(Ebook - English) - Carrie Alexander - His Mistress

by His Mistress [Lit]

  While it was true she'd suffered a few misgivings over her deception, Calla had soothed the guilt by telling herself that she was only making improvements. Conforming to William's expectations. Practicing prudence, instead of extravagance, for a change. It had absolutely nothing to do with any lingering childhood inadequacies. She was doing it strictly out of love, and what's more, it had worked. A virile man like William would control his urges only for the chaste, demure lady he meant to marry. About that, Viv must be right.

  William Justice was going to ask the "new and improved" Calla Quinn to become his wife.

  The waiter arrived with a cup of chocolate mousse for Calla, and she absently picked up a spoon, unaware it was not the one Miss Manners would have used. Pepe placed a plate of mille feuilles with caramel-and-orange sauce in front of William and clasped his hands at his waist, a penitent at the shrine of the hefty tip. "Will zair be anyzing else for monsieur?"

  William was absorbed with watching Calla's full pink lips close around a spoonful of mousse, and he waved the annoying waiter away without a word. He stabbed into a pastry vehemently, wondering if a man could explode from the pressurized buildup of seven weeks' worth of sexual frustration. Surely he'd played it cautious long enough, been circumspect and prudent enough to make up for a thousand disastrous marriage mistakes. Calla was as ready as a ripe plum, poised to fall into his hands at the merest tweak. And he could no longer wait. He wanted to taste her sweet, firm flesh and watch her burst with desire as he squeezed her between his arms. This was definitely the right night to make his proposal and then close the deal in magnificent style.

  Through half-lidded eyes William considered Calla's blithe, unassuming innocence. She seemed so happily concerned with eating her dessert. "Now, what was it we were discussing before that untimely disruption?" he asked with deliberate provocation.

  If the mousse had been a touch less creamy, Calla would've choked on it. Was William a man or a machine? Couldn't he feel the electricity zinging in the air between them? Come to think of it, maybe he couldn't. How else to explain his unfulfilling kisses? Then why was it she wanted more of them, she had to wonder.

  "Uh, compatibility?" she supplied tentatively.

  "Yes, that's right. Physical compatibility." William smiled at her wide-eyed stare. "I suppose there's only one way to test that."

  Now wait a minute, buster! Calla wanted to protest. What about Vivien's theory? Weren't they supposed to wait till their wedding night?

  "But I've always found that if the hearts and minds are attuned, the bodies will follow," he continued, glibly gallant.

  She hoped he hadn't found it too often. "I agree," she murmured gratefully, glad he was at last talking like a man about to propose.

  "Are our hearts in accord, Calla?"

  "I think so," she whispered.

  "I'm hoping for more than a physical agreement between us."

  "Huh?" she said inelegantly.

  "But that side of it must come under serious consideration, too. Especially in this day and age."

  "I suppose," she said doubtfully. What did the day and age have to do with it? "There's also the um, more romantic implications," she prompted, hoping to get the proposal back onto the appropriate track.

  "Of course. I do have deep feelings for you."

  Well, I should hope so! Swiftly, Calla banked the spark of irritation and continued to gaze lovingly into William's unfathomable eyes. The poor dear had a tendency to be a bit too pragmatic. She could change that.

  "After all," he went on. "I wouldn't ask just anyone. You may have noticed that I'm a careful man. It took some time to check you — uh, discover if we were truly suited. Compatible. I've decided that you are the woman I'd like to become my —"

  "William." Much as she hated to interrupt his solemn proclamation, Calla had spotted Pepe out of the corner of her eye. He was skulking their way. Besides, she'd rather not receive a proposal that could easily be confused with a Justice Bank and Trust year-end report. "Why don't we discuss this in a more private location?" she quickly suggested. Perhaps a change of scenery would provide him with a smidgen of romantic inspiration.

  "Certainly," he agreed crisply. He knew just what she had in mind. "Sounds like a great idea."

  The waiter darted forward as they stood to depart, a burble of mangled French phases falling from his lips as he obsequiously presented the bill in a discreet burgundy leather folder. Calla tucked a loose strand of hair into the faux-pearl clasp not up to its task, fighting back an urge to whip out her wallet and show William just how good she was at paying her own way. In past relationships she'd considered it a point of honor to pay her share. It might even have been a compulsion, stemming from her ingrained dislike of being beholden to any man. Long before, she'd vowed never to give up the control and power that money represented. It didn't matter that her savings were minuscule compared to William's holdings.

  With him, though, she'd been forced to make an exception, out of the worry that he would think her too aggressively independent, too unladylike. She was supposed to be the new Calla Quinn. But could she reconcile one with the other? Especially on this issue?

  Since William was already taking care of the bill, Calla slipped away to the richly appointed ladies' room, frown lines marring her smooth forehead. She sank onto a gilt-edged French Provincial chair, drew a tube of rose-hued lipstick from her small beaded bag, and pursed her lips at the mirror. Rose was not her preferred shade — the only color that could compete with her hair was fire-engine red — but it suited the rest of her conservative getup. Disquietude again nibbled at her conscience as she applied the lipstick. Okay, so she wasn't quite playing fair, with either William or herself. But what's a smattering of subterfuge between friends? I'm doing it for love, she silently repeated. I want to make William an excellent wife. If she learned to fit into his world, he'd never have regrets, even though she wasn't exactly the well-bred lady he'd bargained for.

  Calla dropped the lipstick back into her purse and smoothed the sailor-style lace collar of her dress, skeptically inspecting her reflection in the mirror. Sweet, demure young ladies did not usually have bonfire hair and green eyes as sharp as their tongue. Just who was she fooling? William — or herself?

  Calla sighed and walked to the door. Did it matter? The most important truth was the one in her heart that said she would love William forever. And he was all set to announce that he would do the same for her.

  William Justice was about to propose marriage.

  And with just a bit of gentle maneuvering, she would make this the romantic and picturesque proposal of which she'd always dreamed.

  Chapter Two

  "Calla, this isn't Central Park in June. Don't you think it's a little chilly for boating?"

  William sounded on the verge of exasperation, so Calla batted her eyelashes at him in her best imitation of a Southern belle. It would have been more impressive if she'd worn long, thick, false ones, but of course they'd be considered tacky. "Sugah pie, please? Indulge me."

  William rolled his eyes at her dramatic flair and shrugged.

  "When you suggested adjourning to a more private location, I had in mind your cozy apartment. Definitely not a boat in a lake in the middle of City Park. In the first week of May."

  "But this is so romantic!"

  "As would be a love seat by the fireplace. It's certainly chilly enough for a fire tonight," he added hopefully.

  Calla burrowed her chin into the soft folds of her ivory cashmere cape, allowing her lower lip to pout fetchingly. The practical people of the world sure made it tough on the romantics. "I promise you a snifter of brandy by the fire, William. Afterward." They could discuss all the dry logistics of their union to his heart's content.

  He saw the enticing way her full lower lip glistened in the lights of the boathouse and withheld any further protest. What the heck. He'd been prolonging this business — he could not, unfortunately, call it an affair — for so many weeks that one chilly boat rid
e wouldn't hurt him. It couldn't be worse than 51 cold showers.

  "Just pay the woman." Calla pressed a quick kiss onto his cheek and hopped into the rowboat beside the dock. William reached down to still its rocking as she happily plopped herself onto a cushioned seat and artfully rearranged the draping of the long cape over her modestly crossed legs. William had to smile at her obvious pleasure, even though inside he was cynically telling himself that this was always the way. Women batted their lashes and he paid the bill. He sometimes wondered what it would take to find a woman who'd offer to pay. Just once. Just to prove she was dating him, not his wallet.

  Not likely, pal, the cynical inner voice sneered. William paid the rental fee, adroitly settled himself opposite Calla and picked up the oars. At least after tonight their roles in this relationship would be clearly defined. The leathery-faced woman in charge of the rental concession clucked a warning about the approaching nightfall and untied the painter, giving the small skiff a strong-armed shove that, with William's braced oar, propelled it away from the dock.

  "Now this is more like it." Calla sighed with contentment, watching William man the oars with a smooth stroke that soon had them approaching the middle of the small lake. William did everything so well. Perhaps there was something to be said for practicality, especially when it came wrapped in such a deliciously male package.

  "What was that?" William paused in his exertions, letting the rowboat drift with its own momentum. "Did you say something?"

  Calla's lashes fluttered flirtingly. "Don't we make a splendid team?" she prompted.

  "Oh, you wanted to take an oar?"

  She twittered at the suggestion, determined to plumb the Southern-belle image for all it was worth. She'd always fantasized about being a lady in white, lounging indolently as a handsome rogue manned the oars of a boat drifting beneath the overhanging limbs of willows. It did seem the perfect setting for a proposal. Too bad she didn't have a huge, flower-crowned hat, a boatload of crinolines, and a frilly parasol to protect her dainty white skin from the glare of the Georgia sun. Well, one must make do.

  "Silly William! What I meant was my brilliant idea and your execution of said idea. We complement each other beautifully."

  William resumed his rhythmic rowing. "Wasn't that what we agreed on over dinner? Our compatibility?"

  Oh, no-no-no, she wasn't about to let him veer off onto one of his pragmatic tangents again! "Isn't the sunset fabulous?" she hastily remarked. "Look at those colors. We couldn't have asked for a better display if we'd expressly ordered it." Ribbons of pink and gold had unfurled across the deeply blue sky from the glowing orb of the low sun. The gabble of ducks echoed across the lake from a cove sheltered by drooping boughs of tall evergreens. A gentle breeze carried the scent of green leaves, damp earth, and spring. Calla figured if anyone had command of Mother Nature, it was William Justice. He had that way about him — wielding power and control as easily as a king waved a scepter.

  "If it had been up to me, I'd have ordered the mercury to rise by fifteen degrees or so."

  Calla slipped her hand over the side. "What an old stick-in-the-mud you're being, William. Honestly, a husky fellow like you complaining about a slight nip in the air —" With a quick flick of her wrist she sprayed him with a minigeyser of water.

  He barked out a protest, shaking his head like a wet dog. "Calla, don't do —"

  Laughing, she did it again.

  "Okay." Moving with caution but a certain determination, he rested the oars and leaned to the side, putting one hand in a scooping position just above the water. His top lip curled in a playful sneer. "You asked for it."

  Intellectually, Calla knew they were playing a game established when the first 10-year-old girl tossed her braids in the freckled face of the boy at the desk behind her. She knew William was just yanking her braids, stealing her hat, taunting her with a snowball, and still she responded with the predictable reply. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin defiantly. "You wouldn't dare!"

  William's hand lowered, and water drenched one starched cuff. "Wouldn't I?" he murmured, a glint of something naughty flickering to life in his dark eyes.

  A thrilling quiver coursed over Calla's skin. Now this was more like it! She finally had him where she wanted him, with business and compatibility the furthest things from his mind. A picture-perfect sunset even painted the glowing sky behind him. "Oh, William," she whispered throatily, her body melting toward his. Ask me now, she psychically urged. Ask me now!

  At that moment, the far-reaching rays of the setting sun suddenly imbued their small world with a glimmering golden magic. The looming city skyline was delineated by the gilding light, the gold-leafed dome of the capitol building like a molten second sun. The trees ringing the lake shimmered in the breeze sweeping toward them, ruffling new waves into lapping at the boat.

  William scarcely noticed. His eyes were filled with the glorious sight of Calla. Her red hair was burnished by the sun, her skin blushing as pink and gold as a peach. Her liquid emerald eyes reflected tiny twin medallions of gold, watching him with an expectancy so sweet and willing it sent a flood of emotion into his usually prosaic heart. He suddenly wanted to cradle her in his arms, whispering a lover's eternal promises. He wanted to protect her, ignite her, consume her, make her irrevocably his.

  What he did was kiss her.

  When his lips touched hers in the first true kiss they'd shared, Calla felt a connection between them that was deeper and stronger than any she'd ever known. An absolute knowledge invaded her brain, shattering previous doubts into a thousand little bits that showered inside her like confetti. Had she ever doubted William's masculine prowess? Or the attraction between them? How utterly inconceivable, now that he'd finally delivered on the promise she'd discerned in the depths of his eyes. She didn't even dare to contemplate what their wedding night would be like. Webster's would probably have to make up a whole new definition of bliss!

  William's kiss was all firm lips and teasing tongue, warm and incredibly quick and mobile. So deep Calla knew she'd never touch bottom. Her head was swimming and her heart was floating and her bones had turned to water, but it was all okay because William was holding on to her and that was better than the last life raft on the Titanic.

  He murmured lovingly, his voice a swath of velvet against her skin, downshifting into a long, slow, lazy kiss that went on and on and on. When Calla finally surfaced, more or less intact and trying to gasp for air in a way that didn't make her look like a fish out of water, she could think to utter only two words in a "may I kneel at the foot of your throne" tone of voice.

  "Holy bejeebers!"

  William laughed huskily. The last drop of golden sun disappeared below the horizon, leaving only a few pinkish streaks in the dusky sky. He had to lean closer to make out the stunned expression in Calla's wide eyes.

  "I guess I'm lucky you didn't kiss me like that seven weeks ago, or I'd probably be seven-weeks pregnant at this very moment!"

  "Sounds promising," he said.

  "Mmm — maybe." Calla felt as if she were submerged in a thick, rich syrup. She touched a wondering fingertip to her warm lips.

  "But I guess it's a good thing it takes more than kissing."

  "If I'd known you have such a talent...Why ever were you keeping it under wraps?" she asked. "I mean, it's a gift, William. You're a — a genius! A prodigy! The laureate of lip lock! If kissing was an Olympic event, you'd win the gold every —"

  "Hush, Calla. You must know a good kiss takes two."

  Calla was taken aback by the statement, at least enough to finally stop gushing. "You mean —" her hand gracefully waved back and forth between them "— me and you?"

  "You —" he planted a kiss on her parted lips "— and me. We make a good team, right?"

  Of course he was right. William would've been snatched up long ago if he'd regularly gone around sharing such explosive kisses with all the marriage-hungry kegs of dynamite out there. It was more than technique — it was chemi
stry! Calla mentally apologized for calling her high school chemistry teacher an old fuddy-duddy. She wished now she'd paid more attention to what was happening in all those dreary test tubes. Of course, love had something to do with it, too.

  "We make a perfect team," she cooed. "And I'm beginning to suspect you've known it all along. The only reason you restricted us to all those tame pecks on the cheek was that you're a true gentleman." Calla moved to sit beside him, her body cuddling into the lovely warm hollow his just naturally created for her. "You were simply waiting for the absolutely right moment. How wise of you, dear heart!" Now if only she could control herself until they were legally wed. Calla doubted she possessed William's enviable willpower.

  William uneasily cleared his throat. She was calling him a true gentleman? Uh-oh. What had happened to the woman stoked to a blazing passion by his great kissing? His arm was around her shoulders, his hand automatically stroking her soft cashmere cape. He'd been anticipating her slick nude flesh sliding against his, but this woman felt like a fuzzy bunny. How had she gone from such an enticing state to this cuddly bundle of sweet, feminine trust?

  "This is the moment, don't you think, William?" Calla stretched her neck so she could nuzzle him lovingly, her nose and lips pressed to his strong jaw. She nudged him when he didn't immediately respond.

  William was at sea. "The moment for what?"

  "You know," she said sagely. "Go ahead and ask me."

  "I would, but I think I've forgotten the question," he said, hedging.

  "You couldn't possibly have forgotten the question!"

  "Well —"

  "Really, William! You know, the question you were about to ask me at dinner?" Calla pulled away from him and sat up straight. Nostrils flaring, she tossed her head so her hair flipped like a matador's cape. Did other women have to work so hard to pull a proposal from their man? William wouldn't know a romantic moment if it gored him in the gut. "Just ask me already!"

  Relief washed over him. This was the woman he wanted, the one with spirit and spice and passion. She was staring sternly at him, piqued auburn brows arched over flashing eyes. Her artfully arranged coiffure had not withstood the damp lake breezes. Wavering corkscrew curls floated about her lifted head like live wires. Indeed, her whole being looked as though it might sizzle and snap if he touched her. He could barely resist.