Make-Believe Mistress

by Katherine Garbera

  This was it, she thought, glancing up at him.

  “You’re staring at me,” he said.

  She blinked and realized she had been. Just looking at that perfectly formed mouth. Wondering for the millionth time what it would feel like pressed to hers. “Am I?”

  He quirked one eyebrow at her. She fought to keep her expression serene. To somehow keep him from guessing that he had any effect on her. But she knew that he was used to being around much more sophisticated women and a small-town girl from west Texas was going to be no match for him.

  “Yes, you are,” he said.

  “You’re a very attractive man.”

  “I can’t believe you’re just noticing,” he said.

  Startled she had to laugh. “You aren’t going to deny it?”

  “Women seem to find the arrangement of my features pleasing.”

  She shook her head. An innate charm imbued everything he did and said. She wondered if it stemmed from his childhood. She knew he was the pampered son of older parents. And her own childhood had been very different. Was that the key to adult success?

  “I wish I had your confidence,” she said before she could stop the words. She’d gone to school this morning knowing she was going to have to fight to keep her career going, never imagining that she’d find herself in a different relationship with a man she’d fantasized about for a long time.

  “Have dinner with me and I’ll teach you how to get it.”

  She nodded, unable to say more. This was a fantasy come true. So why did she feel as if she were about to start something more potentially scandalous than the mess she was already in?

  Three

  Grace needed more of Adam. She wanted more. Her heart beat so swiftly and loudly she was sure he could hear it. She scraped her fingernails lightly down his upper body. He groaned, the sound rumbling up from his chest. He leaned back, bracing himself on his elbows.

  And let her explore. This was different than the hurried couplings she’d had with boyfriends in the past. Encounters that had happened in the dark and were over almost before they’d begun.

  “Last chance to stop before we go too far, Grace.”

  Excerpt from “Adam’s Mistress” by Stephanie Grace

  Adam paid the check and escorted Grace out of the restaurant. He wasn’t sure what had happened in there. Seduction for him was a well-thought-out game and caressing her in the middle of a restaurant had not been his intent.

  He put his hand on the small of her back seemingly for the courtesy the gesture afforded, but he acknowledged to himself that he wanted to touch her. He wanted to pull her into his arms and feel her curves nestled against him.

  He wanted to kiss her, He wanted to take all the time he wanted to explore her. To figure out the mysterious depths that he sensed were hidden inside her.

  He didn’t want to go back to the school and drop her off. He didn’t want to spend the afternoon in meetings with Malcolm, who was out for revenge and wanted to close the school and then sell it. He didn’t want…to leave her.

  He liked the quietness she brought to him. The way she really listened when he talked. And the shyness that he had been able to coax her into forgetting while they’d been eating. He also liked her honesty. She wasn’t pretending to be someone else or hiding from the mess the school was in.

  Lies were something he simply couldn’t tolerate, even well-meaning ones, and with Grace he got the impression that she was as honest as the day was long. Though she didn’t see herself the same way he did.

  He loved her hair and wanted to see it falling around her shoulders instead of clasped at the back of her neck. He seated her in his car, a black Ferrari 599 GTB Fiorano, and walked around to the driver’s side.

  She fussed with her hair as he started the car.

  “What are you doing?”

  She glanced over at him, her head tipped to one side. But her hands stayed at the back of her neck. “My hair is a little wild and not very professional.”

  He could think of no woman who embodied professionalism more than Grace. He captured her wrist and pulled her hands free of her hair. The thick brown length of it spilled around her shoulders. She watched him with wide eyes, clearly waiting to see what he’d do next.

  “It’s not the hair that makes you professional.” She had no idea how upstanding she seemed. He’d never even glanced past the surface of who she was until he’d seen her secret fantasies written on the page. To be honest, a big part of the reason was that she gave the impression of being a no-nonsense, by-the-book administrator.

  “Easily said by a man. You have no idea what it’s like to be in a room full of perfectly coiffed, straight-haired women and be the only one with this hair,” she said, gesturing to her head.

  “Does putting it up make you more confident?” he asked. There was a sparkle in her eyes that he thought might be temper. But he knew she wouldn’t lose it with him. He was coming to know Grace better than he suspected she wanted him to. The fact of the matter was, Grace needed him to help save her school so she wouldn’t tell him off no matter how much he ticked her off.

  She shrugged, and he knew that he’d stumbled onto something more than a hairstyle choice. She glanced out the window as he turned on the car. He didn’t put the car in gear, only turned on the air conditioning so they didn’t roast while they continued the conversation.

  Which, it seemed, had stalled. She wasn’t going to say anything else and probably expected him to behave in a polite, gentlemanly fashion and let the subject drop. But this woman had written about him in a way that no other woman ever had. On page, she’d made him seem to be a hero. And Adam Bowen had never been anyone’s hero.

  “Grace…” he said, softly, reaching over to stroke her face. Her skin was the softest he’d ever touched.

  She flinched away from him. “Don’t, Adam. We can’t.”

  She was right. With the intense public scrutiny of the school, the last thing he should be thinking about was Grace and himself alone. But his mind was consumed with images of the two of them.

  He was careful to keep a barrier between himself and other people because he knew he’d always move on. Moving on was the way he survived, something he’d learned the hard way after the death of his parents. He remembered standing in the foyer of that big empty house that had always been filled with their presence and realizing he was all alone. Their deaths when his father’s twin-engine Cessna crashed had rocked his world.

  But even then he hadn’t realized how truly alone he was.

  She touched his hand, rubbing her finger over the back of his knuckles and making him realize how soft and small she was compared to him.

  “It’s not like we even know each other,” she said.

  “I want to change that. After all, you oversee one of my investment properties.”

  “Investment property? I thought the school was your family’s legacy.”

  “It’s a Bowen legacy, but I view it more from a financial angle,” he said in a way that didn’t invite more questions.

  “And if I don’t pull it out of trouble, you’re going to lose money—that’s your main concern?”

  He took her chin in his hand, moving her head up so that their eyes met. He waited a full minute before saying anything to her. Making sure she realized that he was not just using practiced lines to charm her.

  “No, Grace. Because you are the kind of woman who makes a man realize there’s more to life than investments.”

  “I am not. Why would you think that?”

  “The passion you have for Tremmel-Bowen.”

  “I’ve always had it, and you’ve never noticed me before today.”

  She had a point, but he wasn’t going to mention the story he’d read…“Adam’s Mistress.” He wanted her to reveal it to him. “It’s the way you defended the school and the students.”

  She took his wrist in both of her hands and tried to move his hand from her face. He let her push him away, his fingers caressing he
r skin as he dropped his hand to his lap.

  When he reached for her again, to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, she shifted in the seat and gave him a hard stare.

  “I’m warning you.”

  “Warning me?”

  “Yes. This kind of behavior and comments like you just made—that’s what I was talking about. Do you think I’ve never glanced in a mirror and seen myself? I know exactly the type of woman you usually have on your arm.”

  “I don’t have a type,” he said. He really didn’t. He liked all women no matter what their shape or style. He liked that their bodies were different than his. The feminine grace they used when they moved. The way they really got to the heart of the matter. Just as Grace was doing now, though it was making him uncomfortable. Hell, he thought, he even liked that with Grace. Liked the way she didn’t pretend that this was something casual.

  “Yeah, right,” she said. “I think it’s time we returned to the school.”

  He wondered if she’d sound so sure if she knew the thoughts that prim, school-headmistress tone gave him. He wanted to argue with her, get her to admit he didn’t have a type. But there would be time for that later. Tonight.

  The problems she’d left behind when she’d gone to lunch with Adam waited for her when she returned. Sue-Ellen had set up an appointment for the next morning. She was gathering the PTA troops and would be bringing other parents who wanted to take an active part in reshaping the school.

  Grace had the beginnings of a headache, no doubt brought on by the pressure of trying to convince the board not to close the school. But she thought the intensity that Adam had shown her was also a part of it. She’d wanted him for a long time and now it seemed he was finally noticing her as a woman.

  Why?

  She sighed and searched around for the budget file that Jose had made notes on.

  “Bruce, have you seen my budget file?” she called out the door.

  “I put it on the corner of your desk before we left for the meeting,” her assistant replied.

  Grace went back to her desk and picked up a pile of folders, suddenly remembering that she’d put a story she’d meant to enter in a romance writing contest in a similar folder.

  Oh, my God.

  Frantic, she started searching through all the folders, not finding the budget report or her story “Adam’s Mistress.”

  Oh, this was so not good. She had absolutely no excuse to have printed the document out here at work, but her printer at home was almost eight years old and it was difficult to find printer ink for it. Currently, she was out.

  There was a knock on the door and she glanced up. Jose stood there with a folder in his hand. A folder that was identical to…well, every other folder in her office, since they purchased folders in bulk.

  Calm down, Grace.

  “Got a minute?”

  “Sure,” she said, amazed that her voice sounded so calm and serene when inside she was ready to scream.

  “I grabbed the budget report to double-check over lunch. I think we need to reevaluate the funds we have.”

  She was partially relieved that Jose was holding the budget and not her story. “Please tell me we have more money than we thought.”

  “I wish I could.”

  She sank down in her chair and gestured for Jose to come farther into the room. “I think we’re going to need fifty thousand to make it until the end of the school year.”

  “That’s a lot of car washes,” she said. The school had never held many fundraisers. They had a golf tournament every year in the fall to raise funds. But parents and alumni had already contributed to that.

  “The kids are willing to participate to some extent, but the one thing we haven’t slipped on is our academic excellence.”

  She understood what Jose was saying. If they asked the students to start participating in a variety of fundraising activities, it would distract them from their studies.

  “I have a meeting tomorrow morning with Sue-Ellen. I think the parents will be a great resource for this. Jose, will you please call our alumni president and see if he’s available tomorrow at ten?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thanks,” she said. As Jose got up and left her office, she sank back into the chair. The next few months were going to be difficult. And she had to find that story she’d printed out.

  She didn’t need the additional worry that a student would find it. Or worse, Sue-Ellen or Malcolm.

  Oh, no. What if Adam had found it?

  Was that why he’d taken her to lunch and said he’d help her with the school? Was he setting her up for a private meeting where he’d tell Malcolm about the story and fire her?

  She had no time to dwell on that possibility as she spent the afternoon meeting with individual board members. Meetings that Adam had set up for her. The support she garnered was worth the time she spent with them.

  The afternoon went by quickly. She had a small break and searched every inch of her office but couldn’t find her story. Jose e-mailed her his ideas for their fund shortage, and they were all really good.

  “Grace, Dawn O’Shea called while you were in a meeting. She wants to talk to you about possibly getting her job back.” Bruce hovered in her doorway uncertainly.

  “I can’t talk to her today,” Grace said. She felt sorry for Dawn, losing her job and her husband. But Dawn’s actions had greatly hurt the school, and saving Tremmel-Bowen was Grace’s priority.

  “I told her you’d call next week.”

  “Thanks.”

  Bruce left at six. Grace researched fundraising ideas on the Internet and sent a few links to Jose and Sue-Ellen. She glanced up from her computer at seven-thirty when she heard voices in the outer office. Her head ached at the thought of how much work she still had to do.

  The missing story scared her. It had the potential to put all the work she’d done today to save the school to waste. At least she hadn’t put her real name on it as the author. But the characters’ names—Adam and Grace—were pretty damning. She’d have to change those before she submitted it anywhere. If she submitted it.

  She knew her assistant would rush back to help her if she called him. But she didn’t exactly want Bruce searching her office for that file folder.

  “Grace? Got a minute?”

  Adam stood in her doorway with Malcolm just behind him. The smile of welcome froze on her face as she noted the file folder held loosely in his hands.

  The sinking feeling in her stomach grew as she waited for Malcolm or Adam to speak. She was a nervous wreck and she hated that. This was her domain. The one place in the world that she’d found where she really fit.

  “Good evening, gentlemen.”

  “Ms. Stephens, do you have time to discuss your financial plan with me now?” Malcolm asked.

  She wanted to say no. But she wasn’t going to turn away from the olive branch that Malcolm offered. All day long she’d heard from other board members that the decision to keep the school open had to be unanimous, so if Malcolm wasn’t on board by the end of the school year, Tremmel-Bowen would be closed.

  “Sure. I was just about to order some dinner, can I get something for you both?”

  “We won’t be that long. We can go down to the conference room so we’ll have more room.”

  Grace followed Malcolm down the hall. She empathized with him. She would want to shut down the school as well if she were in Malcolm’s shoes. Betrayal. It was one thing she understood better than most.

  Adam dropped behind to speak to the night-maintenance supervisor and Grace found herself alone with Malcolm. She explained the shortage error they’d just found and then spent forty-five minutes arguing over the tiniest details in the budget. Grace was careful to keep her temper, but she was beginning to believe it was going to be impossible to convince Malcolm to give the school a reprieve.

  In the back of her mind was the fear that all the work that she and Adam had done today would be undone by her story surfacing somewhere. She thought o
f all the people who’d been in and out of her office throughout the day. She’d had the student council representatives in there and, to be honest, she would be even more horrified if one of them had found the folder than if Adam had.

  “Ms. Stephens, if you aren’t going to pay attention you’re just wasting our time.”

  “I am paying attention. I don’t see this as a waste of time.”

  “I do,” he said. She felt the noose tighten and realized that Malcolm might have given in until the end of semester but beyond that he wasn’t vested in seeing the school survive.

  She reached across the table and touched the back of his hand. He glanced up at her. “Yes?”

  “What can I say to you?”

  He didn’t pretend not to understand her. “Nothing. I’m sorry, Grace. I have a lot of respect for you personally but I can’t get around the fact that this school needs to be closed.”

  “You know that knot you have in the pit of your stomach?” she asked, waiting only for his nod.

  “That’s what you are going to give to the kids. Some of them don’t make friends easily. Some of them have their whole life planned with this school, with this education. And no matter that we’re in the red financially or that we’ve had an unfortunate scandal—educationally, we’re still top-rated.”

  “And your point is?”

  “That we’ll be betraying the trust those students put in this institution. And I know that someone who understands betrayal wouldn’t want to do that to anyone, especially not teenagers who are already struggling just to grow up.”

  Malcolm leaned back in his chair, studying her with an impenetrable gaze. He gathered his papers and put them into his briefcase. “You make a good point, Grace. And I’ll consider what you’ve said until the end of the semester when the board meets again.”