting to scrape her hair into some kind of sophisticated up-do when Xavier came up behind her, gently pulled her wrists down and removed the few pins she’d already inserted.

  ‘I prefer it down,’ he said, holding her gaze in the mirror until heat began to surge and eddy around them.

  He was clean from the shower and wore nothing but a white towel loosely around his hips, and the mere sight of all that hard, masculine flesh sent tingles racing over her skin.

  ‘Xavier...’ she whispered, her tone a mix of plea and admonishment. ‘We don’t have time.’

  H
e grinned, which made her pulse skip, then kissed her shoulder and moved away, leaving her to deal with suppressed desire on top of a belly full of nerves.

  Nerves that had doubled in intensity ever since he’d mentioned that she would meet not only his parents at lunch, but his brother, Ramon, and his wife and their four-month-old baby daughter, who were visiting from London.

  They drove to his parents’ villa in the Aston Martin. It made a nice change from sitting in the back of chauffeured vehicles, and she sensed that Xavier enjoyed being behind the wheel.

  His mood was lighter this morning, making her wonder if yesterday’s quieter, more pensive mood had resulted from work issues rather than his mother’s unexpected visit.

  Whatever had set him brooding, it hadn’t affected his sex drive, though. Last night’s lovemaking had been intense and mind-blowing, his demands on her body exquisitely relentless. When she’d clung to him weakly and whimpered that she couldn’t possibly climax again he had seemed to take it as a personal challenge, and had set about driving her to yet another shattering peak with ruthless, breathtaking mastery.

  They’d even made love in the pool, where the cool, satiny feel of the water against hot, naked skin had intensified every sensation.

  Jordan felt deeply grateful and relieved that Rosa and Alfonso were in Berlin, for they surely would have heard her wild screams of release from the staff cottage.

  She took a deep breath now, as Xavier braked to a stop in front of Elena and Vittorio de la Vega’s beautiful traditional white villa.

  Perhaps sensing she was nervous, he lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. ‘You look beautiful,’ he murmured, and her heart swelled with an emotion she tried very hard to suppress.

  And then, before they’d even emerged from the car, Elena was there, the warmth of her smile and her effusive greeting like an instant balm to Jordan’s nerves. She watched Xavier put an arm around his mother and kiss her cheek and it touched her deeply—maybe even made her feel a little bit hopeful—to see the obvious love and respect between mother and son.

  Whatever beliefs Xavier held about himself, he was capable of love.

  They walked with Elena through the villa, and just before they stepped out onto the shaded terrace where the others were gathered Xavier linked his hand with hers, entwining their fingers, tugging her to his side.

  The gesture felt both intimate and proprietorial and, knowing it would send a message to his family about their relationship, she sent him a quizzical look. But his expression was enigmatic, giving her no steer on exactly what message he wanted to send, so she simply went with it, telling herself to enjoy it without overanalysing.

  And enjoy herself she did. So much so that after three pleasurable hours it felt strangely wrenching to say goodbye to these people she’d only just met and barely knew.

  Ramon’s wife, Emily, hugged her and slipped her a business card with her personal mobile number jotted on the back. ‘Call me if you make it to London. I’d love to catch up. And if you’re in the market for babysitting, definitely call me.’ She grinned. ‘I’ve never seen Katie sit so happily in a stranger’s lap before. She adores you!’

  On the drive home she felt an oddly melancholy mood slip over her, and she sat quietly in the front passenger seat, content to watch the scenery until Xavier’s voice gently penetrated her thoughts.

  ‘Querida?’

  She turned her head to look at him. ‘Sorry? What was that?’

  ‘Is everything all right?’

  She offered up a smile. ‘Yes, of course.’

  There was a pause. ‘You didn’t enjoy yourself this afternoon?’

  ‘I had a wonderful time,’ she quickly assured him.

  ‘But something has upset you?’

  She shook her head. ‘Nothing’s upset me.’ She really had had a lovely time. ‘I just...’

  He took his eyes off the road for a second to glance at her. ‘What?’

  She was silent for a long moment. She didn’t know how to articulate what she was feeling. Not without sounding envious and self-pitying.

  Finally she just said, ‘You have an amazing family, Xavier. Don’t ever take them for granted.’

  Because one day they’ll be gone, by choice or by fate, and you’ll realise the people you love, and the ones who love you back, are rare gifts indeed.

  * * *

  Xav walked into the cool of the villa, set his keys down and drew Jordan into the circle of his arms.

  She came to him without resistance, shaving the edge off his unease, quelling his concern at her strange turn of mood.

  She’d been superb with his family, charming them all as he’d known she would. It was ironic that what he had at first viewed as a potential disaster yesterday had, in fact, been a catalyst for shifting his mind, and his intentions, in a direction he suspected they would have eventually gone anyway—just a little more slowly.

  Of course he’d have preferred it if things had panned out in a different, more controlled way, but he appreciated how Jordan had handled her unexpected encounter with his mother. When he’d gone up to see her she’d been flustered, understandably, and given his own preoccupation with the unanticipated turn of events he perhaps had not consoled her as well as he could have.

  But she seemed to have taken it all in her stride—another quality to add to her list of attributes.

  He stroked her spine through the fabric of her pretty yellow dress. She looked good in anything she wore—and he rather liked those little denim shorts that showed off her legs—but it was nice to see her in something more feminine. It made him want to drape her in jewels—yellow sapphires and emeralds to match her eyes—and commission a dozen bespoke evening gowns that would showcase her luscious curves to perfection. She would, he knew, turn heads wherever they went.

  ‘What do you want to do this afternoon, querida?’

  She eyed him. ‘Don’t you have work to do?’

  He did. Fifty-odd unopened emails, a bid for a multimillion-dollar construction project in Dubai awaiting sign-off, and the latest time-wasting communication from Reynaud’s lawyers to read.

  None of which, at this very second, mattered more than putting the smile back on Jordan’s lips.

  His mother’s words, spoken today out of earshot of anyone else, came back to him.

  ‘Go gently with her, Xavier. She is vulnerable. I like her and would not wish to see her hurt.’

  He’d looked at his mamá and wondered if they were talking about the same woman. ‘She’s strong,’ he’d countered. It was another of her qualities he admired.

  ‘Yes,’ Elena had agreed. ‘But she is grieving—and strong people hurt, too. They are just better at making the world think they don’t.’ Then she’d reached up and patted his cheek. ‘Rather like someone else I know.’

  Of course his mother was not only perceptive and wise, she was right. Jordan was still grieving Camila’s loss. Spending time with his family had reminded her of the loved ones she’d lost and precipitated this sudden bout of sadness.

  He didn’t like it. Didn’t like the shadows in her eyes, the downturn of her lovely mouth.

  ‘No work today,’ he declared. ‘Tell me what you want to do. Your wish is my command.’

  She pressed a cool palm to his forehead and frowned. ‘Are you feeling unwell, Senyor de la Vega? You don’t seem yourself.’

  He moulded her soft body to his, snugly enough for her to feel his arousal. ‘Come to think of it...’ he murmured. ‘I do have an ache that may need some attention. What would you recommend?’

  She pursed her lips, contemplating. ‘I would suggest you go straight to bed.’

  His lips quirked. ‘Is that your professional opinion, Nurse Walsh?’

  ‘It is,’ she said solemnly.

  ‘In that case—’ he scooped her up and she laughed, and he thought it mig
ht be the sweetest sound he’d ever heard ‘—who am I to argue?’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  JORDAN FELT THE subtle shift in their relationship—and, yes, she was allowing herself to use that word loosely in her head—over the course of the weekend.

  Some things were obvious. Xavier barely set foot inside his study, for instance, and there were several occasions when his phone was conspicuous by its absence—like when she’d made him take her on a hike to the highest point on the estate, a spot he admitted with some chagrin he’d never walked to before, and when they’d meandered down to his private beach for a naked moonlit dip in the ocean.

  Other things were less obvious. Like the times she would look up from her book or a task and find his gaze resting on her, his expression pensive, enigmatic. Once or twice she felt as though she were being quietly assessed—though for what purpose she couldn’t have said. The idea that he might be comparing her with former mistresses was, she discovered, an unpleasant thought that served only to send a hot streak of jealousy and insecurity through her.

  ‘What are you thinking, amante?’

  She lifted her head off the lounger. Sprawled in the one alongside her, he was a mouthwatering sight in nothing but a pair of black swimming trunks. He’d just swum fifty lengths of the pool and droplets of water glistened in his chest hair and snaked in rivulets over his taut, well-defined musculature.

  She adjusted her sunglasses and tried not to ogle him. ‘I’m not thinking about anything. I’m reading my book.’

  ‘You’ve stared at the same page for the last ten minutes.’

  She dropped the book into her lap. ‘Men are not supposed to be that observant,’ she grumbled, then smiled when he chuckled. She couldn’t resist him in this mood.

  ‘So what’s on your mind?’ he pressed.

  Jordan put her book aside, pulled her knees up to her chest. ‘Honestly?’

  He looked at her, silent for a moment, as though sensing the tone of their conversation was about to change.

  ‘Sí,’ he invited. ‘Honestly.’