Mistress for a Month

by Miranda Lee

  The effect was instantaneous, and mortifying, Rico’s only consolation being the fact he was wearing one of his more casual and loosely fitted black suits. Still, he moved swiftly to button up the jacket and hide his humiliation. To have Renée see the state she’d reduced him to so easily would have been the last straw. But it underlined to Rico that his imagining that a mere month would cure him of his desire for the merry widow was laughable.

  Be damned, however, if he would ever give her an inkling of how he really felt. She wanted to tease and torment him? Play erotic games with him? Fine. He would wallow in every perversely pleasurable moment in private, then leave for Italy the moment the month was up, before she could deliver her coup de grâce, which of course would be to cut him dead. One moment she’d be taking him to hedonistic heaven. And the next? Nothing. Zilch. Zero.

  He wasn’t sticking around for another five years of hell. No way. He would be out of her reach like a shot.

  Not today, however. Today, she was all his. And he meant to take full advantage of the fact. He would play the game her way. But at the same time, his way. She wasn’t going to get the better of him yet.

  ‘My goodness, Renée,’ he said silkily as she sashayed towards him with that lethal weapon of a skirt still flapping slightly open. ‘When you take on a role you really like to get into the part, don’t you? That outfit has sex-kitten mistress written over it, with just enough dominatrix built in to be tantalising. But don’t you think you might have gone a little too far? Surely you don’t want every old geezer you meet here today thinking you could be his, at a price. Or do you?’ he went on before she could draw breath and reply. ‘Maybe you’ve always been a little whore at heart.’

  It was a low blow, inspired perhaps by some spite of his own. But she didn’t seem to mind. She just laughed.

  ‘I think you could be right, lover. How else do you explain my enjoying being with you last night?’

  Aah. So she did mind. Her sarcasm gave her away. Yet for some reason he wasn’t offended this time. Perhaps he’d moved beyond that, now that he’d held her in his arms and made love to her, and, yes, watched her come. Thinking back, he was pretty sure her many orgasms couldn’t have all been faked. Perhaps her sarcasm was now a mocking not so much of him but of herself.

  ‘Once I accepted I had this undeniable penchant for bad boys,’ she continued blithely, ‘I decided to go with the flow, so to speak. Have some fun instead of resenting the situation. So when I left you this morning I thought, what the heck, Renée? Go for broke. I’d seen this little number last week in a boutique window and you said you wanted me to wear accessible clothes. Well, you don’t get much more accessible than this, I can assure you.’

  She leant close enough for him to get a more direct eyeful of cleavage and a noseful of her musky perfume.

  And then she leant even closer.

  ‘Are you game to see just how accessible, darling?’ she murmured as her lips pressed against his cheek. ‘We could find a relatively private corner somewhere here, I suppose. Or do you want to wait till tonight, when we’re both climbing the walls?’ Her lips moved over to brush his earlobe before she stepped back and eyed his quickened breathing with satisfaction. ‘Or maybe you’re climbing them already,’ she added, and ever so gently pressed her hand between them, right over his straining erection.

  He smiled. He had to, or scream. ‘Now, now, Renée…’ He took her hand equally gently and dropped it back by her side. ‘Have some decorum. And please…don’t forget who’s the master here, and who’s the mistress. I make the rules, not you. Which reminds me, how much do I owe you for this quite astonishing make-over?’

  She shrugged, the movement momentarily lifting her already pushed-up breasts to more provocative heights. ‘Not a cent,’ she said. ‘I’m a very cheap mistress.’

  ‘You said that. I didn’t. By the way, who was that gentleman you were just talking to?’

  ‘An old friend of my husband’s. Why?’

  ‘He couldn’t take his eyes off you.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You like old men ogling you?’ he asked, his tone far too sharp.

  ‘I like you ogling me,’ she returned huskily.

  His breath caught before he could stop it. Their eyes met, and this time, neither of them said a word. But it shimmered between them. The heat. The need.

  A male hand clamping over his shoulder interrupted the sexually charged moment. ‘Rico! Well, fancy running into you! Long time, no see. But aren’t you doing well these days?’

  Rice had turned to find that it was a man he’d worked with years ago in television. For a second he couldn’t even remember his name. And then it came to him. Davidson. Ian Davidson.

  ‘Not too bad, Ian,’ he replied. ‘And you?’

  ‘Can’t complain. I’m into wildlife documentaries now. They’re always popular. A bit like cooking shows.’

  ‘True.’ Rico knew he should introduce Renée but he just didn’t want to. He was already tired of the way men were looking at her today. Ian was no exception. He wasn’t some old codger, either. He was relatively young, reasonably attractive, and his eyes were all over her.

  ‘I heard you’d got divorced,’ Ian said with another glance Renée’s way.

  ‘Yep,’ was his abrupt reply.

  ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to your lovely lady-friend?’

  ‘No,’ he replied curtly. ‘I don’t think I am.’

  Renée rolled her eyes at him, hoisted the long strap of her black bag over her left shoulder and extended her right hand towards the still admiring Ian.

  ‘I’m Renée,’ she said.

  Rico clenched his teeth when Ian eagerly shook the outstretched hand, then held it far too long.

  ‘Renée,’ Ian repeated, a smirk on his mouth. ‘So, Renée, are you and Rico an item? Or just good friends?’

  ‘Actually, I’m Mr Mandretti’s mistress,’ she said, perfectly poker-faced.

  Rico couldn’t help it. He laughed. Both at her gall and at Ian’s sharply indrawn breath.

  ‘Renée, darling,’ Rico said, ‘how naughty of you. She’s not really my mistress, Ian. I just won her in a bet.’ Two could play at being outrageous, his eyes told her. And Ian meant nothing to him. He could think what he liked.

  Ian looked both perplexed and intrigued. ‘Er—am I in the middle of some kind of game here?’

  ‘I’m afraid you are,’ Rico said. ‘Renée is partial to games. And to gambling.’

  ‘Now, that’s the pot calling the kettle black,’ Renée countered, green eyes glittering. ‘Rico’s the compulsive gambler here, Ian. But he’s grown bored with betting for money. So he’s upped the stakes to sex and sin. Next thing you know, he’ll be wanting to play strip-Jack-naked with me right here in the stand.’

  ‘Er—sounds fascinating, folks, but you’ll have to excuse me for a moment. I happen to still like betting for money and there’s a horse I want to bet on in the next race.’

  ‘Good luck!’ Renée trilled after him as he hurried off.

  ‘You too, honey,’ he called back over his shoulder with one last leer at her chest. ‘Don’t go away, now. I’ll be back!’

  Rico decided then and there that he could not tolerate any more of this type of banter—or encounter—this afternoon. Not in public, anyway. None of their horses were running today. There was no compelling reason for them to stay. But there were compelling reasons to go. Aside from his almost crippling need to make love to Renée again—and very, very soon—the thought of running into Ali with Renée dressed up like some expensive tart did not sit well on Rico. He really didn’t want to have to smack his Arab friend right in his royal mouth, but he might if Ali started talking about whores again. He was the only one who could call Renée a whore, because he didn’t really mean it.

  ‘I don’t want to play strip-Jack-naked,’ he growled after Ian’s departure. ‘I want to play strip Renée naked. But not here in the stand. We’re off to my place. Now.’ When he took
her arm in a firm grip, her eyes flashed green fire at him.

  ‘And if I said no?’ she snapped, the old Renée surfacing once more.

  His fingers tightened as his eyes gleamed with dark resolve. ‘I’d kiss you right here and now till you said yes.’

  Was that a flicker of alarm that skittered through her eyes? If it was, it was gone in a flash.

  ‘You would too, wouldn’t you, you wicked devil?’ she said, but she was smiling. The new, go-with-the-flow, determined-to-have-fun Renée was back.

  ‘You can count on it.’

  She laughed. ‘OK, so you’ve won this little skirmish. But the war is not over yet. Not by a long shot!’

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘SO WHERE have you parked your car?’ Rico asked as he guided Renée swiftly through the open-air car park towards his Ferrari. Rico having been late for the races, his car was not exactly close.

  ‘I didn’t bring my car,’ she confessed breathlessly. She was having some difficulty in keeping up in those ridiculous shoes. ‘I came in a taxi.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘It seemed silly to bring my car when I knew you would be taking me home after the races.’

  ‘Aah. A girl who plans ahead. I like that.’

  ‘Oh, I always plan ahead.’

  I don’t doubt it, Rico thought cynically, but didn’t say so. They’d reached his car and he didn’t want to start an argument.

  ‘I expect you to stay with me for the rest of the weekend,’ he told her as he helped her into the passenger seat.

  She jerked her head up to stare at him, and again that odd moment of panic flashed into her eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it had come. ‘In that case, I’ll need you to take me home first.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘I’ll want a change of clothes. And some nightwear.’

  He closed the passenger door and walked round to climb in behind the wheel before he looked at her again.

  ‘You won’t be needing any nightwear,’ he said firmly, his eyes brooking no opposition.

  Her blush astounded him.

  He wanted to kiss her at that moment, but he knew if he did he would not be able to stop. And the front of a Ferrari was no place for lovemaking at all, let alone the kind he had in mind.

  ‘Unless, of course,’ he added, hoping to break the tension of the moment with some humour, ‘you own a clinging black satin nightie with no back, even less front, and straps that refuse to stay on your shoulders.’

  His goal was achieved because she laughed, her eyes sparkling with return mischief. ‘No, but I do own a black satin corset, which has a built-in half-cup push-up bra and is so high-cut I had to have a full wax this morning before I could wear it today.’

  Rico groaned and tried not to picture how she would look when he peeled that dress off her.

  ‘I also have some red chiffon baby-doll pyjamas which you can see right through and which I’ve lost the panties to.’

  ‘Stop!’ he protested, then grinned and shook his head. ‘And you called me a wicked devil.’

  ‘I’m just being a good little mistress.’

  ‘I think you’re trying to make me fall in love with you,’ he jested, then worried she might be doing just that.

  Her startled expression showed he was way off-base.

  ‘Then you’d be dead wrong, lover,’ she confirmed.

  ‘What about my money?’ he asked, using the opportunity to pry a little. ‘You interested in that?’

  ‘Even less than I am in your falling in love with me. Look, we could go tit-for-tat here for ages, like we usually do. But, quite frankly, I’m sick and tired of all that. We’ve been acting like children around each other for far too long. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t dislike and despise you as much as I thought I did. I’m sure you’ll also be flattered to know that I’ve always found you disturbingly sexy. That’s one of the reasons I used to have a go at you all the time. Because it bothered me how much I wanted you to f…’

  She broke off and smiled a rueful little smile. ‘Tchtch. Have some decorum, Renée,’ she lectured herself. ‘Four-letter words are not really your style. I should have said it bothered me how much I wanted to sleep with you,’ she amended sweetly.

  Rico was more than flattered with this news. He was elated. But he did his best to remain cool and suave on the surface. ‘I wish I’d known that. I thought I was the only one sitting there every Friday night in an agony of frustration.’

  ‘Oh, no. I think I can safely say there were moments when I wanted to taking a running jump off that very high balcony.’

  He grinned. ‘I’m rather glad to hear that.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it. You’re as egotistical as you are wicked. Oh, dear. I’m doing it again. Sparring with you.’

  ‘Old habits do die hard.’

  ‘Indeed. But honestly, Rico, let’s not spoil the next month with silly spats and trying to get one over each other. Let’s just enjoy each other for a change.’

  ‘Sounds good to me. Like I told you once before, I’d rather make love than war.’

  ‘Heavens, let’s not go that far. What we’re doing here is playing a game. And a pretty erotic game at that. But no more talk of love, please,’ she swept on with a shudder. ‘Or falling in love. I can’t think of anything worse.’

  Rico was taken aback, and tellingly hurt. But be damned if he was going to show it. ‘That’s an unusual thing for a woman to say,’ he commented as he set about starting up the engine. Best to keep his expressive eyes away from her right at this moment. ‘Love is usually the first thing a woman thinks of. And wants.’

  ‘I’m an unusual woman,’ she said offhandedly.

  And a secretive one, Rico realised. Like Ali, she rarely revealed any details of a personal nature. This morning was the very first time his Arab friend had told him anything about his past, or his personal feelings. Renée was just as reticent.

  ‘You know, Renée, I’ve known you for five years and I still have no idea what makes you tick.’

  She presented him with one of those beautifully bland faces that she did so well. ‘But you don’t have to, Rico. Just concentrate on what you’re going to do to me when you get me home. Mistresses aren’t meant to be understood, just…used. Now there’s an acceptable four-letter word. Used. You…used…me with incredible skill last night, Rico. Quite frankly, I’ve never had better.’

  She possibly meant it as a compliment. But all Rico heard was his being compared with innumerable other lovers. On top of that, her mocking tone sounded both insulting and patronising. She was relegating him to the role of mindless stud again. A role he was beginning to have mixed feelings over. Because it wasn’t enough.

  Damn it! Had Ali and Charles both been right after all? Did he love this woman? It didn’t feel like love when he looked at her. There were no warm, fuzzy feelings in his stomach. Neither did he want to be sweet or gentle with her. He wanted to ravish her. And often. If that was love, then it was a darned peculiar kind. Powerful, though. Darned powerful.

  ‘Sounds like you’ve had a lot of experience,’ he couldn’t resist commenting as he reversed out of the car park.

  She slanted him a dry look. ‘I’m thirty-five years old, Rico. I was a model for ten years, during which time I had several boyfriends. I even lived with one for a while. Added to that, I married an older man-of-the-world type when I was in my late twenties, and I’ve been a widow since I was thirty. So what do you think?’

  ‘I think I don’t want to know,’ he snapped. ‘Just tell me where you live. I have to know that if you want me to take you there.’

  She sighed, the sound echoing his own frustration with the way they always ended up snapping and snarling at each other, no matter what promises they made.

  ‘I have a town-house in Balmain.’

  ‘Balmain,’ he repeated, surprised. He thought a woman with her money would have lived somewhere more ritzy, like Double Bay, or on one of the northern beaches.


  Admittedly, Balmain had become a much more up-market address than it had once been. All inner-Sydney suburbs, even the ones in the west, now commanded top prices for their homes. Balmain had long made the leap from working class to yuppie heaven, with its elegant rows of trendily renovated terraces and the opening of cafés and restaurants on every other corner.

  ‘Don’t you know where Balmain is?’ she said, misinterpreting the surprise in his voice. ‘I would have thought the Passion for Pasta king would be well acquainted with the place, since Balmain sports more Italian restaurants than Leichardt.’

  ‘I know Balmain,’ he said. ‘I have friends there.’

  ‘In that case, I won’t need to give you directions till you get closer.’

  ‘Fine,’ he said, then fell broodingly silent. She did likewise, which was a relief to begin with, but then a torment. Their lack of conversation and his familiarity with the roads through western Sydney meant that his mind was left idle. The devil, it seemed, found just as much work for idle minds as idle hands. Rico soon started thinking about what he was going to do to her when he got her home, not the best train of thought when driving, as evidenced when he almost ran up the back of a truck.

  ‘Keep your eyes on the road, will you?’ Renée chided.

  ‘My eyes are on the road,’ he retorted. ‘It’s my mind that’s gone AWOL. Look, Balmain’s not far away. Start giving me directions.’ Anything so that he stopped picturing her in that black satin corset and nothing else. Except the stockings and shoes, of course. He’d want her to keep those on as well for a while.

  Geez, even getting road directions didn’t do the trick!

  Fifteen minutes later he sat outside her town-house in the car, tapping the steering wheel impatiently whilst she went in to collect what things she thought she needed.

  ‘Don’t be long,’ had been his parting advice.

  ‘I’ll have to feed my goldfish,’ she’d curtly informed him through the passenger-side window before whirling and wiggling her way across the pavement and up some steps onto a covered walkway that led into a small but exclusive-looking town-house complex.