For All the Wrong Reasons

by Louise Bagshawe

  Once or twice, though, she hadn’t been able to miss her. And the signs were not reassuring. Tina had dropped the itsy-bitsy skirts and tight leather pants for almost demure dresses. Diana noticed she was adapting herself to Michael’s taste. He was in favor of ladylike, funnily enough, for a guy who was dating a bimbette. And Tina, while not a smart girl, possessed a certain amount of low animal cunning. I bet she’s out in the bookstore right now picking up Italian cookbooks and learning how to serve Sambuca with the espresso, with three coffee beans in the glass, she thought. But she pushed it down. She couldn’t let dislike for Tina show. She was getting on so well with Michael.

  “Not at all. Actually I told her we’d be spending the evening together. I have plans I want you to see. And the fewer people who know about it, the better.”

  “But you can trust Tina, right?” Diana asked.

  She didn’t know why she asked this. It was like being a kid and having a loose tooth, and being unable to stop teasing it with her tongue.

  Michael looked at her with his dark eyes. “Of course I can. But this is business, not personal. I don’t mix the two. You know that.”

  It felt like a slap. “Of course.” She nodded quickly. “I couldn’t agree with you more. Mixing is always a mistake.”

  They sat, and she switched her eyes to Tino Martinez, who promptly belted a double down the left-field line.

  *

  “Just keep your fucking trap shut, all right?”

  Ernie turned on Felicity. Her inane questions about which wedding-cake design and which kind of fancy light-bulb to use in the strings of lights she planned on suspending over the ballroom ceiling were getting on his nerves. He was trying to find some way he could cut costs more, to improve the Blakely’s bottom line just a little bit, and she was bugging him yet again. “I don’t give a fuck, darlin’? Understand?”

  His thick cockney accent had returned at full force under stress. “I just want you to fuck off and give me some peace. Just get out so I can do my business, which is what keeps you in jewels and fucking Maseratis.”

  “I understand perfectly.” Felicity’s brow did not crease; she had recently popped down to Dr. Wexler for an injection of Botox, the poison that paralyzed the muscles in the forehead, making you unable to frown and giving you a permanently surprised look. She had to fix Ernie with a gimlet stare instead. “You’re trying to dig yourself out of the hole the company is in. And you intend on using foul language in my presence. So I am going to leave.”

  “Oh fucking dear. Boo fucking hoo,” Ernie snarled.

  “Just make sure you complete your task properly … darling. I wouldn’t want you to have any difficulties paying for our summer place.”

  Privately, Felicity thanked heaven that she had had the estate agent put the deed to that house in her name. Ernie was so busy these days with the wretched little men calling at the apartment, the endless faxes and the calls from Italy in the middle of the night … always fighting with somebody and screaming at somebody else … he hadn’t even noticed the few alterations her private lawyer had put into the deal.

  She wondered for a second if Diana Foxton had also had these difficulties. How on earth had Diana reacted when … Ernie had never actually fucked Jung-Li in front of her, but with his present frame of mind, that was probably coming. She hated Diana with total passion … Diana who once again ruled the scene in New York, this time without even trying. Brad Bailey was actually pursuing her. Brad! Whom she, Felicity, had set her cap at so firmly three years ago, only to be brutally rebuffed, like most of the Manhattan girls. People had liked to say he was gay, but the trouble was, he was seen with too many women. He had been written off as a hopeless bachelor.

  And now wherever he went Diana was there at his side. If Ernie had an excellent box for the opening night at the Met, Diana was in a better one, usually with the mayor or the governor, and on one dreadful night, had been seen having drinks with Elspeth Merriman and the First Lady … she had the best table at every ball, she lounged on the deck of the largest yacht, she was up there with Mrs. Astor, but she was sixty years younger.

  And she wasn’t trying. Felicity dreaded the day Diana’s dinner parties, twice as glamorous and star-studded as before, started up again—with herself, Jodie and Natasha permanently off the guest list—but it had not come. Diana was past the party-giving stage. She was said “not to have the time.” And what the hell did that mean? Felicity asked herself, defensively. As though running some wretched company were so much more important than organizing the social life of one of New York’s premier publishing figures.

  Except that Diana’s company was no longer so wretched. Felicity had been forced to learn how to pay attention to the business pages of the papers. The JanCorp merger had made Michael Cicero’s company a—what was the term?—a player. Diana’s books had burst on the publishing scene with promotion, marketing and sales clout behind them. Her ABCs and counting series for infants was a huge success.

  Ernie told her bitterly, you could spend your way into the charts, but making it last took more skill.

  She stood and shook her head sorrowfully in Ernie’s direction, but he ignored her. She marched out of the room and slammed the door. She was mad.

  Nothing but a couple of emerald studs from Cartier would make her feel better, Felicity decided, rather viciously. And maybe a tennis bracelet, too.

  *

  Diana took a cab down to Michael’s place. He had moved into a SoHo loft that was fairly luxurious. She noted the well-equipped gym set up next to the kitchen on the first floor; the neat bedroom, the home office, everything ranged out cleanly and simply. The colors were dark green, burgundy and mahogany. In a city full of teal, cream and variations of beige, Michael Cicero’s pad was uncompromisingly dark and masculine.

  He had no paintings, just line drawings of the Roman Forum and the Baths of Caracalla. The ornamentation was limited to broken marble heads on display stands. She saw instantly that they were genuine antiques.

  “Come in,” Michael said, waving her inside. “Good to see you.”

  “Yeah, it’s been at least four hours,” Diana teased. She strolled over to the largest head, that of a masculine, full-figured man with a beard and severe eyes. “Who’s this guy? Could he have more testosterone?”

  “That’s the Emperor Hadrian.”

  “Of Hadrian’s Wall?”

  “Uh-huh. He was a good commander. Consolidated the Roman gains. A fighter.”

  “Very masculine,” Diana said approvingly.

  Michael let his eyes run over her body. She was wearing a simple, elegant light-blue number by DKNY, a dress in heavy silk that hugged her ass and her tits, yet maddeningly covered everything up.

  “Yes he was. He was also gay.”

  Diana laughed. “Rock Hudson was pretty masculine and he was gay.”

  “It doesn’t stop you being a man. My first partner was gay. Without Seth, I would never have gotten Green Eggs off the ground.” Michael waved her over to the table in the middle of the office. It was set with illustrations, travel guides, sheets of numbers and a few cartons. “I got sushi again. Nothing but the best; no California rolls, just octopus, squid—”

  “Don’t.” Diana tossed back her dark hair, and he felt the first stirring in his groin. “I can eat the stuff. I just hate knowing what they put in it.”

  “Then I’ll pour the sake and we can get to it.”

  They spent a few hours going over the new games, just enough for Diana to understand what Michael wanted. The important part of a session like this was for her to understand his vision. Once she had clicked, she ran with the ball.

  “Dorling Kindersley has the best maps and Insight has the best photos,” she told him. “I can poach from both and come up with something even better.”

  Diana laid down her papers, aware that Michael was gazing at her. The sun had set outside and his home was lit with softly glowing lamps. She had drunk virtually nothing, but she still felt light-headed
.

  “I need to ask you something,” he said.

  She felt a knot in her stomach. “Fire away.” If he would only stop staring at her. She had a tendency to imagine his eyes on her breasts, which inevitably got her hot, made her nipples harden and set her belly on fire as if his fingernails had raked lightly across it. And then who knew what his eyes were doing?

  “It’s about Ernie. I’ve been watching him. Building up a position in his stock.”

  “A position in his stock,” Diana repeated. “But Blakely’s is huge. You can’t own that much.”

  “Oh, I don’t.” He gave her that trademark Cicero grin. “I just own two percent. Which is enough to guarantee me rights to speak for five minutes at the next stockholders’ meeting. He’s in trouble. Real, serious trouble. He has spent so hard on marketing and advances, his sales can never match up. The games division is a joke—the hackers can’t work under those conditions, one of them called me last week. In order to make the bottom line look good, Ernie has taken to firing all the high-salary employees and replacing them with cheaper ones.”

  “Only the cheaper ones aren’t as good.”

  “Right. And books and games are leaking money. They have a large market share and a profit margin of next to nothing. Signor Bertaloni thinks his money went to a flake. He’s trying to bury the deal.” Michael smiled cruelly. He had such a handsome, almost callous mouth, she thought. She was trying to listen to him, but her eyes kept fixing themselves on his mouth.

  “Most of the business doesn’t know how bad it is. I thought I could help them to find out. We’ll bury that motherfucker.” He shrugged. “Excuse my language. But … he is your ex-husband.”

  Michael stood up and walked behind her chair, and Diana felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck lift. She could sense his body, his muscles beneath the cotton shirt, close to her. She slicked up and shifted on her seat, biting down on her lip.

  “I couldn’t care less about him,” Diana said. She tried to say it, but it came out as a whimper. Frantically, she cleared her throat. “You can do whatever you like. I’ll be right there with you.”

  “OK. Good.” Michael leaned forward to clear away her dirty plate. He found himself looking down directly at those magnificent tits. Her skin was warm, silky. Was he imagining it, or was her breathing getting short?

  He snapped. Enough control. He pushed closer and kissed her roughly on the lips.

  FORTY

  Diana shuddered. Her reaction was instant, total. There could be no more lies, not even to herself. She moaned lightly in the back of her throat, a soft, small sound, ripped from her by his touch. Her pussy was moist, open and wanting. There was none of the slight recoil, the drawing back she felt in her skin when Brad tried to touch her. Warm blood surged into her nipples, hardening them into tight little pebbles, sensitive and aching so that the soft silk of her bra was almost unbearable on them.

  Michael heard her. He instantly tipped back her chair and scooped her up into his arms, letting the chair topple to the floor. He cradled her weight like it was nothing to him. Diana felt his kisses on her mouth, her cheeks, her neck. They were not soft. His teeth half-bit, tore at her. Months and months of frustrated desire were unleashed on her.

  “Michael—” she whispered.

  “Shut up,” he said bluntly. “Just be quiet. You don’t make a sound. I don’t want to hear it.”

  He carried her upstairs and pushed open the door to his bedroom, half-shoving Diana inside. She stumbled in front of him, then turned to face him. Michael pulled down the dress from her shoulders, stripping her to the waist, holding her eyes.

  “You left me,” he said. His voice was thick with lust. “You fucking left me. You made me wait for this.”

  He tugged the silk bra off her breasts impatiently. They were warm, swollen slightly. Michael held each one in his hands, as though assessing their weight. Then he brushed his thumb over the aching skin of her nipples. Diana felt an electric shock of pleasure and lust, a silver chain running from her breasts down to her belly, the soft cradle of flesh right above her groin. Her nipples hardened visibly.

  Michael said, “Maybe I wasn’t the only one waiting.”

  “I—” Diana started.

  He shook his head. “I told you not to speak. If you make another sound I’m going to stop touching you.”

  Then he lowered his dark head and flicked out his tongue, circling lightly around the rosy skin, never quite touching it, until she was biting her cheeks to keep herself from begging him. Mutely, Diana lifted herself to him, pressed herself into his hands. But Michael was cruel. He slipped his hands away from her breasts down to her butt, lifting his head to watch her face as he cupped and kneaded it.

  “You have such a great ass,” he murmured into her ear. “Everywhere you go I try to walk behind it just to watch it roll. I want to check it’s the same as when I left it. Don’t move.”

  He tugged her dress down at the waist and kicked it from him, then rolled down her white cotton panties. Diana stood, her need for him so intense she didn’t dare to disobey. She kept her head lifted, staring at the wall. She knew that he was crouching at her groin, staring at her pussy, the neatly trimmed, soft, silky black hairs of it. She was ready for him. She wondered if he could smell it. The thought of his eyes on her made her so hot she started to tremble. She didn’t know how long her legs would hold up.

  And then he was back at eye level, his hands on her naked ass, stroking it and petting it, condescendingly, letting her know he knew exactly how hot she was, but not letting her move. He would control everything, even her release. Diana’s breath was coming from her in great, ragged sobs.

  “You want to say something,” Michael murmured, pressing his erection against her. He was so thick, it was incredible. Diana longed to feel him spearing inside her. Her body had never forgotten what it was like to be fucked by Michael. You felt as if you were being plugged. And yet the itch was not scratched, you just wanted more.

  Diana whimpered.

  “Not yet, girl,” he said. He picked her up again and laid her down roughly on the bed. Her skin, below him, was mottled with lust, reddening across the length of her body. Experimentally, Michael cupped his rough hand over her pussy. She was soaking wet, completely open to him. He groaned deep in the back of his throat and pinned her arms over her head, nudging her tanned thighs apart with his knees. Then he lowered his mouth deliberately onto hers, and entered her, and Diana lifted her body up to him, taking him, loving and lost in him.

  *

  The break with Brad proved surprisingly difficult.

  He took it well, of course. Brad Bailey would never make a scene. Diana invited him over to her apartment for dinner in order to give him an easy out. But all he did was push the caviar around his plate and raise an eyebrow.

  “You’re making a mistake,” he said factually. His handsome face was as open and easy as ever. “You think you love this man because of your crazy schedule. You two are like … brothers in arms, I guess. But what does he have to offer you? A mil, two or three at best? I hear he’s a good enough guy, but he’s not your kind of person.”

  “And what is my kind of person?” Diana asked, sipping her Chardonnay. “Michael is a go-getter, Brad. He’s a self-made man.”

  “But you and I aren’t self-made people. We were born into a certain stratum of society. It’s why your marriage to Ernie was such a mistake. You had class, and he didn’t. I think you’re just repeating that mistake now.”

  “I may be,” Diana said neutrally.

  “Well.” Brad pushed back his chair and smiled at her as though nothing much had happened. “I can’t promise to wait for you but, assuming I don’t find someone else, you should call me when you come to your senses. And take care of yourself in the meantime.”

  “You too, Brad. I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” Diana said, kissing him on the cheek, then shutting the door behind him.

  She sat back down at her table and gazed at the Li
moges plates, the crystal cut glass, the abandoned pheasant and herbed potatoes she had had sent in for dinner, bewildered. All the money and extravagant courting had just gone up in smoke for Brad, and he had been so calm.

  Diana gazed out over the sparkling lights of the city and it hit her. He didn’t buy it. Handsome Brad Bailey could not actually believe that he was being dumped for a nobody, an entrepreneur from the wrong side of town. He assumed she would wake up and smell the Jamaican Blue Mountain, and come back to him humbly asking for a second chance. With Michael, even now, there was the possibility it might not work out. They had been shafted in business before, and it could happen again.

  Brad Bailey was offering a future so bright, even the grasping trophy wife Diana had been couldn’t have imagined it.

  He just did not believe she was turning him down. Claire would be devastated, and Elspeth severely disapproving.

  But Diana’s body still echoed with the aftershocks of Michael’s lovemaking last night. His tongue, merciless and insistent, dragging over the rich, musky center of her, had had her thrashing about in his sheets like a landed fish. He had put her on her hands and knees, her belly, her side, he had bent her over and forced her to the ground, his fist in her hair, just to watch her pleasure him. They had spent hours making love with an almost savage thirst, and then, finally, they had fallen asleep in each other’s arms.

  And she knew when she woke she would risk everything to stay with him.

  *

  Diana and Michael now dated openly, even in the office.

  “Look, James Carville and Mary Matalin got married,” Claire told them. “He was a spin doctor for the Democrats, she for the Republicans. And if they can marry I don’t see why you guys can’t date.”

  Diana smiled over at Michael. Dating. Is that what they were doing? Up at six, working like dogs until seven, coming home, barely through the door before there was a tangle of limbs and skin and hair and mouths? It was amazing to her that they managed to fit in time for eating.