Mistress Minded (4 page)

“What do you think? As good as Isabella?” she asked, pivoting to face him.

He raised one eyebrow. “I can't tell with the robe.”

“Didn't she wear one?”

“Yes, but it wasn't made of terry cloth and it never really covered her body.”

Oh, man. It figured she'd screw this up. Jayne tipped her chin down and then glanced back at Adam. There was a new tension in his body as he stared at her.

She walked over to the settee and placed her outfit on it. Then she reached for the tie at her waist. It wasn't the smooth move Jayne had intended, for she'd knotted it tightly. Finally the belt was free and dangled at her sides, but the robe stayed closed.

She didn't know if she could do it. In fact, she couldn't. She must have island fever or something to have thought she could—

“Chère?”

She felt like a little mouse the moment before a big eagle swooped in for the kill. But steeling herself, she
tipped her head to the side and gave Adam a once-over that left no inch of him unexplored. “Honeybun, you look good.”

She'd expected him to throw his head back and laugh, but instead he took a few steps toward her, then reached out and touched her face with gentle fingers. She longed to touch him as well, but despite her new resolve, she had a lifetime of scruples keeping her hand firmly by her side.

“I don't think I've ever seen you wear makeup,” he said softly.

He brushed his thumb across her cheek, starting a chain reaction deep inside her. Sensation spread down her neck, across her chest, making her breasts feel heavy and full. It continued downward, pooling in the center of her body. She closed her eyes briefly, which made each stroke of his thumb feel more intense.

Then he slid his hands down her neck and pried her fingers from their death grip on the lapels of her robe. He held both of her hands in one of his while using his free hand to cup her jaw and tilt her head up toward him.

In his eyes, she saw a million messages, but couldn't decipher even one of them. He leaned in close and brushed his lips over hers. She shut her eyes once more and quieted the inner voice that said she was in deep water and there was no sign of a lifeguard. Instead she indulged in kissing the man who'd made a place for himself inside her quiet soul.

P
assion had always been the one area where Adam considered himself an expert, but Jayne made him feel as green as a boy with his first woman. Instead of smooth and practiced, he was grasping and hungry, thrusting his tongue past the barrier of her teeth and taking her mouth the way he longed to take her body. Deeply, thoroughly, leaving no space unexplored.

He slid his hand down her neck to the opening of her robe. Freeing her wrists, he held her loosely, grasping her lapels and slipping his forefinger under the terry cloth. Stroking gently, he moved it closer and closer to her breast.

She moaned deep in her throat, and something sav
age was unleashed inside him. It felt as if he'd never been with a woman. All the finesse he'd carefully cultivated over the years to protect himself from this kind of emotion was gone—stripped bare so that nothing was left but the rough-edged man who'd grown up in the swamp. The man who'd had to leave that life behind for vengeance.

He didn't want to dwell on that. Not now, when he finally had Jayne's made-for-sin mouth under his. She tasted just as he'd expected her to taste.

Headily, he drank from her lips, pulling back only when he became aware of the low sounds coming from her throat. He lifted his head to glance down at her. Her eyes were heavy and her mouth—damn, her mouth was wet and lush. Her lips were redder than usual and he couldn't help it, he had to see if her nipples had also darkened.

He pulled the sides of her robe away and stared down at her body. She was wearing a pale green bra of lace and silk, which hardly contained her straining breasts. Each breath she took thrust them into stark relief—miles of creamy skin framed by the light colored robe.

His erection, hard before, strained even more. He skimmed his gaze down her body, over the small swell of her belly to the matching mint-green panties covering her. He swallowed and reached out, caressing her from neck to navel.

“Do I look like your mistress now?” she asked.

He didn't want to talk. Didn't want any reminders that this was Jayne standing in front of him and not some woman he'd made arrangements to have in his life for three months.

But because it was Jayne and not some other woman, talking in the middle of this seemed right somehow. “Not yet.”

“Not yet?” She took a half step back from him and slid the robe down her arms, holding it there, and angling her hips to one side to pose like a centerfold. “How about now?”

“Jesus, woman,” he said, and closed the gap between them. He freed the front clasp of her bra, peeling back the cups to expose her breasts. Her nipples were the same color as her lips, and hardened under his gaze.

“Now?” she asked huskily. But there was little of the vamp that had been present just moments earlier. In her place was the shy Jayne he always sensed beneath the surface.

He took her hands from the sides of her robe. “Not yet.”

He rubbed the rough terry cloth over her nipples until she bit her lip to keep from crying out, and then lowered his mouth to once again kiss her. Kissing Jayne was an addiction he doubted he'd ever recover from. Only when her hips began lifting toward his did he break the kiss and step back.

“Now,” he said.

She stood there in front of him, her robe open and her bra pushed out of the way. She should have looked vulnerable in that moment, but Adam knew the person with the real weakness was himself. He stared at her. A lifetime of scruples meant nothing when he was faced with the very real temptation of this woman.

He struggled against the emotions running rampantly through him, and settled on the one thing that had never let him down: lust.

He pulled her to him again. This time when he lowered his head, he thrust his tongue deep into her mouth. She met each thrust of his tongue with one of her own. God, she tasted sweet.

Her hips rocked against his and he nestled his hard-on into the notch of her thighs. She was so hot he could feel her through the layers of her panties and his dress trousers.

She rocked against him and he slipped his hands down her back, tracing her spine and then clasping her hips. Holding her still so he could rub his cock against her. He groaned and threw his head back. She felt incredible, just as he'd known she would.

“Adam?”

“
Oui, chère.
That's it,” he said, moving against her, feeling her body pick up a rhythm that had only one surcease—in climax. He rubbed his chest against her breasts. Her nipples stimulated him and he gritted his teeth to keep from coming in his pants.

She called his name again and he traced the curve where her legs met, finding her humid warmth and teasing that opening before slipping one finger under her panties and touching her. He thrust into her body and felt her tighten around his finger. He added a second and placed his thumb over her pleasure bud, until he felt her clenching around his fingers.

He lowered his head and swallowed the sounds she made as she came, then cradled her against his chest and tried to ignore the throbbing in his groin. Adam knew there was no justifying what had happened here. They'd taken a step that couldn't be undone.

 

Jayne clung to Adam dizzily. Her body still throbbed from the sensations he'd evoked in her. A sheen of sweat coated her skin, and as satisfying as her climax was, she ached to have him take her. Ached to have him possess her, and maybe, in some small way, possess him as well.

She didn't know what to say. With the men in her past she'd been in control of herself. Adam had sent her carefully ordered world topsy-turvy and she was floundering. She didn't like it.

He tipped her head back, gazing down at her with those gray eyes of his. She searched for some kind of emotion there and found tenderness. He stroked one finger down the side of her face, then cupped her jaw gently, rubbing his thumb over her bottom lip.

She'd never felt so cherished by a man—by any
man in her entire life—as she did by Adam at that moment. He bent and lifted her in his arms, carrying her toward the king-size bed.

“Chère—”

His PalmPilot beeped. For a moment Jayne didn't know what it was. A meeting reminder. She'd scheduled a conference call for Adam with his vice-president, Sam Johnson. Let it go, she thought. And in her mind this became a sort of test. She schooled her expression to reveal no emotion as he set her on her feet. He left her side, glanced at his PalmPilot, and picked up the phone, his gaze never leaving hers and still filled with that tenderness she didn't really understand.

Then he glanced away and reached for his notepad. He turned from her and sank down on the bed, jotting notes and speaking into the phone in that rapid-fire way that meant he was angry. She knew in an instant that he was scarcely aware of her presence anymore.

She'd been dismissed. Finally she felt like a mistress, and it wasn't a feeling she particularly liked.

She felt used and cheap. She felt…aching and angry, and only her own self-control allowed her to turn away from him at that moment when she wanted instead to confront him.

She took the clothing she'd removed from the wardrobe and entered the bathroom. The woman she saw in the mirror was one she didn't recognize.

Her lips were full and flushed from his kisses. Her
hair fell around her face in disarray. Her nipples were still hard and her skin was exquisitely sensitive.

She ignored the urge to go back into the bedroom and rail at Adam. Instead, she calmly refastened her bra and dropped the robe to the floor. She donned her skirt, which ended at midcalf, and then put on the blouse. Other than being cut a little lower in front it was almost something she'd wear.

She fixed her hair, touched up her lipstick and hung up her robe before leaving the bathroom. Adam was still on the phone when she emerged. He didn't glance up from the notes he was making, and Jayne told herself it was nothing personal. Nothing that a pretend mistress should get angry about, but it didn't change the fact that she was riled up.

She found the shoes that matched her outfit and stalked out of the bedroom. She didn't know what to do now. Was she supposed to sit around and wait for him? Her mom would know, but Jayne wasn't calling her mom.

Instead, she explored the room in hopes of finding the treasure map.

There was a laminated notecard with typed instructions. She read the note, went to the reproduction print hanging on the wall and pulled on the frame carefully. It swung out from the left side and the map was in the pocket on the back of the frame. She read the legend again. And though Didi had done a nice
job with the storytelling, the one on the map was more elaborate. Something out of a pirate romance novel.

The promise of finding your heart's desire was quixotic. How many people
really
knew their hearts and themselves well enough to find what they desired more than anything else? Jayne knew that if she were honest with herself she desired two things at this moment—Adam's head on a platter and a repeat of what had just happened, but with a different conclusion.

She couldn't stop the wild race of emotions through her body and she bounced between sexual frustration and a deep feeling of rage that she didn't know how to restrain.

The light on the extension blinked out and she knew he was off the phone. She waited for him to come to her, but he didn't. She heard the rush of water in the bathroom and realized he was getting ready for dinner.

She put the map down and entered the bedroom, skimming his notes. They were neatly written and had several instructions on them for her. Either what had happened between them was so commonplace in his world that it had no effect on him, or he had better mastery of his emotions than she did.

She hoped for the latter, but life had taught her that just because she wanted something to be true didn't always mean it would be.

“Good, you found my notes. I need you to send a few e-mails. I think we have time before we have to meet the Angelinis for dinner for you to do that.”

He had buttoned his shirt and turned away from her to tuck it in. She felt as if she'd just dreamed the sensual encounter they'd had less than thirty minutes ago. He was acting the way he always acted around her.

Let it go, Jayne, she told herself. But she couldn't. She'd put something on the line here and she'd thought, maybe foolishly, that Adam was doing the same. Why the hell wasn't he as deeply affected by that embrace as she had been? Had he seen that damn flaw of hers that every man in her life had found? Why couldn't she fix it so she never had to feel this way again?

“
Chère,
you okay?”

“Don't.”

She picked up the notepad and crossed the room, escaping to the living room. She'd send his damn e-mails and gather her wits. She needed to confront him about this, but not now when her blood felt close to boiling and her temper was about to get the best of her.

As she brushed past him, the scent of his aftershave wrapped around her like a lover. Making Adam fall in lust with her was incredibly easy. Making him fall in love with her was a different matter altogether.

 

Adam watched Jayne leave their bedroom and clenched his fists. Dammit. He looked for something to kick but didn't want her to see how deeply she'd affected him.

He thrust his fingers through his hair and stood there for a moment. He'd hurt her. God, if she looked at him with those wounded eyes one more time, he'd forget the good sense that the beeping PDA had brought back, and take her to bed.

He'd love her six ways from Sunday and not let her leave the room for the rest of their time here. To hell with business deals.

But his meeting had interrupted him before he'd gone too far. That kiss—hell, he needed another one—was going to be an aberration. He'd decided earlier against asking her to be his mistress in truth. And nothing had happened to change his mind.

He straightened, quickly knotted his tie, shrugged into his dinner jacket and smoothed down his hair. He'd put on too much aftershave, trying to drown out the scent of Jayne, which had permeated the bathroom. He'd been unable to resist burying his face in the robe she'd worn. Her scent was nearly irresistible to him.

He paused in the doorway. Jayne sat at the table where they'd worked earlier. She was typing at the computer, but her ire was clear in every movement she made. The outfit he'd ordered for her looked in
credible. Though he knew it was hard on his libido, he was glad to see her dressed in clothing that fit and enhanced her feminine form.

“Almost done?” he asked.

“Sure thing, honeybun.”

All of the teasing was gone from her voice, and he knew that if he took her down to dinner with the Angelinis now, they'd know something was wrong.

“You work too hard,” he said, keeping his tone light. He walked over to her and put his hands on her shoulders, massaging them. But the feel of her soon had a pronounced affect on his body. He hardened and had to close his eyes for a minute, tipping his head back to reclaim his control.

“You're my boss,” she said.

He removed his hands and sank down in the chair next to her. She finished typing the e-mail and then sent it. He noticed she'd checked off several items on the notepad and put the in-process symbol next to a few more. Some of the items had names written next to them and he realized in the time it had taken him to change she'd delegated his entire list of to-do items.

She shut down the computer and turned to face him. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” he asked. He wondered how she'd accomplished so much so quickly. But he shouldn't be surprised. Jayne was the only assistant he'd ever had who kept pace with him in the office.

“Turn off your emotions. I can't do that.”

“I don't.”

“You do. I'm still…never mind. I'm mad at you.”

“I know,” he said. He had a feeling she was still frustrated sexually, as well. That one brief climax wasn't enough to have satisfied the passion that ruled her under that calm surface. And he'd never meant to stop before they'd made it to the bed and he'd taken possession of her.