by Peggy Hunter
Lacey's heart skipped a beat when a car slowed and pulled onto the curb. She ignored it and kept walking, keeping her eyes trained on the sidewalk ahead of her.
She heard the car door slam shut and the footfalls of someone pursuing her.
"Ms. Masters!"
When Lacey chanced a glance back, the flash of a camera exploded in her face.
"I have nothing to say!” she cried as she broke into a run. The high heels she wore did not bode well for running but she made the attempt anyway.
"I just have a few questions,” the reporter said as he closed the distance between them. “The public has the right to know what's going on between you and your millionaire."
The words vibrated in Lacey's head. She stopped and peered back at the breathless reporter. “What do you have the right to know?” Lacey demanded.
The young reporter bent forward, trying to catch his breath. He struggled to hold a tape recorder out in front of him. “Your relationship with Maxwell Barton has gained national attention. You signed a contract to appear on Who Wants to Be the Millionaire's Mistress? so the public has the right to know what's going on."
"I may have signed a contract to be on the show but I never signed on to be chased by reporters every step of the way,” Lacey countered. “All of you have been nothing short of rude. You've invaded my life and made me miserable."
The reporter's mouth split into a wry smile. “What the fuck did you expect?"
Fuck? There was a word she hadn't used in her repertoire yet. Fuckhead. Maxwell Barton is a fuckhead! And not just that, but he was just about every combination that involved that word.
But the reporter didn't need to know that.
"I have nothing to say,” she said.
"I don't believe that,” the reporter said as he took a step toward her. “In fact, I think you have a lot to say. Why did you run from Barton's house just now? What did he do?"
"What do you want to hear?” Lacey yelled angrily. “Do you want me to tell you that Maxwell Barton is a depraved sex addict who asked me to do unspeakable things?"
The reporter's eyes brightened. “Did he?"
Lacey mind reeled. That's what they wanted. She was gearing up to reply when the sleek black limo pulled up on the side of the road near her. She knew instantly Max had come to retrieve her and felt a moment of relief.
But relief quickly turned to anger when the door opened and Max reached out to pull her unceremoniously into the backseat with him. Lacey was vaguely aware of the reporter taking more pictures as she fell onto his lap.
"What the hell are you doing?” Lacey howled.
Max placed his hand over her mouth. “Shut the fuck up,” he growled.
As Bruce maneuvered the car from the curb and sped away, Lacey glared at him. “Take your hands off me!"
Max relinquished his grip, his eyes watching her with amusement as Lacey teetered on his lap precariously and then fell onto the floor at his feet. She winced as her butt hit the floor and glared up at him.
She didn't say a word as she gathered herself and crawled up onto the plush leather seat. She quelled the urge to rub her lower back. As painful as the fall was, she wasn't about to let him know.
As she settled in the seat, pressed as close as she could to the far door, she grinned. “I expect you think you threw me off kilter,” she said as nonchalantly as the pain would allow. She put one arm over the back of the seat as she attempted to cross her legs. The move caused excruciating pain in her lower back but she pushed her leg to obey the mental order anyway.
Max frowned. “Are you okay?"
Lacey leveled her gaze on him, hoping the pain didn't show on her face. “Of course I'm okay."
Max's frown deepened, his eyes watching her face closely, as if examining her very soul. “Are you?"
Lacey shivered under his scrutiny and averted her gaze, focusing on the passing scenery out the window. Max would know the truth if he looked into her eyes. “Yes, I'm sure,” she replied. “Please let it go."
After a long pause, Max exhaled a long breath. “All right.” Another pause and then his voice softened. “Look at me, Lacey."
Lacey steeled herself against the sound of his smooth, velvety voice. Against her will, Lacey's nipples pebbled and her core moistened. She took a deep breath and slowly turned to look at him.
Dear God. He was so incredibly sexy, not to mention quite comfortable and confident as he rested easily in the plush seat, staring at her with intent eyes.
When she would have looked away, Max leaned forward and touched her chin, making it impossible for her to ignore him. He smiled slowly; his eyes twinkled lightly. “You're holding your breath,” he said softly. “Breathe, girl."
Lacey felt her face flush as she released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She struggled to hold his gaze.
Max cocked his head to one side, his eyes narrowing as he continued to examine her closely. “Why, Lacey?"
"Why what?” Lacey wasn't sure if the voice she heard was her own.
"Why did you run away from me?” Max asked. “Do you have any idea just how much I desire you?"
The hand that cupped her chin slowly moved to her throat, a feather-soft touch that made her body quiver. Lacey swallowed hard, trying to keep the heat he created in her from affecting her mind. “You were hurtful,” she said simply, amazed she could string together even those many words.
Max's eyes followed his fingers as they caressed the skin just above her breasts. “For mentioning Billings.” It wasn't a question. He knew where he'd gone wrong.
"Yes,” Lacey replied, closing her eyes as she savored his gentle touch.
"Lacey,” Max said, his voice a velvety whisper, “I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you and I promise from now on, I will make every effort to spare you any unnecessary anxiety."
Lacey wanted to believe him. But instinct told her to be careful. She averted her gaze and nodded lightly. “Okay."
"I can tell that you don't trust me,” Max said. “Just give me a chance to prove that you can."
Before Lacey could ask how he intended to prove it, he wrapped his arms around her. As his fingers settled on her lower back and pulled her to him, Lacey cried out in agony. Her body shivered and quaked, fighting against the earth-shattering pain that racked her body.
She was vaguely aware of an oath and Max telling his chauffeur to head to the nearest hospital before she blacked out.
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Chapter 8
Maxwell Barton: Depraved Sex Addict!
After the recent declaration by Lacey Masters, Bob Hoover, host of the hot new reality game show, Who Wants to be the Millionaire's Mistress?, declared his disgust. “I'm stunned,” said Hoover. “Barton seemed like an upstanding guy. Who knew he was a pervert?” Hoover went on to say, “I just want my fans to know the upcoming season of Who Wants To Be The Millionaire's Mistress? will have a more suitable millionaire."
Fuck! So much for his efforts to gain the public's favor. Max crumpled the newspaper and threw it across his office. He placed his elbows on his desk and covered his face with his hands as he continued to fume.
The reporters were one thing; they were always looking for a way to trash him, but what about Hoover? That scum-sucking lowlife prick didn't take long to jump ship as soon as Max was made out to be a monster. No doubt Hoover was concerned only for his blasted show.
It seemed he was destined to be forever panned by the papers. Sighing heavily, Max leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. So what had he endured the weeks on the game show for anyway? It was supposed to help his public persona and, in turn, his career. All he'd managed so far was bad press. Add to that, hours he'd spent the night before with Lacey in the ER. Thankfully the back pain was only muscular and, with pain meds, would soon abate.
Deep in thought, Max was startled when his secretary buzzed him. “What?” Max said angrily when he picked up the phone.
"Ms. Masters is on li
ne three."
Max's voice instantly softened. “Thank you."
Lacey. His heart thumped in his chest, his cock hardened. He couldn't wait to see her again. Sweet Lacey.
"Did you see the morning paper?” Lacey asked anxiously when he flicked the button on his phone.
Max hesitated, his fingers flexed on the phone receiver. “Shouldn't you ask how I am first?"
Lacey let out a long breath. “I'm afraid to."
Max chuckled softly. “I'm not angry,” he said. “None of this is your fault. Are you taking the medication they gave you in the ER last night?"
"Yes. I'm feeling better. You aren't angry?"
"Not at you."
Lacey sniffed, he knew she was crying. “Oh, Max, you have no idea how relieved I am to hear that. I didn't intend—"
"It's all right, Lacey,” Max said, hoping he'd managed to assure her. “I'll be there around six tonight. We'll have dinner and talk about it then."
"Okay,” she replied softly.
Convinced he had soothed Lacey's anxiety, Max said goodbye and turned back to his work. It suddenly occurred to him that she was the reason everything he'd gone through was worthwhile. All the bad press, being dogged by reporters and yes, even losing some key accounts, was fair trade for having Lacey Masters in his bed. He'd been genuinely concerned for her last night. It was something he'd never felt before.
Max checked his watch. It was almost ten in the morning. He had several fires to put out over the next few hours, a lot of clients to talk into sticking with him in spite of what the papers said. If he didn't get his mind on work, and soon, he'd never get finished before six.
"Mr. Billings on line two.” Eleanor hesitated. “Do you want to take the call?"
Max grinned. Why the fuck not?
He hit the second line button.
"Hey, you depraved sex addict!"
"What do you want, Zack?” The guy wasn't going to get to him, not now, not ever.
"Heard from Manner House this morning,” Billings said. “They asked if I'd take over their account. Guess a bunch of monks would rather not have a depraved sex addict handle their financial affairs."
Right, apparently the monks completely missed the news of what Zack had done to Lacey.
Max's fist clenched. “Is that right?” he said, trying very hard to keep his tone light.
"From what I've heard, you're on the verge of losing a lot more investors. But don't worry. I'll be here to catch them all.” The joy in his former friend's voice set his blood boiling. Zack was a cheat, not just in his personal life but in business too.
"Good to hear it."
"What are friends for?"
Max clenched his teeth. Yeah, right. “Thanks for the update."
Just as Max would have hung up, Billings went on again. “What about Lacey, huh?"
Max's jaw set, his teeth ground. “What about Lacey?"
"Well, come on,” Billings said. “Is she a good fuck or what? If it hadn't been for my wife, I'd still have her legs wide open on my desk. She's some kinda pussy."
Red flashed in front of Max's eyes. He knew Zack was trying to goad him and, damn it, he was fucking close. If he ever met the man in person, he'd gladly rip Billings limb from limb.
Max swallowed the lump of fiery anger in his throat. “Your loss is my gain, Zack. Nice talking to you."
Max hit the end call button before he slammed the phone down in fury. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm himself.
Lacey was a done deal. She'd never go back to Billings no matter what happened between them. But he'd be damned if he'd lose business to the rat.
Max picked up the phone and buzzed his secretary. “Get Manner House on the phone,” he barked. “Tell them I'm on my way over to have a meeting with them."
* * * *
Lacey's eyes watched as the candle burned to its very end, flickered and slowly went out. A tiny puff of smoke formed a tear-shaped cloud that slowly rose and disappeared in the darkness of the room.
Max said he be there at six that evening. He hadn't shown up. And at ten, he still hadn't come.
All evening, Lacey battled with herself. Why had she thought Max was any different? Why had she allowed herself to be fooled by his charm? A fool was forever hopeful things would change, that things would be better this time. And Lacey knew, when it came to men, she was nothing less than the biggest fool ever born.
She slid off the satin sheets and picked up her favorite cotton robe, the one item she'd packed to take with her to the condo. Tattered, yes, but at least she could count on it to be there. She pulled it over the red silk teddy she'd purchased that afternoon and padded through the living room to the small kitchen. She peered into the freezer and smiled.
Haagen-Dazs chocolate peanut butter ice cream. Pay dirt!
She tore the lid off, found a spoon and scooped a large amount out. She held it under her nose for a moment before opening her mouth and shoving it in. The cool sensation of the frozen delight cooled her overheated senses even before she tasted the delectable combination of chocolate and peanut butter. She scooped another spoonful to savor as she made her way to the living room.
If only men were as dependable as ice cream. If only they would offer sweet delight, sheer sensory ecstasy complete with a promise that when she ran out, there was always more at the local grocery store.
Lacey had just flopped onto the sofa, intent on consuming every last bit of ice cream, when a soft knock sounded on the door. She frowned and peered at the door pensively.
"Who is it?"
"Room service, ma'am."
Lacey snorted. She wasn't about to fall for that again. “I didn't order room service."
"Mr. Barton did."
"He's not here,” she replied simply.
"He will be soon,” came the muffled reply.
"Then leave it by the door and he can bring it in when he arrives.” Lacey was proud of herself for having thought of that. If Max hadn't showed up by now, he wasn't going to. She wasn't about to let the paparazzi in to take pictures of her again ... pictures of her complete humiliation after Max's rejection.
"All right, Miss."
Lacey held her breath for a moment, hoping the man had done as she asked. When she heard nothing more, she looked down at the tub of ice cream still in her hand. It had already started to melt and, much to her surprise, no longer appealed to her. She padded back to the kitchen and dumped the tub and spoon in the sink before going to the bedroom. What she really needed was some sleep. Maybe tomorrow would be a better day.
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Chapter 9
Lacey woke from a restless sleep when she felt a feather-like touch on her cheek. She knew Max was there even before she opened her eyes as his manly scent enveloped her. When he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her lips, she reached up and flattened her hand against his rock-hard chest.
His lips traveled to her neck, gently tasting her skin. “Sweet Lacey.” His breath felt warm against her neck as he whispered, “I need you."
Lacey tipped her head back, allowing Max further exploration. “Do you?” she murmured.
"Uh huh,” he replied as he pulled the bed cover off her and slid his hands over her silky nightgown. He cupped her breasts and gently massaged her nipples.
Lacey gasped under the gentle pressure. “And what exactly do you need?” she asked softly.
Max slowly moved to nuzzle her ear. “I need to bury my cock inside your sweet, tight pussy."
Oh yes! Yes! She needed that too. Her body writhed with the promise of fulfillment, with the need to feel his rock-hard cock inside her. She wanted to wrap herself around him and never let him go. “Then what are you waiting for?” she asked.
Max chuckled as he stepped back from the bed and quickly began to undress. “You have no idea how much I need this after the day I've had,” he said absently as he pulled at the buttons on his shirt.
Lacey's body cooled as she gazed up
at him. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear more yet ... “Did you have a bad day?"
Max snorted as he cast his shirt aside and went to work on his pants. “Took all day to wrangle back some business that Billings, that fuckhead, snatched away from me after the bad press in the papers..."
Oh, she knew she shouldn't have asked! Lacey sat up on the bed and pulled the bed cover up to her chin.
"...started with one of my biggest clients and, when I got them back, decided to go after the others."
"This is why you weren't here at six like you said you would be?"
Max snorted again as he kicked his pants off and pushed down his briefs. “Yeah,” he said. “Business before pleasure.” When his cock sprang forward, Lacey averted her gaze. “Mind you, now that Billings is screwed again, I don't mind doing some screwing myself."
Lacey leapt off the bed as Max crawled onto it. She turned on the bedside lamp and glared down at him. “You son of a bitch,” she cried.
Max frowned. “What?"
"I waited all evening for you. If you weren't going to be here on time, you should have at least called."
Max rolled his eyes and lay on his side, propping his head up with his hand. “You're my mistress, Lacey, not my wife."
Cold anger curled inside Lacey's stomach. “So, as your mistress, I don't deserve your consideration?” She glanced at the bedside clock. “You said you'd be here by six and it's just after midnight. But, as your mistress, I'm supposed to sit around and wait for you to fuck me at your convenience?"
Max sighed heavily. “Oh come on, Lacey, I'm here now, aren't I? Don't get your knickers in a twist.” His eyes narrowed as they raked over her body. “And, I must say, those are very nice knickers."
Lacey became painfully aware of the silk teddy she was wearing. She knew the red lace over the bodice showed her dark nipples and, with her legs spread apart in the stance she had taken combined with the angle at which Max lay on the bed, there was no mistaking the fact the teddy was crotchless.
Lacey lunged forward and grabbed a pillow from the bed. “Asshole!” She pummeled Max with it several times before he grabbed the pillow and pulled it out of her hands. Her anger was set to full boil when she saw him laughing. She felt as though she was about to explode.