Bedding his Innocent Mistress: Sometimes the only way to fix the past is to create a whole new future...

by Clare Connelly

She frowned, so he leaned forward and explained. “The woman I’m with want what I want. A casual fling.”

  “Like this,” Ivy said with a slow nod.

  “Not exactly.” His eyes were watchful. “Did he cheat on you?”

  The change of topic caught her off guard. She answered after a beat. “No.”

  “So what happened?”

  The doorbell pierced the silence wrought by that question. Ivy expelled a grateful breath, leaning back in her chair, staring broodingly at the grey morning beyond his windows.

  But Rafe wasn’t a man to be easily put-off. He placed a tray between them and then took the seat opposite.

  “Ivy?”

  She flicked her eyes to his. What was the point in lying about it? “He didn’t love me.”

  Rafe lifted the lid on the tray and began to scoop eggs onto a plate. He handed it to Ivy. “For what reason?”

  “A reason?” Ivy murmured, lifting her fork but leaving it dangling in mid-air. “What reason is there? He just woke up one day and decided he didn’t love me.” She shook her head angrily.

  “That makes no sense.”

  Her eyes narrowed and her heart thumped. The sense that they were moving towards dangerous conversational ground grew inside of her.

  “Yeah, well, I can’t explain it. It’s how he felt.”

  “And you,” Rafe pounced. “You were still in love with him?”

  Ivy stabbed the eggs but she didn’t lift the fork. “I don’t know,” she said finally, the truth difficult to process. “I mean, yes, I was. That night was… one of the worst of my life,” she said honestly, a shudder dancing down her spine. But it’s more complicated than that.” She sighed. “I loved him, and he was a part of me, and I was used to him. It wasn’t love like…” she searched for words. “It wasn’t a passionate, romantic love,” she said finally, feeling disloyalty clog her. “It was deeper than that.”

  “Deeper than passion?” Rafe pushed, his disbelief obvious.

  “You wouldn’t understand.” Ivy breathed out.

  “Perhaps not.” His smile was perfunctory. “In any event, his loss is my gain.”

  “I guess so.” She stood without eating, cast a look in Rafe’s general direction. An unease was taking hold of Ivy. Perhaps it was talking about Steve, or maybe it was the fact that she and Rafe had shared so much that felt special and unique and the knowledge that it was temporary and short-lived made her feel hollowed out somehow.

  “Excuse me.” She turned away from the table, making her way through the apartment with her head dipped forward.

  Rafe watched her disappear and linked his fingers behind his head, exhaling angrily, tension making his eyes narrow. He’d never known a woman as contrary as Ivy Hennesy. When she was in his arms and his bed, she was his. Utterly and completely. But the second they sat down and tried to have a conversation, she pulled away from him.

  He stood up restlessly, strolling towards the glass that faced out over the Thames. The morning was bleak. Grey and cold.

  He thought of his home in Spain with a wave of home sickness. The beach would be clear, the sand white, the grapes spindly and heavy with their offering, ready for harvest. Even now in Autumn, the sun would have enough warmth to heat his skin.

  And then, Ivy was there. In a bathing costume, on the beach, her smile broad, her eyes laughing.

  Christ.

  Was it just the allure of the unattainable that was driving him crazy?

  Or was it her? Ivy?

  He turned as she entered and everything blew out of his mind.

  The negligee.

  “I didn’t bring any other clothes,” she said with such magnificent shyness he wanted to rush to her and pull her into his arms. To kiss away the doubts that furrowed her brow and made her drop her eyes to the ground.

  “Your coat?”

  “Yeah.” She turned around, looking for where it had been discarded the night before. He saw it first, and lifted it, walking towards her and holding it for her to step into it.

  “I’ll have Raul drive you,” he said, putting a step between them.

  “I can catch a cab,” she responded bleakly.

  His eyes narrowed. Was she upset? Close to tears? Damn it, why couldn’t he fathom her emotions?

  “Fine.” His expression was masked, his features set. “If you’d like.”

  Ivy didn’t want to contemplate what she’d like. She forced an overbright smile to her face. “Thank you again for last night.”

  Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “No thanks is necessary.” He pressed his finger beneath her chin, lifting her to face him. “I’ll call tomorrow.”

  She nodded, but her heart was splintering. No invitation to come over? Just the promise of the call? Was this the beginning of the end?

  “Great.” The smile was so tight it was going to crack. “We’ll speak then.” She lifted up on tiptoes and went to press a kiss against his cheek, but he turned his face at the last minute, kissing her instead, his mouth on hers driving doubt and grief from her mind.

  For a second, it was perfect. Everything. What they were, what he was.

  And then he stepped backwards. And it was over.

  *

  When her phone rang the next day, Ivy reached for it as though it held the secret to everlasting life. She answered without checking the screen, swiping it and holding it to her ear with an urgency that controlled her entire body.

  “Hello?” It was a husky, breathless query. She paced to the bay window of the lounge room and stared out, unseeing. It was a cold day – winter was making itself felt. Ivy would go for a walk later; she’d need to rug up.

  “Ives.”

  The voice was instantly familiar and heart-breaking. She gripped the phone in her hand as though it might shatter or explode.

  “Steve?”

  “Yeah.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut but it was useless. Pain lashed her. Pain and anger and hurt and reproach.

  “What are you--,”

  She asked, at the exact same time he said, “How are you?”

  So that they were both silent, letting the cards fall, waiting for the other to speak.

  Ivy drew in a breath, and then sagged to the floor, sitting with her knees cradled to her chest, her face pale. “What do you want?”

  A thousand and one memories stirred inside Ivy at the sound of his laugh; it was the laugh she’d grown up with, the laugh she’d been sure she’d hear until her dying day. “Good question.”

  She toyed with a loose piece of fabric on the bright Moroccan rug that covered her floor.

  “I’ve been… thinking about you,” he said.

  “I gathered as much.” She cleared her throat. “I got the flowers.”

  “I wondered…”

  “Why did you send them?”

  Steve was quiet and Ivy braced for whatever was coming. Her stomach hurt. “I wanted you to know that I … remembered.”

  She snorted. “You shouldn’t remember. Our anniversary no longer has any insignificance.”

  “Don’t say that.” His hurt was obvious. “It means something to me.”

  Ivy froze. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare act like… like you…”

  “Care about you?” He interjected, and her heart fell.

  “Yes! You dumped me. You walked out on me, on us, on our life. You’re getting married to someone else. You don’t get to send me flowers. You don’t get to call me. You don’t get any part of me anymore!”

  “But…”

  “There is no ‘but’!” She disconnected the call and dropped her phone to the ground, flopping onto her back and staring at the ceiling as hot, salty tears fell from her eyes.

  How dare he?

  Her phone began to ring and she ignored it. She stared at the ceiling, listening to the ring tone, picturing Steve holding it to his ear and sadness seemed to engulf her.

  It was all so useless.

  She had loved Steve. She would have spent the rest of her life with h
im.

  But now?

  With a groan, she sat up once more and reached for her phone, prepared to tell him – she couldn’t have said what she wanted to tell him. But it was Rafe’s name that was flashed across her screen.

  She answered on autopilot. “Hello?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Her stomach lurched. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re upset.”

  How the hell could he tell that from one word? She sniffed, focussing her gaze on the window once more. “I’m fine.” She wasn’t. But she didn’t want to talk to Rafe about Steve.

  “What’s happened?”

  “I said, I’m fine. What’s up?”

  “And I know you’re lying. What’s happened, Ivy?”

  A small sob shifted in her chest. “He called.”

  There was a silence but it prickled with displeasure. “Give me your address. I’m coming over.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  IT WAS STRANGE THAT having Rafe in her house should feel like the biggest betrayal to Steve of all. Given what she’d shared with Rafe, and that Steve was marrying someone else, why should it matter that the handsome Spaniard was moving through the rooms with a proprietorial manner that was obviously innate to him?

  She watched as he went from room to room, his manner grim, his body taut.

  She padded behind him when he walked into her bedroom, and tried to see it through his eyes.

  She’d removed the photos of Steve from in here. It had hurt too much, and she’d been angry as all hell. But still, he was everywhere. The colour scheme, the masculine bed, the DeLorean model, the still-empty side of the wardrobe, left in abeyance as though waiting to be filled.

  Rafe spun around to face Ivy, and now, there was a palpable pulse of energy moving between them.

  “What did he say?”

  “Nothing of consequence.” She followed him with a frown. “What are you doing?”

  He pulled a dress from her wardrobe and held it out to her. It was a casual maxi dress she’d bought a couple of summers ago. “Put this on.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because we’re going out.”

  “Out?” She shook her head. “I don’t really feel like going out.” She moved towards him, her intention clear, her palms lifting to his chest.

  “No.” He gripped her wrists. “You want me to sleep with you. Because you’re upset about him. Right?”

  She swallowed, doubts, uncertainty, and confusion making her eyes cloud. “I’m … isn’t that what you want?”

  Rafe’s laugh was a harsh rejection. “I want to sleep with you, yes. But not with his damned shadow everywhere I look.” He dropped the dress to the bed. “Get dressed, Ivy.”

  “Rafe…”

  “I swear to you, I will walk out that door right now and that will be the end of us if you don’t do what I damned well say.”

  He was angry. No, he was furious. She had felt the heat of his emotions, but this, this was unexpected.

  “Rafe,” she followed him to the door but when he looked at her, it was with an implacable frustration.

  “Do you trust me?”

  She looked up at him, the question lodging right in her chest. She nodded without realising what she was admitting to.

  Rafe’s eyes glowed with triumph. “My car will leave in five minutes. Get ready.”

  She stared at his retreating back with a frown, but the sight of him walking out of her front door galvanised her into action. She stripped her jeans and sweater off and pulled on the dress, grabbing a denim jacket and light weight scarf for good measure, and a beanie too.

  She slipped out of the front door with a minute to spare.

  He was leaning against the side of the car, his expression grim, his eyes watching her with heated possession. She moved down the steps and approached him with a mounting sense of uncertainty.

  “Where’s your phone?”

  She held it up and he took it, and she was so confused that she didn’t say anything. He opened the front-passenger door. Right when she was on the brink of regaining some of her ability to think and speak, he caught her wrist and dragged her to his body, and he kissed her, hard and urgently.

  “He’s a bastard,” he said into her mouth and she nodded, but it was only Rafe in her mind, on her lips, in her soul.

  “Hop in.”

  She did as he said, sliding into the passenger seat, waiting while he crossed to the driver’s side.

  He throbbed the engine to life and pulled it out onto the street, pressing down on the accelerator. He drove expertly, confidently, and fast.

  Somewhere along the way, she realised that they’d missed the turn off for his apartment. “Where are we going?”

  He slid a side-long glance in her direction. “This whole thing has been about you forgetting him. Si?”

  She nodded, but the description felt wrong. Strange and somehow untrue. And yet it was why she’d first gone to Rafe’s home.

  “So? Today, on the day he sought to make you think only of him, you are going to do the opposite.”

  Ivy had no idea what magic Rafe was planning on weaving, but she doubted his assertion was at all possible.

  And yet, twenty minutes later, he drove the car through a security entrance, waving his driver’s licence at a gate who ushered them forwards. They were at City airport, but instead of heading to the passenger terminal, Rafe had taken them to a different stretch of tarmac. A private jet, large and gleaming, was waiting, and on its side it bore the emblem for Santoro Enterprises.

  Ivy’s heartrate accelerated. “This is yours?”

  “It’s the company’s,” he corrected. Cutting the engine and stepping from the car in one movement. He came around to Ivy’s side, pulling the door open. As soon as she straightened, he grabbed her hand, holding it tight.

  The inside of the plane was the last word in luxury. White leather seats, just like in his Bugatti, a huge cinema screen, and a layout that was more like a home than a plane.

  “Sit,” he nodded towards a chair, moving to the back of the plane and grabbing a bottle of wine and two glasses. He took the seat beside her and then poured two glasses of wine.

  A couple of staff busied themselves with the operations of the flight, but Ivy barely noticed them.

  “Where are we going?” She asked, the question strangely breathy.

  “Home.” And he smiled, but it was a smile that was dark and tight, forged by the frustrations that bound them both.

  “Spain?”

  “Yes.” He made an effort to relax. “How are you?”

  It was so silly, after the tumultuous hour they’d just spent together, that she burst out laughing. “I think I’m going to be okay.” The solicitous way he was watching her did something funny to her though, and she sobered, running a finger around the rim of her wine glass. “Why are you being so kind to me?”

  He frowned. “Because I told you I was going to make you fly. Remember?”

  *

  There were no words that could describe the beauty of this patch of earth. Ivy stood at the top of the hill, the Spanish bungalow to one side of her, all rendered earth coloured walls, terracotta tiled roof, with cathedral windows, and sprawling bougainvillea running up one side and pots of lavender painted in Moorish colours standing out front.

  Directly before them though was the hill Rafe had described, covered in vines, now spindly and barren, but for the grapes that were heavy and lush, and in the near-distance, the ocean, glistening in the afternoon sun. It was much warmer here than in London, and she shrugged out of her denim jacket. Rafe took it from her seamlessly.

  “What do you think?”

  She turned to look at him, catching a look of concentration on his features that robbed her of breath. “I think it’s the most amazing place on earth.”

  He expelled a breath. “It is uniquely beautiful.” He lifted a hand to her cheek, and seemed about to say something but then thought better of it.

  “How w
ould you feel about swimming with me?”

  “Swimming?” She looked towards the ocean and something like contentment carried to her on the sea and the salt.

  “Yes. You know, bodies submerged in water, floating, paddling…”

  She playfully punched his arm. “I’ll race you…”

  She grinned as she began to jog towards the water, running through a straight row of vines, not going so fast that she missed the beauty of the grapes, their juicy shapes sun-warmed and almost ready to be picked.

  He caught up to her easily, smiling as he passed, but he didn’t go far ahead. Ivy put on a burst of speed, and right at the bottom, where grass gave way to sand, she lunged for him instinctively, catching at his shirt so that he stopped running. She was out of breath, and her cheeks were pink. She smiled up at him, her eyes shining.

  “I win.”

  He grinned, but reached for her, lifting her over his shoulder easily and carrying her towards the water. His intent was clear, but it was still somehow a surprise when her toes hit the top of the ocean.

  “Hey!” She laughed, but he didn’t stop. Only when he was waist deep did he slowly ease her down, sliding her against his body until her feet hit the ground.

  “My dress is wet,” she pointed out, a smile tickling her lips.

  His arms curved around her waist. “So it is.” He brought his face closer to hers, his lips tantalisingly close. “I suppose you will just have to be naked while it dries out again.”

  She shook her head on a laugh but then she surrendered to the moment, turning away from him and diving down into the water. It wasn’t overly warm, but it was still heavenly. It had been so long since she’d swum, and never in a beach like this.

  “It’s so much better than I imagined,” she said to herself as she emerged, turning to find Rafe watching her with a look that stole her breath for its intensity.

  “I pictured you like this,” he said throatily, when he was close enough.

  “You did?”

  In response, he drew her wet body towards his, holding her to him, and he kissed her. Rafe kissed Ivy, and it was all she thought about.

  He’d wanted to drive anyone else from her mind and he’d succeeded. She was lost to him, and in that moment, she was glad for it.