The Mistress Mistake (17 page)

He stiffened and a mask came over his
features. "It's a little too late to back out now."

Continuing to shake her head in jerky
movements, she looked anywhere but at him as she tried like hell
not to cry.

He pushed off the wall, and came to stand in
front of her. Taking her elbows in each hand, he pulled her near.
"I'm not letting you out of our arrangement."

Now was the time. Now was the time to tell
him.
Tell him, already
. She couldn't, because she was afraid
to. As much as he'd decimated her feelings,
something
had
stopped him from going through with sleeping with the other woman,
and that
something
was what she clung to now. He'd stopped
because of her, and that meant he cared for her, if only a little
bit. Maybe he was far from admitting it to her, maybe he wasn't
even ready to admit it to himself. But she knew that
she
wanted him in her life, and along with the hurt she felt, there was
a small morsel of hope that maybe, just maybe, if they were able to
work out all this shit, then they could have a true relationship. A
normal relationship, like any other.

But if she told him now, told him about her
new job and the scholarship, it might blow up in her face. He might
pull away from her altogether, and not be able to allow himself
into the kind of relationship that she desperately wanted. There
had to be a reason, a deep-seated reason, which had made him turn
to finding her the way he had, and whatever that reason was, she
was afraid it might stop him from moving forward in their
relationship if the money wasn't part of it any longer.

It was too dangerous. If she told him the
truth now, he might walk away and refuse to carry forward, and she
couldn't chance that. She needed to take it slowly with him, but
she had no experience in the matter of men and relationships, and
she had no one she could trust enough to share the tangled, sordid
story of how they'd met to seek advice from.

So she was on her own with this.

And her female intuition was telling her not
to spill the beans yet.

Not if she wanted to keep him in her
life.

And she did. God, she did.

****

"It's a little too late to back out now,"
Connor answered as he tried like fuck to mask the panic her words
induced within him.

A rush of ice water slid through his veins
and he pushed off the wall and walked over to her, and took a hold
of her elbows and pulled her toward him. She was holding back
tears, and the frustration and fear settling in his gut shook him
to the core. "I'm not letting you out of our arrangement."

He'd known from the very beginning that she
wasn't cut out for this. He'd tried to talk himself out of it, but
he couldn't. He'd wanted her then, and he wanted her now. Finding
out she'd been a virgin had been a blow, because it made him feel
like shit, and because it had somehow underlined to him that she
really
was his
. She'd never belonged to anyone else; she was
his, and his alone, and he loved that . . . he craved it.

At first, he'd still been in denial, and he
was ashamed of abusing her innocence the way he had. That first
week, taking her night after night on all fours from behind like a
dog after a bitch in heat, just shamed him. That first night, when
he'd taken her virginity, had knocked him off balance; he'd loved
everything about it. But after that one time, he'd refused himself
the further intimacy that the missionary position would have
strengthened.

He'd used her physically, but the guilt he'd
felt from doing it had made him limit himself to once a day. That
first week, every single night, he'd wanted to stay longer, much
longer, to take her at least once more. Fuck, every time he'd left
her bed and went to clean up in her bathroom, he'd gotten another
hard-on within minutes. But something inside of him, some small,
innate spark of decency, hadn't allowed his body to take what it
really wanted, and he'd slammed out of her apartment every night,
frustration eating through his soul.

And then came his epic fail.

The night he'd gotten so jealous when he'd
realized she'd been outside by the swimming pool, dressed in only
three tiny triangles she'd called a swimsuit. He still didn't know
which had been worse. The jealousy he felt, or his shock at the
depth of that jealousy. He'd never been one to get jealous. Had no
idea he could feel the way he had.

And it had only escalated from there. The
fight they'd had, her tears and his storming out. But that hadn't
been the fail.

The fail happened when he came back, and for
all intents and purposes, forgot what the hell was important to
him, and had let himself make love to her like he'd been dying to
do.
Like he'd been
bleeding inside to do.

Epic fail.

Because he hadn't gotten his shit together
after that, hell no, he'd been making love to her ever since. And
it had been good. So very, very fucking good. He'd known within
days that something inside of him had changed, that whatever he
felt for her, hidden under the surface, couldn't be put back into
the closed compartment where he needed it to be.

And the fear he'd felt when she'd fallen
asleep in that damned clubhouse.
Jesus Christ.
He'd never
felt anything like it before. That she was asleep, alone, in an
enclosed area where anyone could have come along and trapped her
there. Hurt her.

He couldn't stop the shudder, even now, just
thinking about it.

And it had only gotten worse, as the days
went on. She had him exactly where he'd never intended to be. Hung
up on her, jealous over her, wanting to
own
her, body and
soul.

But he'd be damned if she'd control him. He
did things his way, all the way.
He
would be in control of
this relationship. But it had upset her to know he'd thought about
getting laid. And he didn't want her upset. So she wanted
exclusivity? Not a fucking problem. He could give her that, because
evidently, as he'd proven tonight, he didn't want to fuck anybody
else, anyway.

But she was his, and she needed to learn that
fact, memorize that fact,
like now.
He wasn't going to put
up with guys drooling over her gorgeous little body in a
string-fucking-bikini. Wasn't. Going. To. Happen. She wanted to
wear it when he was around to shoot the other guys down? Fine. Not
a problem. But she wasn't wearing it when he wasn't around.

With emotions running high and knots of
tension shifting through his nervous system, he set out now to both
soothe her and to get his way. "Don't cry, sweetheart." Reaching
up, he wiped the tears away from her face. "We've had a fight,
that's all." He purposely kept his voice gentle, and it didn't
escape his notice that he was doing exactly what he'd told her only
a few weeks ago that he'd never do. Seduce her into doing what he
wanted, even if it meant having to bare his soul. "I'm sorry, I
didn't mean to hurt you." He lifted her chin and locked her eyes
with his. "It won't happen again, I swear to God. I don't know what
I was attempting to prove . . . I'm so fucked-up over you. This
thing between us, it wasn't what I signed on for but I can't fight
against it. All I want is you. You're all I ever think about and I
. . . I almost vomited when that skank sat beside me and touched
me. I thought about doing her. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I
thought about it. But just as soon as the thought hit my head, I
felt like I was cheating on you, and I hadn't even done anything
yet. Just the thought of fucking her felt like a betrayal, and I
almost physically threw up. And then . . . then I felt guilty and
mad and totally fucked-up, and I drove around for hours. I'm sick
of fighting it, I'm sick of fighting against it. I want you, and I
want to touch you, all of you, and I promise, I'll never fuck up
again."

Connor's rambling words came to a halt, and
he waited, uneasy, for some kind of response from Jessica. She
looked totally blind-sided, and he used the moment to press for
even more. Dropping a kiss on her lips, he asked, "Will you come
home with me tonight? I need to get away from here, away from this
apartment, but I have to have you with me. Get your stuff and come
with me, okay?"

She started nodding her head, quick little
movements, up and down, and she said simply, "Okay."

He released her arms, and she stepped away
and began gathering her belongings.

****

It was late, and the traffic was light as
they left the suburb of Richardson and boarded the George Bush
Expressway. Connor had never, not even once, mentioned where he
lived in all the weeks she'd known him, and he'd certainly never
mentioned taking her there before.

There was no conversation between them as
they travelled along, each in their own thoughts. Jessica wanted to
ask him where he lived, but his mouth was set in a harsh line, and
she knew she'd find out before too much longer anyway. She'd been
living in the area for over two years now, and although she didn't
own a vehicle of her own, Allison did, and the two girls had
explored the area in a wide circumference all around the university
campus. So when Connor left the expressway and began travelling
north on I-75, Jessica continued to recognize her whereabouts. He'd
already told her where his company was located, and as they
travelled north, continuing farther into an area known as the
telecommunications corridor, it all made sense to her that this was
the area of town where he would live.

Before too long, he left the interstate and
drove into a gated, upscale neighborhood in Plano, another suburb
within the DFW metroplex. Feeling her nervousness escalate, she sat
still as he pulled into a three-car driveway and pressed a button
on his dash that raised the garage doors. Automatic lights lit up
the interior, and Jessica was surprised to see what amounted to
piles and piles of stacked boxes taking up an organized space of
one entire bay. She made no comment about them, although her
curiosity was piqued. Connor cut the engine and within minutes he
was helping her out and they were walking into the house from the
rear entrance. She carried her backpack over her shoulder, stuffed
with clothes and toiletries, and as they walked through, he
unhooked it from her arm and relieved her of its weight. There were
a few lamps that had been left on, so they weren't walking into
total darkness. But she still had little time to take in her
surroundings, because Connor dropped her backpack to the floor and
without any preliminaries, hoisted her at the waist and dropped her
over his shoulder as if she were booty he'd won and began carrying
her down a long hallway.

Entering a darkened room, he flipped her to
her back on the middle of the bed, where she promptly scrambled to
a sitting position. He moved toward another door that she imagined
was the bathroom, and turned on a light that cast a soft glow over
the bedroom. His gaze locked on hers where she sat, and as he
continued to stare into her eyes, he began stripping. He made quick
work of it, and came to stand at the foot of the bed.
"Clothes--off."

A sharp spiral of heat rushed through Jessica
at the brusque command so like the ones he'd given her a month ago.
But unlike the dread and trepidation she'd felt then, now arousal
and anticipation coiled in a knot in her stomach. Licking her lips
and containing a tremble of need, she slipped her shorts and
panties down her legs and let them fall to the floor. He continued
to watch her in silence, potent sexual chemistry beating hot and
heavy in the air around them. Still unsure about displaying her
body so boldly, she grabbed at one of the pillows and pulled it
around to hug in front of herself, effectively hiding herself from
him.

He growled a low warning in his throat, and
the heat she felt slid down her spine and coalesced into a knot of
arousal that landed in licks of fire between her thighs.

As he looked down at her, he adjusted his
stance and his pectoral muscles came into bold prominence as his
eyes narrowed and his gaze became more pointed. His erection jutted
out from his body, swollen and rigid. "I want the shirt off,
Jessica." He punched the words out in a harsh, demanding tone.

Her heart began pounding in her chest,
arousal humming below the surface, trying to break free. She wanted
to give him what he wanted, but there was still too much between
them. "What about what I want?"

His eyes became hooded, his body held in
inflexible bands of steel. "What do you want?"

What she wanted above all else was to know
him, to get close to him, but he always kept that invisible line
between them. "If I have to be naked, then you--you need to start
m-moving in that direction to." That took everything she had to
say, and she couldn't contain the tremble in her voice.

His brows pulled down in a frown, and he
motioned to himself with one hand, sharply and impatiently,
indicating his nude body.

She shook her head. "That's not what I
mean."

"What then?" he asked, edginess rumbling from
his voice as his shaft jerked and throbbed.

She inhaled deeply. "I'll take my shirt off,
if you answer a question for me," she negotiated softly.

His eyes dropped to the pillow that hid her
lower torso from him, and then slid up to her breasts hidden
beneath her t-shirt. His nostrils flared and he hissed out through
gritted teeth, "What question?"

Jessica steeled her nerves and asked, "You
know what forced me into our relationship, so I'd like to know why
you wanted it, as well." At his silence, she reiterated, "What made
you want our . . . arrangement?"

There was a second there when she actually
thought he would answer her. He inhaled sharply and his eyes left
hers to settle somewhere to the left of her. He pushed his hand
through his hair and then gripped the back of his neck.