The Secret Mistress Arrangement

by Kimberly Lang

  “That’s it? Nice enough? El, he’s practically perfect for you, and I can tell by the way he watched you at dinner that he’s very interested.”

  Too interested. Any more so and he’d have been in her lap. And Matt, damn him, hadn’t even looked at her once the whole meal. She sat right across from him for an entire meal, and he said exactly four words to her: “Please pass the salt.” They’d bumped feet under the table a few times—only once was on purpose—and he’d moved away as if she was on fire. She’d like to think it was because of Ross, but the knot in her stomach told her it was more likely the fact that Matt had put her out of his mind. “Yeah, well…”

  “Please tell me you gave him your phone number, at least. E-mail address? Something?”

  “E-mail.”

  Melanie’s eyes crinkled as she smiled. “Good.”

  “Don’t get all excited. I’m not that interested in him.”

  “Well, I don’t think you should be blowing off possibilities considering you and Matt seem to be in a stalemate.”

  The plate she was holding clattered into the sink. “Excuse me?”

  “Good Lord, do you think I’m stupid? Or just blind?” Mel arched an eyebrow at her. “You’ve been staring at him all day like he’s covered in chocolate and you’d like a taste.”

  The mental image slammed into her, nearly causing her knees to buckle in lust.

  Mel kept talking. “And Matt. I’ve never seen someone try so hard to pretend he’s not aware someone exists. The boy’s not a good actor, that’s for sure. Are you going to tell me what all of this is about?”

  “Well…I…um…” So much for keeping the whole thing quiet and off Melanie’s radar. She felt light-headed and hoped it was just the medicine.

  Melanie crossed her arms and leaned a hip against the counter. “Well, that’s enlightening. Maybe I should go talk to Matt, hmm?”

  “Mel, no!”

  Melanie took hold of her elbow and led her to the small breakfast table. She pushed Ella into a chair, then sat opposite her. “Spill it.”

  Easier said than done. “It’s complicated.”

  “You two hooked up after the wedding, didn’t you? I’d heard about ‘some guy’ who’d been at the apartment with you while I was gone, but I didn’t piece together that it was Matt.” Mel’s voice softened and dropped a notch. “What’s going on?”

  Ella rested her chin on her hands. “We went to dinner the next night, and, yes,” she added at Melanie’s knowing grin, “we hooked up. He stayed with me until I left for home.”

  Melanie’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. “The whole week? Oh, my,” she sighed, as a dreamy look crossed her face. “Don’t tell Brian, but I’m a teeny bit jealous. Those shoulders…”

  Ella joined her in the sigh. “Trust me, I know.”

  “And…”

  “And that was supposed to be it. Just a fling. No strings. No commitments. Nothing messy.” She paused, and when she was able to speak again, her voice was barely above a pitiful-sounding whisper. “Except that it got messy.”

  “Oh, El. Tell me you didn’t—”

  “I did.” She rubbed her eyes as Mel tsked. “I got comfortable, then Matt got too comfortable, and he moved in a little too fast. He started to push—”

  “And you pushed back,” Mel finished for her.

  “Yeah.”

  “El, we’ve talked about this. You’ve got to get past this emotional abstinence thing. There are a lot of great guys out there—if you’ll just give one a chance.”

  “I know. And I even tried to. With Matt, I mean. But then he was at the house and he kept pushing me about—”

  Melanie held up a hand. “Wait. Matt was at your house? In Alabama? When?”

  Oops. Maybe that was too much information. “Two weeks ago. He’d been in New Orleans for business and drove over for the weekend.”

  “You’ve been hooked up with Matt for over a month and you never told me?” Mel said in a near shout.

  “Shh. Tell the world, why don’t you?” Ella paused to listen, but the noise level from the other room hadn’t changed. “We weren’t hooked up. We were just friends. Kinda,” she added as an afterthought. “Then Matt started hinting about possibilities and I panicked. We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.”

  “And now?”

  She shrugged. “Matt’s over it. Out of sight, out of mind, I guess. I haven’t talked to him in two weeks, and whatever attraction he had to me must have passed.” Her voice cracked a little. “Like you said, he pretty much avoided me all day. And earlier, when we were talking, he seemed to be happy to put the whole thing to rest.”

  “What about you?”

  Ella chewed her bottom lip as she thought about it. No sense in lying. “I’ll get there.”

  Melanie’s eyes widened. “You mean…?”

  “Yeah.” Tears burned in the corners of her eyes and she swiped at them.

  “So that’s what’s been eating you lately.”

  She nodded, and a short bitter laugh escaped. “Serves me right, doesn’t it? I’ve been pushing people away for so long, now it’s my turn to see how it feels. Matt seemed safe, and I let my guard down. I didn’t mean to fall in love with him.”

  “You’re in love with him? Oh my God, Ella. I didn’t realize it had gone that far.” Mel’s fingers reached out to wipe the tears off Ella’s cheekbones before fluffing the hair around her face. “There. Your eyes are still a little red, but that’s okay. Wait here. I’ll keep everyone out after I send Matt in.”

  Mel stood and Ella grabbed her hand. “No! Don’t you dare send Matt in here. We’re done. I apologized for the way things ended, and Matt’s okay with that.”

  “But you need to tell him how you feel.”

  Ella massaged her temples. Mel was such a romantic. “This isn’t some movie, Mel. I told you, Matt’s over it. Case closed.”

  “Case closed, like hell! If you ask me—”

  “I didn’t.” She used the sternest voice she had. “In fact, I’m telling you to butt out. We are adults, and we can handle this like adults. In fact,” she continued, “it’s handled already. It’s not like I’ll have to see him all that often or anything, so it’s a done deal.”

  “Ella…” Melanie cajoled.

  “Melanie…” she warned.

  Mel closed her eyes and shook her head. “Fine. Whatever. You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.”

  Magnanimous in her victory and safe from Mel’s meddling, she reached out to pat her hand. “Would it make you feel better if I promised to reply to Ross’s e-mail—if he sends me one, of course.”

  Normally that promise would satisfy Mel, so the slight grimace crossing her face surprised Ella. “Maybe Ross isn’t the best choice for you right now.”

  Talk about a turnaround. “Why not?”

  “He’s a friend of Matt’s and that would be uncomfortable even if you and Matt had ended gracefully. With things like they are…well, you’re rebounding, and that’s really not good for you or Ross.”

  “I am not rebounding!”

  “The view from here says differently.”

  “Then you need glasses. Yes, I got in over my head, and my heart ended up a little bruised, but I’m not—”

  “Rebounding?” Melanie mocked.

  “Oh, be quiet.”

  Melanie rolled her eyes and sighed, and they sat there in silence for a moment. Oddly enough, the skirmish with Mel had made her feel a little better.

  Mel broke the silence first. “I’ll tell you what. Include dinner and a fair chance for Ross, and I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

  “And you’ll quit accusing me of rebounding?”

  “Only if you’re careful—for both your sakes.”

  “Done.” Ella extended her hand.

  Melanie shook on it, and her face softened. “You know I just want you to be happy, right?”

  “Yeah, I know. And I love you for it. I have a few more years before I have to give u
p and get a bunch of cats to keep me company, though, so don’t panic just yet. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Melanie kept giving her strange looks as they finished tidying the kitchen, but she kept the topics neutral without any mention of Matt—or any other man, thank goodness.

  Melanie planned to join the others for a movie, but Ella pleaded fatigue. She stopped off in the living room on her way to the bedroom for courtesy’s sake, only for Matt to all but ignore her again. It was more than she could take, and she retreated to the safety of the guest room.

  She couldn’t blame Matt. She’d treated him badly, and his behavior was understandable. It wasn’t his fault she had regrets. She’d come so close—too close—to spilling her guts to him in the kitchen earlier, and now she was glad she hadn’t. She’d been right all along. Now that they weren’t in each other’s pockets, Matt had moved on.

  And as much as it hurt her, she had no choice but to do the same.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  HE WASN’T a morning-jog kind of person, but this was the third time this week he’d seen the sun come up as he pounded six miles on the pavement.

  The most erotic dreams—all starring Ella—were disturbing his sleep, and they’d only gotten more explicit since he returned from Chicago on Sunday night. He’d wake up with raging hard-ons and, with zero chance of getting the subject of his nighttime fantasies to act them out, he fell back on the age-old way of releasing tension.

  Mind-numbing, sweat-producing, energy-expending exercise.

  In the past few weeks, he’d increased his distance by a mile and still decreased his time. He could give Ella and Roscoe a run for their money now—not that he’d have the opportunity.

  He was in the best shape of his life.

  His breath came in steaming puffs as he stopped at the corner store for a newspaper and a bottle of water. He’d take a shower, grab some breakfast and be at the driving range by nine.

  He took the stairs two at a time to the third floor and fished out his keys as he turned down the hallway toward his apartment. He read the headlines as he walked, so the voice that greeted him as he neared his door caught him by surprise.

  “Matt! I was just looking for you. I didn’t expect you to be out and about so early on a Saturday morning.”

  Gillian stepped toward the door as he opened it, and he waved her in. She had a small bag from the neighborhood bakery in her hand.

  “Best time to run. What can I do for you?” He tossed the paper and his keys on the counter as he rounded it and headed into the kitchen. “Coffee?”

  She shook her head and leaned against the arm of the couch. “I just wanted to thank you. She’s great.”

  “Who’s great?”

  “Your friend. Ella Mackenzie. Some really good work.”

  That got his attention. He drained the last of the water in his bottle before he spoke. “Ella?”

  “Yeah, I got images from her yesterday. My boss is going to love her—regional, mostly self-taught—the promo is going to write itself.” She grinned. “Since I, of course, will be claiming all of the credit for discovering this Outsider talent, I brought you a cookie in thanks.” She held out the bag to him.

  He took it absently and set it on the counter. “Ella sent you images? Of her paintings?”

  “You’re a bit slow today, aren’t you?” She spoke very slowly, as if he was a dim bulb. “Yes. Ella sent work for evaluation. It is good. I am going to call her. Thank you for sending her my way.”

  “I’m just surprised she sent anything. She seemed so against the idea when I mentioned it.”

  “Well, she obviously changed her mind. And thank goodness she did. The gallery is doing a ‘New South—New Talent’ exhibition in March, and I’m going to offer her space.”

  Good for Ella. He wasn’t sure if he should be proud of her or for her, but either way he was happy for her. He’d known she had talent with just one look at her art. The feeling of being proven right was a pathetic consolation prize, though.

  Gillian stretched and wiggled her fingers, obviously pleased about something. “I’m going to celebrate my fantastic new discovery with the boots I saw at Nordstrom’s last week.” She watched as he wiped sweat off his neck and wrinkled her nose. “I sincerely hope your next stop is the shower, so I’ll leave you to it.” Gillian stood. “I can show myself out.”

  He walked her to the door anyway, unstrapping his iPod holder from his arm as he went.

  Gillian was completely out the door when she stopped and said with a grin, “Oh, and let me just say…yowza.”

  Huh? “Yowza?”

  Her grin got bigger. “That one of you—I assume it’s you, right?—is smokin’ hot.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Honey, if you want to make some cash on the side, I know plenty of people who’d hire you to model.”

  Was she on drugs? Gillian wasn’t making any sense at all. “Hold on a second. First of all, I don’t pose for anything. Second—what ‘one’ are you talking about?”

  Gillian’s forehead furrowed in confusion. “Ella sent twelve works for me to look at. All of them were landscapes, except for the last one, an oil portrait, which she said wasn’t quite finished. When I saw it, I just assumed the man in the painting was you. You said you two were pretty close friends, and it certainly looks like you.” She paused, and her eyes widened. “You mean you didn’t know?”

  He stepped out in the hall and closed the door behind him. “Show me.”

  Gillian led the way to her apartment—which, while it had the same floor plan as his, definitely showed her more-artistic side, with abstract art lining the walls and eclectic furniture. A black laptop, completely at odds with the riot of color around it, sat on her coffee table.

  A few clicks of the mouse and Gillian was in her e-mail account. “She attached them in a PowerPoint presentation. She’s a bit of a computer geek, isn’t she?” She laughed, but when he didn’t join her, she sobered instantly. “Let me scroll through.”

  Images flashed across the screen. He recognized a few of the paintings as ones he’d seen in her apartment that day. Cityscapes, beachscapes—all showcasing Ella’s fascination with the play of light.

  “Here it is.” Gillian passed him the laptop. “She mentions that it still needs some finishing, but I think it’s very captivating. It shows a lot of skill—I mean, just look at the attention to detail. Even the underpainting is…”

  Gillian’s voice faded to a drone in the background as Ella’s bedroom in the Chicago apartment filled the screen. He’d have recognized it anywhere. It was a night scene, the bedroom dark and the area around her bed only faintly illuminated from the streetlight he knew was just outside that window. A square of light and a woman’s shadow stretched across the floor from the front of the painting, as if the woman had opened the door between Ella’s living room and the bedroom and stood looking in the doorway with the light behind her. That light only touched the edges of the room, but Matt could see where the walls were bare and boxes sat stacked in the dim corners. A T-shirt and a pair of jeans lay on the floor, dropped and forgotten.

  But the focal point of the painting was the bed and the man who filled it. Big and broad-shouldered, he was shirtless as he slept on his stomach. Blue-striped sheets tangled around him, exposing one leg from the knee down, and bunched at his waist. He was alone in the bed, one arm thrown over where the shadow woman might have been sleeping previously.

  Recognition and realization slammed into him, and the air left his lungs. Ella had painted him. Him. Sleeping in her bed. It was surreal, but the boxes, the bedroom—it was exactly as it had looked weeks ago as he’d helped her pack. That had to be him in the bed. Maybe his shoulders weren’t really that broad, but the hair was right. And how many other men spent the night in her apartment while she was packing?

  Gillian continued to praise the painting, fully in critic mode now as she pointed out different aspects. “This is very diffe
rent from her watercolor landscapes, telling me she has great versatility. That sharp contrast between the light and dark you see is called chiaroscuro, and Ella has it down pat. I’m going to encourage her to do more oils in the future.”

  Her finger traced over the screen as she talked, and he was hard-pressed to pay attention to what she was saying—especially since it was him, front and center.

  Her finger brushed across the man. “That is you, right? I mean, the features aren’t clear, but, honey, I recognize those lats and delts from the weight room downstairs.” Gillian clicked to the Notes section. “She calls it Fling.”

  His stomach clenched. Fling. Trust Ella to put a fine point on it. That’s exactly what they’d had. But still…

  “E-mail this to me.”

  Gillian drew back. “I can’t go forwarding her work around without permission.”

  “Just send it.”

  He left Gillian sputtering on her couch and went back to his apartment.

  Turning the shower on as hot as it would go, he stripped and stepped under the spray. Thousands of tiny needles tried to beat the tension from his muscles without success.

  Ella had painted him. She hadn’t even bothered to mention it to him. He thought back to that weekend-gone-wrong at her house. He’d seen a draped canvas on an easel but hadn’t asked about it. He’d had other things on his mind at the time—namely getting her horizontal—and it had disappeared to another room shortly after his arrival. Had that been the painting under the sheet? Not that he had a clue as to how long it would take Ella to paint something like that, but she had to have been working on it for a while to be able to send a photo of it to Gillian—unfinished or not.

  Maybe the “finishing” Ella mentioned to Gillian involved adding horns and a devil’s tail.

  At the same time, it was satisfying to think she’d been affected enough by their time together to even consider painting him—fling or not. Regardless of how it all ended, she hadn’t been able to completely dismiss him from her mind.