Mistress by Agreement Read online

  ‘Perhaps. So, do I get a reward for being good?’

  ‘Being good is its own reward,’ she said primly.

  ‘Like hell it is. I’ll see you at eight. Bye, Rosie.’

  She stared at the phone for a few moments before replacing the receiver, shaking her head as she did so. Mad, that was what she was. Stark staring mad.

  Ten to eight that evening found Rosalie outwardly poised and perfectly groomed, but inwardly shaking. It was when she caught herself agitatedly pacing the sitting room that she warned herself to calm down. She wandered through to the bedroom again, checking her appearance in the long thin mirror to one side of the bed as though she hadn’t already stood there for a long time already.

  She had put her hair up for the first time in ages and now her slender neck was revealed by the upswept hairstyle, her eyes with their touch of eyeshadow and mascara seeming extra big and the scarlet gloss lipstick giving a touch of sophistication her confidence desperately needed.

  The one-shouldered muslin and satin cocktail dress that ended just below her knees shouldn’t have been her colour in deep scarlet, but it actually brought out the richness in her hair without clashing with the chestnut tones, and she had teamed it with simple strappy charcoal-grey sandals and clutch bag.

  It had been thanks to Beth that she had tried the dress on some months earlier in one of the fashionable boutiques. Normally she wouldn’t have touched the colour, but once on the dress had looked a million dollars—as it should have for the price! However, at the last moment she had chickened out of wearing it for the evening with the other partners and their wives and the rest of the staff at Carr and Partners’ Christmas party, deciding it clung just a little too provocatively in places. But tonight…tonight the dress’s unquestionable elegance and the way it transformed her figure into an hourglass was just what she needed.

  When the buzzer sounded she counted to ten and then spoke into the little box on her hall wall. ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s Kingsley.’

  Her heart thudded. She pressed the release for the house’s front door and then opened the door of the flat, meeting him in the hall.

  ‘Wow.’ He smiled, and before she could say a word he was kissing her. It was a warm, confident kiss, a kiss that stated he had a perfect right to hold her and that he knew she would accept his embrace, but he didn’t prolong the caress, raising his head as he released her and stepped back a pace. ‘You look like all my dreams rolled into one,’ he said lazily, with the touch of mockery she remembered.

  ‘All of them?’ she said smilingly, hoping he couldn’t sense what the kiss had done to her equilibrium. ‘Blonde, red and brunette ones?’

  He didn’t say anything for a second, but then one of his hands touched her hair. ‘I only dream warm brown with tones of red these days.’ His eyes moved over her face. ‘And grey eyes, small nose, full, kissable lips. Mmm, very kissable lips…’

  She stopped him with an upraised hand as he went to take her into his arms again, laughing as she said, ‘I hate to tell you, but these kissable lips have left lipstick on yours. Unless you want to be thought of as a very modern man I suggest you wipe it off before we go out.’

  He took her arm, gently moving her into her hall and closing the flat door before he said, ‘One thing at a time…’

  This time the kiss lasted longer and was more intimate, his arms moulding her body into his and his lips firm and warm as they took what they wanted. Rosalie was aware she was kissing him back and that it would be giving him all the wrong signals, but she couldn’t help it, she told herself feverishly. He only had to touch her and she seemed to melt and lose all reason.

  Not that that was any excuse, she admitted honestly in the next second when she was free again, but it was the truth none the less.

  ‘I’ll need to do my lipstick again.’ She took a backward step as she spoke as though she thought he was going to reach for her again, her cheeks pink.

  ‘Sure,’ he said softly, his eyes laughing at her as he took out a crisp white handkerchief and began to wipe the scarlet from his mouth. ‘Go ahead. I’m not going anywhere.’

  Once in the taxi—which had been clocking up the kissing time—he took her hand, asking her about her day and telling her about his, and what had been happening the last couple of weeks. They continued with the same kind of easy inconsequential conversation once they got to the nightclub, a lush affair with a very good jazz band and a dance floor that demanded closeness.

  Their table was in a nice spot—not so near the band that they were deafened, but close to the dance floor—and after Kingsley had ordered a bottle of champagne he leant back in his seat, the bright blueness of his eyes holding hers. ‘I’m glad the ankle mended so well,’ he said quietly. ‘We can do this more often now.’ His eyes challenged her to disagree.

  She stared at him, aware that the hint of intimacy that had been hanging in the air between them since the kiss in the hall was stronger than ever. ‘As often as your busy life and mine allows,’ she said at last, aiming to make it casual but knowing she hadn’t responded quickly enough for that. ‘Which won’t be all that much, I suppose.’

  He gave her a long, silent look. ‘Then we’ll have to make sure it is, won’t we?’ He shifted in his chair and every nerve in her body registered the movement. ‘Friends should see each other often,’ he drawled with lazy mockery.

  Friends? She didn’t know how to take that.

  He was watching her with a kind of amused speculation, his lips curving just the slightest. He knew just how he affected her. She shrugged carefully just as the waiter appeared with the champagne, and once he had gone and she was sipping her glass of frothy bubbles Kingsley leant forward, all amusement gone. ‘I like you very much, Rosie,’ he said huskily. ‘It’s important you know that. I didn’t like the way you were on my mind at first, but then…then I welcomed it. I don’t want to rush you, I still hold to that, but the way I feel about you…’ One finger touched her mouth, slowly outlining her lips.

  What was he saying? She took a big gulp of champagne. She didn’t know where she was with this man from one moment to the next. One minute intense, the next mocking. Chameleon man.

  He had sat back in his seat again as she had reached for her glass, and now he said quietly, ‘Does that bother you?’ He was watching her very closely.

  Her smile was brittle. ‘Of course not. Everyone likes to be liked, don’t they?’ A strange feeling was taking hold of her, uncertainty telling her she would be faintly relieved if he was still talking about just an affair and nothing more. But only faintly. Which was more crazy than anything that had gone before. A man like Kingsley wasn’t for her. She knew that.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said levelly. ‘You tell me.’

  ‘There’s no harm in liking.’ She shrugged offhandedly.

  ‘And if liking grows to something more?’ he pressed softly.

  She blinked, tearing her eyes away from his. She tried to think of something to say to bring the conversation back to normality and failed utterly.

  ‘I see.’ His voice was very soft, very deep.

  Her heart quickened, her uneasiness transparent. ‘What do you see?’ she asked boldly, because she really wanted to know.

  He didn’t answer that. What he did say was, and still very softly, ‘We’ve a long way to go, haven’t we?’ It was a statement, not a question. He observed her in silence, waiting.

  A different waiter appeared with two menus, and Rosalie was so pleased to see him she could have kissed him. She took hers with such effusive thanks the poor man backed away with something like alarm on his face.

  When he had gone with a promise to return in a few minutes, Kingsley took the menu out of her hands, his touch very gentle. He lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to meet piercing blue, and then he said, ‘You told me about your mother and father, Rosie, can’t you tell me about him?’

  ‘No.’ One word, but blatant in what it conveyed.

  He gave her a lo
ng, searching look. ‘Okay.’ He released her, picking up her menu and placing it in her nerveless fingers. ‘I’d recommend something but as it would mean you eating something else I won’t try that one again,’ he said pleasantly.

  She glanced at him, relieved when he smiled at her. ‘That was stupid,’ she admitted weakly, feeling he deserved some sort of apology. ‘But at the time you seemed so arrogant.’

  ‘And now?’ he asked with silky intent.

  Oh, but he was good, he was very, very good, Rosalie thought helplessly. Didn’t miss an opportunity, did he? But then that was undoubtedly one of the attributes that had made him such a formidable adversary in the business world. ‘Now you still seem arrogant,’ she said with a faint smile, ‘but perhaps I’m getting used to it.’ She raised mocking eyebrows, pleased with herself.

  He grinned wickedly. ‘There is so much more you could get used to, believe me.’

  Rosalie floundered. You couldn’t argue with some things.

  Whether it was the champagne, or the fact that she was all dressed up and with the most gorgeous, fascinating man in the whole place, or simply that she’d had enough soul-searching for one night, Rosalie didn’t know, but she found she enjoyed the rest of the evening. Kingsley had performed another chameleon manoeuvre, and turned into a perfectly charming, relaxed social animal with nothing more pressing on his mind than making the evening a good one for both of them.

  The fact that this heightened the impact of his sex appeal considerably did cause her the odd problem, especially when they were dancing. He made sure she became acquainted with every inch of his undeniably powerful body, and more than once as she tottered back to her seat she wondered if other men could turn an ordinary dance into an experience of such epicurean intimacy.

  He didn’t realise the effect he was having on her, she was sure, but, held closely in his arms with the delicious male scent of him teasing her nostrils, she lost the rhythm more than once, excusing herself by blaming her faltering steps on her weak ankle rather than the weakness within.

  It was very late when he took her home, sitting with her tucked into his side in the taxi, his arm round her and her head resting on his shoulder.

  As they neared the flat the intoxicating effects of the dancing and champagne faded rapidly. She wanted to ask him in, she admitted silently, and not just for a nightcap. Could she handle what would inevitably follow? The sane, logical part of her brain told her she wouldn’t be able to give him her body without giving her heart also; the other part, the part that cried out for tenderness and comfort and love, said why carry on being alone when she could be in his arms?

  When the taxi drew up outside the flat Kingsley opened the door and helped her out, before leaning down and speaking to the driver through the passenger window, asking him to wait.

  He wasn’t coming in. Her heart thumped wildly and she honestly couldn’t say if she was relieved or disappointed. Perhaps it was a mixture of both.

  He took her arm and walked her to the door, standing with her on the top step as she opened it. As she went to say goodnight he pushed her inside, taking her in his arms and kissing her fiercely, without any restraint in the shadowed darkness. The taste, the smell of him spun in her head and she clung to him, running her hands over his hard body under his suit jacket, the soft silk of his shirt at odds with the hard muscles beneath.

  His hands were exploring her curves, the delicate fabric of her dress doing nothing to hide the arousal evident in the peaked tips of her breasts, but although his mouth was urgent and hungry she sensed he was fully in control of himself and curiously she wished he weren’t. If he got swept away by desire, taking the decision and the will to resist out of her hands, it would be fait accompli. She wouldn’t have to think about things any more, she could just go with the flow.

  And then she felt him very gently remove her from him, his hand stroking a wisp of hair from her face as though to soften the withdrawal. ‘I have to go.’

  She could tell him she wanted him to stay and make love to her, tell him to pay the taxi off and come back to her. ‘Yes, I know.’ She clenched her hands to avoid reaching out for him.

  ‘I’ll call you,’ he murmured huskily. ‘Okay?’

  ‘All right.’ She stared at him, her eyes huge.

  He kissed her once more, and she had to restrain herself from pressing into him again, the feeling that she couldn’t get close enough overpowering. Something was happening, something she had no control over and it was scary.

  He touched her cheek in farewell and then opened the door fully, walking towards the taxi as she stood at the top of the steps watching him, her face as pale as alabaster. The night was almost silent except for the sound of the odd car beyond the end of the street, and just past the house a street lamp cast a circle of muted gold on the pavement. She didn’t think she had ever felt so alone in all her life.

  He turned and raised his hand before stepping into the taxi and she raised hers briefly in reply, letting it fall limply to her side as the taxi drew away. She watched it until it turned the corner and was lost to sight, but even then she didn’t shut the door, but continued to stare out into the empty street. She wanted to cry and she didn’t understand why.

  Two small pinpoints of amber light shone further down the pavement as a cat sauntered out from the side of a house, a big apricot tom following a moment later.

  Rosalie watched the first cat, a small dainty tabby, sashaying along in front of her beau, hips swinging and tail provocatively swaying. She fancied she could almost see the cat’s eyelashes fluttering as it moved its head slightly at one point to make sure her admirer was still following.

  ‘It’s easy for you,’ she murmured softly. ‘No worries, no wondering if he’ll still want you in the morning, no promises of for ever…’

  She stepped inside and shut the door. She was beginning to talk to cats now, and ones that were out of earshot at that. The next stage was the men in white coats. Something told her it was time for bed!

  That evening set the tone for plenty more in the following weeks whilst Kingsley was in England, along with long weekends when they walked in Hyde Park or took a boat on the Thames, went for champagne and strawberry picnics, visited Beth and George for enormous Sunday lunches, and generally enjoyed each other’s company.

  The hot spell held, and soon the newspapers were talking of hosepipe bans and water shortages, but the parks were full of happy, rosy children and tanned young mothers in short summer dresses, and everyone seemed to be smiling all the time. Including Rosalie. She kept warning herself it couldn’t last, of course—the seductively so-far-and-no-further affair with Kingsley as well as the weather—but it was almost as though she was in a state of suspended animation about it all now.

  She knew Kingsley wanted more from her, and she was beginning to suspect it wasn’t just sexually but in all sorts of ways, but every time she asked herself what she would do if that proved the case she felt so confused she put the subject on ice.

  She had known Miles for five months before she had married him, and on her wedding day she would have sworn her new husband would hold no surprises for her, except in the nicest possible way. She’d known Kingsley for less, but several times recently she had caught herself making judgements—and all of them good—about him, which just showed the old adage of once bitten, twice shy didn’t always follow.

  She did wonder if Kingsley might be biding his time about what he saw as the next stage of their relationship until she finished working on his hotel project. Sleeping with the quantity surveyor might not be his style, she thought wryly. He was the sort of man who would rarely mix business with pleasure, preferring to keep the different compartments of his life separate and straightforward.

  Nevertheless, she had to admit to a feeling of surprise that he hadn’t put pressure on her. Sometimes he kissed her with such fierce passion it stunned her, other times he was warm and tender, leaving her feeling cherished and desirable, and always wanting more. Alw
ays. Which might be a very clever strategy on his part? If he softened her up into accepting his terms he couldn’t very well lose.

  But in spite of debating the matter daily in her mind, and touching on all the reasons and rationalisations why she had to finish the relationship sooner rather than later, she always told herself one more date wouldn’t hurt. And so it continued.

  On a hot Saturday morning towards the end of July Beth arrived on her doorstep, and Rosalie knew the moment she opened the door something was afoot. She had some wonderful news, Beth announced in a flat voice. George had been offered a marvellous position in a top university in New Zealand, and with the children off their hands he felt it was the right job at the right time. It would mean moving there lock, stock and barrel, of course.

  At which point Beth broke down in floods of tears. On the one hand she wanted to go, she sobbed; she certainly didn’t want to hold George back and spoil things for him, and of anywhere in the world New Zealand was the one place she’d always had a hankering for, but on the other hand it would mean leaving everyone she knew and being faced with a new life in her middle age. Should they go? What did Rosalie think?

  Rosalie hugged her and sat her down with a large slice of chocolate cake and a mug of coffee, and by the time Beth left an hour or so later she was brighter and seeing the positive side to the move more. Which was a good sign.

  They would go to New Zealand, Rosalie thought, waving her aunt goodbye from the doorstep as Beth smiled at her from the taxi. And with Beth’s ability to collect friends round her like moths to a flame, she’d soon find her feet. But Rosalie would miss her aunt terribly. Beth meant more to her than she’d realised.

  She closed the door, wandering back inside and staring at the pile of work she’d brought home from the office the night before. Kingsley, in consultation with his architect, had accepted one of the tenders, and a builder had been engaged and had started work. Because it was such a big job various subcontractors were involved and she was visiting the site on a regular basis now, but she had other work that needed progressing for other clients, and there didn’t seem enough hours in the day the last few weeks. Possibly because she was spending a large part of her free time with Kingsley, time that had been taken up with work previously.