The Secret Mistress Arrangement

by Kimberly Lang

“You promised me packing. I want to be sure I’m getting my end of this bargain.” With a groan, Matt pulled the pillow over his head. She slapped him playfully on the leg. “Let’s go. Manual labor time. Let’s put those muscles to work.”

  She grabbed her now-cold cup of tea off the floor and headed for the kitchen to warm it up. Pausing, she turned back to the bed. Matt hadn’t moved.

  “Get up. Maybe later we’ll play Handsome Moving Man and the Lonely Single Woman.”

  He peeked out from under the pillow. “Promise?”

  “Depends on how much work you get done.” Laughing, she ran for the door as Matt lunged for her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “‘YOU are imaginative and innovative.’ Well, that’s good to know.” Ella tossed the paper fortune from her cookie on the table and grinned at him.

  “In bed,” Matt added automatically. “And I’d agree.”

  Ella laughed and picked up her take-out box. She leaned back in her chair as she ate, and he watched her maneuver the chopsticks with ease. The sun setting behind the building next door left the room in half-light and created an intimate atmosphere.

  With her hair pulled back into a ponytail, no makeup and wearing nothing but a shirt three sizes too big for her, she looked barely old enough to drive. In fact, she looked like every teenage boy’s wet dream. Hell, she was certainly his wet dream come true. He remembered all the times Melanie or Brian had mentioned her in passing, and he’d never given her a second thought. He should have come home for a visit years ago….

  When she looked up and found him staring at her, a half smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “What now?”

  “Why aren’t you married, Ella?”

  Ella’s eyes widened in shock, and she coughed as lo mein noodles went down the wrong way. Maybe I should’ve eased into that question. Or at least waited until her mouth wasn’t full. He waited as she caught her breath.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m just wondering why you’re not married yet.”

  “I could ask you the same question,” she said.

  “Ah, but I asked you first.” In the past few days, he felt he’d gotten to know Ella pretty well. Other than quick forays out for necessities like food and condoms, he’d spent every second with this woman. And, for once, constant togetherness wasn’t fraying his nerves.

  Maybe it was the nature of the situation, but unlike any other woman he’d ever spent time with, Matt felt he could say anything to Ella. Whether it was political debate or the eclectic nature of her CD collection, he hadn’t had the need to self-censor or think twice about what he wanted to say. The rather abrupt nature of his question was the result. But it was out there now, and he wanted to know the answer.

  Ella toyed with her food. “That’s an impossible question to answer. Too many variables.”

  “Quit dodging my question. Do you want to get married?”

  At that Ella grinned at him cheekily. “Is that a proposal?”

  It was his turn to choke on Chinese food. “Hardly. Just a request for information.”

  “Maybe the right guy hasn’t asked me yet.”

  “That’s a cop-out. Try again.”

  “How about ‘I haven’t found anyone I’d want to spend the rest of my life with.’ Will that satisfy your nosiness?”

  He nodded in mock understanding. “I see. Commitment issues. Ow!” he added as she kicked him under the table.

  “Oh, you’re one to talk about commitment issues.” She leaned back in her chair again and pointed chopsticks at him as she talked. “Let’s look at your dating history, shall we? From what I’ve heard, you’re not exactly a serial monogamist.”

  She had him there. Obviously, Melanie had a big mouth and no problem sharing details. “But there’s a difference. I fully intend to meet a nice girl and settle down one day. My mother expects more grandchildren, you know. I should be a full partner by the time I’m thirty-five, and then I’ll have time to be a family man. What’s your excuse?”

  Ella just shrugged and stared into her noodles. He waited and let the silence stretch out. Finally she stabbed her chopsticks into the noodles and placed the carton on the table.

  She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “I can’t believe I’m even considering having this conversation with you.”

  “Why not?”

  She took a deep breath and let it out noisily. “Melanie calls it ‘emotional abstinence.’ For me, relationships are a good idea in theory, but the practice trips me up every time. Call it what you like, but let’s just say I haven’t felt like I could make a guarantee to anyone.”

  “Life doesn’t come with guarantees. You just do the best you can.”

  “And just hope for the best? That’s not my style.”

  “You really are a control freak, aren’t you?”

  “Pretty much.” She shrugged. “It’s worked for me so far.”

  “If that’s what you think—”

  Suddenly Ella perked up and smiled at him. “You know, maybe I should be looking to get married. Weddings are fun.” She was in his lap in two quick steps, her thighs straddling his hips. She took his box of noodles from his hand and slid it away, then settled against him suggestively. “I’ve found that you meet the most interesting people at weddings.”

  Her hands skimmed over his shoulders as she spoke, and his blood stirred. His mind might see her distraction ploy as clear as day, but his body didn’t care. If there was a limit on how much sex a man could have every day and still function, he had to be close to it. But that didn’t seem to stop all the blood in his body from rushing to his lap with the least encouragement. All Ella had to do was breathe in his general direction, and he was raring to go.

  Her tongue snaked out to tease the skin beneath his ear, and a hot shiver ran through him. He surged to his feet, and Ella locked her ankles around his waist as he covered the short distance to her bedroom.

  The contents of Ella’s closet covered most of her bed and he randomly pushed suits and shoes aside in search of a space large enough to get her horizontal. Thankfully she was tiny; three swipes with his arm was all it took to clear a small patch of sheets. Ella clung to him like a tree frog as he knelt on the edge of the bed.

  But his knee landed on something slippery, throwing him off balance and sending them both crashing to the floor. His head hit something hard, and stars exploded behind his eyelids.

  “Ow. Damn.”

  “Oh, are you okay?” Ella fought with the coat slithering off the bed on top of them—the slippery fabric of the lining must’ve caused the fall—and attempted to keep the rest of the pile from avalanching off the bed.

  He sat up, rubbing the lump forming on the back of his head. “Just minorly concussed. Anyone ever tell you that you own too much stuff?”

  Ella grabbed the snow boots digging into his back and raised her eyebrows at him. “Do you need ice?”

  He started to shake his head, but winced at the pain caused by the movement. “I’m fine. What did I hit?”

  “No telling.”

  The cause of his pain was easy enough to find: a stack of unframed canvases partially hidden under a pile of T-shirts. “Here we are.”

  “Matt, wait—”

  He pulled the top one off the stack and turned it over. It was a watercolor of the Buckingham Fountain, the lights and jets of the evening show caught in an Impressionist style.

  “That’s, um…It’s…” Ella’s stammers drifted off to silence, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  “You’re blushing, El. I didn’t think you could.”

  Ella chewed her lip, obviously embarrassed.

  The artist’s initials were in the bottom right corner. E.A.M. Ella Augustine Mackenzie. “Did you paint these?”

  She blushed an even deeper shade of pink. “It’s kind of a hobby.” She reached for the canvas he held and moved protectively in front of the stack.

  Being bigger than her had its advantages. It was easy enough to dodge her and retrieve
the other paintings. He wasn’t an expert in art, but he knew enough to see Ella had plenty of talent. The Chicago skyline. Lake Michigan. A cottage on a white sandy beach. Each one echoed a different style—from the classics to modern—but together they had a unifying feeling. A few minutes of close study while Ella fidgeted uncomfortably and he saw it: the attention to the play of light and the patterns it created. “You paint the light.”

  She nodded. “You surprise me, Matt. I didn’t know you were into art.”

  “I’m not an expert, but I did take classes in college and my firm is a major patron in Atlanta. I’ve learned quite a bit, so I can honestly say these are good.”

  “Thanks.” She relaxed at the compliment and nodded at the beachscape he still held. “That’s home.”

  “It’s beautiful,” he said and was rewarded with a small, self-conscious smile. “I mean it, El. Really good. Do you sell any?”

  She laughed and restacked the canvases. “Lord, no. I paint to relax and because I enjoy it. I minored in art, you know.” She said it quietly, a hint of both pride and embarrassment in her voice.

  “Then you should know these are good enough to sell. I never could picture you as a computer geek and now I see why. There’s an artist hiding under all those computer codes.” He leaned back against the side of the bed and rubbed his head again. The lump wasn’t getting bigger, at least.

  Ella sat on the edge of the mattress. Her fingers threaded through his hair, found the knot and massaged it gently. “Even geeks can have an artistic side. It’s a nice outlet, but it’s very personal for me. Mel’s the only person who’s ever seen any of my stuff—well, and you, too, now.”

  “All art is personal. That doesn’t mean it can’t be commercial, as well.”

  “Yeah, well…” She sighed. “It’s hard to explain.”

  The pain in his head was subsiding, thanks to her magic touch, and he leaned forward to give her better access. “Try me.”

  “All of those places are special to me. It’s like I have an emotional attachment to them. I guess you could say I have to love it to paint it. The thought of putting that much of me out there is…well, it’s far more exposure than I’m really comfortable with.”

  “Emotional exposure or not, you should be doing this for a living.”

  “Massaging head lumps?” she teased.

  “Painting.”

  “Believe it or not, I toyed with the thought for a while when I was younger. I even had this grand plan of moving to New Orleans after high school and living the bohemian artist’s life.”

  “You should’ve.” He closed his eyes and groaned as her fingers worked their way down his neck to press slightly harder on sore muscles.

  Ella snorted. “Artists starve—geeks don’t. Since I like to eat, I think I made the right career choice.”

  He pushed himself up on his knees and faced her. “But you dreamed of being an artist…”

  “Matt, honey, if we all got to live our dreams, the world would be full of astronauts and rock stars. A girl’s got to pay the bills.”

  “My dad went to a job he hated every day for thirty years just to pay the bills. There’s more to life than that.”

  “But it’s pretty important.” A hard edge crept into her voice. “My parents were ‘living their dream’ when they died. They left me with nothing and my grandparents with the bills. Gran and Gramps had to give up their retirement to take me in. It’s irresponsible.”

  He vaguely remembered something Melanie had said about Ella and her family last spring when she and Brian came to Atlanta to visit. “Yes, but—”

  She held up a hand. “You said it yourself earlier—you’re working awful hours right now so you’ll make partner. Then you’ll look to settle down. SoftWerx might not be my dream job, but I worked damn hard to get there.”

  “But I love my job. There’s the difference.”

  “Good for you.” The cold, sarcastic tone was not one he’d ever heard from her before. A moment later she stood and walked to the other side of the room, tension radiating from her body.

  A small flicker of understanding finally lit the back of his brain. “Why do I get the feeling this has something to do with the whole ‘emotional abstinence’ thing from earlier?”

  “Spare me the chat-show analysis, okay?” she snapped before she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Look, if you want to believe in the fairy tale, fine. Good for you. I know firsthand that it’s not that easy.” She knelt beside him on the floor again and placed a small warm hand on his leg. “Let’s just move on, all right? ‘No messiness,’ remember? I don’t think amateur psychoanalysis was part of the plan.”

  “But, El—”

  “Just drop it, okay?”

  Put like that, he had no choice but to comply. He nodded and Ella grinned before she kissed him.

  “We left the Chinese on the table. Go stick it in the fridge while I clean off the bed more thoroughly. I’m in the mood to try out my fortune cookie.”

  Once again his body won out over his brain.

  Ella lay staring at the ceiling while Matt slept beside her. He’d curled himself around her, and while she was both warm and comfortable, the wandering nature of her thoughts was keeping her awake.

  The past few days had been surreal, like she’d accidentally stepped into someone else’s far-more-interesting life. Matt had been a godsend, uncomplainingly cheerful as he helped sort, pack and schlep the ten years’ worth of stuff she and Mel had accumulated. A chore that, in retrospect, would have made her lonely and melancholy if left to do it alone.

  But it hadn’t been. Either by accident or design, Matt managed to keep her mind off the depressing aspect of packing memories and the reality of moving a thousand miles from the friends who’d become all the family she had. Wine, food, music and great sex—oh, yes, lots of great sex—kept the sobering finality of what she was doing at bay. Instead, life felt like some kind of hedonistic slumber party.

  Tonight, though, the thoughts were crowding in and her chest felt tight.

  “You awake?” Matt’s sleep-husky voice cut through the noise in her head.

  “Yeah. Sorry if I woke you.”

  Matt kissed her shoulder and pulled her closer, settling in to the curve of her body. “Everything okay?”

  She took a deep breath, telling herself it was only a simple inquiry into her general comfort at the moment. But it didn’t work. With one simple question, the last of the walls holding her together came down. The magnitude of what she was doing slammed into her, and the air left her lungs in a loud, painful rush.

  Silently Matt rolled to his back, pulling her so that her head rested on his chest. Ella forced herself to breathe slowly, concentrating on calming her heartbeat to match the steady thump of his.

  “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

  Matt hadn’t signed on to deal with her issues, and the last thing she should do—considering the nature of their relationship and her outburst earlier—was unload on him. Somehow, though, the quiet stillness and almost darkness made it easier to talk. If nothing else, she’d come to appreciate Matt’s levelheadedness and clarity of thought in the past few days.

  Sure, she’d weighed all the pros and cons with Melanie dozens of times before she made her decision, but maybe Mel wasn’t the best source of advice in this. Mel knew what Ella wanted to hear, and Ella knew what Mel would say, so while she always felt better after an obsession session, she rarely had any new answers. Plus, Mel knew her far too well to comment with any objectivity.

  Matt, on the other hand, had nothing but objectivity. As annoying as that was sometimes, it was still helpful.

  “Everything is just hitting me all at once. I’m a bit overwhelmed.”

  “Second thoughts?”

  “Not really. This job is a big step up for me. It’s what I’ve been working toward for years, and it’s a great opportunity. With SoftWerx being so close to where I grew up, I thought it was a sign or something that it was time for me
to move back—especially with Mel moving out, too. But I’ve been here for over ten years.” Once the words started, she couldn’t stem the flow. “Fort Morgan is a tiny little place, and Pensacola isn’t real big either. The beach is nice, and, yeah, the weather is a big plus, but what if I get bored? I haven’t even been down there since my grandfather died.”

  “Then why take the job?” Matt’s voice was quiet and even, soothing her.

  “It’s a great opportunity.”

  “So you said. But you don’t sound overly excited about it. Surely you could get something similar here. If you’re wanting to stay in Chicago, that is.”

  “There’s really no reason to stay.”

  “What about your friends? What about Melanie? From what you’ve told me, she’s the closest thing to family you’ve got.”

  “Mel’s married now.”

  “So?”

  “So, she’s moving on. She has Brian and they’re wanting to start a family right away…”

  Matt shifted and turned her face to his. In the dim light of the streetlight outside her window, she could only make out some of his features, but she could tell by the shadows around his mouth that he wasn’t smiling. “At the risk of practicing armchair psychology again, it sounds like you think Mel won’t have time for you anymore, so you’re leaving town before that happens.”

  Oh, God, not again. “I swear, Matt…” She untangled herself from his arms and sat up. She should’ve just pretended to be asleep when he asked instead of letting the melancholy get the better of her in the dark of the night.

  “Hear me out. You’d rather take a job you don’t really want—”

  “But that’s great for my career.”

  He levered himself to his elbows and cocked an eyebrow at her. “A career you don’t sound too keen on, anyway.”

  Matt’s tenaciousness about her job made her want to pull her hair out in frustration. What was his obsession with lovin’ the job? “We’re not going back to that ‘dream job’ thing again, are we?”

  “Look, with your past, I’m not surprised to hear you have a fear of abandonment, but—”