Australia: Wicked Mistresses

by Robyn Grady

  Jordan swallowed audibly. “Not here.”

  “Are you sure, Jordan?” He ran his thumb over her nipple again, loving it’s proud texture.

  Jordan closed her eyes and her mouth fell open on a gush of air. “You can’t…” She arched her back to press against his hand once more.

  Nick bent his head and sucked at the pebbled peak through her sweater, hearing her whimper. He doubled his efforts when he felt her knee nudge in between his legs, stop, and rub again.

  “I can,” he whispered, raising his head. Still supporting her, he took his hand from under her sweater and placed it between her thighs.

  She tensed and squeezed, her body stiffening.

  Nick cupped her, feeling her damp heat. “We both know I can.”

  He took her mouth again, recognized her capitulation in the way she strained against him, the insistent push of her knee into his aching groin. He’d held this woman in his arms, practiced his seduction on her enough times to know she was fast reaching the point of no return.

  To know he was, too.

  But even as her arms came around his neck, as she sagged back onto the arm of the couch, her weight dragging him down with her, his brain kicked into a higher gear, sending messages he didn’t want to hear right now. He tensed, listening to her breath come in gasps, feeling her fingers tugging at his shirt buttons.

  Yes, he could take her right now, right here. He’d proved it. But that made it just another coupling that underlined the shallowness of this affair. He needed her to believe he felt more for her than just a quickie once a week, to wonder if he had real feelings for her. If that was his goal, he had to stop.

  Now.

  Groaning, Nick pulled back, tearing his mouth away. She stilled, clutching a handful of shirt and confusion and desire smoking up her eyes. He pulled her upright and removed his hand from between her legs. “You’re right.” His thought processes might be on target but his hands were unsteady and awkward as he tugged the hem of her top down. “Not here. Not now.”

  Jordan sank back onto the arm of the sofa, her breathing still labored. As she fussed with her clothes and hair, a deep blush crawled up her throat and face.

  Nick sighed. He hadn’t meant to embarrass her. “I didn’t come here tonight to take you to bed.”

  Her eyes slid over him briefly, then she leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, studying her feet. Her hair gleamed, a sparkling curtain in the dim light. Nick reached out and stroked it, feeling ridiculously tender.

  “Come out for a drink with me.” He tugged on a long lock of silky hair. “Who cares what anyone thinks?”

  She shook her head, not looking at him. “I can’t go out for a drink with you.”

  “Because of our fathers? How long are we going to let two old men dictate our lives?”

  “It’s just not worth the hassle, Nick.” For a moment there, he almost thought she sounded sad.

  “I think it is,” he argued, surprised at how stubborn he felt.

  “Let’s just stick to Fridays for now.” She reached out and covered his hand with hers, looking at him beseechingly.

  If she didn’t care a little, wasn’t secure in the knowledge that he cared a little, she wouldn’t have looked at him like that.

  Mission accomplished. At least, he’d given her something to think about. He couldn’t afford to push too hard or force her to choose between family loyalty or him until he was assured of success.

  His breath returned, along with the blood to the rest of his body. He checked his buttons—often an occupational hazard with Jordan’s impatient fingers. “Next Friday?”

  Jordan rose to show him out. “Shouldn’t we at least change the time or place?”

  She was obviously still wary about the photos she’d received but Nick wasn’t worried. “It’s just some eagle-eyed reporter sniffing around. If he’d meant business, there would be a photo of me leaving the hotel, too, or a blackmail note.”

  Besides, he paid the hotel handsomely for their discretion. Why improve the odds of discovery by going somewhere else? “Make it earlier, then. Two p.m.”

  Five

  To heck with chocolate! Jordan took her mug into the kitchen and tipped the cold contents down the sink, then poured herself a glass of pinot noir. Frustration, confusion—she paced the floor restlessly, going over every minute of the last half hour.

  The whole episode was an embarrassment, starting with him catching her in a stupid avocado, cucumber and milk-powder face mask—oh, very elegant! Her humiliation was complete once he touched her, kissed her. He’d said she was like a drug, but he’d lit her up so quickly.

  Thank goodness he’d had the sense to stop. Nick Thorne was already commanding way too much of her mind lately. Not that she’d ever tell him, but she thought about him plenty outside the hotel room. Several times a week at least, and always with a shiver of erotic anticipation. And when she did, suddenly the days of the week until Friday were an interminable bore.

  The last thing she needed was the memory of him here in her lounge, naked, making love to her.

  She flicked through the TV channels in an attempt to banish that enticing vision. Although—Jordan turned off the TV—thinking about sex with him was safer than thinking about anything else with him. Confident she could hold him enthralled in the bedroom for a while longer, she determinedly crushed the hope that, someday, Nick might see her as more. Starting a relationship with sex gave her no room to maneuver. He would never take her seriously—no one did. Even her father, her biggest fan, considered her an ornament. Despite her best efforts to change her lifestyle and prove everyone wrong, it really was easier to accept the cynicism and get on with the job. But she had the right to protect her heart along the way.

  Even so, she hugged the memory of his jealous face tightly to her all night long.

  On Tuesday, she was nearly involved in an accident when a car pulled out behind her into the path of an oncoming car. Jordan thought little of it until she noticed the same gray car behind her ten minutes later. It followed her to the supermarket and then to her parents house. Bemused, she drove around the block a couple of times. The car followed. Jordan pulled up and opened her door. The gray car slowed and then sped up and turned the corner. As it streaked past, she saw a bullet-shaped dark head in dark glasses atop a pair of burly shoulders.

  She tried to shrug it off. Like Nick said, probably just a nosy photographer.

  But the strange feeling stayed with her. The next day, as she waited for the lift in her building, a giant of a man stepped out. He wore a black suit and dark glasses. His head was close-shaven. She couldn’t see his eyes but something about his expression, the look he gave her, made her shiver. He turned as she passed him and did not take his eyes off her until the doors closed.

  The hairs rose on the back of her neck at the intensity of the look he gave her. Even once inside her apartment, she couldn’t shake the feeling. She drew the drapes, poured herself a soda, started on dinner, all the while berating her vivid imagination.

  She was being silly. Was it the photos, or her fear that if she and Nick were found out, she’d have to give him up?

  She’d always felt perfectly safe here. There was no designated doorman manning the entrance, although there was a building supervisor. The residents used a swipe card to get in, which, as Nick had proved with his unannounced visit on the weekend, wasn’t foolproof.

  On her way to the court next morning, she asked the building super if he’d noticed a big man in the building yesterday.

  “Big man, suit, dark glasses?” Robert said, and she nodded, her stomach doing a weird slide.

  “Not in the building but there was a bloke across the street for most of yesterday, either sitting in his car or leaning against it. Seemed like he was watching the building. I thought it might be a cop.”

  “What kind of car?”

  “Mercedes. Silver.”

  Jordan had no idea what type of car had followed her yesterday but the d
ifference between gray and silver was open to interpretation.

  Grow up in a fishbowl and you get suspicious.

  But later, she thought she spied the same car following her home. Quickly pulling into a space on the street, she went into the nearest coffee bar and ordered a drink. Sure enough, a couple of minutes later, the big man in the glasses entered. He ordered from the counter and sat down by the door, facing her. She stared over the rim of her cup, her heart thudding, watching as he opened the newspaper he’d brought with him and raised it to conceal his face.

  Despite herself, she smiled, looking for peepholes in the paper. What did he want? Feeling like a regular Nancy Drew, Jordan decided to have it out with him. Anything was better than wondering and at least there were people around.

  Draining her cup, she stood and marched over to his table, flicking the newspaper smartly. “Is this it?” she demanded in a loud voice. “The rag you work for?”

  The paper lowered and the man stared up at her, ridiculously still wearing his dark glasses. “Sorry?”

  “I want to know who you work for,” Jordan repeated.

  The man picked up the cup in his dinner-plate-size hands and sipped before lowering it again. “I’m just hanging, reading the paper,” he said.

  Jordan frowned. Why wouldn’t he tell her? It would come out anyway. “Do you deny you have been following me all over town, watching my building, every move I make?”

  The woman at the next table stared intently with that gleam of sly recognition Jordan was only too familiar with.

  The big man leered at her, leaving her in no doubt that he was enjoying the altercation. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Miss Lake,” he said insolently.

  Jordan sighed. She was getting nowhere, except making a spectacle of herself. At least the guy knew he was rumbled and when his story—whatever it was—hit the headlines, she’d have her father roast the editor.

  She shook her head in disgust. “Just leave me alone,” she muttered and stalked out the door.

  He must be a reporter, she reasoned as she got into the car. The only other possibility was an investigator and why would someone want to investigate her?

  Nick’s thunderous face when he’d turned up at her apartment entered her mind. Jealousy, unwarranted as it turned out, but what if he hadn’t believed her about Jason?

  Jordan laughed out loud at the thought he would go to any trouble to keep an eye on her. Ridiculous! They each had their own lives and there was no tie between them. Sparked by the delivery of the photos, her imagination had spiraled into paranoia, just another example of her attention-seeking personality.

  Nothing further happened that week and by Friday, she’d forgotten it and arrived at the hotel at the new time of two p.m., very much looking forward to seeing him.

  Usually Nick checked in and waited for her in the room. She headed for the elevators but happened to glance at Reception where two men stood with their backs to her. A thrill of excitement jetted through her when she recognized one as Nick. Jordan hesitated by a tall potted plant and decided to wait until he’d gone up, just in case she was recognized.

  She thrummed with anticipation. Maybe he was right about their increased exposure to each other in court. She’d felt his eyes on her several times today, like a hot caress, making her tingle, building her excitement.

  As she watched, Nick turned away from the reception clerk and spoke to the man beside him. A big man, with shaven head, a prizefighter’s body and dark glasses.

  Jordan froze. It was him—coffee bar man! She was sure of it.

  She barely noticed as Nick walked on toward the elevators. Her eyes remained glued to the man, who just stared after Nick until he disappeared behind the elevator doors.

  She moved right behind the plant now, shaking her head to clear it. Stay calm…she needed to think this through. The sequence of events was only seconds and she went over each one in slow motion. Nick reaching for the keycard, talking to the smiling receptionist, turning away from the counter, pausing to talk to the big man beside him. And then walking to the lift.

  The man now had his back to her and Jordan took the opportunity to escape. She drove home in a daze and let herself into her apartment. And then she began to tremble.

  Could it be true? Was Nick behind a sinister campaign to unsettle her? Was he having her followed because he thought she was sleeping with Jason? She sat there for nearly an hour but peace of mind eluded her. When her phone rang, she answered it with a sense of ominous fatalism, remembering his face on Saturday night, the hard tone of his voice that she’d never heard before. “You want him, Jordan?”

  But it was her mother to say Syrius had suffered a heart attack and was being rushed to hospital. Jordan ran, forgetting all about Nick Thorne. Just as she reversed out of her space, she noticed Robert, the building supervisor, waving out to her. Next thing, there was a huge bang and sickening crunch, so loud, she thought there had been an explosion.

  Her heart racing in fear and shock, she checked the rearview mirror to see a gray car at the back of hers, its front passenger door crumpled. A gray car—it filtered through the funk in her mind and she looked wildly about for Robert. Her panic eased slightly when she saw him crossing the car park toward her. She pushed open her door, her veins flooded with adrenalin.

  And just as she did, Nick Thorne alighted hurriedly from his dented car. His gray Mercedes.

  She froze, her mouth dropping open, keyed so tight, she thought she might scream.

  “Are you all right?” In two steps, he was beside her, his face full of concern.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, curling her hands into fists by her side.

  “Are you all right, Miss Lake?” Robert approached, his eyes wide.

  She ignored him and stared at Nick’s face, catching the tension that rolled off him in waves.

  “Why don’t you look where you’re going?” he demanded. “You could have been hurt…”

  “You hemmed me in on purpose,” she fumed. “Why are you following me?”

  “I came to see where you were. I waited for nearly an hour.”

  “You had your stooge to keep you company. Get this—” she flicked her hand disdainfully toward his car, “—out of my way. I’m in a hurry.” Turning, she stalked back to her car and yanked the door open.

  “Oh, no, you don’t!” Nick skirted around the car and grabbed her arm.

  Vaguely she heard Robert offer a protest but all she could see was Nick’s furious tight-lipped face.

  “I’m not hanging around waiting for you, Jordan. That’s the second time you’ve stood me up. You’d better have a damned good reason.”

  She tugged her arm from his grasp, desperate to get away and be with her father. “You’re following me, stalking me,” she said loudly for Robert’s benefit. “And I want it to stop.”

  She slid into her car but he barred her door from closing. “What are you talking about?”

  “Keep away from me, Nick!” Her demand was almost a yell. She glanced at the doorman. “I have a witness and he’ll back me up. You’re stalking me and I want you to leave me alone.”

  She gave a mighty pull on the door but he held it firm. “Request granted, and gladly.” His eyes glittered like the ice in his voice. “You have much too high an opinion of yourself, Jordan Lake.”

  With that, he slammed her door and swiftly made his way to his car, flinging a sour look at Robert, who backed off quickly. Then he gunned the engine and sped from the car park, leaving only the tinkle and crunch of glass.

  The aftershocks hit Jordan in a series of hot waves. She laid her forehead on the steering wheel, trembling with emotion. Incredibly, her anger had vanished along with Nick, and although he hadn’t denied following her, the confusion in his face confused her. But she didn’t have time to worry about that now. She had to get to the hospital.

  Robert tapped on her window. “Your taillight’s broken, Miss Lake. It’ll need seeing to
.”

  She grimaced. “Later. Robert, was that the car you saw outside the building this week, the one with the big man in dark glasses?”

  Robert shook his head. “No, ma’am. It was a Mercedes, but silver, not gray.”

  Six

  At eight-thirty on Monday morning, Nick exited his office elevator to find his brother sitting on his assistant’s desk. His black mood darkened even more. “What do you want at this time of the morning?”

  Noting Jasmine’s flushed and suddenly busy demeanor, it occurred to him that maybeAdam wasn’t here to see him at all. Scowling, he strode on into his office.

  He’d spent the whole weekend stewing about the fight with Jordan—not that he had any idea what it was all about. One minute he was eagerly anticipating their lovemaking after a week’s abstinence. The next, spun into a rage when she didn’t turn up. Her accusations in the car park outside her building floored him and he could still hear the anger in her voice when she demanded he stay away from her.

  Well, she’d got her wish. He flung his briefcase onto the desk, glad he was finished with it. Now, at least, he wouldn’t have to lie about being booked up every Friday afternoon.

  He hadn’t even taken off his jacket when he heard Jasmine’s startled “Wait!” and looked up to see the subject of his thoughts stalking in through his door. She marched straight in and flung the newspaper in her hand onto his desk.

  Nick froze, his jacket half on, eyes leaping eagerly to her face. Jasmine appeared behind Jordan. “Nick, I’m sorry.”

  “Excuse us, please.”

  Jordan stood tall, her cheeks pink, eyes blazing. “What the hell are you playing at?”

  With effort, Nick tore his eyes off her face and glanced down at the “Stepping Out” page of the local daily, picturing Jordan leaving the hotel. A brief caption read “Jordan Lake takes a break from the court case between her father and Randall Thorne looking glam as always in her little black dress.” It was the same photo as the one that had been sent to her home. So it was a newshound after all.