His Best Mistake

by Lucy King

  When he’d first heard her voice, he’d instantly thought of honey and warmth, and long-frozen parts of him had actually started melting. When she’d wriggled her way between the seats to locate the penknife and the trace of her scent had wound into his head, he’d momentarily forgotten why he was here. Then their eyes had met in that damn rear-view mirror and he’d felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. It was attraction of the fiercest kind, the kind he didn’t think he’d experienced before, and it was all intensely infuriating since Stella Grant was the absolutely last person he should find appealing.

  Turning up the collar of his coat and lengthening his strides because it was bloody freezing Jack ignored the faint ache of his ribs and grimly surveyed his surroundings. In the summer the landscape was no doubt stunning. In late January it was cold and bleak. The flat terrain either side of the track he’d spent the last hour navigating was rocky and barren. The sun was nowhere to be seen and the dense cloud, thickening and darkening with every mile he’d driven, turned everything into a cold, unforgiving shade of whitish-grey. Even the snow that was now falling was not landing gently and prettily but was being whipped up into harsh icy flurries by the wind.

  Desolate. That was the word for it. And he should know. Desolation had been his constant companion for the last three years, eleven months, three weeks and four days.

  It was pretty damn merciless too, which was actually rather fitting because when it came to the woman marching towards the house ahead of him Jack wasn’t feeling in a particularly merciful frame of mind. She’d destroyed his sister’s self-esteem. She’d broken her heart and pulverised her happiness. She’d also, very possibly, stolen a valuable family heirloom. She didn’t deserve forgiveness. Or mercy. She deserved to rot in hell. The protective anger that had been simmering inside him ever since Cora had called him, distraught, on New Year’s Eve to say that she’d just discovered Brad had been having an affair surged through him all over again. Jack felt his hands curl into fists and his jaw set. If he ever got his hands on that low-life bastard, he’d beat the living shit out of him. Unfortunately Brad had gone AWOL, so that course of action had had to be put on hold.

  In the meantime, though, he was going to get vengeance by letting Stella Grant know in no uncertain terms exactly what he thought of her. He saw absolutely no reason why he should tread softly. She certainly hadn’t. By the time he was done with the perfidious witch she’d be on her knees, grovelling for forgiveness. She’d be willing to do anything to atone for what she’d done. He was going to crush her rotten, unprincipled soul to dust, and frankly, he couldn’t wait.

  Chapter Two

  Realising she needed the space and time to come up with a strategy to deal with the inevitable and imminent confrontation, Stella had capitalised on her head start by marching back to the house with such speed she’d practically broken into a run. Since she hadn’t looked back she didn’t know how far behind Jack was lagging. Nor did she particularly care. All that mattered was that she develop a plan as swiftly and efficiently as possible.

  And that was exactly what she’d done, she thought with relief, resting one hand on the pale blue wall of the hall as she tugged her boots off with the other. Whatever was coming her way, she’d remain cool and collected, and handle it in a mature, focused manner. Jack was bound to have certain grievances – which she could totally understand – and naturally he’d want to air them. He’d said he wanted answers, and as far as she could she’d provide them.

  However, she’d done nothing wrong and she had nothing to be ashamed of. She was as much a victim in all this as Cora, and she had right on her side. She’d therefore present her case, clarifying any misunderstandings and correcting any misconceptions he may have, and ask him to pass on her explanations and her apologies to his sister. From what she could recall, that article she’d skimmed had also stated that while somewhat ruthless, Jack was scrupulously fair, so he’d give her a chance and listen, and it would all be very civilised.

  And then, having achieved closure, she’d send him on his way. In her car. It wasn’t snowing that hard, and she might be a bit of a wimp by not wanting to drive in the cold and the dark but from what she’d seen she doubted he would have any such qualms. Once he got back to town he could make his own arrangements and have someone return her car to her in the morning and they’d be done. She could draw a line under the whole sorry story and move on.

  It was a good plan.

  An excellent plan.

  And one that had come in the nick of time because the displacement of the air around her and the weird prickling of her skin told her that Jack had caught up and was now right behind her.

  Gathering her wits and taking a deep, steadying breath, Stella straightened and turned. Jack slammed the heavy oak door shut and as she warily watched him stomp his feet to dislodge the snow, it began to dawn on her how very claustrophobic the hall was. Such a thing had never occurred to her before. Oh, it had always been small, low-ceilinged and cluttered, but now it seemed devoid of oxygen as well because he was shrugging out of his beautiful navy cashmere coat and oddly enough she appeared to be having very slight trouble breathing.

  He was so tall and broad-shouldered, there was just too much of him – that was the trouble. He was too, well, male. And then there was that something she could sense simmering away beneath his surface. What was it? She couldn’t tell, but it seemed dark and edgy and sent a shiver racing down her spine nonetheless.

  Swallowing hard and giving herself a mental shake, Stella pulled off her hat and unwound her scarf. Cool, calm and collected. That was what she was aiming for. Although it was kind of hard to channel her inner Zen when he was looking at her with an ice-cold intensity that perversely seemed to make her uncomfortably warm. But still. Life had toughened her up recently. Even more than it had done when she’d realised at the age of ten that despite having two parents she was basically on her own. Jack should present no problem. He might have been surly earlier but then he had just totalled his car.

  “You can hang your coat here,” she said briskly, stowing her hat and her scarf on the hooks that hung just inside the door.

  Having done so, Jack thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans and looked round the immediate vicinity as if in search of something. Stella watched as the sweep of his dark gaze encompassed the small space and she thought she couldn’t imagine what he was looking for. He’d hardly be interested in the red umbrella that stood in the wrought-iron stand, or the half a dozen pairs of footwear lined up on the stone floor. Or the padded, fur-lined outdoor jackets that were hanging on the hooks for that matter.

  “Is he here?” he said abruptly and she started, her gaze snapping to his.

  “Is who here?” She hadn’t had any visitors and that was exactly the way she’d wanted it.

  “Who the hell do you think?”

  “I have absolutely no idea.”

  “Brad Turner.”

  What? “Why on earth would he be here?” she said, blinking in astonishment as a shudder rippled through her at the thought of her despicable, shitty ex.

  “You’re having an affair.”

  Stella inwardly cringed. “Were having an affair,” she corrected. “Note the past tense. I haven’t spoken to him since Christmas Eve, let alone seen him, and that’s absolutely fine with me.” The cowardly jerk hadn’t answered any of her phone calls or responded to the many voice mails she’d left and messages she’d sent either. Looking back on it she couldn’t believe she’d wasted so much time on him.

  “Then where is he?”

  “I have no idea,” she said. “Nor do I care. Why? Have you lost him?”

  “He’s vanished into thin air.”

  “Excellent.”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed, the hostility beginning to radiate off him in great waves and Stella automatically took a step back, her stomach churning. Hmm. Perhaps her hopes of a civilised exchange might have been a bit misplaced. Perhaps the surliness wasn’t just because of
his car.

  One thing was certain though: however things were going to proceed, the hall was way too small for this kind of conversation. Not that the rest of her cottage was much bigger, but at least there was alcohol in the kitchen. She hoped. And air.

  Turning on her heel and feeling the tension inside her ease a fraction now that she wasn’t being subjected to that dark glare, Stella strode through the sitting room, into the cosy kitchen diner that extended across the entire back of the house. She headed for the dresser that stood at the dining end of the room. She was pretty sure she’d seen a bottle of whisky in there only yesterday, so she bent down to open a cupboard, rummaged around and yup, there it was. A little dusty perhaps, but did forty per cent proof alcohol ever go off? She didn’t think so.

  Straightening, she turned to see that Jack had taken up position against the ancient cream Aga that was sandwiched in the middle of a bank of units at the other end of the room. Would its heat thaw his icy demeanour? It didn’t seem likely. Perhaps whisky would.

  “Drink?” she asked, holding the bottle aloft and waving it in his direction.

  He folded his arms across his broad chest, and arched one dark eyebrow at her. “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon.”

  “So? Neither of us is going anywhere at the moment and I, for one, need the fortification.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  “There’s no need to sound all superior about it.” She reached up for a glass and poured an inch of alcohol into it.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” he said, his voice discouragingly flat. “You’re shameless and unscrupulous, and quite possibly not just a thief but a drinker to boot. What’s not to be superior about?”

  Oooh, ouch, thought Stella, his assessment of her character piercing her like an arrow to the chest. Even though it was wholly inaccurate, and even though she knew that, somehow it still stung.

  “I see,” she said, taking a sip and trying not to wince as it burned its way down her throat. “So that’s the way this is going to go.”

  His dark eyes glittered and his jaw tightened for a moment. “You had an affair with my sister’s fiancé,” he said. “You broke her heart and destroyed her happiness and I couldn’t despise you more. What other way would it go?”

  Right. Well. There was that, she thought, battling back the sudden surge of shame because it hadn’t been her fault. It really hadn’t. “When you put it like that,” she began, “I can see why you might think you have a point.”

  “I do have a point,” he said. “There’s no might about it. But at least you’re not denying it.”

  “Why would I deny it?” she said. “It happened, although –”

  “So how many times?” he cut in brutally. “How many times have you gone after someone who’s already taken? Is it a habit? Is it a thrill? Does it turn you on to destroy the lives of others?”

  Reeling, Stella stared at him, her jaw dropping for a moment because what the hell? Was that what he thought of her? God, he really must hate her. Pushing aside the stab of hurt she felt at that because what Jack thought of her was entirely irrelevant, she knocked back the rest of her drink and slammed both the glass and the bottle down on the scrubbed pine dining table. Moving around it she stalked towards him and took up a position against the breakfast bar, right opposite him, right in his line of sight.

  Keeping her gaze fixed to his, she thrust her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “Not that it’s any of your business,” she said, her chin lifting as her temper began to spike, all hope of remaining cool, calm and collected vaporising, “but I’ve never done it before and I have no intention of doing it ever again. It’s not a habit, it’s not a thrill and nothing about what I did remotely turns me on. I hate, hate, hate the thought of being the other woman. But as I was saying before you rudely interrupted me, unfortunately it did happen. Although I’m willing to bet everything I have not in the way I imagine you think.”

  “You have no idea what I think.”

  “Oh, I have a pretty good idea,” she said, taking in the rigidity of his jaw, the condemnation in his eyes and the animosity emanating from his every pore. Judging by the vitriol she’d received on social media from Cora’s very loyal friends as well as Jack’s evident opinion of her, Brad had clearly done an excellent job of spinning things in his favour. “I’m very aware I’m the villain of the piece.”

  “My sister is a wreck.”

  “That’s not my fault.”

  For a moment he just stared at her, and who knew deep dark brown eyes could be so, well, steely?

  “You are unbelievable,” he said so brutally she felt it like a blow to the solar plexus. “You seduced a man you knew had a fiancée and then carried on an affair with him without a thought for anyone other than yourself. How the fuck is that not your fault?”

  “You make it sound like he didn’t have a choice,” she fired back.

  “I know he had a choice,” Jack said tightly, as if it pained him to admit it. “But I also know you made it hard for him to resist.”

  “You know nothing.”

  “I know more than enough,” he snapped. “I know you came on to him at a wedding back in September and refused to take no for an answer. I know he tried to end it again and again and you wouldn’t leave him alone.”

  “Like I said,” said Stella, feeling the heat bubbling up inside her hit her cheeks, “you know absolutely nothing. You are so far removed from the truth it would be laughable if there was anything even remotely funny about this.”

  “The truth?” said Jack with an incredulous scoff. “I doubt you even know the meaning of the word.”

  “Try me.”

  “I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you so why the hell would I believe a word that comes out of your pretty, lying mouth?”

  “Whether you do or you don’t, I’m entitled to a defence,” she said hotly, now more than a little exasperated and, yes, upset, by his continued disdain. “You’ve judged me before I’ve even gone on trial and that’s not fair. Whatever happened to the concept of innocent until proven guilty?”

  “Innocent?” said Jack with a lift of his eyebrows. “Hah.”

  In an instant the exasperation exploded into full-blown irritation, and Stella curled her hands into fists. God, he was infuriating. And quite frankly she’d had enough. He’d had his say. Now it was her turn. “Has it ever occurred to you that you’ve only heard one side of the story, and that your source may be less than reliable?” she said, injecting as much steel into her voice as she could. “Not to mention second-hand? I read that for all your legendary ruthlessness, Jack, you’re also principled and objective and upright. Well, you know what? Right now, I’m not seeing any evidence of that whatsoever.”

  Silence fell after that, and for several long moments Jack just glared at her. She could feel her heart hammering against her ribs and the air between them pulsing with electricity, and it was a dizzying combination. But then, after what seemed like an eternity, he gave a short nod, as if her words had struck a nerve, and she pulled herself together.

  “OK, fine,” he said abruptly. “Take the stand. Have your say. If you think it’ll make the slightest bit of difference.”

  Stella thought she didn’t care much whether it did or didn’t. She knew the truth, that was the main thing, and the moral high ground she was standing on was so lofty she needed oxygen. But at least if she told him, he could tell Cora and she’d have closure. She’d be done.

  Taking a deep breath, she stiffened her spine and resolved to ignore the scepticism she could see flashing in his eyes. “I met Brad – or Ben, as he was calling himself at the time – back in September at a wedding,” she said, somehow managing to dredge up the cool, calm collectedness she’d temporarily mislaid. “I was working. I’m a court artist, but at weekends I do quick sketches at events. It’s a bit more personal and original than photos. Sort of quirky. People seem to like it… Anyway, Brad was a guest. We got chatting. He flirted with me. It was nice. He aske
d me for a card. I gave it to him. He rang me a couple of days later and asked me out. I didn’t pursue him. He pursued me.”

  “And naturally you went,” said Jack scathingly.

  “Of course I went,” she countered. “I wasn’t seeing anyone at the time and we’d got on well. I didn’t know he had a fiancée. In fact, when I asked – and I did ask – he told me quite categorically that he was single too and I took his word for it.”

  “Right.”

  “Why wouldn’t I have believed him?” she asked, determined to rise above his sarcasm. “I’m not naturally a suspicious person.” She paused, then added darkly, “Well, at least, I wasn’t. Now, of course, I’m going to see lies and deceit wherever I look.”

  “Join the club,” he said, staring straight at her.

  “What a nice, open mind you have.”

  “Are you really saying you suspected nothing?”

  Stella gritted her teeth and clung on to calm. “Brad gave me no reason to question our relationship,” she said. “I wasn’t looking for evidence of his lies. When he cancelled on me his excuses seemed perfectly plausible. I liked him, I thought I was in love with him, and I trusted him, more fool me. I didn’t know he used a separate phone to contact just me. I didn’t know he’d given me a false name. When I asked if he was on Facebook, he told me he didn’t do social media. He was a pro and I was an easy target.”

  “Very easy, by the sounds of things.”

  Easy? Easy? Oh, how little did he know. She wasn’t easy. In any context. Far from it. When it came to intimate personal relationships she was impossible, and it hadn’t taken Brad thoughtfully pointing it out to alert her to the fact. For years she’d struggled with desperately wanting a relationship while not having the first clue how to keep one going. Six months of therapy at the age of eighteen had given her an understanding of the root causes and the likely cure, but theory and practice were unfortunately very different beasts.