His Convenient Mistress (15 page)

Now, as she prepared vegetables, she knew that she would have to do something about the situation.

She would have to break it off, show her hand, but when she thought of doing that, which was frankly what she had set out to do in the first place, her mind baulked.

Realising that she had peeled far too many carrots for two people, she switched to chopping onions, and when her eyes began to water firmly told herself that the onions were to blame.

Cool it down first. That was what she would do. Take her steps carefully because…because…

Because her heart had disobeyed every instruction her
head had given it, she realised with panic. Her heart had boldly opened up and been swept away while all the time she had been kidding herself that she was pulling the strings and being the hard woman she never had been and certainly wasn't now.

The Rectory was a place of seeming orderly control by the time seven-thirty rolled around.

Simon was comfortably tucked up in bed, fast asleep after being read his favourite book for five minutes. The kitchen smelled of garlic and herbs and the fragrant lamb she had spent the afternoon making, even though her mind had been miles away.

She was wearing a straight sleeveless dress, slightly fitted to the waist and then falling softly to mid-calf. Very old-fashioned, especially with her long hair falling in ripples down her back, very Victorian. Very un-sexy. Not an inch of unnecessary leg visible and no part of her body outlined. If she was going to stick to her guns and begin the painful process of phasing him out of her life, then she needed all the help she could get.

Nevertheless, she still felt her resolve wobble by the time the doorbell went and she pulled open the door to find him standing there, with an enormous bouquet of flowers in one hand.

It was the first time he had made any gesture like that and it took her aback. Flowers seemed to imply romance and romance wasn't what he was about.

‘From the gardens,' he said roughly, noting her reaction and registering grimly that flowers probably weren't part of the ‘deal' either. He thrust them at her and followed her into the kitchen, watching while she floated around, finding a vase, filling it with water, deftly arranging the flowers with an expertise that only his mother seemed to share.

What was she wearing? He hadn't seen her in anything like that dress before, was surprised that she even possessed something as dreamily feminine as that, considering her wardrobe must still bear the imprint of her power outfits. It left an awful lot to the imagination and, on cue, his imagination began to run riot until he had firmly poured cold water over it.

‘Hand-picked?'

‘What?'

‘The flowers. Hand-picked, I presume?'

James shrugged carelessly. ‘Not too difficult, considering the profusion of them in the gardens. Smells good in here. Is Simon asleep?'

Sara didn't want to discuss Simon, but mention of his name did remind her that her mission was to bring closure to this peculiar little relationship she and James were having, one which meant relatively little to him she was sure, but which meant far too much to her.

She would never tell him that she had found out about his little plan to use her to get the Rectory. It was humiliating enough now to think about that without bringing it out into the open and besides…she had played a tit-for-tat game that had massively backfired on her. The games were over, the only truth was that she had to get him out of her life because she was so hopelessly embroiled with him now.

‘Tell me what's happening in London,' she invited, steering the conversation into neutral waters. ‘What's playing at the theatre? Are there any open-air proms happening? I used to go to the open-air proms every year when I was in London. There's nothing quite like listening to good music outside, surrounded by people, with a picnic hamper by your side and friends around you.'

‘Any friends in particular?' James took the proffered glass of wine and swallowed a mouthful.

Recently he seemed to have unearthed a distastefully possessive streak that he was finding difficult to control. What friends had she gone there with? He had gone to one open-air prom, last year in fact. He hadn't seen her there then. Who had she been with? Her ex-boyfriend? Some other man? A whole tribe of them?

‘Friends from work.' Sara went across to the Aga, opened the door and released a wonderful smell of cooking.

‘Do you keep in touch with them still?'

‘Of course I do!' She had conversations down the end of the phone with some of them. They considered her something of a curiosity now that she had left the bright lights behind, and she considered them a little dysfunctional to be so wrapped up in making money, even though she could wryly admit that she had numbered one of them only a matter of a couple of months ago.

‘And these friends…are they male or female?'

‘Both,' Sara said lightly. ‘A bit like yours, I expect.'

‘I don't encourage female friendships.' James rested the wine glass on the kitchen table so that he could link his fingers behind his head. From this angle, he could inspect her every movement with lazy, leisurely concentration. ‘I find even the most dispassionate female friend usually ends up wanting more than I can give.'

‘You're not as irresistible as you think you are,' Sara informed him. She hadn't done a starter, favouring a pudding instead, and now she began bringing dishes to the table and telling him what he would be eating.

James listened politely, sat squarely in front of his plate, allowed her to dish out a little of everything for him.

‘Are you telling me that
you
don't find me irresistible?'

‘I think we understand one another,' Sara told him lightly. ‘We both know what we want out of this relationship.' In his case, sex and her house, in her case love, marriage, babies, the whole fairy tale that experience should have warned her didn't exist. Fortunately, he wasn't going to find that out.

‘Which is?'

‘You know what. Fun.'

‘And your need to exorcise your demons.'

‘Meaning?'

‘Your ex-lover.' It shouldn't have bothered him. After all, wasn't he getting what he wanted? To bed the woman sitting opposite him and eating with the composed air of a saint? It bothered him like hell.

Sara shrugged and let him assume.

‘Simon enjoyed today,' she said, into the tense little silence that had greeted her non-answer.

‘So did I.' He paused. ‘Do I hear a
but
coming…?'

‘But,' Sara said obligingly, ‘I really don't want a repeat performance.'

‘Meaning what exactly?'

‘Meaning that, while I appreciate your efforts, I don't want you to get involved with my son.'

‘Why is that?'

‘Do you have to keep asking questions? Can't you just accept what I tell you at face value?' She closed her knife and fork. She had been able to eat only a fraction of what was on her plate. Her appetite seemed to have done a runner.

‘I've never been a great believer in accepting things at face value. There's always a deeper agenda.'

Something, she thought, he would know a lot about, considering his agenda.

‘OK. The deeper agenda is that I don't want Simon getting attached to someone who isn't going to be around for very long.'

James wasn't about to let that one go. ‘The dinner was delicious,' he said carefully, sitting back and folding his arms with an expression that could stop a leopard at twelve paces. ‘I take it from your remark that you've already assigned a time limit to us?'

‘No, of course not…'

‘Simon benefits from having a man around occasionally. I'm not about to try and step into his father's footsteps, although from what you tell me that wouldn't be very difficult considering the kitchen table we're sitting at is capable of more paternal feelings. But…'

‘There are no buts, James,' Sara said sharply. ‘If you don't like the situation then you can clear off.' Every word was like having a knife dragged through her heart. She could feel her eyes beginning to water and hastily stood up so that she could focus on something other than his gimlet-like, narrowed stare.

‘This isn't getting us anywhere.' The low murmur came from closer to her than she had expected. With her back to him, belligerently attacking the plates into a state of cleanliness, she had been unaware of his approach.

Frankly, his response alarmed her. Hadn't she just given him the perfect opportunity for a fight? She knew him well enough by now to know that he wasn't the sort of man who tolerated female attacks with equanimity, so why was he not ramming home his point?

Sara felt his arms slide around her waist and she stiffened, then began to melt.

One touch. That was all it took. When he bent to rest his mouth against the nape of her neck, she felt the bones in her body soften.

‘If you feel that strongly, then of course I won't try and barge in on your little nuclear family.' Somehow he made that sound as though it was a criticism of her but she was losing the will to fight because his teeth were now gently nipping the side of her neck and making her legs feel very shaky in the process.

‘Is that why you've been dodging me during the day whenever I've been down?' he murmured, reaching forward to switch off the tap and then replacing his hand a little further up her torso, beneath her left breast, in fact. ‘It's perfectly understandable.'

Sara made a concerted effort to shift herself around, which she managed to do successfully, only to find that his long, lean body had no intention of moving. He kissed the tip of her nose. Then very gently kissed her mouth.

Why, why, why?
Why couldn't he help her along and be as predictable as every other man on the face of the earth?
Because if he was,
she thought to herself,
then you wouldn't have fallen head over heels in love with him
. Nor would she still be falling, even though she knew full well what he was about.

She heaved a small sigh of resignation and coiled her arms around his neck, drawing him down so that his gentle kiss could be replaced by her more urgent one.

Wrong response. Definitely not in accordance with her well-thought-out plans. Definitely not a sensible manoeuvre when it came to protecting her vulnerable heart.

‘I've made pudding,' she managed to protest.

‘It. Can. Wait.' He punctuated the three words with hungry kisses. When he strode towards the kitchen door and
slipped the latch down, all Sara could do was wait in the familiar nervous excitement for him to be back close to her.

‘Now,' he murmured, pulling her to him and winding his fingers into her hair, ‘I can think of a hundred more pleasurable things we can do than argue.' He smiled slowly. ‘Well, only one, as a matter of fact, but that can be done in a hundred different ways, mm?'

Not a hundred, as it turned out. In fact, the kitchen proved the venue for the appetiser only and Sara had never before imagined that a kitchen table could be that satisfying an instrument in lovemaking.

Her floaty dress, which she had worn as an armour against his advances, didn't stand a chance. Not that he removed it. Just pushed it up to her waist, where it bunched around her, leaving him free to tug down her underwear so that he could explore the honeyed moisture between her legs. If the floaty dress didn't stand a chance, then neither did she, when it came to his ability to arouse her. All she could do was lie back, her head flung over the back of the chair, and enjoy his full attention.

She didn't want to come, fought against it, but the insistent flicking of his tongue against her sensitised bud proved too great a stimulation to resist and the waves of pleasure rushing through her in rapid succession left her moaning and writhing until she shuddered to her explosive orgasm.

Afterwards, face flushed, she lay limply with her dress still inelegantly at her waist, breathing heavily.

‘Delicious dessert,' James murmured with a wicked smile and Sara looked at him drowsily.

‘That's the corniest line I've ever heard.' She smiled back and ran her fingers lightly through his hair. He was
still squatting in front of her parted legs and he placed a very tender kiss right there.

‘Now, shall we go backwards?'

‘Go backwards?'

‘Enjoy some main course…'

For which the sitting room, with its big, soft sofa, proved just the right place. The curtains were open and the light was fading but there was still enough to bathe the room in a dusky, mellow hue. Through the French doors, the rolling scenery made her feel as though they were making love out in the open.

‘Simon's upstairs, sleeping,' Sara said feebly.

‘And we're downstairs, pleasuring one another. I've locked the door, so there's no need to worry, and we'll hear him anyway if he wakes up.'

This time, there were no clothes to stand between their bodies. Sara looked at him as he stood in front of her, disposing of his, and idly thought that he had a magnificent body, lean, strong, powerful and utterly lacking in self-consciousness.

And when he looked at her, he made her feel the same way. Her nudity was something she basked in and his keen eyes flicking appreciatively over her unclothed body was a massive turn-on. The fact that she had already been pleasured did not mean that he couldn't arouse her again. And again and again.

Afterwards, while Sara lay supine on the sofa, James strolled across to the French doors and closed the curtains, then he switched on one of the table lamps.

‘What about the pudding I've slaved over?' she teased contentedly, looking up at him as he stood over her. She yawned and stretched and he smiled at her. A vision of absolute satisfied fulfilment. He could stay there forever
feasting his eyes on her smooth, pale body, watching the way her breasts moved when she raised her arms above her head so that the pink nipples were large circles beckoning him.