Mirror, Mirror

by Amanda McIntyre

  “Duro e veloce,” he whispered as he leaned me forward to grasp the back of the couch. The fireplace across the room loomed dark and empty, and the thought occurred to me that a warm fire would have been a nice touch on such a rainy day.

  A gasp rose from my mouth as I sensed the small pearls, wrapped around his fingers, sliding between my legs. He glided them over my swollen lips, seducing, coaxing, driving me crazy with need. I glanced up in my euphoric haze to see his reflection behind me in the mirror. He was a fine-looking man, finely tuned, and his powerful biceps sported a series of artistic tattoos that curled over one shoulder. His chest was without hair, just as Paul knew I liked, and his rock-hard abs made me fantasize gripping them later as I rode him to exhaustion.

  What he did with those pearls was beyond phenomenal. The dominating expression on his face created a greater arousal as he continued his ministrations, dipping the slick, round beads deeper between my folds. My fingers curled into the leather, my knuckles turning white as I swayed my hips slightly to enjoy the sensation. Lost in the ecstasy and the delightful champagne haze, I hardly thought of Paul at all. Forgetting everything, I just wanted this moment to go on forever

  My Italian stallion, without warning, grabbed my hips and drove into me with such force that I had to cling to the couch to keep from toppling over. I watched in the mirror, seeing my body jerk with each ferocious thrust. The muscles of his neck bulged with his clenched teeth, and his fingers dug into the soft flesh of my hips.

  The pearls slid over my rib cage, dangling in my peripheral vision; they, too, jerked as he rocked my body to his.

  I came in a shattering climax, hot and fast, not at all like my last lover. The man with the slow hands and gentle, espresso eyes.

  His climax finished with a crescendo and a primal howl, as though he’d mated with a she-wolf in the wild.

  “Magnifico!” he cried out in jubilation, and proceeded to swat my butt in triumph. Had it not been for his cleverness with the pearls, I would have thrown him out after that alone, regardless of Paul’s agreement. As it was, I discovered when I held the dominant role, he was quite altogether an enjoyable lover. After he left, I poured a glass of champagne and curled up in my robe on the couch, reminiscing on the afternoon. I had a sense that perhaps I’d taught him a thing or two about pleasuring a woman.

  I sipped my drink and waited for the phone to ring. After a few minutes, I stepped to the mirror over the fireplace and straightened my hair. I realized with a quiet surprise that I still wore the pearls.

  There was no way to reach him. That was part of the agreement. He would always call me, and if he didn’t I was to return home, where he would meet me later.

  Apparently this was one of those times.

  I dropped my robe and the pearls onto the bed and turned with my hand on the bathroom door.

  The phone rang.

  Startled at first, I started to put on my robe, but the phone rang insistently again and I simply reached to the nightstand and answered.

  “How was Italian cuisine, my love?”

  I folded my arm under my breasts and turned to the dresser. “The pearls worked nicely, thank you.”

  “I thought they made a nice touch.”

  “I’m going to take a quick shower, then—”

  “Leave the door open.”

  “The door?”

  “The bathroom door, Charlie. You know I love to watch you in the shower.”

  I thought he’d gone home. I couldn’t let him see my dissatisfaction at the idea. I was beginning to feel as though I could not take a breath without him watching me.

  “Sure, Paul, if you like.”

  “Yes…yes, I really do like to watch the water run down your body, Charlie. I imagine the showers we used to take together. Do you remember those, Charlie?” He sighed, but the sound of it was tired.

  God help me, pity rose in my heart for him. My poor husband—his mind alert, but his body lifeless. “I do. They were the best.” Tears pricked at the backs of my eyes. Those memories seemed like a hundred years ago.

  “I’ll leave the door open, Paul.”

  There was a click and I snapped off the receiver and walked into the bathroom, easing open the door as I glanced at the dresser mirror within the vanity mirror.

  Was my life going to be like this forever?

  Chapter Three

  Three months later

  The day was perfect, as perfect as the city could get, and I chose to have lunch on the café sidewalk instead of being cooped up inside. I was to meet a friend who’d just returned from St. Tropez. I was dying to go there myself. I could stand to soak up a little sun and sea air. Maybe I’d approach Paul about a quick trip, or maybe he’d allow me to go alone.

  I took a sip of my mimosa and pondered the thought. No, it was doubtful he’d let me out of his sight for that long.

  It had been a few weeks since the Italian fling. Paul had grown increasingly quiet, often skulking around the house and spending more time in the main computer center he so loved.

  I let him have his fun. After all, what more could I offer him than his deepest desires? Affection had been a stranger in our marriage ever since the accident. He hated me to mother him; he said it made him feel less of a man. I obliged his request, but at the same time began to notice his possessive streak strengthening with each day.

  Before I left for lunch today he’d insisted that Jenkins drive me and wait while I had lunch. When I expressed the thought that I might do a little shopping, he went into a tirade and I finally succumbed to having the driver park discreetly down the block and wait for me.

  I was beginning to feel more like a prisoner than his wife and I wasn’t sure who I could talk to about it.

  “Hey, Charlie.”

  Misty Vancouver plopped into the café chair across from me. At thirty, she was married to Jeff Vancouver, president and CEO of the up-and-coming Vancouver International. Suffice it to say, Misty lived the charmed life.

  “Ooh,” she squealed with delight, “I need one of those. Waiter?” She waved her dainty French-tipped nails at him and grinned widely when he smiled at her. “Could I please have one of these? And heavy on the juice.”

  He bowed, but his eyes never left Misty’s face.

  I eyed her youthful figure wrapped in a designer sundress. She wore her frosted, blond hair straight, where it fell in abandon to her bronzed, slim shoulders. Her smile turned to me as she shoved her sunglasses atop her head. She was exquisitely tanned, looked happy—dazzling, to be exact—and I hated her instantly.

  “You two have got to get away to the beach.” She shut her eyes and tipped her head back, reveling in her memory. “The white sand, the water, the sultry nights, God, its pure paradise. Oh, and they have this massive yacht you can charter now—”

  She stopped short, her eyes round with her horrified expression. “Oh God, Charlie, I’m sorry. I forgot that Paul doesn’t like the water anymore.”

  I smiled, with a shrug, pretending my ambivalence to her remark. “He does stay at home a lot more now.”

  “Really, I’m sorry.”

  The waiter brought Misty’s drink and, I noted, eyed her with the same admiration. She returned his approval with a sweet smile. I waited as she watched him walk away in his tight-fitting black dress pants. At least if they had a fling, it would be discreet and likely because they both wanted it.

  “So you had a good time, then?” I swallowed a good half of my mimosa and held it up to our waiter across the way. He came as quickly to my rescue, but without the same attention as to Misty.

  “It was very nice. But we had to cut the week a day short so Jeff could get back to some bigwig meeting.”

  “Don’t you hate that?” I smirked, wondering if Jeff had a disgruntled mistress demanding his attention. Maybe not, maybe I was becoming too cynical. I laughed to myself and caught Misty’s curious gaze.

  “I suppose you’re used to that sort of thing. I mean used to be.” Her tiny catlike claws
came out of her diamond-clad, manicured, perfect fingers.

  I raised my brow and my drink. “It’s a part of the territory, my dear, and the sooner you learn to accept it the better.”

  She eased back in her chair and crossed her long, tanned legs. Our waiter took note of that, too.

  “What can I get for you two special ladies today?” He spoke directly to Misty, who had the decency to blush at any rate.

  “I’ll have the baked salmon, with wild rice and a salad—no onions, please. Oh, and dressing on the side,” I offered, not shifting my relaxed stance in my chair. I watched with pleasant satisfaction how the splash of grenadine filtered through the drink.

  He nodded and scribbled on his notepad, not once looking at me. Misty perused the menu more than a dozen times it seemed before finally smacking the menu down. She offered the waiter a sweet, dazzling smile. Pure innocence, no doubt not wearing panties at all.

  “What do you recommend?”

  Good lord.

  “That depends on what you’re in the mood for,” he countered, shifting to focus on her with his body language. I considered shoving everything off the table so they could just have a go of it right then and there.

  “Well, maybe you could surprise me with your favorite dish?”

  She was openly flirting with him. This was getting hard to stomach.

  I sipped my drink and let my mind wander from the vocal seduction going on between the two of them. I supposed it was one thing to have a choice in whom you had an affair with and who your husband handpicked to have an affair with you.

  I spied a men’s clothing shop on the corner across the street from the restaurant, and made a mental note to stop in quickly and pick up a nice tie or perhaps a new sweater for Paul. His birthday was coming up and a tie might come in handy—if not for him, perhaps for me.

  “So what’s new with you and Paul?”

  The waiter was gone and Misty turned her attention back to the fact that someone was seated across from her. “Nothing much, really. We pretty much have our daily routine down now.”

  She sighed as though I’d just told her I was the queen of England.

  “I wish Jeff and I were as comfortable with each other as you and Paul. You two have been through so much and yet have managed to remain so strong. I wish I knew your secret. Some days, I wonder if our marriage could survive anything so serious.”

  The poor girl would faint dead away if I told her the secret of our marital success. Then again, maybe she wouldn’t. Misty impressed me as the type that could ease into the role I played without much discomfiture. Still, she wasn’t the one I could talk to frankly about my situation. She loved to talk too much and she and Jeff were heavy into the social scene.

  “Well—” I lifted my second mimosa to her “—you never really know what you’re capable of until it happens.”

  “Boy, that’s true.” Her gaze wandered off and I knew she was searching for her handsome young waiter friend.

  “Jeff working late tonight?” Yeah, it was a baited question.

  “Hum? Oh, yes, but I have a million things to do. All that laundry from the trip, catching up on bills, you know the menial stuff.”

  “Right.” I smiled. I guessed what Jeff didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him and perhaps even if he did, it wouldn’t faze him. The craze of open marriage seemed to be an up-and-coming lifestyle for the very well-to-do. I figured by suppertime, Misty would be ushering our waiter into her bedroom to help her with a few menial tasks.

  Our food was set before us and, sure enough, Misty didn’t think I saw when she slipped a folded bill into our waiter’s hand. What denomination I wasn’t sure, but I knew it contained a phone number.

  I guess pleasure is a marketable commodity.

  Chapter Four

  It couldn’t be him. I stepped around a tall shelving unit stacked with every color of dress shirt known to man. I nearly toppled over a freestanding rack of specially priced clearance polo shirts.

  I kept my sunglasses on, and fortunately my wide-brimmed hat shielded me from being recognized. I knew I should leave, but my feet felt glued in place. I turned and stared at an array of ties, fumbling through them without an ounce of thought to color, design, or anything past the sweat of my palms.

  I quickly slid my hand over my shift and swallowed hard. I couldn’t remember the last time a man had made me so visibly nervous, and I’d been naked with this one. If indeed, I was correct and it was—

  I turned to sneak a peek and my heart stopped as I met his radiating smile.

  “How can I help you today?”

  My lord, he smelled so good. The scent made the back of my knees weak with the memories it produced. He hadn’t yet recognized me, apparently. I toyed with the idea of turning around and leaving and just letting him wonder the rest of his life what he’d done to offend me as a customer.

  But I couldn’t be so rude. And yes, I knew it was just an excuse.

  I removed my glasses and tipped my gaze to meet his.

  “Charlie?” he whispered as though I’d been a dream of his long ago set aside.

  “Funny how life happens, isn’t it? I pictured this might be what you did for a living. You have impeccable taste in clothes.” I smiled, though my gut churned like a schoolgirl braving that pivotal chat with the untouchable best-looking boy at school.

  “How did you find me?” He glanced around to make sure no customers were within earshot.

  I could see clearly how he would feel so awkward. I’m sure it wasn’t every day that the lover who paid for your services walked into your store.

  “Don’t worry, I didn’t track you down. I happened to be having lunch across the street and decided to come in and find a gift for my husband. It’s his birthday next week. I was thinking of a tie.”

  My hand ran down the edge of the ties hanging on display. He reached up, checking the store once more, before his fingers lightly hovered over mine.

  “Did you have a particular color in mind?”

  He eased closer in the narrow aisle, his focus on the ties and not me, but my body sensed his interest as a metal rod senses lightning.

  “Nothing in particular. He doesn’t wear them often.”

  His expression was curious as his gaze dropped briefly to mine. “So it’s whatever color you like?” He licked his lips and boldly held my gaze.

  “Pretty much, I guess.” I offered him a smile, though I fought the idea that it was like Misty to flirt with him. At least he and I shared a past and I had missed him, almost to a desperate state. There’d been a few impromptu times when Paul had demanded I use my toys, so he could watch. Nevertheless, when I closed my eyes, I saw the face of the man standing before me and it aroused me as much then as it did now.

  I knew Jenkins was outside in the limo and would be expecting me. “Which would hold up the best…with time?”

  A sexy grin appeared and quickly disappeared. He cleared his throat. And scanned the area around us before he spoke. “That, too, depends on the frequency of the use.”

  “Really?” I wrapped the end of a cobalt-blue plaid tie around my wrist and looked up at him. “What do you think? Does this color look good against my skin?”

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Maybe you’d like to look at a few in the mirror against a dress shirt?”

  “Yours?” I slid him a smile. I’d never been more thrilled for warm weather, no stockings and sandal dressing.

  “Step this way. The mirrors are here, way in the back near the dressing rooms.”

  He did not touch me, but led the way to the back of the store where there were no customers milling about the rows and rows of suits.

  “I’m going to be busy modeling a few suits for this customer, Stan. Can you watch things up front for a few moments?”

  I raised my brow and caught his eye in the mirror. Fortunately Stan didn’t. Odd I still didn’t know this man’s name.

  “Sure thing, Cade. I’ll get started marking down those shi
rts.”

  Cade. The name fit him well, almost as exceptionally as did his suit, a deep charcoal-gray with a perfectly matched blue shirt. His hand yanked off the tie he was wearing and his gaze bounced to mine before he tossed it on a nearby chair.

  He ushered me to a set of doors hidden by a bay of mirrors, took a quick look over his shoulder and grabbed my hand, pulling me into the dressing room. He locked the door as he faced me, wasting no time as he cupped my face in his hands, capturing my mouth in a kiss that left no question what was to come.

  My hat and purse thudded to the floor as my fingers threaded in the hair at the base of his neck. It was a desperate kiss, primal, needy at first, turning slow and seductive after a moment or two. I celebrated the taste of his lips, the way he sampled my lips like a man dying of thirst.

  I brushed his jacket over his broad shoulders, reveling in the strength still so fresh in my mind. With the patience of a virgin I busied with carefully turning each button as he fumbled with my dress. It fell to my feet as I continued to undress him.

  “I’ve thought of no one else since that day with you,” he whispered. His breath punctuated with a breath mint blew close to my face. His kiss, just as I remembered, was divine, insanely slow, as though he wanted to taste every part of me. I was clad in simple lingerie, not expecting of course to meet up with anyone and never, God forbid, on my own.

  “I missed you. I thought you were getting married,” I breathed between kisses. I took his fabulous hands and kissed them, running their tips over my lips, noting with delight that he wore no ring, at least not yet. I bit the end of his finger playfully.

  His hands left mine and drifted over my lace-covered breasts, leaving fire in their wake. He kissed my stomach as he drew my panties to my ankles, pausing as I stepped from them. My panties were soaked with my honeyed arousal. The minute he had acknowledged the tension between us, the need for him had throbbed like a dull ache between my legs.